“The doss-bed is still in the next room, Harper.”
“Will you cover me up, too?” Tuero asked wistfully.
Bill smiled and merely pointed to the pallet on the floor and shook out the blanket folded on it. With a sigh of weary gratitude, Tuero lay down on his side.
“You’re good to a drunken sot of a harper,” he murmured as he felt the blanket spread over him. “One day I’ll rememmmm . . .”
The morning began as any other in the Weyr. Though bothered by a lingering cough, Nesso had otherwise recovered from her illness. She brought Moreta breakfast and so many complaints about Gorta’s management of the Lower Caverns during hen illness that Moreta cut short the tirade by saying she had to check Leri’s harness.
“I can’t imagine why the queen riders would fly with Telgar after what M’tani did yesterday.”
Moreta was grateful that the Fall would mask the queens’ real activities and grateful, too, that Nesso had obviously not discerned that the rising to Fall was merely an excuse, that Telgar had nothing to do with the queens’ flight that day.
“It’s the last time,” Moreta said, hastily draining her cup. “We had our duty to hold and hall!”
Orlith was carefully turning eggs on the hot sands, testing their shells with a gentle tongue. She was more solicitous of the queen egg and turned it nearly every hour; the lesser ones were rearranged only three or four times a day. Moreta would see Leri safely off on her mission and then take Orlith to the feeding ground. They would have to insist that drovers restock the Weyr, once the threat of plague was over. Just then there wasn’t much choice among what beasts were left. She’d speak to Peterpar. Maybe wild wherries could be found nearby fattening on the spring growth in the lower range. Once the day was over, there’d be a lot of details she’d best attend and get affairs back to a normal pace. And then a real Search for candidates would be initiated.
Leri was dressed in her flying gear but grumpy.
“Maybe you’d better not fly your run if your joints are bothering you so much. Did you take enough fellis juice in your wine?”
“Hah! I knew there’d come a day when you’d beg me to take fellis juice!”
“I’m not begging you—”
“Well, you don’t need to remind me either. Just didn’t sleep well last night. Kept going over the details of what goes where and with whom. M’tani couldn’t have picked a better time to be obnoxious.” Leri was blackly sarcastic. “You’re going to have to cope with Sh’gall today, you know, and all that injured dignity. Good thing we planned for you to stay in the Hatching Ground; otherwise he’d get suspicious.”
“He’s asleep.”
“He should be! Gorta tells me he put away two wineskins on his own. Now, if you’ll just pass that strap?—There!”
Holth nuzzled Moreta with unexpected affection as she bent her head to accept the neck strap, and Moreta gave her eye ridge a scrape.
“You’ll take good care of Leri today, won’t you, Holth?”
Of course!
“Of all the nerve. Talking behind a rider’s back!” Leri pretended indignation, but she smiled warmly at Moreta before she tugged at the harness to be sure that the clips were secure. “There!” She thumped Holth on the neck. “We’d best be off. I’m taking the upper ranges. When I collect the animal vaccine from Ruatha, shall I leave in any messages?”
“You’ll wish them well, of course. And see what Holth thinks of Oklina.”
“Naturally!”
Moreta accompanied Leri to the ledge and, as Holth crouched low, helped her mount. Leri fastened her riding straps, settled her small frame against Holth’s ridge, and waved a negligent farewell. Moreta stepped back against the wall while Holth leaped off, her wing strokes strong and sure. She flew toward the feeding ground and then, in an instant, was gone between. Moreta worried at Holth’s habit of flipping between so soon after takeoff, but the dragon was old. After they had treated everyone, Moreta was going to present the strongest possible arguments to Leri about continuing flight at all. The wise old Weyrwoman could be exceedingly useful down at Ista where the climate would be much kinder to both dragon and rider.
Other dragons were at the feeding ground, Moreta noticed, after reaching her decision about Leri’s future. The sparse numbers of the Weyr herd stampeded to the lake and some ambled into the water. A pursuing green had a fine time splashing after a wherry, and sprays of water made rainbow dazzles in the midmorning sun. The green’s triumphant bugle was somewhat muffled by the wet mass in her mouth. Instead of flying up to her ledge to savor her meal, the green veered low and deposited the wherry at the feet of the blue dragon on the far side of the lake. Tigrath had preyed for Dilenth, A’dan and F’duril standing by. Unless Moreta’s eyes deceived her, the third man watching the exchange was Peterpar, the Weyn herdsman.
When she joined the trio, Peterpar was finalizing the details of a wherry hunt to be held that afternoon if the weather kept fair.
“They’ve nooks they squeeze into up in the ravines, Moreta,” Peterpar explained. “If it stays sunny”—he twisted round to view the cloudless honizon—“and it looks to, they’ll be out, browsing. A’dan here says he’s willing.”
“I was thinking of asking S’gor to join us,” A’dan said. “Malth could use an excuse to spread her wings, and the chase would do S’gor a power of good!”
“He oughtn’t to stay immured like that,” F’duril agreed, glancing up toward S’gor’s weyr in the western arc of the Bowl. “We’ll do it,” he added with a wink and a nod at Moreta. “A’dan here could get a snake to walk when he sets his mind to it.” Grinning, he hooked arms with his friend.
“Nonetheless, Moreta, we’ll hunt the hills out right quick,” Peterpar said with a shake of his head. He frowned as he pushed together some stones with the toe of his boot. “How soon d’you expect the holders’ll be willing to send up a drove?”
“Could we not just ask for permission to hunt until there’s no more fear of spreading plague?” A’dan asked. Neither he nor F’duril had been infected since both had stayed close to F’duril’s injured blue Dilenth during the worst of the contagion.
“That would spare holders the necessity of a drove when they’re shorthanded and behind on spring work,” Moreta agreed, adding that detail to the others she was accumulating.
“Roundup the strays for people in Keroon and Telgar,” Peterpar said, nodding sagaciously. “I did hear that animals were let run when folk took sick with no one to care for them.” Then he pointed skyward. “Where’re the queen riders going? Is that S’peren with them?”
“On Search,” Moreta said casually.
“Queens don’t go on Search,” Peterpar said presumptuously.
“They do when a Weyrwoman has been treated as uncivilly as Telgar treated me,” Moreta declared with sufficient severity to quell Peterpar’s curiosity. “Orlith does need to be fed. Do please get a few juicy bucks for her in your hunt.”
Smiling, she left the men. Trust Peterpar to take an interest in everything. He hadn’t mentioned Holth and Leri so perhaps Holth’s shallow-angle approach to between had been justified. K’lon must have left earlier, but he was in and out of the Weyr so frequently on convey that his departure would not cause comment. It amused Moreta that she could turn M’tani’s disaffection to advantage, so he was made useful instead of being merely obstreperous. Now if Sh’gall would just sleep all day . . .
She felt inordinately good that morning, aware of the smell of the spring in the air, the warmth of the sun, the laughter of the children playing near the Cavern. Once the dragons had finished feeding, they would return to the lakeside, their favorite spot for games. The atmosphere in the Bowl was returning to a normal buzz of pleasant activity, no longer silent with anxiety. However, an air of anticipation, of suppressed excitement, hung over the infirmary when she visited looking for Jallora, who was vaccinating one of the riders scored the day before.
“Good morning, Moreta,” Jallora said. “A well
-timed arrival. Now I can give you the second vaccination which Capiam has ordered for the Weyrs. Dragonriders travel so much,” she said with a mild apologetic smile. Nothing in her expression indicated that the procedure was anything but routine. She administered Moreta’s dose with the deftness of long practice.
“Can I give you a hand?”
“I wouldn’t object. I’ve got the Lower Cavern to do. I vaccinated the queen riders before they left on their errand.”
Did Moreta imagine a twinkle in Jallora’s eyes? At least she could keep busy helping the journeywoman, and so she passed the morning well occupied. When she saw Peterpar with A’dan and S’gor, she went to tell Orlith that there’d be more choice if she could contain her appetite until later in the afternoon.
Wild wherries are tough, Orlith remarked a trifle petulantly, but generally tasty, she added, sensing Moreta’s concern and nuzzling her rider. Kadith sleeps. Holth says that the errand proceeds well.
Moreta was very grateful that Kadith still slept. Inevitably Sh’gall would discover that Fort Weyr riders had taken part in Capiam’s vaccine distribution—preferably after he had recovered from the wine and when he had calmed down over M’tani’s insult. Moreta could have been mistaken, but she had a fleeting thought that Sh’gall was obscurely pleased by M’tani’s attitude toward her.
Suddenly Orlith reared up, her eyes flashing reddish orange with such alarm that Moreta whirled to the Hatching Ground entrance, alert to danger.
He will not let the bronzes go. Sutanith is worried. He is dangerous. Dalgeth, the senior queen, restrains all. Orlith sounded perplexed as well as defensive.
“Sutanith is speaking to you?” Moreta was amazed. Sutanith was Miridan’s queen and she was a very junior weyrwoman at Telgar. Moreta didn’t know her well at all for Fort did not often combine with Telgar Weyr even when traditional territories were observed.
The Leader has gone between to the Fall, so Sutanith warns you of the trouble—that the bronzes cannot help.
“M’tani found out that T’grel was going to distribute the vaccine?”
Sutanith has gone. Orlith relaxed her posture.
“And Dalgeth restrains? How did M’tani find out? I thought Leri and T’grel had worked out every detail. And Keroon must have the vaccine.” Moreta began to pace, scrubbing at her short hair as if she could tease out a plan. “If Keroon doesn’t get the vaccine, the whole plan could fail!” She dashed across the sands to the tier and found Capiam’s notes. Keroon and Telgar had to be covered and there were many halls and holds. Who else among her riders knew Telgar and Keroon well enough to—
Oribeth comes. This time Orlith jumped in front of her eggs, spreading her wings, arching her neck in instinctive protection of her clutch from the proximity of a strange queen.
“Don’t be silly, Orlith. Levalla’s here to see me!”
Astonished that the Benden pair should appear in Fort Weyr, Moreta rushed out to meet Levalla. They had landed in the center of the Bowl, well away from both Hatching Ground and Cavern. As Moreta rushed out to meet her visitors, Levalla sighted the sun’s position in relation to the Star Stones before sliding down her queen’s shoulder to await Moreta.
“I timed that very well indeed. I didn’t want you to worry unnecessarily.”
“You timed it here? Orlith just relayed Sutanith’s cryptic message. Do you know about it?” Moreta had to bellow over the noise made by the Weyr’s dragons, which were bugling in bewilderment at Orlith’s alarm and Oribeth’s presence. Moreta sent powerful reassurances to her queen, who stopped bugling.
“Do calm everyone down. I didn’t mean to put the Weyr in a panic. My apologies to Orlith and the watchrider and all that, but I had to see you instantly. I did rather well, you know, timing it across the continent on top of everything else.” Levalla had stripped off one glove and now fingered the worry-wood. “And yes, we know all about it in the east. About midmorning, our time, M’gent thought something was amiss when Lord Shadder said no one from Telgar Weyr had collected any vaccine from him or Master Balfor—so we were slightly forewarned. Sutanith got her warning through to Oribeth, Wimmia, and Allaneth so I give Miridan full marks for courage. But then, K’dren says she’s mating with T’grel, and he’s determined against M’tani now. So we took a little time”—Levalla smiled eloquently at Moreta—“and we have assigned two brown riders who know Telgar Plains and the River holds. D’say has agreed to send one of his group on the runs along the Telgar coast to the delta. Dalova says she can expand her responsibility to include the mountains, skipping back pre-Fall because that’s where it would choose to Fall today. But we don’t have anyone who knows the Keroon Plains well enough.” She paused then from hen swift recital of emergency measures and gave Moreta a long stare. “You do. Could you fly it on that young blue?”
Holth comes. I come, said Orlith and Holth in different tones on the same breath.
“Oho, and here comes trouble without a shirt.” Levalla looked up at the weyr steps and pulled Moreta to one side, to be shielded by Oribeth’s bulk. “Does Sh’gall know, or was it Orlith’s fussing that roused him?”
“He doesn’t know.” Moreta wasn’t sure if she understood what was happening or half of what Levalla had so tersely explained. Then Holth arrived, no more than two wingspans above the Bowl.
“Shells, but she’s flying near the mark!” Levalla instinctively drew back. “Sh’gall thinks you were only on Search yesterday, is that right?” When Moreta nodded, she went on. “All right then. I’ll delay him. You do Keroon on anything that will fly you. Those runnerholds must get the vaccine. Master Balfor has it all ready, in order, and with handlers to help out at the appropriate holds. Find a dragon to ride. Oribeth and I have done all we have time for in one day!”
Then Levalla shoved the worry-wood back into her belt and strode off to meet Sh’gall, who was bellowing at such rude awakening and strange queens threatening the peace of his Weyr.
Holth had continued her glide to land right at the Hatching Ground entrance, glaring at Oribeth, who was beginning to react to the air of hostility. Moreta rushed to intercept Leri before Sh’gall saw her.
“What has been going on? Orlith called Holth in sheer panic about Sutanith and Oribeth—”
Moreta made wild gestures up at the steps, indicating Sh’gall. Holth crouched down on the ground so that Moreta didn’t need to shout up at Leri, and the old queen hissed soothingly in Orlith’s direction.
“M’tani had Dalgeth restraining T’grel and the other bronzes. No vaccine has been conveyed in Dalgeth or Keroon. Sutanith got a warning out to some of the queens but M’gent of Benden had already suspected something was wrong because no riders from Telgar had collected any vaccine. Levalla has made arrangements for Telgar Plains and River, D’say has taken charge of the coast to the delta, and Dalova is taking the mountains—”
“Which leaves the Keroon Plains and you! Get your riding things. The day’s half done in the east. I’ll tell Kamiana to take over the rest of my run. S’peren can do the western coast from the Delta. I had the oddest feeling that something was going to go wrong. I did all the hidey holes in the top range first. The others are easy to find. Go, girl! I’ll stay with Orlith. In truth”—Leri had difficulty swinging her leg to dismount—“my bones are very weary today and I’ll be quite content to sit sipping my fellis juice and wine by Orlith’s side.”
“Peterpar’s gone to hunt wild wherries for her. Make her eat.”
“I’ll save a few fat ones for Holth when you two get back. She’ll need to eat by then.” Leri called cheerfully after Moreta as she ran to grab her riding gear. She started toward Orlith to give her a parting hug, but Leri cautioned her. “You’ve no time to waste and a lot to make. I’ll give her all the affection she needs.”
You must go to Keroon, Orlith said, still keeping one eye on the Benden queen in the center of Fort Weyr Bowl. Holth will take you. I must guard my eggs.
“Oribeth doesn’t want your eggs,” Moreta cried, sc
rambling up Holth’s side.
I have told her that, Holth said.
Moreta quickly lengthened the riding straps to accommodate her longer body, secured them, then told Holth she was ready. Holth turned, charged a few lengths toward the lake, not quite in line with Oribeth, and then launched herself in the air. Moreta caught a glimpse of Levalla standing on the steps in earnest conversation with Sh’gall, who didn’t even look up as Holth took to the air. With relief, Moreta realized that the bronze rider had not noticed the switch of riders.
“Please take me to Keroon Beasthold, Holth,” Moreta said, visualizing the distinctive pattern of the fields that she knew as well from the ground as from the air. She didn’t have time to think of her verse—she had to think of how much time she had to make. The Keroon region blazed in her mind, a map she had seen daily as a child in the big room of her family’s hold. She knew it even better than she knew the northern holds, for she had trotted around it on runnerback as a child; she knew the north only from the back of a queen dragon.
The beasthold itself, set in its complex of paddocks, was a sturdy group of stone buildings and quadrangles of low, slate-roofed stables. It was there that the feline had been brought for identification and from those fields that runners had carried the disease. Few enough beasts occupied the fields, but more than she had expected. Perhaps in her family’s hold the strays had been rounded up and all her father’s careful breeding had not been wiped out. Holth glided in to land near the building where a group of men obviously awaited them, a line of nets arrayed on the ground.
Moreta recognized Balfor, an unsmiling man who generally confined his remarks to monosyllables. Or perhaps he had always diplomatically deferred to the affable and verbose Herdmaster Sufur. Balfor was certainly vocal now as he hurried to Moreta and Holth, beckoning his men to bring the first of the nets.
“We have them all in order for you, Weyrwoman,” he said, “if you know the holds from east to west. We’ve taken pains to be sure there is enough vaccine for every beast and human registered with the drum census. Go speedily, for the afternoon is half gone.”
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