Moreta - Dragonlady of Pern p-8

by Anne McCaffrey

  Consequently, after a good night's sleep, Moreta was able to face Fall in good heart as she stepped out in the brightness of a crisp wintry day. Moreta preferred an early start on a Fall day: that day especially for, with Berchar sick, she must check that the supplies for treating scored dragons had been set out properly.

  Declan, Maylone, and six of the weyrfolk were already setting up supplies in the infirmary. Declan and Maylone were runnerhold bred like herself. Searched the previous Turn for Pelianth's clutch, they had not Impressed. Because Declan had proved himself useful to Berchar and Maylone was young enough to Impress again, the two had been allowed to stay on in the Weyr. Even if Declan made a dragonrider, his skill would give Moreta much needed assistance. A Weyr never had enough healers for men and dragons.

  Declan, a thin-faced man of nearly twenty Turns, brought Moreta a mug of klah while she checked his efforts. Moreta had briefly considered sending a weyrling to the Healer Hall for a more experienced healer to replace Berchar, but because of the quarantine and the efficiency shown by Declan and Maylone, she decided the Wcyr would be well enough tended. Most riders knew how to treat minor scores on themselves and their dragons.

  She was serving herself from the porridge kettle when Sh'gall entered the cavern. He went straight to the dais and pulled all the chairs but one from the table. He sat down, beckoned to a sleepy weyriing, and, when the boy would have mounted the dais, Sh'gall warded him off with a peremptory command. While those in the cavern watched with amused surprise, the boy brought the cup of klah and the cereal bowl, placing them carefully at the far end of the table. Sh'gall waited till the boy had gone before he collected his breakfast.

  Moreta felt impatient for such elaborate precautions. The Wcyr had enough on its mind with Fall at midday. Out of deference to the Weyrleader's authority, she kept her expression bland. Nesso had added something flavorful to the cereal, and Moreta concentrated on identifying the addition.

  Wingleaders and wingseconds began to arrive, to report the readiness of their wings to Sh'gall. They prudently observed his isolation.

  The three queen riders arrived together and sought Moreta. She signaled a weyrling to serve the women and replenish her klah. Kamiana, a few Turns younger than Moreta, was her usual imperturbable self, her short dark hair spiky from the bath, her tanned face smooth. Lidora, who had flown enough Thread not to be unduly anxious, was clearly upset about something, but she had recently changed her weyrmate and her moods were often changeable. Haura, the youngest, was never at her best before Threadfall, but she always settled down once the queens' wing went into action.

  «He's taking no risks, is he?» Kamiana said after noting Sh'gall's segregation.

  «He did convey Capiam from Ista to Southern and Fort Hold.»

  «How's Berchar?»

  «Still feverish.» Moreta's gesture intimated that this was only to be expected.

  «Hope there's no serious injuries.» Kamiana aimed that remark at Haura, who was a capable if unenthusiastic nurse.

  «Holth will fly lead,» Moreta said, reproving Kamiana with a glance. «She's valiant in that position and we can all keep an eye on her. Haura and you fly as wing backs. Lidora and I will do the upper level. Nabol and Crom may not be cursed with fog.»

  «Has a sweeprider gone out?»

  «Sh'gall's less likely to fly blind than any other Weyrleader I've known,» Moreta told Lidora dryly.

  The weyrling returned with the porridge and klah, and served the Weyrwoman. Dragonriders began to arrive in groups, making their way to the breakfast hearth and then drifting to tables. The wingseconds moved about, checking their riders, giving instructions. All in a normal, perfectly routine fashion, despite Sh'gall, until the sweeprider came in.

  «The High Reaches rider says it's all clear to the coast,» A'dan announced in a cheerfully loud voice, peeling back his headgear as he strode to the hearth.

  «The High Reaches rider says!» Sh'gall demanded. «You spoke to him?»

  «Of course.» A'dan turned round to the Weyrleader in surprise. «How else could I know? We met at.»

  «Were you not told yesterday,» Sh'gall, appearing to enlarge with anger, rose. He glared at Moreta with piercingly accusative eyes. «Were you not told yesterday that contact with anyone was forbidden?»

  «Riders aren't anyone,»

  «Other riders! Anyone! We must keep this disease from reaching Fort Weyr and that means staying away from everyone. Today, during Pall, no rider of this Weyr is to approach any holder, any rider from High Reaches. Give any necessary orders a-dragonback, preferably on the wing. Touch no one and nothing belonging to anyone outside this Weyr. Have I made my orders perfectly clear this time?» He ended his outburst with another searing look at Moreta.

  «What does Sh'gall think he can do to offenders?» Kamiana asked in an undertone meant for Moreta's ears alone.

  Moreta gestured peremptorily for Kamiana's silence. Sh'gall had not finished speaking.

  «Now,» he went on in a stentorian but less forbidding tone that no one in the Lower Cavern could ignore. «We've Thread Falling today! Only dragons and their riders can keep Pern Threadfree. That is why we live apart, in Weyrs, why we must keep apart, preserving our health. Remember! Only dragonriders can keep Pern Threadfree. We must all be equal to that task!»

  «He really is rousing us for Fall, isn't he?» Lidora said, leaning toward Moreta. «How long does he mean to keep us cooped up here?» Irritation colored her voice and sent a flush to her cheeks.

  Moreta gave the dark woman a long measuring look, and Lidora caught at her lower lip.

  «Aggravating to be sure, Lidora, but few Gather loves are ever caught for long.» She had accurately guessed the source of Lidora's discontent and wondered who had caught the weyrwoman's fancy at Ruatha Gather. Moreta looked away, with apparent unconcern, but she thought again of Alessan and how much she'd enjoyed his company. She'd been showing off a bit, rushing to the runnerbeast's aid, trying to catch his attention.

  The scuffling of bootheels and bench legs on stone roused her from her momentary lapse. She rose hastily. Custom dictated that she receive last-minute instructions concerning the queens' wing from Sh'gall. She stopped a few feet from the dais before he looked toward her, his expression warning her to keep her distance.

  «Leri insists on flying?»

  «There's no reason to stop her.»

  «You'll remind her, of course, to stay mounted.»

  «She always does.»

  Sh'gall shrugged, absolving himself of responsibility for Leri. «Tend your dragons, then. Threadfall is slated for midday.» He turned to beckon the wingleaders forward.

  «Is he complaining about Leri again?» Kamiana asked, perversely forgetting her own objections.

  «Not really,» Moreta replied then made her way out of the cavern, the queen riders following her.

  Around the Bowl, on the ledges or on the ground, riders were harnessing dragons, arranging firestone sacks on dragon necks. Others daubed oil on recent scars and examined rough patches on hide or wing membranes. Wingleaders and wingseconds were busy overseeing the preparations. Weyrlings ducked around riders and dragons on errands. The atmosphere was busy but not frantic. The bustle had the right tone to it, Moreta decided as she made her way to the far side of the Bowl. The activity was routine, familiar, almost comforting when she considered the probability that, elsewhere on Pern, men and beasts might be dying of the plague.

  «That is not a good thought,» Oriith said sternly.

  «True. And not one to take into Fall. Forgive me.»

  «There is no fault. The day is clear! We will meet Thread well.»

  Orlith's sturdy confidence imbued Moreta with optimism. The sun streamed in from the east, and the crisp air was invigorating after the clammy weather that had prevailed. A good deep frost now would be most beneficial, she thought as she climbed the stairs. Not too long a cold spell, just enough to freeze the pernicious insects and reduce the snake population.

  «I'll do H
olth's harness first.»

  «Leri has help.»

  Moreta grinned at Orlith's impatience. That was a good spirit in a dragon. As she entered the weyr, Orlith was off her couch, her eyes sparkling, their whirl speeding up with anticipation. Orlith lowered her head. In a burst of affection and love for her partner and friend, Moreta flung her arms about the triangular muzzle, squeezing as tightly as she could, knowing that her strongest embrace would be as nothing to the husky beast. Orlith rumbled and Moreta could feel the loving vibration. Reluctantly she released Orlith. Briskly then, she turned to the harness hanging on its wall pegs.

  As she arranged the straps, she ran the leather through knowing hands. The cold of between ate into equipment, and most riders changed harnesses three or four times a Turn. Finding all was well with the leather, Moreta then examined Orlith's wings despite the queen's growing impatience to be up on the Star Stone height, overseeing the final preparations. Next Moreta checked the gauge on the agenothree tank, made sure the nozzle head was clean, and strapped on the tank. Then queen and rider moved out to the ledge. On the one above, Holth and Leri were already waiting.

  Moreta waved to Leri and received a jaunty salute. Settling her eyepieces, Moreta fastened her helmet, hitched back the cumbersome flamethrower, and mounted Orlith. With a mighty heave, Orlith launched herself toward the Rim.

  «That's quite an effort, dear heart,» Moreta said.

  «Once I am airborne, there is no effort.»

  To allay Moreta's anxiety, Orlith executed a very deft turn and landed with precision near Kadith. The dragon was a good-size beast, a deep rich shade of bronze with green undertones. He was not the largest bronze in Fort Weyr but, in his mating nights with Orlith, he had proved the most agile, daring, and energetic. Kadith looked up at Orlith and affectionately stroked his head on her neck. Orlith accepted the caress demurely, turning her head to touch muzzles.

  Then Sh'gall signaled the blue, green, brown, and bronze riders to feed their dragons firestone. Considering it was an essential step in the destruction of Thread, Moreta could never take it as seriously as she ought. She kept her face composed and eyes straight ahead but she knew exactly the expression on the dragons' faces, pensive, eyes half closed as the dragon maneuvered firestone to the grinding surfaces of sturdy teeth, taking the greatest care to set the rock just so before applying pressure. The force that would pulverize firestone could also wreak considerable damage to a dragon's tongue. Dragons chewed firestone cautiously.

  Once they'd stopped chewing firestone, the twelve wings of dragons, green, blue, brown, and bronze hides glistening with health in the sunlight, the many-faceted eyes taking on the reddish-yellow battle hue, wings restlessly flicking and tails slapping on the rock of the Rim, were a sight that never failed to inspire Moreta.

  Orlith shifted her feet, sat back on her haunches. Moreta thumped her shoulder affectionately and told her to settle.

  «They are ready. Their bellies are full of firestone. Why are we not flying? Kadith?»

  Moreta was not one of those rare queen riders who could understand any dragon. Kadith turned his molten eyes on Orlith, and she steadied. Orlith was queen of the Weyr, as senior queen, the most powerful dragon in the Weyr, and since Fort was the first and biggest Weyr on the planet, she and her rider were the preeminent partners. But when Thread Fell, the Weyrleader was in command and Orlith had to obey Kadith and Sh'gall. So did Moreta.

  Suddenly the farthest wing launched into the sky, high and straight. They would fly the high first westerly stack of the initial three wings. The second level wing moved out, then the third. Once all had achieved their assigned heights, the three wings went between. The north-south wings launched next for a cross-flight of the probable line of Fall. They went between. The diagonal wings, who would start in the northwest, went aloft and disappeared. Sh'gall lifted his arm yet again, and this time Kadith bugled, as impatient to be gone as Orlith. The Weyrleader would take his three wings east, to the line along Crom's plateau where the leading edge of Thread was due. The queens' wing took the final position, sweeping as close to the ground as they safely could. Their slower glide, their more powerful wings gave them more flight stability in erratic wind currents.

  Now Kadith leaped from the Rim, Orlith following so quickly that Moreta was jerked back against the fighting straps. Then they were gliding into position. Leri on Holth had joined them, by what feat of acrobatics Moreta had not seen. Haura and Kamiana took their positions, and Lidora joined Moreta on the upper level.

  «Kadith says we go between.»

  «You have the visual from him?»

  «Very clear.»

  «Take us between, Orlith!»

  «Black, blacker, blackest, coldest beyond living things, Where is life when there is …»

  The rugged mountains of Nabol were in the far distance, the sun warm on their backs in its cold season arc. Below lay the bony plains of eastern Crom, glistening in patches and streaks that suggested there had been frost or a heavy dew.

  Moreta's second glance was for Leri and Holth, who were perfectly fine. Haura and Kamiana were aligned behind them to form the V. Above were the fighting wings, the highest stack mere motes on a slow western glide. At the other assigned points of the defense, nine more wings were gliding toward the as-yet-unseen enemy. Now Moreta looked back over her shoulder. «Much wind?»

  «Not enough to matter.» Orlith veered slightly to the right and left, testing.

  Then Thread would make its entry on a slight slant, Moreta thought. There'd be more problems as they neared the mountains of Nabol where drafts would complicate Fall by sudden upward surges or drops. Thread fell at a faster rate during the cold season and, although the temperature was colder than it had been for recent Falls that Turn, the air wasn't frigid.

  «It comes!»

  Moreta looked back again. She saw that silver smudging of a sky, a blurring that crept inexorably groundward. The Fall of Thread! Leading edge! And Orlith began to pump her great wings, propelling them forward to meet the devastating rain.

  Moreta caught her breath, as always exhilarated and apprehensive. She remembered to exhale as she settled against the fighting straps. Moments would pass before the high wings would close with Thread. It would be minutes before she and the other queens might be needed. She spared another glance for Holth.

  «She flies well!» Orlith confirmed. The sun is warm on their backs, too.

  Leading edge was visible and the sky ahead on either side was starred with quick bursts of flame. Moreta could see the stacks of dragons at their various altitudes covering the edge well. Then, from the pattern of dragon flame, she saw that the Fall was uneven. There were gaps where no dragon breathed to char Thread.

  «Kadith says the Fall is ragged. Widen the formations. Second stack is closing. Southern wings have contact.» Orlith would keep up her commentary until the queens' wing was called to use its flamethrowers. Then her attention would be totally involved in keeping herself and her rider unscathed. «High level is dropping down now. No injuries.»

  There rarely are, Moreta thought, not in the first few exciting moments of Fall, no matter how badly it drops. The riders are all fresh, their dragons eager. Once they assessed the Fall, thick or thin, racing or languid, then mistakes would occur. The second hour of a Fall was the most dangerous. Riders and dragons lost their initial keenness, they overshot Thread, or they misjudged. Falls don't always follow the pattern of the leading edge, particularly at the end of a Pass.

  «Kadith is checking. Kadith is flaming. Char!» Excitement tinged Orlith's previously calm tone. «He's between. Back again. Flaming. All wings are now engaged. First flight returns for second sweep.»

  The wind yanked at Moreta's body and she tugged briefly to settle the flamethrower strap on her shoulder. Now the wind carried with it tiny flecks of black charred Thread. On a stormy day, sometimes her eyepieces would be covered by a muddy film. They were under the first edge of Fall now.

  «Nothing passed the wing
s,» Orlith said.

  Sometimes great gouts of Thread would descend on the leading edge and riders would be hard put to acquit their duty. Some older riders preferred the first drop to be heavy, swearing that the heavier the leading edge, the lighter the die-off. So many Falls, so many leading edges, so many, many variations possible and so many comparisons. No two accounts, even by riders in the same wing, ever seemed to tally.

  Old L'mal had told Moreta that the efficiency of the dragon was only hampered by his rider's ability to brag. However a rider flew, so long as no Thread reached the ground, the flight was well done!

  The plains of Crom flowed beneath them. Moreta kept her eyes ranging ahead as did Orlith, in a synchrony of alertness long perfected. Moreta now caught the overvision from Orlith as the dragon saw hers. Moreta often experienced the desire to dive on Thread as the fighting dragons did, swooping down on the target, instead of having to wait passively for stray Thread to appear. Sometimes she envied the greens, who could chew firestone. That effectively sterilized them, which was all to the good or green dragons would overpopulate the planet. The danger was in the fight, but so was the excitement, and the golden queens could not indulge.

  «Thread!»

  «Haura!»

  «Werth sees. Werth follows!»

  Moreta watched as the younger queen veered, swung, and came up under the tangle of the deadly parasite. The flamethrower spat. The ash dispersed in the air as Werth accomplished the brief mission.

  «They are all alert now,» Orlith told Moreta.

  «Tell them to broaden the interval since we're past leading edge. Kamiana is to stay with Leri and Holth. We'll go south. Haura, north!»

  Obligingly Orlith turned, gradually picked up air speed and altitude.

  That was the hard part of Fall, coursing back and forth. The rich dark soil of the plateau held sufficient mineral nourishment to sustain Thread long enough to waste fields that had been brought to fertility over hundreds of Turns of careful husbandry.

  They were nearing the initial rank of hills and the first of Crom's holds. The symmetry of the windows with their metal shutters tightly closed was visible against the protecting hillside. As Moreta and Orlith passed over the burning fire-heights, she wondered if all within the hold were healthy.