Moreta - Dragonlady of Pern

CHAPTER XV

«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 finished 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.

Levalla laughed. «As if I had time for any dallying these days. You're looking exceedingly well, Moreta. Any injuries in your Weyr from yesterday's Fall?»

«A few Threadscores and another dislocated shoulder. I'd say that this consolidation puts each wing on its mettle.»

«My thoughts, too,» K'dren said, «but I shall be eternally grateful when we can resume our traditional regions. It isn't Sh'gall, I'll have you know, he's a bloody fine leader; it's that sour excrescence from Telgar.»

«K'dren …» Levalla spoke in firm remonstrance.

«Moreta's discreet, but that man …» K'dren balled his fists, setting his jaw as his eyes flashed with antipathy for the Telgar Leader. «He won't assist in either of your requests, you know, Moreta!»

«He might not.» Moreta took out the lists. K'dren exclaimed in surprise at seeing them.

«So they will serve a purpose after all. Let me have a glance.» He flipped the sheets till he came to the angular backhanded scrawl of M'tani's. «T'grel would be the man to contact at Telgar. Even if he weren't a responsible rider, he'd do it in reprisal for some of M'tani's tricks. And you must have riders from each Weyr, ones who know how to find the hole-in-the-hill cots that aren't well marked. Well, you can be sure of Benden support. I wondered why our healer was bloodletting again!» He rubbed his arm with a rueful smile.

«And Capiam's sure about this vaccination of his?» Levalla asked. Her fingers betrayed her anxiety by the speed with which she flipped her worry-wood.

«He likens it to Thread. If it can't get a grip, it can't last.»

«About your Hatching, now. We do have a very keen young man from a Lemos highlands minehold whom we found on Search two Turns ago,» Levalla said, reverting to Moreta's ostensible errand. «I don't know why he didn't take, but we'll have him back if he doesn't find a mate on your Ground. Dannell's his name, and he's eager to keep up with his mining craft if he can.»

«Are you Searching more among the crafts than the holds these days?»

«With the end of Pass in sight, it's best to have men who can occupy their spare time profitably for the Weyr.»

«We receive the tithe whether there's Pass or not,» Moreta said with a frown.

K'dren looked up from his perusal of the names. «To be sure, but once a Pass is over, the Lords may not be quite so generous.» K'dren's expression indicated that his Lords had better sustain the quality of their tithes. «I've underlined the riders who, I suspect, do time.» His grin was raffish. «It's not something anyone admits to but T'grel must have to use it to cope with M'tani. Don't bother with L'bol at Igen. He's useless. Go directly to Dalova, Allaneth's rider, She lost a lot of bloodkin at Igen Sea Hold. She'd know who among her riders time it. And Igen has all those little cotholds stashed in the desert and on the riverbanks. Surely you've got a few good friends left at Ista. You were there ten Turns. Have you heard that F'gal's bad with kidney chill?»

«Yes, I'd planned to speak to Wimmia out of courtesy. Or D'say, Kritith's rider.»

«You have a son by him, don't you?» Levalla said with a tolerant smile. «Such ties seem to help at the most unexpected times, don't they?»

«D'say is a steady man and the boy Impressed a brown from Torenth's last clutch,» Moreta said with quiet pride. She rose. She would have liked to stay longer with the Benden Leaders but she had a long day ahead of her.

«We'll give Dannell time to pack up and send him on to you at Fort tomorrow, with M'gent. You can use the opportunity to go over any details with him. Shall I have a discreet word with my Lords?»

«Master Tirone is supposed to be sweetening them but your endorsement would be a boon.»

As K'dren escorted Moreta to the stairs, Levalla waved an indolent farewell, still worrying the wood in her left hand.

The encouragement that Moreta received from the Benden Weyrleaders did much to sustain her during her next three visits. At Ista, F'gal and Wimmia were in her weyr, bronze Timenth on the ledge, the tacit signal for privacy. So Moreta directed M'barak to land Arith at D'say's weyr, where Kritith greeted Moreta with shining blue spinning eyes, rearing to his hindquarters and extending his wings. He peered out to the ledge, patently disappointed that Moreta had arrived on a blue instead of with her queen. Then D'say emerged from his sleeping quarters. To her chagrin she had obviously awakened him from a much-needed sleep. He was one of the few who had not succumbed to the first wave of illness, and he had ridden Fall continuously, nursed other sick riders, and tried to bolster F'gal's leadership during the latter's kidney ailment.

As she argued with D'say on the necessity of once again cooperating with the Healer Hall, she wished that he had had the plague; then he would not be so slow to comply. D'say resisted her presentation in such a glum silence that she was becoming depressed when their son M'ray suddenly charged up the steps.

«I beg your pardon, D'say, but my Quoarth told me that Moreta is here.» The boy, in his height he was more manly than boyish, paused just long enough in the threshold to receive permission to enter. Then he rushed to Moreta, embracing her with a charming enthusiasm. He peered anxiously into her face with eyes the color of her own, set in a head with the same deep sockets and arching brows. Yet he was far more D'say's child in build and coloring. «I knew you were ill. It's very good to see you well.»

«Orlith has clutched. I've had little to do except repair scored riders and dragons.»

M'ray opened his arms, looking from sire to dam, hopeful of answers to his outspoken questions.

«Moreta needs help, which I don't think she'll get from F'gal in his state of health.» D'say replied noncommittally. He refilled Moreta's cup with klah, tacitly giving her permission to tell their son.

She did, and the boy's eyes widened with apprehension and a growing eagerness that answered the challenge.

«Wimmia would agree, D'say, you know she would. We only have to present the urgency to her. She's not a passive person, like F'gal. He's, he's changed a lot recently.» As M'ray blurted out his opinion, he eyed D'say to see if the bronze rider would try to refute him. D'say shrugged. «Anyway, I'd like to help and my wingleader, T'lonneg, is hold-bred. If there's anyone who'd know the rainforest holds, it's him. He caught the plague, too, and lost family. He should know about this, D'say, really he should. This isn't the sort of request you can deny, is it? No more than we can stop rising to Fall.» M'ray faced his sire, shoulders back, jaw forward, a pose she remembered striking when she had acted on her own initiative in treating a runner in her family's hold. «I rose with Ista's wings at every Fall. Haven't got so much as char in my face.»

«Keep it that way,» D'say remarked in a flat voice that masked the pride he had for his lad. «T'lonneg says they fly well, M'ray and Quoarth.»

«What we'd expect,» Moreta said fondly, smiling all the more warmly at the lad. It was a pity that she hadn't been able to give him more time but she'd had to go on to Fort Weyr, and D'say had remained at Ista. «K'dren thought that six or seven riders would be needed from each Weyr.»

D'say rose to stand beside his son; there wasn't a hair's difference in height between them. Moreta had never been motherly toward her children; as a queen rider, she'd had to foster them immediately. She could be proud of M'ray, though, of his eager enthusiasm. Though he was committed to the Weyr, it suddenly occurred to her that she had other children and her bloodline could be sustained in Keroon.

«We will recruit riders who are adequate to the task and will discharge this duty to the Hall,» D'say assured her. «I'll speak to Wimmia as soon as she's free. She'll review the fosterlings for your queen's clutch, though I must remind you that we had heavy losses among the weyr and hold folk. Everyone wanted to see that peculiar beast when it passed through here on its way to the Gather.»

«I grieved to know you had such heavy losses.» Moreta looked up at the fine lad, grateful he had been spared. «When you've arranged the matter, send a messenger to Master Capiam. He has all the details worked out.»

«I'll see you at the Hatching?» M'ray winked impudently at her. «Of course!» Moreta laughed, and he embraced her again, a little more certain of where his arms should go and not quite so fierce with his strong arms.

Both riders walked her to the weyr entrance. «You're off to Igen now?» D'say asked. «See Dalova. She'll agree.» D'say's smile showed some of the charm that had once attracted her. The bronze rider had always been slow to make up his mind, but his loyalty never faltered after he had. «Don't try to talk to M'tani at Telgar. Ask for T'grel. He's sensible.»

Then the bronze and brown rider locked fingers to give Moreta a lift to Arith's back, warning M'barak in a jocular fashion that he'd better be careful with that conveyance. M'barak replied solemnly that it was his sworn obligation.

Then they were above Igen Weyr, the brilliance of the sun glancing off the distant lake painful to eyes between blinded; but the heat, the dry intense desert heat, was welcome to chilled bodies as Arith bugled his request to the watchrider.

Dalova was at her weyr ledge to greet Moreta, her tanned face wreathed in delighted smiles for her visitor.

«You come in Search?» she cried, embracing Moreta and drawing her into the cool of her quarters. Dalova had a demonstrative and affectionate nature, though the strains of the recent past were apparent in her nervous gestures and grimaces, the way she constantly shifted her position by her queen, often tapping her fingers on Allaneth's forearm as she listened to Moreta's explanation of her double Search.

«There's no question of my refusing help, Moreta. Silga, Empie, and Namurra won't refuse either. Six, you say Capiam'll need? I'd wager any amount» she laughed, a high nervous laugh, «that P'leen times it. You do get to know, you know. As I'm sure you do.» She grimaced, causing the sun-lines around her sad brown eyes to crease. «If only L'bol were not so terribly depressed. He feels that if he hadn't let our riders convey that dreadful beast about, «She broke off and threw her arms out as if she could scatter all the unpleasantness and misery. Absently she patted her dragon's face, and Allaneth regarded her fondly. «I can help you distribute the vaccines but I cannot, in conscience, give you any candidates. We have so few young people to present to hatchlings, much less a queen. Besides, Allaneth should rise soon; I'm counting on it.» A flash of desperation crossed Dalova's mobile face.

«There's nothing like a good mating flight to buoy the spirits of the entire Weyr,» Moreta said, thinking ahead to Orlith's next flight with increasing anticipation.

«Oh, my, not you, too?» Dalova asked with a shaky little laugh. Tears formed in her expressive brown eyes, and now her queen licked her hand.

Without hesitation, Moreta took Dalova in her arms and the woman wept, in the quiet forlorn way of someone who has cried often without relief.

«So many, Moreta, so many. So suddenly. The shock of it when Ch'mon and Helith went. Then …» She could not continue for sobbing. «And L'bol is sunk in apathy. P'leen has risen with the Igen wings. That's not out of order, but when we're no longer consolidated, if he cannot lead … So I'm counting on Allaneth's rising, and me! Once there's been a good mating flight, everyone's spirits will improve. And once the fear of this hideous plague is over, everyone will be restored.»

Dalova raised her head from Moreta's shoulder, drying her eyes. «You know how firestone makes me sneeze, and I nearly burst myself to keep from doing it because a sneeze frightens people so! Ridiculous, but it is the truth.» Dalova sniffled, found her kerchief, and blew her nose lustily. «I must say, I do feel better because you know what it's like. Now, let me have a look at our Weyr maps. Yes, I see what Master Capiam means and he's worked so much of the detail out, it'll be no trouble. I'll organize Igen. Have you been to Telgar yet? Well, ask for T'grel. Then you'll go to High Reaches? Is Falga improving? Will Tamianth really fly again? Oh, that is good news. Look, much as I'd love you to stay, you'd better go or I'll drip tears all over you again. I try not to for L'bol's sake because Timenth tattles on me and that depresses L'bol even more. You can't imagine what a relief it is to weep all over you. Look, I'll send Empie when we've decided, and I might not ask more than the queens or P'leen. I can trust them but L'bol never approves of timing it, for any reason, and now is not the moment to upset him on minor matters.» Dalova had been ushering Moreta to the weyr entrance, holding tightly to her arm as they walked. She smiled warmly up at M'barak, stroked Arith's nose, and gave Moreta a leg up. At Telgar the brown watchdragon bugled threateningly to Arith, ordering the blue to land on the Rim instead of proceeding down to the Bowl.

«My orders, Weyrwoman,» C'ver said with no apology. «M'tani wants no strangers in the Weyr.»

«Since when are dragonriders strangers to each other?» Moreta demanded, offended by the order and insolence with which it was delivered. Arith trilled with concern over their reception and he could sense Moreta's fury. «I've come in Search.»

«And left your queen alone?» C'ver was openly contemptuous.

«The eggs harden. I call M'tani to honor his promise to S'peren to send us candidates for Impression. I have vaccine with me if it is needed for the weyrfolk I seek.»

«We have all of that we need for those who deserve it.»

«If I were on Orlith, C'ver,»

«Even if you were on your queen, Moreta of Fort, you wouldn't be welcome here! Take your Search into your own Holds. If there're any holders left, of course!»

«If those are your sentiments, C'ver,»

«They are.»

«Then have a care, C'ver, when this Pass is over. Have a care!»

C'ver laughed and his brown reared to his hind legs, trumpeting derisively. Arith trembled from muzzle to tail tip.

«Get out of here, M'barak.» Moreta spoke through clenched teeth. Telgar could burn in fever and she'd never answer them. They could be down to the last sack of firestone and she'd not send them a sliver. The Weyr could be full of Thread and she, «Take us to the High Reaches.»

A Rim landing indeed! The cold of between did not dampen Moreta's fury, but Arith stopped trembling only when the High Reaches watchdragon caroled a welcome.

«Ask Arith to request permission to land in the Bowl near Tamianth's quarters. Say we come in Search.»

«I already did, Moreta,» M'barak said, his eyes still shadowed by Telgar's rejection. «We are twice and twice times twice welcome at the High Reaches. Arith says Tamianth is warbling.»

As Arith glided past the Seven Spindles and the waving watchrider, they could indeed hear Tamianth's intricate vocalization. B'lerion's Nabeth answered then charged out of his weyr to its ledge. S'ligar's Gianarth emerged as if catapulted, flapping his wings and uttering high crackling trills as Arith made his landing.

M'barak turned to grin at Moreta, his shattered confidence restored by the spontaneous greetings and goodwill. Then Moreta saw B'lerion standing in the wide aperture to the weyrling quarters that accommodated the wounded Tamianth. He waved his right arm vigorously and then trotted out to meet her.

«Just a quick word alone,» he said, folding his good arm around her shoulders with careless ease. «I took Desdra and Oklina to the Nerat plantations late last night. We've all the needlethorn we could possibly require. I've not mentioned either of your Searches to Falga and S'ligar and there have been no awkward questions from any other source.» He raised his voice, chatting casually. «Tamianth's wing is dripping ichor, and she's got a tub for diving; S'ligar's improving, the sun is shining, the Weyr is righted, and Pressan and I were just giving Falga a little walk. Pressen thinks very highly of you, my dear Moreta. Cr'not may tell me that Diona did it, but we know Diona, don't we? Pressen attended the dragon injuries from yesterday's Fall. Spends his free time badgering Falga about dragon cures, which keeps her from feeling useless. Ah, here we are, Falga, your waterbearer!»

The first thing Moreta noticed was the enormous water butt conveniently placed at Tamianth's left, full to its brim. Then she saw the neat stack of buckets.

B'lerion chuckled. «My idea. Everyone who wants to visit Falga goes by way of the lake and brings in a full bucket. Every hour a weyrling returns the empties to the lake. If you count the current buckets, you'll realize that Falga's been having entirely too much company. Or Tamianth's thirst has finally been slaked.»

Falga was propped against cushions on a wide couch that had been made of several weyrling beds tied together. Moreta was delighted to see the good color in Falga's face and returned her embrace, almost embarrassed by the woman's profuse thanks for saving her queen's life. Then, out of deference to Falga's fervent request, Moreta checked the progress of Tamianth's wing with Pressen while Tamianth hummed softly, watching Moreta with softly glowing eyes.

«Holth says Orlith sleeps.» It was Tamianth who spoke.

Startled, Moreta glanced at Falga, who was equally surprised but smiled warmly at her.

«You've come on Search,» Falga began. «Surely it's early, and even a shade unwise to assemble candidates.» Falga indicated that Moreta should sit on one end of the couch, B'lerion on the other.

Moreta hesitated, glancing at Pressen, but he was busy in the far end of the large room.

«I've two reasons for coming.»

«But there's only one queen egg.» Then Falga slumped back against her pillows, resigned. «What else has gone wrong then?»

«No, I think you could say that something has come right,» Moreta said in a positive manner, «but Master Capiam needs our cooperation.» Quickly Moreta once more explained, irritated by the sincere way in which B'lerion expressed astonishment. «Parts of Nabol, Crom, and the High Reaches are totally isolated. Master Capiam feels that they could wait so your involvement won't be as large.»

«Moreta, after saving Tamianth you can have anything in this Weyr … except S'ligar and Gianarth. Fortunately,» Falga's delightful laugh pealed out, «he's feeling his age. B'lerion, I know you time it as a matter of everyday convenience. This is the sort of thing you're good at organizing. Besides, I doubt if there's a cot you don't know in any western hold.»

«Falga!» B'lerion affected indignation and hurt, laying his right hand on his heart. «May I see this plan of Master Capiam's?»

The bronze rider was a very shrewd dissembler for he examined the plan as if that were his first viewing. Moreta wished that B'lerion were not so comprehensively charming.

«Moreta,» Falga said, eyeing her thoughtfully, «if Tamianth says Holth says Oriith's asleep. High Reaches has not been your first stop.»

«No, I kept the best for the last.»

«Could that be why Tamianth tells me Holth now informs her that Raylinth and his rider have arrived, in great agitation, at Fort?» When Moreta nodded grimly, she added, «M'tani would have none of it?»

«The watchrider made Arith land on the Rim.»

B'lerion cursed with real fervor, all languor gone.

«If I'd been on Orlith, that squatty mildewed brown of C'ver's would.»

«Consider the source,» Falga said earnestly. «A mere brown rider! Really, Moreta, save your wrath for something worth the energy to spit at. I don't know what has got into M'tani over the last Turn. Maybe he's battle-weary from fighting Thread for so many years. He's gone sour totally, and it's affecting his whole Weyr. That would be disastrous enough in ordinary times, but this plague has only shown up his deficiencies. Do we have to force a change there? We'll take up that matter later. Meanwhile, High Reaches will take up distribution on the eastern side of Telgar's region. Bessera can time it, and has, which accounts for that smug look so often on her face. B'lerion, which of the bronzes?»

«Sharth, Melath, Odioth,» B'lerion closed a finger into his palm with each name. «Nabeth, as you suspected, Ponteth and Bidorth. That makes seven, and if my memory serves me, N'mool, Bidorth's nder, comes from Telgar Upper Plains. Of course, T'grel's not the only rider who's dissatisfied with M'tani's leadership. I told you, didn't I, Falga, that once those Telgar riders had had a taste of real leadership, there'd be trouble.» He smiled winningly at Moreta. «I actually do defer to Sh'gall's abilities. He may be a dull stick in other matters, oh, no, you can't fool your old friend B'lerion, but he is a bloody fine Leader! Don't waggle your finger at me, Falga.»

«Do stop your chatter, B'lerion. Holth has told Tamianth that Moreta had better get back to her Weyr. And we'll send you over a few weyrlings from our cavern. You can take your pick. If we discover any more likely lads and girls while we're delivering Master Capiam's brew, we'll bring them in.»

«I'll just give Moreta a leg up,» B'lerion called back over his shoulder as he hurried out with her.

«It's a good thing you've only the one arm, B'lerion,» Falga called after them goodhumoredly.

«I was going back by way of Ruatha,» Moreta said anxiously.

«I thought you might be. You don't have to. They're doing splendidly. Capiam's sent more people in to help. Desdra's overseeing. She says Tirone and his harpers are doing a magnificent job with the Lords Holder and Crafthallmasters.»

«He must be. I haven't seen K'lon in days.»

«Good fellow, K'lon; and I don't say that about just any blue rider.»

Then they were beside Arith and, one-armed or not, B'lerion nearly lifted her over the blue dragon.

Orlith was awake on Moreta's return to Fort Weyr because Sh'gall had roused her while looking for Moreta. He was pacing up and down in front of the tier and whirled belligerently at her when she entered.

«M'tani sent a green weyrling,» he cried, fuming, «hardly more than a babe, to give our watchrider the most insulting message I have ever received. He has repudiated any agreement made at the Butte, a meeting at which I was not present.» Sh'gall shook his fist first at Moreta and then in the vague direction of the Butte. «And at which arbitrary decisions were made, which I cannot condone, though I've been forced to comply with them! M'tani has repudiated any arrangement, agreement, accord, understanding, undertaking. He is not to be bothered, bothered, he says, not to be bothered by problems of any other Weyr. If we are so poor that we have to beg and Search from other Weyrs, then we do not deserve to have a clutch at all.» Sh'gall ended up swinging his arms about like a drum apprentice.

Moreta had never seen him so furious. She listened to what he had to say but offered no response, hoping he would vent his rage and leave. Having repeated himself at length on his displeasure with her shameless venture for the Weyr that had resulted in such an insufferable message from M'tani, he ranted on through his usual grievances, about his illness, about the puny size of the clutch. Finally Moreta could bear no more.

«There is a queen egg, Sh'gall. There have to be enough candidates to give the little queen some choice. I applied to Telgar Weyr as I did to Benden, Igen, Ista, and the High Reaches. No one else thought my appearance or my request importunate. Now leave the Ground. You've upset Orlith sufficiently for one day.»

Orlith was visibly upset as Moreta ran across the hot sands to her, but not, Moreta knew very well, by Sh'gall. By Telgar Weyr. She paced in front of her eggs, her eyes wheeling from red to yellow and orange as she recited to her rider a list of the damages she would inflict on bronze Hogarth in such detail that Moreta was torn between laughter and horror. A mating dragon could be savage with the drive of that purpose, but a clutching dragon was usually passive.

Moreta scratched Orlith's eye ridges and head knob to soothe her, urging the dragon to have a care for her eggs and come lie down again and let the hot sands lull her.

«She has some very good ideas,» came the unmistakable voice of Holth. «Leri says that Raylinth's rider understands all that is necessary. She says that in the interests of tranquility, you are to stay in the Ground, eat and sleep well.»

«Do you miss anything, Holth-Leri?»

«No. If Orlith does not finish Hogarth appropriately, I will do so.»

«Leri says,» and the voice was now only Orlith's, her tone sullen, «that we must not stop Holth.»

«Why not?»

«If you had ridden me, you would not have been insulted.»

«Actually, I'd rather have C'ver's skin for a floor rug,» Moreta said in a considered tone. «He's hairy enough.»

The notion of flaying a rider was originally Leri's, but thinking about the process restored Moreta and indirectly placated Orlith. Perhaps she should go for Sh'gall's hide, too, except that she was fond of Kadith and wouldn't cause him anxiety.

«Kamiana comes,» Orlith said, her tone calmer, her eyes more green than yellow.

Moreta looked up and saw the Weyrwoman beckoning urgently for Moreta to join her on the tier.

«Leri told me to wait until you'd both had a chance to cool down!» Kamiana said, rolling her eyes and grinning sympathetically at Moreta. «Sh'gall will drone on when he's offended, won't he? You'd think the plague had been invented to annoy him alone. And that M'tani? We're all tired of Thread but we still do what is expected. He may find himself flying by his lonesome, and I know his Weyr's at half strength. Can we not replace him? Or must we wait until Telgar's Dalgeth rises to replace him as Leader? However, we're flying for Capiam tomorrow, Lidora, Haura, and myself. I wish you could persuade Leri not to, but she does know the hole-in-the-hill places better than anyone else in the Weyr. She's talked S'peren into taking a few runs and K'lon, though he's only a blue.» Kamiana frowned dubiously over that choice. «I think P'nine would have been wiser but he got scored.»

«K'lon's already stumbled onto timing; besides, he's done a lot of conveying lately, you know.»

«I didn't know,» Kamiana rolled her eyes expressively again, «just how much was going on around here, Moreta, and your queen on the Hatching Ground, pushing sand about to warm her eggs!»

In the main Hall of Ruatha Hold, which had so recently been a hospital, forty cartwheels had been rigged as centrifuges. A hundred or more ornamental bottles had also served their purpose and were now stacked against the stair wall where once the banquet table of Ruathan Lords had graced the raised end of the long Hall. The frenzied activity of the past three days had, in the late hours of this night, abated to weary preparations for the morning's final effort. It was no comfort to the fatigued that similar activity had wearied anxious men and women in Keroon Beasthall and Benden Hold.

In the corner nearest the kitchen entrance, a trestle table had been serving as dining table at appropriate hours and a worktable at all other times. The remnants of an evening meal were at the end nearest the wall, where maps and lists had been tacked to the hangings, On its long benches sat the eight people whom Alessan called his Loyal Crew, relaxing with a cup of wine from Alessan's skin of Benden white.

«I wasn't so taken with that Master Balfor, Lord Alessan,» Dag was saying, his eyes on the wine in his cup.

«He's not confirmed in the honor,» Alessan said. He was too weary to take part in an argument and well aware that Fergal was listening with avid ears to store bits and pieces of irrelevant information in his cunning young mind.

«I'd worry who else might have the rank, for Master Balfor certainly hasn't the experience.»

«He has done all that Master Capiam asked,» Tuero said with an eye on Desdra, who apparently was not listening.

«Ah, it's sad to realize how many good men and women have died.» Dag lifted his cup in a silent toast. «And sadder to think of the fine bloodlines just wiped out. When I think of the races Squealer will walk away with and no competition to stretch him in a challenge.»

Alessan poured a bit more wine in his cup, Fergal's eyes on the business. He'd been offered a portion but disdained it with an insolence that Alessan excused only because the lad had worked so diligently at any task assigned him. But then, the work had been to save runners, and the boy had obviously inherited his grandfather's total commitment to the breed.

«You say Runel died?» Dag continued, finding it hard to comprehend how few of his old cronies remained. «Did all his bloodline go?»

«The oldest son and his family are safe in the hold.»

«Ah, well, he's the right one for it. I'll just have a look at that brown mare. She could foal tonight. Come along, Fergal.» Dag swung his splinted leg off the bench and took up the crutches Tuero had contrived for him. For just a moment, Fergal looked rebellious.

«I'll come with you if I may,» Rill said, rising and unobtrusively assisting Dag. «A birth is a happy moment!»

Fergal was on his feet in an instant, extremely possessive of Dag and unwilling to share the man's attention with anyone, not even with Nerilka, for whom he had taken a curious liking.

Tuero watched the curious trio until they had left the hall. «I know I've seen that woman before.»

«I have, too,» Desdra said, «or maybe her kinfolk. Faces have got blurred. Overdose!» She was leaning back against the wall behind her, hands limp in her lap, a few wisps of dark hair escaping from the tight braids. «When this is over tomorrow, I'm going to sleep and sleep and sleep. Anyone, anyone whosoever attempts to rouse me, shall be … shall be … I'm too tired to think of something suitably vile.»

«The wine was excellent, Lord Alessan,» Follen said, rising. He pulled at Deefer's sleeve. «We've just three more batches to decant tonight. There could be breakages, so we must have spares. It won't take long now.»

Deefer yawned mightily then belatedly covered his mouth, apologetically glancing around. But a yawn was not in the same category as a sneeze or a cough.

«When you think that I thought,» Tuero began with a long sigh as he regarded the interior of his empty cup, «that a Ruathan Gather would be less tedious than a Crom wedding, you may wonder what I was doing for wits that day.»

Alessan looked up, his light-green eyes sparkling. «Does that mean, my friend, you have considered my offer of a post here at Ruatha?»

Tuero gave a little chuckle. «My good Lord Holder Alessan, there comes a time in a harper's life when he decides that the variety and change of temporary assignments begin to pall and he wishes a comfortable living where his capabilities are appreciated, where he can be sure of witty conversations over the dinner table, to save his fingers from the harping, where his energies are not abused.»

«I wouldn't post to Ruatha in that event,» Desdra remarked caustically, but she smiled.

«You weren't asked,» Alessan replied, mischief in his eyes.

«It's no joy to serve a cautious man.» Tuero flung an arm about Alessan's shoulders. «There is one condition, however, which,» the harper held up a long forefinger, pausing before his stipulation «must be met.»

«By the first Egg,» Alessan protested, «you've already got me to agree to a first-story apartment on the inside, second tithe of our Crafthalls.»

«When you've got them staffed again.»

«Your choice of a runnerbeast, top marks as journeyman, and leave, if you wish, to take your mastery when the Pass is over. What more can you ask of an impoverished Lord Holder?»

«All I ask is what is fitting for a man of my accomplishments.» Tuero humbly put one hand on his heart.

«So what is this final condition?»

«That you supply me with Benden white.» He spoiled the gravity of his pronouncement by hiccuping and gestured urgently for Alessan to fill his cup. He sipped wine to stop the spasms. «Well?»

«Good Journeyman Harper Tuero, if I can procure Benden white, you may have your just share of it.» He raised his cup solemnly and Tuero touched his to it. «Agreed?»

Tuero hiccuped. «Agreed!» He tried to swallow the next hiccup.

Desdra looked at Alessan then leaned forward and prodded the wineskin under his elbow. She made a noise of amused reproof.

«There's not much left in it,» Alessan assured her.

«That's just as well. Tomorrow your heads must be as clear as can be,» she said. «Come, Oklina, you're half asleep as it is.»

Regarding her through the lovely euphoria produced by several cups of his superlative Benden white, Alessan wondered if Desdra was being solicitous of his sister or merely needed support up the stairs. The progress of the two women was steady but uncertain, and their indirect course not entirely due to the cartwheels, apparatus, and equipment that lay strewn about the spacious whitewashed Hall. That was another thing he must do, Alessan decided suddenly, repaint the Hall. The austere white was too much a reminder of too many painful scenes.

«I say, Alessan,» Tuero said as he tugged at the Lord Holder's sleeve, «where do you get all that white Benden?»

Alessan grinned. «I have to have a few secrets.» His head was wobbling and if he wasn't careful, it would fall sideways onto the table.

«Secrets? Even from your harper?» Tuero tried to sound indignant.

«If you find out, I'll tell you if you're right.»

Tuero brightened. «That's fair enough. If a harper can't find out, and this harper is very good at finding things out, if a harper can't find out, he doesn't have the right to know. Is that right, Alessan?»

But Alessan's head reposed on the table; a snore issued from his half-open mouth. Tuero stared at him for a moment in mixed pity and rebuke, then pushed at the wineskin under his elbow and sighed in disgust. There wasn't more than a dribble in it.

Footsteps sounded behind Tuero. He turned.

«Has he finished it?» Rill asked.

«Yes, it's empty, and he's the only one who knows where the supply is!»

Rill smiled. «The foal is a male, a fine strong one. I thought Lord Alessan would like to know. Dag and Fergal are watching to be sure it stands and suckles.» She looked down at the sleeping Lord Holder, an expression of ineffable tenderness lending her a look of quiet beauty.

Tuero blinked to be sure it was the wine that had enhanced the tall woman. She had good bones in her face, he decided after making an effort at concentration. With a bit of thought to her clothing, brighter colors, with hair longer than that unattractive crop, she'd be attractive. Unexpectedly her expression altered, and so did the illusion of beauty, once again she bore the resemblance that perplexed Tuero and Desdra.

«I know I know you,» Tuero said.

«I'm not the sort of person a journeyman harper knows,» she replied. «Get to your feet, Harper. I can't allow him to sleep in this uncomfortable position and he needs a proper rest.»

«Not so sure I can stand.»

«Try it.» Her terse reply was issued with an authority that Tuero found himself obeying though he was shaky on his legs.

Rill was only half a head shorter than Alessan so she looped one limp arm over her shoulder, urging Tuero take the other. Between them they managed to get Alessan upright, though he remained only half-conscious of their efforts. Tuero had to cling with his free hand to the bannister but fortunately, Alessan's rooms were the first apartment past the head of the stairs. They got him through to the bedroom where Rill arranged his limp body comfortably before she covered him. Tuero was mildly jealous that Alessan could arouse such tenderness.

«I wish … I wish …» he began but lost the words to express that longing.

«The doss-bed is still in the next room, Harper.»

«Will you cover me up, too?» Tuero asked wistfully. Rill 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 her 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 nipping 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 Weyr 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 horizon, «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.

«Round up 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 other 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 Caves. 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 chose to Fall today. But we don't have anyone who knows the Keroon Plains well enough.» She paused then from her 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, scrambling 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.»

Balfor exaggerated, too, for the sun was just past zenith.

«Then I shall make the most of it. Don't go wandering off. I'll be back directly.»

Moreta angled Holth in takeoff so they both had a good look at the angle of the sun. Then she checked the first label, Keroon River Hold, situated where the river rushed through a gorge in its first wild charge from the higher plateaus. Holth jumped for the sky and went between as Moreta kept the gorge hard in her mind. She was met by the healer of Keroon River Hold and her delivery received with thanks. They had begun to worry since the vaccine had been promised for early morning. Moreta did not dally.

Next they went slightly northeast to the High Plateau Hold where the runners were cleverly penned in a canyon, awaiting the vaccine. The holder wanted reassurance about 'this stuff' since they'd only had drum messages and no contact with anyone 'below' since the quarantine was sent, and he wanted a fuller account of all that had been going on below. She answered him tersely but told him that once the vaccination had been administered, he could go below and hear the whole story. Her next stop was westward, along the great plateau fault at Curved Hill Hold where there had been a great ingathering of runners, and that was the last of the first run she did.

She did four more holds, and each time she landed at the Beasthold for more vaccine, the sun had dipped by another hour's arc, though she and Holth had been on the move hours longer than the sun told. And each jump Holth made seemed just that much shallower. Twice Moreta asked the dragon if she wanted to take time to rest. Each time Holth replied firmly that she was able to continue.

The angle of the sun dominated the coordinates Moreta envisioned for Holth in her valiant leaps. It had become a blazing beacon, turning slowly orange as it dipped farther down in the west. Moreta began to think of the sun as her enemy, fighting the time it took for Holth to recognize each new destination, to glide in to the hold or cot, hand over the bottles of vaccine and the packets of needlethorn, to explain, patiently over and over, exactly the dosage for animal and that for human, repeating instructions already sent by drum and messenger. Yet Moreta had to admit that, despite Master Tirone's best efforts, there was still panic in the more isolated holds that had not been touched by the plague and dreaded it more for its unexperienced terrors than its known qualities. Only the fact that she came a-dragonback allayed some suspicions. Dragons had always meant safety, even to the most secluded settlers. She had to use valuable time reassuring Holth and still make it back to the Beasthold for the next load of vaccine and the next run.

All during the last round, she kept the sun at a midaftemoon position, feeling the strain of timing it in her bones, in Holth's heaviness. But when she asked Holth if they should stop, the dragon replied that she wished Keroon had a few mountains instead of all these dreadful plains.

Then they had delivered the last of the vaccine and the net across Holth's withers was empty at last. They were at a small western hold, stark amid the vast rolling plain, the runners held in an uneasy assembly around the great waterhole that supplied them. The holder was torn between administering the vaccine as long as he had light and offering hospitality to the dragon and rider.

«Go, you have much to do,» she told the man. «This is our last stop.»

Thanking her profusely, the man began to hand out the contents of the net to his handlers. He kept bowing to her and Holth, walking backward to his herd, all the while expressing his gratitude for their arrival.

She watched him go, numbly aware that Holth's body was shaking under her legs. She stroked the old queen's neck.

«Orlith is all right?» She had asked the question frequently, too.

«I am too tired to think that far.»

Moreta looked at the midaftemoon sun over Keroon plain and wondered with a terrible lethargy exactly what time it was.

«One last jump, that's all we have to take, Holth.»

Wearily the old queen gathered herself to spring. Moreta gratefully began her litany.

«Black, blacker, blackest.»

They went between.

«Shouldn't Moreta be back by now, Leri?» The blue rider had been prowling uneasily in the tiers, occasionally barking his shins. Leri blinked, looking away from K'lon. His restlessness deepened her anxiety despite the soothing effect of the fellis-laced wine she had been sipping all afternoon. It had eased the pain in her joints caused by the morning's concentrated flying but did not allay her worry. She jerked her shoulders irritably, arching her back, and peered down at Orlith who lay drowsing beside her clutch of eggs.

«Take a hint from Orlith. She's relaxed enough. And I won't disrupt their concentration with an unnecessary question at what could be an awkward moment,» she replied testily. «They'll be very tired. They'll have had to fight time and make every minute into twenty to get the vaccine distributed.» Leri balled one hand into a fist and pounded her thigh. «I'm going to rend M'tani.» She flexed her fingers as if to encircle M'tani's neck. «Holth'll rake that bronze of his into shreds.»

K'lon regarded her with startled awe. «But I thought Sh'gall»

Leri gave a snort of contempt. «L'mal would not have needed to 'discuss' the matter with K'dren and S'ligar. He'd have been at Telgar, demanding satisfaction.»

«He would? What?»

«No Weyrleader can disregard a continental emergency. Capiam has not revoked his priority. Well, M'tani will wish he had cooperated. And,» Leri's smile was malicious, «Dalgeth will answer to the other queens.»

«Really?»

«Hmm. Yes. Really!» Leri drummed her fingers on the stem other wine cup. «As soon as Moreta comes back, you'll see.»

K'lon peered out of the Hatching Ground. «The sun's nearly down now. It must be dark in Keroon …»

Afterward, K'lon realized that both the rider and the dragon knew in the same instant. But Orlith's reaction was vocal and spectacular. Her scream, tearing at his taut nerves, brought him round to witness the initial throes of her bereavement. Orlith had been lying at the rear of the Ground, her eggs scattered on the sand before her. Now she reared up on her hind legs, her awkwardly coiled tail all that prevented her from crashing backward as she arched her head back, howling her despair. The sounds she emitted were ghastly ululations in weird dissonances, like throat-cut shrieks. Then, in an incredible feat, Orlith launched herself from that fully extended posture, over her eggs, missing them by a mere handspan. She sprawled, muzzle buried in the sand as all color faded from her golden hide. Then she began to writhe, thrashing her head and tail, oblivious to the fact that she had caught her right wing under her, nailing the air with the left.

«Holth is no more,» Rogeth told K'lon.

«Holth dead? And Moreta?» K'lon could barely comprehend that statement and frantically tried to deny the corollary even as he watched its effect on the stricken queen.

«Leri!»

«Oh, no!»

K'lon whirled. Leri lay against the cushions, gasping, her mouth working, her eyes protruding. One hand was pressed to her chest, the other clawed at her throat. K'lon leaped toward her.

«She cannot breathe.»

«Are you choking?» K'lon asked, horror mounting as he scanned her contorted face. «Are you trying to die?» K'lon was so appalled at the thought of Leri expiring before his eyes that he grabbed at her shoulders and shook her violently. The action forced breath back into her lungs. With a thin wail more piteous than Orlith's shattering cries, Leri went limp in his arms, her body wracked with sobs.

«Hold her.» Rogeth's voice was curiously augmented.

«Why?» K'lon cried, suddenly aware that in his selfish panic, he had thwarted Leri. If Holth was dead, she had the right to die, too. His heart swelled with a crippling ache of compassion, anguish and remorse. «How?» he demanded, unable to comprehend what terrible circumstance could have robbed Orlith of Moreta and Leri of Holth.

«They were too tired. They ought not to have continued so long. They went between … to nothing,» the composite voice replied in the sad conclusion perceived by all the dragons in the Weyr.

«Oh, what have I done?» Tears streamed down K'lon's face as he rocked the frail body of the old Weyrwoman in his arms. «Oh, Leri, I'm so sorry. Forgive me. I'm so sorry. Rogeth! Help me! What have I done?»

«What was necessary,» the augmented Rogeth spoke in a tone ineffably sad. «Orlith needs her to stay.»

Now the air was filled with the lamentations of the Weyr's dragons as they joined Orlith's dreadful keen. Sound battered the Hatching Ground, echoing wildly in the great stony cavern. As K'lon rocked Leri, the dragons were respectfully gathering at the entrances to the Ground. They lowered their great heads, their eyes dulled to gray as they shared the grief of a dragon who was unable to follow her rider in death, held to the Ground by the clutch of hardening eggs.

People had edged past the guardian dragons now, pausing briefly in deference to Orlith. Then K'lon recognized S'peren and F'neldril, closely followed by the other queen riders and Jallora. Kamiana turned with a peremptory gesture to the weyrfolk to remain at the entrance. But Jallora hurried to the steps, sliding to the blue rider. The healer murmured tenderly to Leri, stroking her hair, before she took the weeping woman from K'lon's arms.

«She wanted to die,» K'lon stammered, lifting his empty hands in mute apology to Kamiana. «She nearly did.»

«We know.» Kamiana's face was wretched.

«Pour some wine, Kamiana,» Jallora said, rocking Leri as K'lon had. He was obscurely relieved that he had, at least, done that right. «Use plenty of fellis juice. From that brown vial. Pour a cup for K'lon, too.»

«We could all use some,» Lidora muttered as she helped Kamiana.

But when Jallora held the cup to Leri's lips, the Weyrwoman pressed them tightly closed over her sobs and turned her head away.

«Drink, Leri.» Jallora's tone was deep with compassion.

«You must, Leri,» Kamiana insisted, her voice breaking. «You're all Orlith has.»

The rebuke in Leri's pained eyes was more than K'lon could stand and he buried his head in his hands, shaking with reaction. F'neldril laid a gentle arm across his shoulders to support him.

«Dear Leri, L'mal would expect it of you. I implore you. Drink the wine. It will help.» S'peren's voice was hoarse.

«Oh, brave Leri, courageous Leri,» Jallora murmured in approval and K'lon looked up as the old Weyrwoman accepted the wine.

Lidora pressed a cup into his hand. It must be half fellis juice, he thought as he recklessly downed the draught. Not that it would do any good. Not all the wine in Pern could assuage the pain and remorse in his heart. He willed the potion to numb his senses but he couldn't stop weeping. Even F'neldril's seamed face was tear-stained as he stroked S'peren's shoulder in comfort.

«Let's get her up to her weyr,» Jallora said, motioning for S'peren and F'neldril to assist her.

«No!» Leri's response was vehement. Orlith screamed in echoing protest.

«No,» said the voices and K'lon caught S'peren's arm. «I'll stay.» Leri pointed toward Orlith. «I'll stay here.»

«Will she?» Jallora asked the other queen riders, meaning the dragon.

«Orlith will stay,» Kamiana said in a barely audible voice while Leri slowly nodded affirmation. «She will stay until the eggs are ready to hatch.»

«Then we'll both go,» Leri added softly. Her words would forever remain in his mind, K'lon knew, as indelible as the rest of the terrible scene. S'peren and F'neldril stood beside him, drooping in grief, their faces suddenly aged. Haura and Lidora clung to each other weeping, while Kamiana stood to one side, her figure taut. Beyond them, the arched entrances to the Hatching Ground framed the press of dragons, all gray in sorrow, and the silent cluster of weyrfolk bewildered by the grievous loss. Just then there was a stir and three riders slowly moved onto the Ground, Sh'gall escorted by S'ligar and K'dren. Sh'gall continued forward alone, his body bowed with grief. He fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands, unseen by the inconsolable Orlith who writhed in the soul-rending agony of separation from her beloved rider, Moreta.