Moreta - Dragonlady of Pern

CHAPTER I

«SH'GALL is OUT on other Weyr business,» Moreta told Nesso for the third time, beginning to loosen her sweat and oil stained tunic as a hint.

«His Weyr business should be accompanying you to Ruatha Gather.» Nesso's voice had a whining note to it in the best of her humors. Now the Fort Weyr Headwoman was filled with aggrieved indignation at the fancied slight to her Weyrwoman, and her voice grated like a bone saw in Moreta's ear.

«He saw Lord Alessan yesterday. A Gather is not a time to discuss serious matters.» Moreta rose, seeking to end an interview she hadn't wanted to give, one that could continue as long as Nesso could dredge up complaints, real or imaginary, against Sh'gall. Their antagonism was mutual, and Moreta often found herself in the position of placating or explaining the one to the other. She could not change Sh'gall and was loathe to displace Nesso for, despite her faults, the woman was an exceedingly efficient and hard-working Headwoman. «I must bathe, Nesso, or I'll be unpardonably late at Ruatha. I know you've arranged a good meal for those who remain. K'lon's comfortable now that the fever has broken. Berchar will look in on him. Just leave him alone.»

Moreta fixed Nesso with an admonitory gaze, reinforcing her injunction. Nesso had an officious habit of 'taking' Moreta's place whenever the Weyrwoman was absent unless specifically ordered not to. «Away with you now, Nesso. You've enough to do, and I'm longing to be clean.» Moreta accompanied her words with a smile as she gave Nesso a gentle shove toward the exit from her sleeping room.

«Sh'gall should go with you. He should,» the irrepressible woman muttered as Moreta held aside the vivid door-curtain. Only when Nesso neared the sleeping queen dragon did she cease her imprecations.

Heavy with egg, Oriith dozed on, oblivious to the woman's passing. The golden dragon had arranged herself on the stony couch so as not to mar the fine gleam of oil that Moreta had rubbed into her hide as part of the morning's preparation for the Gather at Ruatha. Moreta was heading for her own much needed wash when she was asked to examine K'lon, so she'd been late for her chat with Leri to be sure the old Weyrwoman had what she required for the day. Leri would have no ministrations from Nesso's hands.

The interview with Nesso had proved unavoidable. The Headwoman had 'heard' that Sh'gall and Moreta had 'had words' that had caused the Weyrleader's abrupt departure, dressed in riding gear rather than in his Gather finery. Nesso had also to be reassured that K'lon was not wasting from a virulent fever that would spread rapidly through the Weyr, it being only three days to a Fall.

Moreta stripped off her clothes. She ought to have been at the Gather long since, getting through the obligatory courtesies before the racing started.

«Orlith?» Moreta called softly, concentrating the strength of her gentle summons in her head. As always, the sleepy response of her queen cheered her of Nesso's petulance. «Rouse yourself, my golden beauty. We'll be leaving soon for Ruatha's Gatherday.»

«It's still sunny at Ruatha?» Oriith asked hopefully.

«It should be. T'ral did the morning sweep,» Moreta said, opening her robe chest. The new gown lay in gold and soft, warm-brown folds, colors that would accent Moreta's eyes. «You know how accurate T'ral's weather sense is.»

The dragon rumbled with satisfaction, and Moreta could hear her stretching and turning.

«Don't roll too much now,» Moreta said politely.

«I know. I mustn't lose my shine.» Oriith spoke with patient acknowledgment. «I will keep clean until we reach Ruatha. And then I'll sun. When I get hot enough, I'll swim in Ruatha Lake.»

«Would that be wise so close to clutching, my dear? That lake's cold as between.» Moreta shivered at her memory of those ice-fed waters.

«Nothing is colder than between.» Oriith spoke definitively.

Having laid out her Gather finery, Moreta strode into the bathing room. She grabbed a handful of sweet sand, then swung her legs over the lip of the raised pool, whose surface was faintly steaming. Standing waist deep, she sanded her body until her skin tingled. Submerging for a moment, she surfaced, tipping her head until her short hair fanned out in the water. Then she pushed back to the edge of the pool, reaching for more sand, which she scrubbed into her scalp and hair.

«You take a long time to get clean though there's not much of you,» Oriith remarked, somewhat impatient now that she was fully awake.

«There may not be much of me, but there was a great deal of you to be bathed and oiled.»

«You always say that.»

«So do you.»

The countercomplaints were lodged with total affection and understanding. Queen and rider had been partnered for nearly twenty Turns, though they had only recently become the leading pair at Fort Weyr when Leri's Holth had not risen to mate the previous winter.

Moreta gave her head a final drubbing, then flicked her fingers through her hair to make the short crop settle into natural waves. Wearing a leather cap during Threadfall made her scalp sweat so much that the long blond braids in which she had taken so much pride as a holder girl had been shorn. Once this Pass was completed, she could grow her hair!

Once the Pass was completed … In the act of pulling on a clean undertunic, Moreta paused in surprise. Why, this Pass would end in another eight Turns. No, seven if one counted this Turn a quarter gone. Moreta sternly corrected an optimistic attitude. The Turn was barely seventy days old. Eight Turns then. In eight Turns, she, Moreta, would no longer have to fly with Orlith against Thread. The Red Star would have passed too far to rain the devastating parasitic

Thread over Pern's tired continent. Dragonriders would not have to fly because no Thread would blur the sky.

Did Thread just stop, Moreta wondered as she slipped on her soft brown shoes, like a sudden summer storm? Or did it dribble on, like a winter rain?

They could use some rain. Snow would be even better. Or a good hard frost. Frost was always a Weyr ally.

She slipped into the dress now, smoothing it over her rather too broad shoulders, over breasts firm rather than large, a waist that was trim, and buttocks flat from long hours of riding astride. The gown hid muscled thighs that she sometimes resented, but they, too, were the legacy of twenty Turns riding a dragon and little enough inconvenience for being a queen's rider.

She did wish that Sh'gall had chosen to come with her. She wasn't acquainted with the new Ruathan Lord Holder, Alessan. She had a vague recollection that he was the leggy young man with light-green eyes that were an odd contrast to his dark complexion and shaggy black hair. He had always stood most correctly behind the old Lord Holder, his father. Lord Leef had been a stern if just holder from whom the Weyr could expect every traditional duty and the last tittle of tithe. Just the sort of man the Weyr, and Pern, needed in command of such a prosperous Hold. But then, at Ruatha traditions had always been zealously maintained, and many of that bloodline had impressed queen as well as bronze.

None of the many sons that the old Lord Leef had bred had known which would be named his successor. Lord Leef had kept the whole tangle of them in hand, preventing discord. Despite Threadfall and the other dangers of a Pass, Lord Leef had contrived to build several new holds into the sides of Ruatha's steep valleys, to accommodate the worthiest of his sons and their families. Such expansion had been one of his many schemes to keep order in his Hold. Lord Leef had planned ahead for the end of the Pass as well as for an orderly succession. Moreta could not fault such provisions though Sh'gall, among other dragonriders, had become concerned over the creeping expansion of the hold populations. Six Weyrs, twenty-three hundred dragons, were hard-pressed to keep cultivated lands Threadfree in this Pass. There had been talk of founding another Weyr during the Interval. That would not be her problem, however.

Moreta set the gold and green jeweled band at her neck and slipped on her heavy bracelets. The light-eyed man must be Alessan. She had often seen him at the end of Fall with the flamethrower gangs. Always correct in his manner, nevertheless Alessan's presence was felt despite his reserve. For the life of her, Moreta couldn't remember as distinctly any of the other nine sons though they all seemed to have inherited the strong craggy features of their sire rather than those of their various mothers.

Today would be Alessan's first Gather since the Conclave of Lord Holders had confirmed his accession to Ruathan honors at the beginning of the Turn. Rest days, Threadfree days, and clear weather combined infrequently.

«Since there are the two Gathers, I shall attend Ista's,» Sh'gall had told her that morning. «I told Alessan so yesterday, and it didn't displease him.» Sh'gall gave a scornful snort. «He's got every rag and tag at the race meeting of his so you should enjoy yourself.» Sh'gall did not approve of Moreta's uninhibited enjoyment of racing and, on those few occasions when they had attended a Gather since Orlith's mating flight with Kadith, he had put quite a damper on her pleasure in the sport. «I shall enjoy the sun and the seafood. Lord Fitatric always provides superb feasts. I can only hope you'll do as well at Ruatha.»

«I've never found fault with Ruathan hospitality.» Something in Sh'gall's tone required her to defend the Hold. Sh'gall had been awed by Lord Leef, but not by the new young Lord. Moreta did not always agree with Sh'gall's snap judgments so she would wait and form her own opinion of Alessan.

«Besides, I've promised to convey Lord Ratoshigan to Ista. He does not care to attend Ruatha. He does wish to see the curious new animal to be displayed at Ista.»

«Oh?»

«Thought you might have heard?» Sh'gall's tone implied she should have known what he was talking about. «Seamen from Igen Sea Hold found the beast adrift in the Great Current, clinging to a floating tree. They'd never seen its like and took it to the Master Herdsman in Keroon.»

Ah, Moreta thought, that was why. She should have known. Why Sh'gall assumed she knew everything that transpired in her native hold she did not know. She was firmly and totally committed to Fort Weyr, and had been for ten Turns.

«It's some species of feline, I hear,» Sh'gall added. «Probably something left behind on the Southern Continent. Quite a fierce beast. Wiser to leave that sort.»

«With the way we're being overrun by tunnel snakes, a fierce, hungry feline might be useful. The canines aren't quick enough.» Her comment annoyed Sh'gall, who gave her one of his dark, ambiguous glares and stalked out of the weyr. His unexpected reaction irritated Moreta. Not for the first time, she heartily wished that Sh'gall's Kadith had not flown Orlith a second time. Then she told herself firmly that old L'mal had considered Sh'gall one of the ablest wingleaders. Until the end of the Pass, Fort Weyr needed the ablest wingleader. Everyone had thought L'mal would last out the Pass, so his sudden illness and death had been a great loss. Moreta had always liked L'mal, and Leri spoke very highly of him as a weyrmate. Sh'gall was young, Moreta reminded herself; this was not an easy time to assume Weyrieadership, and Sh'gall suffered by comparison to the older, more experienced L'mal. Time would teach Sh'gall tolerance and understanding. Meanwhile Moreta must have those qualities in full measure to survive his learning period.

As Moreta lifted the fur cape about her shoulders, the bracelets slid up her arms. They had been the gift of old Lord Leef for her having ridden Thread down, perilously close for the safety of Orlith, to the Lord's cherished fruit trees, which were threatened by the parasite. Aided by Orlith's agile maneuvering, Moreta had seared the Thread to harmless char with her flamethrower. She had been very young then, just transferred to Fort Weyr from Ista and eager to prove to her new folk just how keen and clever Orlith was. She wouldn't take such a risk now, though it was not due to the memory of the rage in the eyes of L'mal, who had been Weyrleader then, when he had berated her for recklessness. Leef's gift had not appreciably lessened her disgrace or eased her conscience, but they looked well with her new gown.

«Are we going to the Gather at all?» Orlith asked wistfully.

«Yes, we are going to the Gather,» Moreta replied, shaking her head clear of such reflections.

She'd have a good Gather, too, for Ruatha Hold would be gay and bright, dominated by the young Alessan's young friends. Sh'gall had said that they were still full of their success, that he'd had to remind Alessan that Thread brought no joy and he must attend his duties as Lord Holder before attending to his pleasures.

«Perhaps it's just as well Sh'gall decided to go to Ista … and take Lord Ratoshigan with him,» Moreta told Orlith, convincing herself in the process.

«He and Kadith are well occupied,» Orlith said complacently as she followed her rider from their weyr.

Orlith paused on the ledge, glancing around the Weyr Bowl. Most of the sun-struck ledges usually occupied by dragons were empty.

«Have they all gone?» Orlith asked in surprise, craning her neck to see the shadowed west ledges.

«With two Gathers? Of course. I hope we're not too late for the racing.»

Orlith blinked her great, many-faceted eyes. «You and your racing.»

«You enjoy it as much as I do and generally have a far better view on the fire-heights. Don't fret. It's fun to watch, but I ride only you.»

Mollified by her rider's teasing assurance, Orlith crouched, setting her forearm so Moreta could climb to her place between the last two neck ridges above her shoulder. Moreta settled her skirts and pulled the cloak about her. Nothing would really keep her warm in the awesome total cold of between but the transition lasted only a few breaths, which anyone could endure.

Orlith sprang from the ledge. Though gravid, she was not a lazy dragon, to tumble off into the air before making first use of her wings. The old queen, Holth, trumpeted a farewell; the watchdragon spread his wings, masking the Star Stones on the summit. The watchrider extended his arm, completing the salute as Moreta waved acknowledgment.

Orlith caught the wind flowing down the oblong Bowl, the crater of an extinct volcano which was home to the Weyr. In a distant Turn, an earthslide had rampaged down the range, broken through the southwest part of the Weyr and into the lake. Stonecraftsmen had cleared the lake and shored up the edge in a massive wall but little could be done to clear the lost caverns and weyrs, or restore the symmetry of the Bowl.

«Surveying your Weyr, O Queen?» Moreta asked, indulging Orlith's leisurely glide.

«At height, one sees many details in proper order. All is well.»

Moreta's laugh was blown from her lips, and she had to hang on to the riding straps. Orlith constantly surprised her with gratuitous observations. Conversely, when Moreta needed guidance, Orlith might reply that she didn't understand any rider but Moreta. The queen could be counted on to comment on the Weyr in general, or on the morale of the fighting wings, or to supply information'about the Weyrleader's dragon, Kadith. Orlith was not so forthcoming about Sh'gall. But, after twenty Turns of their symbiotic relationship, Moreta had learned to discover as much in the queen's impartiality or evasion as from her candid remarks. Being a queen's rider was never easy. Being the Weyrwoman, Leri had more than once told Moreta, doubled both honors and horrors. One took the good with the bad and used fellis sparingly.

Now Moreta visualized the fire-heights of Ruatha Hold, with its distinctive pattern of fire-gutters and beacons and the eastern watch rampart.

«Take us to Ruatha,» she said to Orlith and clenched her teeth against the cold of between.

«Black, blacker, blackest; colder beyond frozen things, Where is between when there is naught To Life but fragile dragon wings.»

Moreta often held the words of the old song as a talisman against the bitter breathless journey. Ruatha was not far from Fort Weyr by any means of travel, and Moreta had only reached 'colder' when the warm sun shone on them and on Ruatha's fire-heights below. The host of dragons lounging on the rocky cliff summit, whole wings of them, voiced greetings at Orlith's appearance in the air. Orlith's thoughts echoed her pleasure in the accolade. Dragons met so rarely for pleasure, Moreta mused. Thread was the cause. Soon, in eight Turns …

As the queen glided down, Moreta recognized some of the dragons from other Weyrs by the scar patterns on their bodies and wings.

Bronzes from Telgar and High Reaches, Orlith reported, making her own identifications, browns, blues, and greens. But Benden has been and gone. We should have come earlier. The last held a plaintive note because Orlith had a partiality for the Benden bronze Tuzuth.

«Sorry, dear heart, but I had so much to do.»

Orlith snorted. Moreta felt the jerk of chest muscles through the dragon's withers. She had begun to circle, dropping toward the fireheights. Anticipating a landing, Moreta tightened her hold on the straps. Orlith overshot the heights, clearly headed down over the roadway crowded with the stalls of the Gather and a milling throng of folk gaily dressed for the occasion. Suddenly Moreta realized that Orlith meant to land in the empty dancing square ringed by lamp standards, trestle tables, and benches.

«I do not forget that we are senior now,» Orlith said primly, and that the Hold's honors are due the Fort Weyrwoman.

Orlith landed with neat precision in the dance square, her broad pinions vaned high to avoid excessive backwinds. The banners on the lamp standards snapped vigorously, but little dust rose from the square already swept to hard ground.

«Well done, dear heart,» Moreta said, scratching her mount's back ridge affectionately.

She glanced over at the imposing precipice that housed Ruatha Hold, magnificently topped by ranks of sunbathing dragons. The Hold's unshuttered windows displayed banners and brightly woven rugs. Tables and chairs had been set out on the open forecourt so distinguished visitors could view the gather stalls and the dancing square without obstruction. Moreta glanced quickly in the other direction, toward the flats where the racing was held. She could see the picket lines off to the right. The brightly painted starting poles were not in position so she hadn't missed any racing.

The entire Gather had ceased its activity to watch Orlith's landing. Now there was a stir among the onlookers, who parted to allow a man to step from their midst.

«See! The Lord Holder approaches,» Orlith said.

Moreta swung her right leg over Orlith's neck, pulling her skirts about, preparatory to dismounting. Then she glanced at the man approaching them. She could just make out his features, which corresponded to her recollection of Lord Leef's light-eyed son. His broad shoulders were held at a confident angle and his rangy stride was assured, neither diffident nor hasty.

He came to an abrupt halt, bowing to Orlith, who lowered her head to acknowledge his greeting. Then he moved on quickly to assist Moreta to dismount, looking intently up at her.

His light-green eyes, unusual in one so dark-skinned, caught hers. His gaze was as formal and impersonal as his hands as he seized her by the waist and swung her down from Orlith's forearm. He bowed, and Moreta couldn't but notice that his shaggy hair had been neatly trimmed and attractively shaped.

«Weyrwoman, welcome to Ruatha Hold. I had begun to think that you and Orlith were not going to attend.» His voice was unexpectedly tenor for a man so tall and lean, his words clearly spoken.

«I bring the Weyrleadcr's regrets.»

«He gave them in advance yesterday. It would have been your regrets which I, and Ruatha, would have been sad to receive. Orlith is in splendid color,» he added, his voice unexpectedly warming, «for a queen so near clutching.»

The queen blinked her rainbow-hued eyes, echoing the surprise that Moreta felt in Alessan's adherence to formalities. Moreta hadn't expected so polished a delivery from so young a man but, after all, Leef had drilled his heir in the proprieties. Besides, she was always ready to discuss Orlith.

«She's in great health and she's always that unusual shade.»

As her reply deviated from the tradition, Alessan hesitated.

«Now, some dragons are so light as to be more pale yellow than gold while others are dark enough to vie with the bronzes. Yet she is not,» Moreta eyed her queen candidly, «the classic shade.»

Alessan chuckled. «Does shade make any difference?»

«Certainly not to me. I would scarcely mind if Orlith were green gold. She is my queen, and I am her rider.» She glanced at Alessan, wondering if he was mocking her. But his green eyes, with their tiny flecks of brown around the pupil, registered only polite query.

Alessan smiled. «And senior at Fort Weyr.»

«As you are Lord of Ruatha.» She felt slightly defensive for, despite the innocuous and formal phrases, she sensed an undercurrent in his speech. Had Sh'gall discussed his Weyrwoman with a Lord Holder?

«Orlith?»

«The fire-height is warm in the full sun,» the dragon replied evasively, swinging her head toward her rider. The many facets of her eyes were tinged with the blue of longing.

«Off you go, dear heart.» Moreta gave Orlith's shoulder a loving thump and then, with Alessan at her side, she walked from the dancing square. As they reached the edge, Orlith leaped, her broad wings clearing the ground in the first downward sweep. The dragon had launched herself in a very shallow angle toward the sheer rock of Ruatha. As the queen flew a mere length above the stalls and gatherers, Moreta could hear the spate of startled cries. Beside her, Alessan stiffened.

«Do you know what you're doing, my love?» Moreta asked, reasonably but firm. «You're a bit egg-heavy for antics.»

«I am demonstrating the abilities of their queen. It will do them good and me no harm. See?»

Orlith had judged her angle finely, though from Moreta's perspective, she looked to be in danger of clipping her forearms on the cliff edge. But Orlith cleared the cliff easily and, dropping her shoulder, spun almost on wingtip. She set her hindquarters down directly over the Hold's main entrance, in the space vacated by other dragons. Then she flipped her wings to her back, sank down, and rested her triangular head on her forearms.

«Exhibitionist!» Moreta sent without rancor. «She's comfortable now, Lord Alessan.»

«I had heard of Orlith's reputation for close flying,» he replied, his eyes flicking to the jewelry Moreta wore.

So the young Lord knew of the old Lord's gift.

«An advantage in Threadfall.»

«This is a Gather.» With that slight emphasis on the pronoun, Alessan spoke as Lord Holder.

«And where is it more appropriate to display skill and craft and beauty?» Moreta gestured toward the gaily caparisoned stalls and the richly colored tunics and dresses of the crowd. She removed her hand from his arm, partly to show her annoyance with his criticism and partly to loosen her cloak. The chill of between had been replaced by the warmth of the afternoon sun. «Come now. Lord Alessan,» and she linked her arm through his again, «let us have no uncharitable words at your first Gather as Lord of Ruatha and my first outing since the winter solstice.»

They had reached the roadway and the stalls where people were examining wares and bargaining. Moreta smiled up at Lord Alessan to prove her firm intention of enjoying herself. He looked down at her, blinking and creasing his dark brows slightly. His expression cleared to a smile, still reserved but considerably more genuine than his stiff formality.

«I fear I have none of my dam's virtues. Lady Moreta.»

«And all of your sire's vices?»

«My good Lord Leef had no vices,» Alessan said very properly, but his eyes had begun to gleam with an amusement that proved to Moreta that the man had at least a vestige of his sire's humor.

«The races haven't started yet?»

Alessan missed a stride and glanced sharply at her.

«No, not yet.» His tone was wary. «We have been waiting for late arrivals.»

«There seemed to be a good number at the pickets. How many races?» She gave him a quick glance. Didn't he approve of racing?

«Ten races are planned, but the entries have been lighter than I had anticipated. You enjoy racing, Lady Moreta?»

«I came from a runnerhold in Keroon, Lord Alessan, and I have never lost my interest in the breed.»

«So you know where to place your wagers?»

«Lord Alessan,» she said in a determinedly light tone, «I never wager. The sight of a good race well run is always a pleasure and excitement enough.» His manner was still uncertain so she changed the subject. «I believe that we've missed the eastern visitors.»

«The Benden Weyrwoman and Weyrleader have only just left us.» Alessan's eyes sparkled at having acted the host to such prestigious guests.

«I had hoped to exchange news with them.» Moreta's regret was sincere, but she was also relieved. The Benden Weyrleaders did not like Orlith's fascination with Tuzuth, the Benden bronze, any more than she herself did. Such cross-weyr interests were encouraged in young queens but not in seniors. «Did Benden's Lord Holder come, too?»

«Yes.» Pleasure tinged Alessan's tone. «Lord Shadder and I had only the briefest but most congenial of talks. Most congenial. East and West don't often have much chance to meet. Have you met Lord Shadder?»

«When I was in Ista Weyr.» Moreta smiled back at Alessan, for Shadder of Benden was undoubtedly the most popular Lord Holder on Pern. His warmth and concern always seemed intensely personal. She sighed. «I really wish I had been able to come sooner. Who else attends?»

The briefest of frowns crossed Alessan's face. «At the moment,» he said briskly, «holders and Craftmasters from Ruatha, Fort, Crom, Nabol, Tillek and High Reaches. A long journey for some, but everyone seems well pleased that the warm weather had held for the Gather.» He glanced about the crowded stalls, noting trades in the making. «Tillek's Lord Holder may arrive later with the High Reaches Weyrleader. Lord Tolocamp rode in an hour ago and is changing.»

Moreta grinned in sympathy with Alessan. Lord Tolocamp was an energetic, forceful man who spoke his mind and gave his opinion on every topic as if he were the universal expert. As he did not have the least sense of humor, exchanges with him were apt to be awkward and boring. Moreta preferred to avoid his company whenever possible. But, as she was now senior Weyrwoman, she had fewer excuses to do so.

«How many of his ladies came with him?»

«Five.» Alessan's voice was carefully neutral. «My mother, Lady Oma, always enjoys a visit with Lady Pendra.»

Moreta had to choke back a laugh and turned her face slightly away. All Pern knew that Lady Pendra was angling to get Alessan to marry one of her numerous daughters, nieces, or cousins. Alessan's young wife, Suriana, had died the previous Turn in a fall. At the time, Lord Leef had not pressed his son to make another marriage, a fact that many had taken to mean that Alessan was not to succeed. As the Fort Hold girls were as plain as they were capable, Moreta didn't think much of Fort's chances, but Alessan would be obliged to marry soon if he wished his own bloodline to succeed.

«Would it please the Fort Weyrwoman for Lord Alessan to take a Fort Holder as wife?» His voice was cold and stiff.

«You can surely do better than that,» Moreta replied crisply and then laughed. «I'm sorry. It is not really a subject for levity, but you don't know how you sound.»

«And how do I sound?» Alessan's eyes glinted.

«Like a man sorely pressed in a direction he does not wish to travel. This is your first Gather. You should enjoy it, too.»

«Will you help me?» Pure mischief played across his face now.

«How?»

«You're my Weyrwoman.» His face assumed a proper respect. «Since Sh'gall has not accompanied you, I must be your partner.»

«In conscience, I could not monopolize your time.» Even as she spoke, Moreta realized that that was what she would rather like to do. There was a rebellion in him that attracted her. «Most of it?» His voice was wistfully pleading, quite a variance with his sparkling eyes and grin. «I know what I have to do but …»

«There'll be girls here from all over.»

«Yes, a Search has been conducted for my benefit.»

«What else did you expect. Lord Alessan, when you're now such a suitable match?»

«Suriana liked me, not my prospects,» Alessan said in a flat bleak voice. «When that match was arranged, of course, I had none, so we could suit ourselves. And we did.»

So that explained why he had been allowed to grieve and defer a second marriage. Moreta hadn't thought Lord Leef had so much compassion in him. «You were more fortunate than most,» she said, oddly envious. Once she had Impressed a queen, personal choice had been denied her. Once she had Impressed Orlith, their love compensated for many things; love for another human paled in comparison.

«I was acutely aware of my good luck.» In that quiet phrase, Alessan implied not only his loss but his realization that he must discharge the responsibilities of his new rank. Moreta wondered why Sh'gall had developed a curious antipathy to the man.

They were moving through the Gatherers, past the stalls. Moreta sniffed deeply of the aromas of spicy stew and sweet fruit pies, the odor of well-tanned leathers, the acrid smell from the glass-blowers' booth, the mingled smells of perfumes and garment herbs, the sweat of human and animal. And above all, the pleasant excitement that permeated the atmosphere.

«Within the bounds of Gather propriety, I accept your partnering. Provided that you like racing and dancing.»

«In that order?»

«Since the one comes before the other, yes.»

«I appreciate your courtesy, Weyrwoman!» His tone was mock formal.

«Have the harpers arrived yet?»

«Yesterday …» Alessan grimaced.

«They do eat, don't they?»

«They talk. There are enough of them, however, to keep the dancing square filled until dawn, now that your queen has graced it. And our ever jovial Masterharper has promised to dignify our Gather with his presence.»

Moreta frowned at yet another undercurrent in Alessan's speech. Didn't he like Tirone? The Masterharper was a big hearty man with a robust bass voice that he allowed to dominate every group he sang in. He favored the rousing ballads and stirring sagas that best displayed his own talents, but that was his one conceit, and Moreta had never considered it a flaw. But then, herself only lately the Weyrwoman, she had not seen as much of him in his capacity as Masterharper of Pern as had Alessan. She didn't think she would like to antagonize Tirone. «He has a beautiful voice,» she said noncommittally. «Is Master Capiam coming?»

«So I believe.»

Shells, thought Moreta to herself at Alessan's terse reply. With the exception of Lord Shadder, Alessan apparently did not share any of her preferences among the leaders of Pern. She'd never heard of anyone who didn't like Masterhealer Capiam. Could Alessan fault the man for failing to mend his wife's broken back?

«Is that sort of exercise good for Orlith at this time, Moreta?» demanded Lord Tolocamp, bearing down on them suddenly. He must have been following their progress along the roadway to have intercepted them so neatly.

«She's not due to clutch for another ten days.» Moreta stiffened, annoyed both by the question and the questioner.

«Orlith flew with great precision,» Alessan said. «An ability well appreciated by Ruatha.»

Lord Tolocamp checked, coughed, covering his mouth belatedly and plainly not understanding Alessan's reference.

«She's thoroughly shameless,» Moreta said, «whenever there's a new audience for her tricks. She's never so much as bunged a claw.»

«Yes, well, ah. Lady Pendra is just over here, Moreta,» Tolocamp went on with his usual ponderous geniality. «Alessan, I would like you to become better acquainted with my daughters.»

«At the moment, Lord Tolocamp, I am obliged to become better acquainted with the Weyrwoman, as Sh'gall is not here as her escort. Your daughters,» Alessan looked over at the young women, who were talking placidly with some of his subordinates, «seem well suited.»

Tolocamp began to huff.

«A glass of wine, Moreta? This way.» Alessan firmly propelled her away from Lord Tolocamp, who stood staring after them, somewhat surprised by their abrupt departure.

«I'll never hear the last of this from him, you know,» Moreta said as she allowed herself to be hurried off.

«Then you can drown your sorrow in a Benden white wine I have chilling.» He beckoned to a servitor, pantomiming the pouring of wine into a glass.

«Benden white? Why, that's my favorite!»

«And here I thought you were partial to Tillek's.»

Moreta made a face. «I'm obliged to assume a partiality for Tiliek wines.»

«I find them sharp. Soil's acid in Tillek.»

«True, but Tillek tithes its wines to Fort Weyr. And it's far easier to agree with Lord Diatis than argue with him.»

Alessan laughed.

As the servitor returned with two finely engraved cups and a small wineskin, Moreta glimpsed Lord Tolocamp, Lady Pendra, and Lady Oma shepherding the daughters toward them. Just then a stentorian voice proclaimed the start of the runner races.

«We'll never elude Lady Pendra. Where can we go?» Moreta asked, but Alessan was staring toward the race course.

«I have a particular reason for wanting to watch that first race. If we hurry …» He pointed to the roadway that wound to the racing flats, but that path would not avoid the Fortian progression.

«Short of calling on Orlith's assistance, we'd never make it. And she's asleep.» Then Moreta saw the scaffold surrounding the wall being built at the southern edge of the forecourt. «Why not up there?» She pointed.

«Perfect, and you've a head for heights!» Alessan took her hand and guided her deftly through the guests and away from the Fortians.

Those already standing by the unfinished courses of the wall made room for the Lord Holder and the Weyrwoman. Alessan put his goblet in her free hand and neatly jumped to the top course. Then he knelt, gesturing for her to hand up both wine cups.

For just a moment, Moreta hesitated. L'mal had often chided her about the dignity expected of Weyrwomen, especially outside the precincts of the Weyr, where holder, crafter, and harper could observe and criticize. Quite likely she had been stimulated by Orlith's outrageous exhibition. What affected dragon affected rider. It was a lovely warm Gather, just the respite she'd needed from her onerous responsibilities all Turn. There was racing and Benden wine, there'd be dancing later. Moreta, Weyrwoman of Fort Weyr, was going to enjoy herself.

«You should, you know,» Orlith commented sleepily.

«Hurry,» Alessan said. «They're milling at the start.»

Moreta turned to the nearest dragonrider at the wall.

«Give me a leg up, R'limeak, would you?»

«Moreta!»

«Oh, don't be scandalized. I want to see the race start.» She arranged her skirts and bent her left knee. «A good lift, R'limeak. I'd rather not scrape my nose on the stones.»

R'limeak's lift was not wholehearted. If Alessan's strong hands had not steadied her, she would have slipped.

«How shocked he looks!» Alessan laughed, his green eyes merry.

«It'll do him good. Blue riders can be so prim!» She took her wine from Alessan. «Ah, what a marvelous view!» Having observed that the race was not about to start, she turned slowly, to appreciate the sweep of the land from the foot of Ruatha's cliff hold, over the crude roofs of the decorated stalls, to the empty dancing square, the fields beyond, the walled orchards on each side, and then the slope that descended gradually to Ruatha's river, its source the Ice Lake high in the mountains above. True, the orchards were bare, the fields browned by what frost had fallen that Turn, but the sky was a vivid green-blue, not a cloud in sight, and the air was pleasantly warm. Favored with a long eye, Moreta saw that three laggard racers had yet to join the starters.

«Ruatha's looking so gay,» she said. «Generally when I'm here, the shutters are all in place against Thread, not a soul or beast in sight. Today it's a different place entirely.»

«We are often good company here,» Alessan said. His eyes lay on the scene at the starting poles. «Ruatha is considered one of the best placed Holds. Fort may be older but, I think, not so well laid out.»

«The harpers tell us that Fort Hold was thrown together as a temporary accommodation after the Crossing.»

«A mere fourteen hundred Turns temporary. Whereas we of Ruatha have always been planners. We even have special accommodations for visiting race enthusiasts.»

Moreta grinned at him. She realized that they were both rambling on in excitement at the impending race.

«Look! They're finally lined up!»

The mild breeze cooperated by blowing the churned dust of the racing flats away from the straggling line of cavorting beasts. She saw the white flag drop, caught her breath at the incredible leap as the animals surged forward.

«This is the sprint?» she asked, trying to make out an early leader in the knot of nodding heads, bobbing bodies, and flashing legs. So close packed were the runners that neither riders' hat colors nor saddle pads could be identified.

«As is usual,» Alessan replied absently, shielding his eyes with his hand to see better.

«Good field, too. Spreading out and … I'd swear the leader is wearing Ruathan colors!»

«I hope so!» Alessan cried in considerable excitement.

Cheers and exhortations rose from nearby and drifted up from the race course.

«Fort is challenging!» Moreta said as a second beast separated from the pack. «And fast!»

«It has only to hold!» Alessan's words were half threat, half entreaty.

«It will!» Moreta's calm assurance elicited a quick disbelieving glare from Alessan, who remained taut with suspense until the winners passed the post. «It did!»

«Are you sure?»

«Certainly. The poles are parallel to this vantage point. You've a winner! Did you breed it yourself?»

«Yes, yes, I did. And it did win!» He seemed to need her confirmation of his achievement.

«It certainly did. A very respectable two lengths the winner or I miss my mark. And I don't miss in racing. To your winner then!» She raised her goblet to his.

«My winner!» His voice was curiously fierce, and the light in his eyes became more defiant than triumphant.

«I'll come with you to the finish,» she suggested, noticing that the sprinters were finally pulling up in the stubble.

«I can savor this moment just as fully in your company,» he said unexpectedly. «And with no inhibitions,» he added with a grin. «Dag's there. He's my herdsman, and this is as much his victory as it is mine. I won't detract from his moment. Then, too, it would be highly inappropriate for the Gathering Lord Holder to caper about like a fool over a mere sprint win.»

Moreta found his admission of unlordly glee rather charming. «Surely this isn't your first winner?»

«Actually, it is.» He was searching the enclosure and suddenly beckoned peremptorily at a servitor, signaling for more wine. «Breeding for special traits was the project Lord Leef assigned me eight Turns ago.» Alessan went on in a more conversational tone though his voice still carried an edge. «A well-established Pernese tradition is breeding.»

«Eight Turns ago?» Moreta gave Alessan a long look. «If you've been breeding since then, surely this can't be your first winner?»

«A race, yes. The quality Lord Leef wished me to perpetuate was stamina for long-distance carting, combined with more efficient use of fodder.»

«More work out of fewer animals for less food?» Moreta didn't find that hard to believe of the old Lord, but she stared at Alessan with confused respect. «And out of that breeding, you got a sprint racer?»

«Not intentionally.» Alessan gave her a rueful smile. «That winner is from a strain of rejects from the original project, tough, hardy, good doers even on poor feed, but small bodied and thin boned. They don't eat much, and everything they consume goes into short spurts of energy, fifty dragon length sprint distances, to be truthful. Over the ninety length mark, they're useless. Give 'em half an hour's rest and they can repeat that sort of winning performance. And they live long. It was Dag who saw the sprint potential in the scrubs.»

«But, of course, you couldn't race the beasts during your father's lifetime.» Moreta started to chuckle at Alessan's deception.

«Hardly.» Alessan grinned.

«I imagine that your winnings today, an untried beast in its first race, will be substantial.»

«I should hope so. Considering how long Dag and I have succored that wretched creature for just such an occasion as this.»

«My sincerest congratulations, Lord Alessan!» Moreta raised her newly filled goblet. «For putting one over on Lord Leef and winning your first race at your first Gather. You're not only devious, you're a menace to racing men.»

«Had I known you were such a race enthusiast, I'd've given you odds.»

«Spectator, not speculator. You'll race it next at Fort's Gather?»

«Considering its capability, I could race in the last sprint today and be sure of its winning, but that would not be courteous.» The gleam in his eye suggested that if he weren't Lord Holder, he would not have felt any such restraint. «At that, most will assume it a lucky win. Only the one race in it, like as not.» Alessan's voice imitated the pitch and inflection of the confirmed racer, querulous and skeptical. «So I shall get it to whatever Gathers we can reach. I like winning. It's a new experience.»

His candor surprised her. «Are you sure your sire didn't know what you were about? Lord Leef always struck me as a man who had firm control of everything that occurred in his Hold, in the entire west.»

Alessan gave her a long hard look, mulling her remark. «D'you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if he had found out. We, Dag and I, took such extraordinary precautions. We thought we'd covered every possibility of discovery.» Then Alessan shook his head, chuckling. «You wouldn't believe the lengths to which we went, but you could be right. The old Lord could have known.»

«I expect he wouldn't have named you successor on your merits as a breeder alone. What else have you been up to?»

Alessan winked at her. «The Weyr commands my services, Lady, not my secrets.»

«I've found one out. Shall I,» Moreta paused, suddenly aware that their laughing exchanges were being closely observed. Why shouldn't she laugh at a Gather? She gave R'limeak a stern glare, and the blue rider looked away.

Noting her change of expression, Alessan glanced about them and swore under his breath. «Not even on a half-built wall in full sight of a Gather!» he said acidly. He swore again as he saw Lord Tolocamp and the women moving purposefully toward the wall.

«Shards!» Moreta said. «I will not have the racing spoiled by chitchat and courtship. Look, we'll be able to see just as well from over there!» She pointed to a slight rise in the field below the roadway.

Then she gathered her skirts and started to pick a careful path down the pile of stones waiting to be set into the wall. «And do collect that skin of white wine.»

«Be careful, you'll break your neck!» Alessan urgently signaled the servitor to hand over the wineskin, then he was following her before anyone was aware of their intentions.

Rocks shifting under their feet, Moreta and Alessan reached the roadway without mishap, then hurried behind the stalls and down the open field to the rise. When Moreta felt burrs pulling at her full skirts, she bundled them higher.

«No propriety in you at all today.» Alessan shook his head at her undignified lope, though he was placing his elegantly booted feet with a care for rough ground.

«This is a Gather. An informal occasion.»

«You are not dressed informally.» He caught her by the elbow as she tripped. «That gown was not designed for cross-country scrambles. Ah! Here we are,» he came to an abrupt halt, «an unimpeded view of the start and finish lines. Let me fill your goblet.»

«Please.» Moreta held it up.

«Why didn't I know that the Fort Weyrwoman liked racing enough to desert the forecourt and its pleasures?»

«I've been at all Ruatha's Gathers the past ten Turns.»

«Up there, though.» He gestured back to the forecourt.

«Of course, as befits my rank. L'mal didn't like me to roam the picket lines.»

«Which was where I generally was.» Alessan grinned.

«Learning how to breed winners?»

«Of course not.» Alessan feigned shocked innocence. «I was supposed to breed stamina, not speed. My Gather duties were to assist our race-course manager, Norman.»

Moreta lifted her goblet again. «To the man who persevered and won the race!»

Alessan was quick-witted and grinned at her subtlety. Their eyes met in a candid gaze. Moreta felt a growing affinity for the new Lord Holder and not only because of their mutual interest in race runners. His mind was unpredictable, certainly not in the pattern of the usual Lord Holder, if she compared him to Tolocamp, Ratoshigan, or Diatis. He was good company, with a fine sense of humor; if he danced as well as he did everything else, she might just monopolize him this evening.

Two more dragons arrived midair as she glanced up, away from Alessan's light-green, compelling gaze. Then her eyes dropped slightly to admire Orlith, ensconced right above the main hold door, and she thought how well Orlith's golden hide complimented the window hangings on the top tier. Embarrassed, she looked away, aware that Alessan had been watching her.

«A habit, really,» she said with a self-conscious shrug.

«Surely after twenty Turns as partners?»

«Are you already accustomed to being Lord of Ruatha Hold?»

«Not yet. I've only been,» Alessan broke off, his eyes on her face, noting her fond smile. «Even after twenty Turns?»

«Ah, look. The flag for the next race!» She diverted his attention. One could never explain the bond to someone who wasn't a dragonrider. Impression was a private miracle, a very private miracle.