Seated behind Moreta, Alessan became suddenly tense, his hands tightening about her waist fiercely. She knew he was swearing though the wind of Nabeth’s glide obscured the words. She looked down at sad Ruatha and knew that a dragonback perspective of the ruins could not fail to distress him. When she managed to twist to speak to him, his expression was full of urgent determination.
As soon as Nabeth came to a graceful landing across the roadway from the beasthold, he turned to Oklina.
“Surely some of the convalescents must be strong enough to do maintenance, Oklina. Did you have a good look at the Hold proper? It’s a shambles. Here, Moreta, I’ll give you a hand.” Alessan slid down Nabeth’s side and extended his hands to her. It was, Moreta quickly realized, an excuse to hold her, and he kept one arm loosely about her shoulders as they backed far enough away from the dragon’s bulk for Alessan to address the other riders. “I’ll continue making the serum, Master Capiam, and wait for any further instructions. Oklina, have you seen what I mean? Then I’ll help you down. My duty to you, Nabeth, and my eternal gratitude.” Alessan bowed formally to the bronze dragon, who winked at him from eyes that whirled pleasantly green-blue.
“He says his duty was a pleasure,” B’lerion replied, smiling as he handed Oklina down to his dragon’s raised forearm. He waited until she was clear and then waved cheerily as Nabeth sprang aloft again.
They had made most of their farewells at Ista when Belior rose, round and greenly gold in the dark Istan sky. B’lerion would convey the two healers to their hail with the needlethorns. If more should be needed, B’lerion would harvest it discreetly at Nerat with Oklina and Desdra. Capiam had composed messages for the Masterherdsman and all the holds that bred or kept runners. Relays would go to drumless settlements.
The dust of Nabeth’s departure was blowing away from them when Tuero came out of the beasthold, a look of surprise on his homely face.
“That didn’t take you long,” he said. “Alessan, we can’t make up another batch unless M’barak finds more glass bottles. I don’t know what’s taking him so long.”
The three travelers recoiled in a group, but before Tuero could comment on their reaction, Arith and M’barak hurtled across the fields to land almost exactly in the spot Nabeth had just occupied. Moreta clung to Alessan’s hand for support.
“Who’s he got with him?” Tuero demanded. As the blue dragon settled, it was obvious he bore three passengers as well as the carry-nets.
“Moreta!” M’barak called, gesturing to her urgently. “Hurry up. I need help with these silly bottles and I’ve people here who say they can handle runners. And we’ve got to hurry because I have to prepare for the Fall. F’neldril will skin me if I’m late!”
So Alessan, Tuero, Oklina, and Moreta rushed to unburden Arith of passengers and ornamental apprentice-blown glass bottles. Then Alessan gave Moreta a leg up to Arith’s back and if his hands lingered on her ankle as she settled herself, no one remarked on the Lord Holder’s behavior. As Moreta looked down at Alessan’s upturned face, she wished she might give him more than a smile in farewell. Then he stepped back and one of the newcomers touched his arm. The woman was tall and thin, with dark hair as close-cropped as a weyrwoman’s. She reminded Moreta of someone. Then they were airborne, and M’barak warned her that they’d go between as soon as Arith had air space.
Back at Fort Weyr, there was so much activity in the Bowl, readying the two wings, that no one noted their arrival though M’barak had craftily come in over the lake. Arith glided to deposit Moreta at the Hatching Ground cavern. After remembering to give the blue’s ribs a grateful thump, Moreta ran toward Orlith across the sands, not totally surprised to see Leri’s figure beside her.
You’re here! You’re here! Orlith was bugling in relief, her wings extended, sweeping sand over Leri’s small figure.
“It’s all right, Orlith. I’m here! Don’t make so much commotion!” Moreta raced to her dragon, throwing her arms around Orlith’s head and hugging her as tightly as she could, then scratching eye ridges and murmuring reassurances.
“By the first Egg,” Leri was saying, leaning against Orlith’s side, “am I glad to see you! What have you been doing? Holth couldn’t find you either. Oh, do be quiet, Orlith! Holth!”
You have finally returned. There was more reproof in Holth’s voice than Orlith would ever express.
“Couldn’t you contact Nabeth?” Moreta asked Orlith, then Leri and Holth. Orlith’s, color was very poor and there was an ashen hue to Leri’s complexion. She was full of remorse for having caused them a moment’s anguish. “Why didn’t you speak with Nabeth?”
I wanted you, Orlith said piteously.
“Could you spare me a word of explanation?” Leri asked in a caustic tone, her voice breaking effectively. Contrite, Moreta grasped Leri’s shoulder. “The past hour has been dreadful. It took all my tact and patience to keep Orlith from blasting after you, wherever you were—which was where?”
“Didn’t Nabeth explain? B’lerion said he had.”
Leri waggled her hands irritably. “He only said that you had to go on an imperative journey that would take no more than an hour.”
“And we were back at Ruatha within that hour.” Moreta knew that had to be the truth and, indeed, now that she was back with Orlith, the past subjective twenty hours seemed the dream, not the reality. “Just an hour?”
“No, actually,” Leri said firmly, “a little longer than an hour. You were talking with Capiam about something”—Leri underscored her ignorance of that interview by a significant pause—“before you, he, and that journeywoman of his went skiting off to Ruatha on M’barak. The next thing I hear is a request through Holth from Nabeth and B’lerion.” She gave Moreta a stern look, an effect that was slightly spoiled by her changing from one foot to another during her reprimand.
“You look a bit uncomfortable on these hot sands, Leri. I think we’d better get off the Ground. I’ve rather a lot to tell you. No, Orlith, I won’t leave your sight but what suits your eggs is hard on your rider.” Moreta gave Leri a gentle shove toward her temporary living space and then fondled Orlith’s muzzle.
Leri had already seated herself before Moreta had sufficiently reassured Orlith. The queen gently pushed her weyrmate off and began to reposition the queen egg.
“It all began,” Moreta said to Leri as she settled herself, “when Master Capiam came to ask me the same question Alessan had”—Moreta caught herself before she could blurt out “two nights ago”—“about vaccinating the runners.”
Leri gave a disgruntled snort. “I would have thought he had enough on his hands healing humans.”
“He does, but the plague is an instance of zoonosis—animals infecting people and other animals.”
Leri stared at Moreta, her jaw dropping in alarm. “Zoonosis? Even the term sounds repulsive!” She fiddled with the cushion behind her back. “So, now that I’m comfortable, give me all the details.”
Moreta told Leri about Capiam’s visit, his fears for the continent’s health, how via zoonosis a second, more virulent wave of the viral infection could spread, and why mass vaccination was so essential. Capiam had left his chart behind, and Moreta produced it for Leri to examine.
“Capiam has it all planned so that a minimum of dragonriders would be needed—” She broke off, seeing the shock on Leri’s face as the method of distribution became apparent to the older Weyrwoman.
“The riders would have to time it!” Leri stared at her, the nostrils of her straight, finely arched nose flaring with indignation. “You did say that Master Capiam brought this—this incredible plan with him?” When Moreta nodded, Leri’s voice crackled with fury. “How, may I ask, how did Master Capiam know that dragons can move in time? I’ll flay K’lon to his bones!” Leri all but bounced off the stone tier. From above, Holth bugled a protest.
“It wasn’t K’lon,” Moreta said as she clasped Leri’s wildly gesticulating hands in hers. “Calm Holth down. She’ll have Sh’gall on us!”
“If you told Capiam, Moreta—” Leri freed one hand to raise it aggressively.
“Don’t be silly. He knew!” Remembering her own outrage at Capiam’s knowledge, Moreta could well appreciate Leri’s reaction. “He knew because, as he had to remind me, his Craft bred the ability into dragons.”
Leri opened her mouth to protest that statement, then took a deep breath and nodded her head in belated acceptance. “You still have some explaining to do, Moreta. Where have you been the past hour where neither Orlith nor Holth could reach you?”
Moreta was not so certain, suddenly, of Leri’s reaction to the truth of her whereabouts, especially now that it was obvious that Nabeth’s explanation had been somewhat less than candid. And she’d given B’lerion far too good a reason to prevaricate.
“We went to Ista. We went forward in time to Ista to harvest needlethorn. There’s not much point in producing vaccine if there’s no way to administer it.”
Meekly Moreta endured Leri’s piercing stare, the expression of disbelief, anger, anxiety, and finally resignation that flashed through the woman’s eyes.
“You just casually”—Leri flapped one hand in a careless motion—“jumped four or five months ahead?”
“Not casually—B’lerion checked the position of the Red Star and the two moons to be sure he was near the autumnal equinox. And we arrived back in Ruatha in an hour. Nabeth told you that much, didn’t he?”
“That much!” Leri drummed her fingers on her short thighs, indicating a displeasure she evidently couldn’t express in another way.
Moreta put out a tentative hand, a request for absolution, and Leri caught it, noticing for the first time the delicate tracery of needle scratches.
“Serves you right.” With a snort of disgust she released the hand. Then, with a grudging smile, she added, “I’d have thought you’d’ve taken a lesson from K’lon’s ineptitude. Sunburn. Scratches!”
“Nothing that redwort won’t hide this afternoon.” But Moreta tucked both hands under her thighs, the stone cool on the deeper slashes. “Nabeth didn’t tell you he took us to Ista? I chose a spot that isn’t easily reached through the rainforests. There’re only two places on the northern continent where needlethorn grows, and I thought the ravine on Ista safer than Nerat. We were perfectly safe the entire time.”
“We?” Leri eyed Moreta with renewed alarm.
“I could scarcely harvest the quantity of needlethorn required by myself.” Then Moreta realized that, in her effort to reassure Leri, she had said altogether more than was strictly necessary.
“Who went?” Leri was quietly resigned to her indiscretions.
“B’lerion . . .”
“He would have to.”
Moreta winced at Leri’s dry sarcasm.
“Master Capiam and Desdra, the journeywoman. She knows about timing because she found the entries in the old Records.”
“Could we ask Master Capiam to burn those old Records?” Leri asked hopefully.
“He’s agreed to ‘lose’ them. Which is why I agreed to go.”
“That makes four of you. So! Who else went? We’ve known each other far too long, my dear, for you to delude me!”
“Alessan and Oklina.”
Leri sighed heavily, covering her eyes with one hand.
“Alessan has too much at stake and too much honor in him to prate about dragon capability. And judging by the way Arith has been snuffling around Oklina, she would make a candidate for Orlith’s egg.”
“You couldn’t—you wouldn’t take his sister from Alessan . . .” Leri was astounded.
“I wouldn’t, but the queen might. Alessan said he’d be agreeable if any children she bears are allowed to go back to Ruatha.”
“Well!” Leri’s exclamation was complimentary. “You accomplished rather a lot in one hour, didn’t you?”
“B’lerion insisted that we sleep six hours in Ista in that time, but we did have to leave an hour’s leeway before appearing back at Ruatha!”
“So you skited back to Ruatha Hold bearing nets full of needlethorn and no explanations tendered?”
Moreta began to relax. Once Leri got over her shocks, she’d begin to see the humor of the whole adventure, that the sheer reckless momentum had worked to their advantage.
“B’lerion dropped off Alessan, Oklina, and me, and took off to the Healer Hall with Capiam and Desdra. The dust hadn’t settled before M’barak arrived with more glass bottles and volunteers and . . . Besides, who will ask the Lord of Ruatha to explain an hour’s absence or inquire of Master Capiam where he got needlethorn? He has it! That’s all anyone needs to know!”
“A point to remember.” Leri’s humor had been restored enough for her to be witty.
“So,” Moreta said, having achieved another minor miracle in soothing Leri, “tomorrow I have only to approach the other Weyrs to ask for aid in distributing the vaccine. I promised Capiam.”
“My dear girl, you can skite out of here for an hour on a mysterious time-consuming errand, but what excuse could you possibly find to go Weyr-hopping?”
“The best. There’s a queen egg in front of us. I can visit them on Search. Even Orlith would agree to the necessity for that! And if I remember correctly, the Weyrleaders promised at that historic Butte meeting of theirs that they would supply candidates for Orlith’s clutch.”
“Ah, but that was then,” Leri pointed out sardonically. “This is now. You have surely been aware of M’tani’s disaffection. He’s unlikely to part with the dullest wit in his Cavern.”
“I thought of that. Remember the lists the Weyrleaders gave S’peren? Or did you give them to Sh’gall?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. They’re safe in my weyr.”
“We can figure out which of the bronze riders at Telgar are likely to time it. I can’t imagine that Benden or High Reaches would renege on the offer of candidates—”
“Of course they wouldn’t. T’grel would be the bronze rider you should see at Telgar. And you could apply to Dalova at Igen. She may tend to babble but she’s basically rather a sensible person. You have thought this all out, haven’t you?” Leri gave a little chuckle at Moreta’s cunning. “My dear, you’ve the makings of a superior Weyrwoman. Just shuck that bronze rider and get someone you’re happy with. And I do not mean that light-eyed Lord Holder, with his convenient stashes of Benden white. Though mind you, he’s a handsome lad!”
Outside, the bronze voice of Kadith called the fighting wings to the Rim.
CHAPTER XV
Fort, Benden, Ista, Igen, Telgar, and High Reaches Weyrs, Present Pass, 3.21.43
“ONE DAY, M’BARAK, and not too distant at that,” Moreta told the slim young weyrling the next morning, “we’ll all have nothing to do but lounge in the sun.”
“I don’t mind conveying, Moreta. It’s such good training for Arith.” Then M’barak averted his eyes and she could see the color staining his neck and cheek. “F’neldril explained to me last night the responsibility of Search dragons and why Arith’s been so discourteous.”
“It isn’t discourtesy, M’barak.”
“Well, it’s not proper dragon behavior and it doesn’t look right for him to be doing such things to people like Lady Oklina.”
“M’barak, she understands, too. And it is an instinct that we want very much to encourage in Arith. He’s a fine sensitive blue, and you’ve been of great assistance to Weyr, hall, and hold! Now, today we must Search first at Benden. The Weyrleaders promised us candidates—”
“Ones who’ve been vaccinated—” M’barak added hastily.
Moreta gripped him by the arm, amused by his conditioned qualification. Then they mounted Arith and left Fort Weyr.
“You are always welcome at Benden,” Levalla said when Moreta was ushered into the queen’s weyr, “as long as you arrive without Orlith to plague Tuzuth.” The Benden Weyrwoman cast a sly glance at K’dren. “I trust she is welded to the Hatching Ground.”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m
here.” Moreta was alone with K’dren and Levalla since she had been able to recommend to M’barak that he remain in the Bowl with Arith. Both Weyrleaders looked tired and she wished that she did not have to tax their resources further, but there was no way one Weyr could manage to distribute the vaccine.
“Orlith’s a reason for coming here?” K’dren grinned. “Ah, yes, of course. Candidates for your Hatching. Never fear that I will go back on that pledge. There are some promising fosterlings in our caverns. All have now been vaccinated—”
“That’s the other reason I’m here.” Moreta had to blurt out her real mission at the first opportunity he gave her.
K’dren and Levalla heard her out in weary silence, K’dren scratching at his sideburns, Levalla sliding a worry-wood piece through her fingers, its surface smooth from long use.
“What we don’t need is another epidemic. I quite see that,” Levalla said when Moreta had fmished outlining the plan. “We didn’t lose that many runnerherds here in the east but I’m sure Lord Shadder would be glad of the vaccine. Imagine Alessan being able to produce it with all he’s been through!”
“I don’t like asking riders to time it, Levalla.”
“Nonsense, K’dren, we’ll only ask those who do it. Only last Turn, Oribeth had to discipline V’mul, and he’s only a brown rider. Bone lazy, the pair of them. You know how brown riders can be, Moreta. And you know perfectly well, K’dren, that M’gent makes time whenever it suits him.”
“Then we’ll put him in charge of the Benden riders assisting the Healer Hall,” K’dren said with a snap of his fingers. “Just the sort of challenge to keep him out of mischief. He was annoyed, you know”—and he winked at Moreta—“that I recovered from the plague so quickly. He enjoyed Leading to Fall. He’ll make Weyrleader soon enough, won’t he, mate?” He cast such a ludicrously suspicious look at his beautiful Levalla that it was obvious he had no anxieties on that score.
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