So it was as well the Weyrwomen had not been included in this meeting. Put Mardra in the same room with Lessa and thered be problems. Add Kylara of the Southern Weyr who was apt to make trouble for the pure joy of getting attention by disrupting others, and nothing would be accomplished Nadira of Igen Weyr liked Lessa but in a passive way. Bedella of Telgar Weyr was stupid and Fanna of Ista, taciturn. Merika of the High Reaches was as much a sour sort as her Weyrleader Tkul.
This was a matter for men to settle.
Flar thanked Mnementh as he slid down the warm shoulder to the ledge, stumbling as his bootheels caught on the ridges of claw scars on the edge. Tron might have put out a basket of glows, Flar thought irritably, and then caught himself. Another trick to put everyone in as unreceptive a mood as possible.
Loranth, senior queen dragon of Fort Weyr, solemnly regarded Flar as he entered the main room of the Weyr. He gave her a cordial greeting, suppressing his relief that there was no sign of Mardra. If Loranth was solemn, Mardra would have been downright unpleasant. Undoubtedly the Fort Weyrwoman was sulking beyond the curtain between weyr and sleeping room. Maybe this awkward time had been her idea. It was after western dinner hours and too late for more than wine for those from later time zones. She thus avoided the necessity of playing hostess.
Lessa would never resort to such mean-spirited strategies. Flar knew how often the impulsive Lessa had bitten back quick answers when Mardra had patronized her. In fact, Lessas forbearance with the haughty Fort Weyrwoman was miraculous, considering Lessas temper. Flar supposed that his Weyrmate felt responsible for uprooting the Oldtimers. But the final decision to go forward in time had been theirs.
Well, if Lessa could endure Mardras condescension out of gratitude, Flar could try to put up with Tron. The man did know how to fight Thread effectively and Flar had learned a great deal from him at first. So, in a determinedly pleasant frame of mind, Flar walked down the short passage to the Fort Weyr Council Room.
Tron, seated in the big stone chair at the head of the Table, acknowledged Flars entry with a stiff nod. The light of the glows on the wall cast unflattering shadows on the Oldtimers heavy, lined face. It struck Flar forcibly that the man had never known anything but fighting Thread. He must have been born when the Red Star began that last fifty-Turn-long Pass around Pern, and hed fought Thread until the Star had finished its circuit. Then followed Lessa forward. A man could get mighty tired of fighting Thread in just seven short Turns. Flar halted that line of thought.
Dram of Ista Weyr and Gnarish of Igen also contented themselves with nods. Tbor, however, gave Flar a hearty greeting, his eyes glinting with emotion.
Good evening, gentlemen, Flar said to all. I apologize for taking you from your own affairs or rest with this request for an emergency meeting of all Weyrleaders, but it could not wait until the regular Solstice Gathering.
Ill conduct the meetings at Fort Weyr, Benden, Tron said in a cold harsh voice. Ill wait for Tkul and Rmart before I have any discussion of youryour complaint.
Agreed.
Tron stared at Flar as if that hadnt been the answer hed anticipated and hed gathered himself for an argument that hadnt materialized. Flar nodded to Tbor as he took the seat beside him.
Ill say this now, Benden, Tron continued. The next time you elect to drag us all out of our Weyrs suddenly, you apply to me first. Forts the oldest Weyr on Pern. Dont just irresponsibly send messengers out to everyone.
I dont see that Flar acted irresponsibly, Gnarish said, evidently surprised by Trons attitude. Gnarish was a stocky young man, some Turns Flars junior and the youngest of the Weyrleaders to come forward in time. Any Weyrleader can call a joint meeting if circumstances warrant it. And these do! Gnarish emphasized this with a curt nod, adding when he saw the Fort Weyrleader scowling at him, Well, they do.
Your rider was the aggressor, Tron, Dram said in a stern voice. He was a rangy man, getting stringy with age, but his astonishing shock of red hair was only lightly grizzled at the temples. Flars within his rights.
You had the choice of time and place, Tron, Flar pointed out, all deference.
Trons scowl deepened.
Wish Telgard get here, he said in a low, irritated tone.
Have some wine, Flar? Tbor suggested, an almost malicious smile playing on his lips for Tron ought to have offered immediately. Of course, its not Benden Hold wine, but not bad. Not bad.
Flar gave Tbor a long warning look as he took the proffered cup. But the Southern Weyrleader was watching to see how Tron reacted. Benden Hold did not tithe of its famous wines as generously to the other Weyrs as it did to the one which protected its lands.
When are we going to taste some of those Southern Weyr wines youve been bragging about, Tbor? Gnarish asked, instinctively trying to ease the growing tensions.
Of course, were entering our fall season now, Tbor said making it seem that Fort was to blame for the chill outsideand insidethe Weyr. However, we expect to start pressing soon. Well distribute what we can spare to you northerners.
What do you mean? What you can spare? Tron asked, staring hard at Tbor.
Well, Southern plays nurse to every wounded dragonrider. We need sufficient on hand to drown their sorrows adequately. Southern Weyr supports itself, you must remember.
Flar stepped on Tbors booted foot as he turned to Dram and inquired of the Istan Weyrleader how the last Laying had gone.
Very well, thanks, Dram replied pleasantly, but Flar knew the older man did not like the mood that was developing. Fannas Mirath laid twenty-five and Ill warrant weve half a dozen bronzes in the clutch.
Istas bronzes are the fastest on Pern, Flar said gravely. When he heard Tbor stirring restlessly beside him, he reached swiftly to Mnementh with a silent Ask Orth to please tell Tbor to speak with great thought for the consequences. Dram and Gnarish must not be antagonized. Out loud he said, A weyr can never have too many good bronzes. If only to keep the queens happy. He leaned back, watching Tbor out of the corner of his eye to catch is reaction when the dragons completed the message relay. Tbor gave a sudden slight jerk, then shrugged, his glance shifting from Dram to Tron and back to Flar. He looked more rebellious than cooperative. Flar turned back to Dram. If you need some likely prospects for any green dragons, theres a boy . . .
Dram follows tradition, Benden, Tron cut in. Weyrbred is best for Dragonkind. Particularly for greens.
Oh? Tbor glared with malicious intent at Tron.
Dram cleared his throat hastily and said in a too loud voice, As it happens, weve a good group of likely boys in our Bower Caverns. The last Impression at Gnarishs Weyr left him with a few he has offered to place at Ista Weyr. So I thank you kindly, Flar. Generous indeed when youve eggs hardening at Benden too. And a queen, I hear?
Dram exhibited no trace of envy for another queen egg at Benden Weyr. And Fannas Mirath hadnt produced a single golden egg since shed come time between.
We all know Bendens generosity, Tron said in a sneering tone, his eyes flicking around the room, everywhere but at Flar. He extends help everywhere. And interferes when it isnt needed.
I dont call what happened at the Smithhall interference, Dram said, his face assuming grave lines.
I thought we were going to wait for Tkul and Rmart, Gnarish said, glancing anxiously up the passageway.
So, Flar mused, Dram and Gnarish are upset by todays events.
Tkuls better known for the meetings he misses than the ones he attends, Tbor remarked.
Rmart always comes, Gnarish said.
Well, theyre neither of them here. And Im not waiting on their pleasure any longer, Tron announced, rising.
Then youd better call in Bnaj and Treb, Dram suggested with a heavy sigh.
Theyre in no condition to attend a meeting. Tron seemed surprised at Drams request. Their dragons only returned from flight at sunset.
Dram stared at Tron. Then why did you call the meeting for tonight?
At Flars insistence.
Tbor rose to protest before Flar could stop him, but Dram waved him to be seated and sternly reminded Tron that the Fort Weyrleader had set the time, not Flar of Benden.
Look, were here now, Tbor said, banging his fist on the table irritably. Lets get on with it. Its full night in southern Weyr. Id like . . .
I conduct the Fort Weyr meetings, Southern, Tron said in a loud, firm voice, although the effort of keeping his temper told in the flush of his face and the brightness of his eyes.
Then conduct it, Tbor replied. Tell us why a green rider took his dragon out of your Weyr when she was close to heat.
Treb was not aware she was that close . . .
Nonsense, Tbor cut in, glaring at Tron. You keep telling us how much of a traditionalist you are, and how well trained your riders are. Then dont tell me a rider as old as Treb cant estimate his beasts condition.
Flar began to think he didnt need an ally like Tbor.
A green changes color rather noticeably, Gnarish said, with some reluctance, Flar noted. Usually a full day before she wants to fly.
Not in the spring, Tron pointed out quickly. Not when shes off her feed from Threadscore. It can happen very quickly. Which it did. Tron spoke loudly, as if the volume of his explanation would bear more weight than its logic.
That is possible, Dram admitted slowly, nodding his head up and down before he turned to see what Flar thought.
I accept that possibility, Flar replied, keeping his voice even. He saw Tbor open his mouth to protest and kicked the man under the table. However, according to the testimony of Craftmaster Terry, my rider urged Treb repeatedly to take his dragon away. Treb persisted in his attempt toto acquire the belt knife.
And you accept the word of a commoner against a rider? Tron leaped on Flars statement with a great show of surprised indignation and incredulity.
What would a Craftmaster, and Flar emphasized the title, gain by bringing false witness?
Those smithcrafters are the most notorious misers of Pern, Tron replied as if this were a personal insult. The worst of all the crafts when it comes to parting with honest tithe.
A jeweled belt knife is not a tithe item.
What difference does that make, Benden? Tron demanded.
Flar stared back at the Fort Weyrleader. So Tron was trying to set the blame on Terry! Then he knew that his rider had been at fault. Why couldnt he just admit it and discipline the rider? Flar only wanted to see that thered be no repetitions of such an incident.
The difference is that that knife had been crafted for Lord Larad of Telgar as a gift to Lord Asgenar of Lemos Hold for his wedding six days from now. The blade was not Terrys to give or withhold. It already belonged to a Lord Holder. Therefore, the rider was . . .
Naturally youd take the part of your rider, Benden, Tron cut in with a slight, unpleasant smile on his face. But for a rider, a Weyrleader, to take the part of a Lord Holder against dragonfolkand Tron turned to Dram and Gnarish with a helpless shrug of dismay.
If Rmart were here, youd beTbor began.
Dram gestured at him to be quiet. Were not discussing possession but what seems to be a grave breach of Weyr discipline, he said in a voice that overwhelmed Tbors protest. However, Flar, you do admit that a green, off her feed from Threadscore, can suddenly go into heat without warning?
Flar could feel Tbor urging him to deny that possibility. He knew that he had made a mistake in pointing out that the knife had been commissioned for a Lord Holder. Or in taking the part of a Holder not bound to Benden Weyr. If only Rmart had been here to speak in Lord Larads behalf. As it was, Flar had prejudiced his case. The incident had disturbed Dram so much that the man was deliberately closing his eyes to fact and seeking any extenuating circumstance he could. If Flar forced him to see the event clearly, would he prove anything to a man unwilling to believe that Dragonriders could be guilty of error? Would he get Dram to admit that Craft and Hold had privileges, too?
He took a slow deep breath to control the frustrated anger he felt. I have to concede that it is possible a green can go into heat without warning under those conditions. Beside him, Tbor cursed under his breath. But for exactly that reason, Treb ought to have known to keep his green in the Weyr.
But Trebs a Fort Weyr rider, Tbor began heatedly, jumping to his feet. And Ive been told often enough that . . .
Youre out of order, Southern, Tron said in a loud voice, glaring at Flar, not Tbor. Cant you control your riders, Flar?
That is quite enough, Tron, Dram cried, on his feet.
As the two Oldtimers locked glances, Flar murmured urgently to Tbor, Cant you see hes trying to anger us? Dont lose control!
Were trying to settle the incident, Tron, Dram continued forcefully, not complicate it with irrelevant personalities. Since you are involved in this business, perhaps Id better conduct the meeting. With your permission, of course, Fort.
To Flars mind, that was a tacit admission that Dram realized, however he might try to evade it, how serious the incident was. The Istan Weyrleader turned to Flar, his brown eyes dark with concern. Flar entertained a half hope that Dram might have seen through Trons obstructiveness, but the Oldtimers next words disabused him. I do not agree with you, Flar, that the Crafter acted in good part. No let me finish. We came to the aid of your troubled time, expecting to be recompensed and supported in proper fashion, but the manner and the amount of tithing rendered the Weyrs from Hold and Craft has left much to be desired. Pern is much more productive than it was four Hundred Turns ago and yet that wealth has not been reflected in the tithes. There is four times the population of our Time and much, much more cultivated land. A heavy responsibility for the Weyrs. Andhe cut himself off with a rueful laugh. Im digressing, too. Suffice it to say that once it was obvious a dragonrider found the knife to his liking, Terry should have gifted it him. As craftsmen used to, without any question or hesitation.
Then, Drams face brightened slightly, Treb and Bnaj would have left before the green went into full heat, your Fnor would not have become involved in a disgraceful public brawl. Yes, it is all too plain, and Dram straightened his shoulders from the burden of decision, that the first error of judgment was on the part of the craftsman. He looked at each man, as if none of them had control over what a craftsman might do. Tbor refused to meet his eyes and ground a bootheel noisily into the stone floor.
Dram took another deep breath. Was he, Flar wondered bitterly, having trouble digesting that verdict?
We cannot, of course, permit a repetition of a green in mating heat outside her weyr. Or Dragonriders in an armed duel . . .
There wasnt any duel! The words seemed to explode from Tbor. Treb attacked Fnor without warning and sliced him up. Fnor never even drew his knife. Thats no duel. Thats an unwarranted attack . . .
A man whose green is in heat is unaccountable for his actions, Tron said, loud enough to drown Tbor out.
A green who never should have been out of her weyr in the first place no matter how you dance around the truth, Tron, Tbor said, savage with frustration. The first error in judgment was Trebs. Not Terrys.
Silence! Drams bellow silenced him and Loranth answered irritably from her weyr.
That does it, Tron exclaimed, rising. Im not having my senior queen upset. Youve had your meeting, Benden, and youryour grievance has been aired. This meeting is adjourned.
Adjourned? Gnarish echoed him in surprise. Butbut nothings been done. The Igen Weyrleader looked from Dram to Tron puzzled, worried. And Flars rider was wounded. If the attack was . . .
How badly wounded is the man? Dram asked, turning quickly to Flar.
Now you ask! cried Tbor.
Fortunately, and Flar held Tbors angry eyes in a stern, warning glance before turning to Dram to answer, the wound is not serious. He will not lose the use of the arm.
Gnarish sucked his breath in with a whistle. I thought hed only been scratched. I think we . . .
When a riders dragon is lustfulDram began, but broke off when he caught sight of the naked fury on Tbors face, the set look on Flars. A dragonrider can never forget his purpose, his responsibility, to his dragon or to his Weyr. This cant happen again. Youll speak to Treb, of course, Tron?
Trons eyes widened slightly at Drams question.
Speak to him? You may be sure hell hear from me about this. And Bnaj, too.
Good, said Dram, with the air of a man who has solved a difficult problem equitably. He nodded toward the others. It would be wise if we Weyrleaders caution all our riders against the possibility of a repetition. Put them all on their guard. Agreed? He continued nodding, as if to spare the others the effort. It is hard enough to work with some of these arrogant Holders and Crafters without giving them any occasion to fault us. Dram sighed deeply and scratched his head. I never have understood how commoners can forget how much they owe Dragonriders!
In four hundred Turns, a man can learn many new things, Flar replied. Coming, Tbor? and his tone was just short of command. My greetings to your Weyrwomen, riders. Good night.
He strode from the Council Room, Tbor pounding right behind him, swearing savagely until they got to the outer passageway to the Weyr ledge.
That old fool was in the wrong, Flar, and you know it!
Obviously.
Then why didnt you . . .
Rub his nose in it? Flar finished, halting in mid-stride and turning to Tbor in the dark of the passageway.
Dragonriders dont fight. Particularly Weyrleaders.
Tbor let out a violent exclamation of utter disgust.
How could you let a chance like that go by? When I think of the times hes criticized youusTbor broke off. Never understand how commoners can forget all they owe Dragonriders? and Tbor mimicked Drams pompous intonation, If they really want to know . . .
Flar gripped Tbor by the shoulder, appreciating the younger mans sentiments all too deeply.
How can you tell a man what he doesnt want to hear? We couldnt even get them to admit that Treb was in the wrong Treb, not Terry, and not Fnor. But I dont think therell be another lapse like todays and thats what I really worried about.
What? Tbor stared at Flar in puzzled confusion.
That such an incident could occur worries me far more than who was in the wrong and for what reason.
I cant follow that logic any more than I can follow Trons.
Its simple. Dragonmen dont fight. Weyrleaders cant. Tron was hoping Id be mad enough to lose control. I think he was hoping Id attack him.
You cant be serious! Tbor was plainly shaken.
Remember, Tron considers himself the senior Weyrleader on Pern and therefore infallible.
Tbor made a rude noise. Despite himself, Flar grinned.
True, he continued, but Ive never had a reason to challenge him. And dont forget, the Oldtimers taught us a great deal about Thread fighting we certainly didnt know.
Why, our dragons can fight circles around the Oldtimers.
Thats not the point, Tbor. You and I, the modern Weyrs have certain obvious advantages over the Oldtimerssize of dragons, number of queensthat Im not interested in mentioning because it only makes for bad feeling. Nevertheless, we cant fight Thread without the Oldtimers. We need the Oldtimers more than they need us. Flar gave Tbor a wry, bitter grin. Dram was partly right. A dragonman can never forget his purpose, his responsibility. When Dram said to his dragon, to his Weyr, hes wrong. Our initial and ultimate responsibility is to Pern, to the people we were established to protect.
They had proceeded to the ledge and could see their dragons dropping off the height to meet them. Full dark had descended over Fort Weyr now, emphasizing the weariness that engulfed Flar.
If the Oldtimers have become introverted, we, Benden and Southern, cannot. We understand our Turn, our people. And somehow weve got to make the Oldtimers understand them, too.
Yes, but Tron was in the wrong!
Would we have been more right to make him say it?
Tbor bit back an angry response and Flar hoped that the mans rebellion was dissipating. There was good heart and mind in the Southern Weyrleader. He was a fine dragonrider, a superb fighter, and his Wings followed him without hesitation. He was not as strong out of the skies, however, but with subtle guidance had built Southern Weyr into a productive, self-supporting establishment. He instinctively looked to Flar and Benden Weyr for direction and companionship. Part of that, Flar was sure, was because of the difficult and disturbing temperament of the Southern Weyrwoman, Kylara.
Sometimes Flar regretted that Tbor proved to be the only bronze rider who could cope with that female. He wondered what subtle deep tie existed between the two riders, because Tbors Orth consistently outflew every bronze to mate with Prideth, Kylaras queen, though it was common knowledge that Kylara took many men to her bed.
Tbor might be short-tempered and not the most diplomatic adherent, but he was loyal and Flar was grateful to him. If hed only held his temper tonight . . .
Well, you usually know what youre doing, Flar, the Southern Weyrleader admitted reluctantly, but I dont understand the Oldtimers and lately Im not sure I care.
Mnementh hovered by the ledge, one leg extended. Beyond him, the two men could hear Orths wings beating the night air as he held his position.
Tell Fnor to take it easy and get well. I know hes in good hands down at Southern, Flar said as he scrambled up Mnemenths shoulder and urged him out of Orths way.
Well have him well in next to no time. You need him, replied Tbor.
Yes, thought Flar as Mnementh soared up out of the Fort Weyr Bowl, I need him. I could have used his wits beside me tonight. I could have used his thinking on Trons invidious attempts to switch blame.
Well, if it had been another rider, wounded under the same circumstances, he couldnt have brought Fnor anyhow. And Tbor with his short temper would still have been present, and played right into Trons hands. He couldnt honestly blame Tbor. Hed felt the same burning desire to make the Oldtimers see the facts in realistic perspective. Butyou cant take a dragon to a place youve never seen. And Tbors outbursts had not helped. Strange, Tbor hadnt been so touchy as a weyrling nor when he was a Benden Weyr Wing-second. Being Weyrmate to Kylara had changed him but that woman was enough to unsettle; to unsettle Dram.
Flar entertained the wild mental image of the blonde sensual Kylara seducing the sturdy Oldtimer. Not that shed even glanced at the Istan Weyrleader. And she certainly wouldnt have stayed with him. Flar was glad that theyd eased her out of Benden Weyr. Hadnt she been found on the same Search as Lessa? Whered she come from? Oh, yes, Telgar Hold. Come to think of it, she was the present Lords full-blooded sister. Just as well Kylara was in Weyrlife. With her proclivity, shed have had her throat sliced long ago in a Hold or a Crafthall.
Mnementh transferred them between and the cold of that awful nothingness made his bones ache. Then they emerged over the Benden Weyr Star Stones and answered the watchriders query.
Lessa wasnt going to like his report of the meeting, Flar thought. If only Dram, usually an honest thinker, had seen past the obvious. He had a feeling that maybe Gnarish had.
Yes, Gnarish had been troubled. Maybe the next time the Weyrleaders met to confer, Gnarish might side with the modern riders.
Only, Flar hoped, there wouldnt be another occasion for this evenings grievance.
CHAPTER III
Morning Over Lemos Hold
.
RAMOTH, Bendens golden queen, was in the Hatching Ground when she got the greens frantic summons from Lemos Hold.
Threads at Lemos. Thread falls at Lemos! Ramoth told every dragon and rider, her full-throated brassy bugle reverberating through the Bowl.
Men scrambled frantically from couch and bathing pool, upset tables and dropped tools before the first echo had rolled away. Flar, idly watching the weyrlings drill, was dressed for fighting since the Weyr had expected to be at Lemos Hold late that day. Mnementh, his magnificent bronze, sunning himself on a ledge, swooped down at such a rate that he gouged a narrow trench in the sand of the floor with his left wingtip. Flar was atop his neck and they were circling to the Eye Rock before Ramoth had had time to stamp out of the Hatching Cavern.
Thread at Lemos northeast, Mnementh reported, picking up the information from his mate Ramoth as she projected herself toward her weyr ledge for Lessa. Dragons were now streaming from every weyr opening, their riders struggling into fighting gear or securing bulging firesacks.
Flar didnt waste time wondering why Thread was falling hours ahead of schedule or northeast instead of southwest. He checked to see if there were enough riders assembled and aloft to make up a full low altitude wing. He hesitated long enough to have Mnementh order every weyrling to proceed immediately to Lemos to help fly ground crews to the area and then told his dragon to take the wing between.
Thread was indeed falling, a great sheet plummeting down toward the delicate new leafing hardwoods that were Lord Asgenars prime forestry project. Screaming, flaming, dragons broke out of between, skimming the spring forest to get quick bearings before they soared up to meet the attack.
Incredibly, Flar believed they had actually managed to beat Thread to the forest. That greens rider would have his choice of anything in Flars power to give. The thought of Thread in those hardwood stands chilled the Weyrleader more thoroughly than an hour between.
A dragon screamed directly above Flar. Even as he glanced upward to identify the wounded beast, both dragon and rider had gone between where the awful cold would shatter and break the entangling Threads before they could eat into membrane and flesh.
A casualty minutes into an attack? Even an attack that was so unpredictably early? Flar winced.
Virianth, Rnors brown, Mnementh informed his rider as he soared in search of a target. He craned his sinuous neck around in a wide sweep, eyeing the forest lest Thread had actually started burrowing. Then, with a warning to his rider, he folded his wings and dove toward an especially thick patch, braking his descent with neck-snapping speed. As Mnementh belched fire, Flar watched, grinning with intense satisfaction as the Thread curled into black dust and floated harmlessly to the forests below.
Virianth caught his wingtip, Mnementh said as he beat upward again. Hell return. We need him. This Thread falls wrong.
Wrong and early, Flar said gritting his teeth against the fierce wind of their ascent. If he hadnt been in the custom of sending a messenger on to the Hold where Thread was due . . .
Mnementh gave him just enough warning to secure his hold as the great bronze veered suddenly toward a dense clump. The stench of the fiery breath all but choked Flar. He flung up an arm to protect his face from the hot charred flecks of Thread. Then Mnementh was turning his head for another block of firestone before swooping again at dizzying speed after more Thread.
There was no further time for speculation; only action and reaction. Dive. Flame. Firestone for Mnementh to chew. Call a weyrling for another sack. Catch it deftly mid-air. Fly above the fighting wings to check the pattern of flying dragons. Gouts of flame blossoming across the sky. Sun glinting off green, blue, brown, bronze backs as dragons veered, soared, dove, flaming after Thread. Hed spot a beast going between, tense until he reappeared or Mnementh reported their retreat. Part of his mind kept track of the casualties, another traced the wing line, correcting it when the riders started to overlap or flew too wide a pattern. He was aware, too, of the golden triangle of the queens wing, far below, catching what Thread escaped from the upper levels.
By the time Thread had ceased to fall and the dragons began to spiral down to aid the Lemos Hold ground crews, Flar almost resented Mnemenths summary.
Nine minor brushes, four just wingtips; two bad lacings, Sorenth and Relth, and two face-burned riders.
Wingtip injuries were just plain bad judgment. Riders cutting it too fine. They werent riding competitions, they were fighting! Flar ground his teeth . . .