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and Crafts; there hadn’t been enough boys of the right age in Benden Weyr to match the number of dragon eggs. If the Oldtimers would throw open the mating flights of their junior queens to bronzes from other Weyrs, they’d soon have clutches as large as the ones at Benden, and undoubtedly queen eggs, too. However, F’lar could appreciate how the Oldtimers felt. The bronze dragons at Benden and Southern Weyr were larger than most Oldtimer bronzes. Consequently, they’d fly the queens. But, by the Shell, F’lar hadn’t suggested that the senior queens be flown openly. He did not intend to challenge the Oldtimer Weyrleaders with modern bronzes. He did feel that they’d profit by new blood among their beasts. Wasn’t an improvement in dragonkind anywhere of benefit to all the Weyrs?
    And it was practical diplomacy to invite Holders and Crafters to Impressions. There wasn’t a man alive in Pern who hadn’t secretly cherished the notion that he might be able to Impress a dragon. That he could be linked for life to the love and sustaining admiration of these gentle great beasts. That he could traverse Pern in a twinkling, astride a dragon. That he would never suffer the loneliness that was the condition of most men—a dragonrider always had his dragon. So, whether the commoners had a relative on the Hatching Ground hoping to attach a dragonet or not, the spectators enjoyed the vicarious thrill of being present, at witnessing this “mysterious rite.” He’d observed that they were also subtly reassured that such dazzling fortune was available to some lucky souls not bred in the Weyrs. And those bound to a Weyr should, F’lar felt, get to know the riders since those riders were responsible for their lives and livelihoods.
    To have assigned messenger dragons to every major Hold and Craft had been a very practical measure, too, when Benden had been Pern’s only dragonweyr. The northern continent was broad. It took days to get messages from one coast to the other. The Harpercraft’s system of drums was a poor second when a dragon could transport himself, his rider and an ungarbled message instantly anywhere on the planet.
    F’lar, too, was exceedingly aware of the dangers of isolation. In the days before the first Thread had again fallen on Pern—could it be only seven Turns ago?—Benden Weyr had been vitiated by its isolation, and the entire planet all but lost. Where F’lar earnestly felt that dragonmen should make themselves accessible and friendly, the Oldtimers were obsessed by a need for privacy. Which only fertilized the ground for such incidents as had just occurred. T’reb on a disturbed green had swooped down on the Smithmastercrafthall and demanded—not requested—that a craftsman give up an artifact, which had been made by commission for a powerful Lord Holder.
    With thoughts that were more disillusioned than vengeful, F’lar realized that Mnementh was gliding fast toward Fort Weyr’s jagged rim. The Star Stones and the watchrider were silhouetted against the dying sunset. Beyond them were the forms of three other bronzes, one a good half-tail larger than the others. That would be Orth, so T’bor was already arrived from Southern Weyr. But only three bronzes? Who was yet to come to the meeting?
    Salth from High Reaches and Branth with R’mart of Telgar Weyr are absent,
Mnementh informed his rider.
    High Reaches and Telgar Weyrs missing? Well, T’kul of High Reaches was likely late on purpose. Odd though; that caustic Oldtimer ought to enjoy tonight. He’d have a chance to snipe at both F’lar and T’bor and he’d thoroughly enjoy T’ron’s discomfiture. F’lar had never felt any friendliness for or from the dour, dark-complected High Reaches Weyrleader. He wondered if that was why Mnementh never used T’kul’s name. Dragons ignored human names when they didn’t like the