Moreta (Dragonlady of Pern) Page 13

  "How dare you interfere with the queens' wing?" she demanded, allowing her momentum to carry her right up to him.

  He spun around and, holding both hands up to keep her at a distance, backed off. Blinking with distress, Holth was swinging her head anxiously from side to side over Leri. A Weyrleader was an unlikely source of danger for her rider.

  "How dare you upset Holth and Leri?" Moreta shouted.

  "I'm not yet so decrepit I can't handle an hysterical bronze rider!" Leri retorted, her eyes snapping with anger.

  "You queens stick together, don't you," Sh'gall shouted back, "against all logic and reason!"

  Holth roared, and from the weyr below, Orlith trumpeted; then the fog resounded with dragon queries.

  "Calm down, Sh'gall! We don't need the Weyr in an uproar!" Leri spoke in a tense but controlled voice, her eyes catching and holding Sh'gall's. She might have retired as senior Weyrwoman but just then she exuded the unmistakable authority of her many Turns in that position. When Sh'gall looked away, Leri glanced sternly at Moreta. The younger Weyrwoman spoke soothingly to Orlith and the furor outside the weyr subsided. Holth stopped her agitated head‑swinging.

  "Now!" Leri folded her hands over the cumbersome Record she was trying to keep in her short lap. "A fine time to be quarreling over small points. The Weyr needs undivided leadership now more than ever. We've a double threat to overcome. So let me tell you a few things, Sh'gall, that you seem to have overlooked in your very laudable concern for protecting the Weyr from this plague of Capiam's. As of yesterday's Gathers there can't be many of our dragonriders who haven't been exposed to it. In fact, you're the most likely carrier since you were actually in the infirmary at Southern Boll as well as at Ista, viewing that poor beast."

  "I never went into the infirmary and I never touched the feline. I washed thoroughly in the Ice Lake before I returned to the Weyr."

  "So that's why your wits are slow, too bad your tongue thawed first! Hold it, Weyrleader!" Leri's forceful tone and her stern face quelled the retort on the bronze rider's lips. "Now, while you slept, Moreta was busy. So was I." She hefted the heavy Record in her lap. "The watchriders all know to deny the Weyr, not that anyone's likely to be flying in this fog after two Gathers. The drum towers of Fort Hold have been booming all day. Peterpar's checked the herds for sign of illness, which isn't likely since the last drove came from Tillek. Nesso has been busy talking to those sober enough to absorb information. K'lon continues to improve. Moreta, exactly what do you think is wrong with Berchar?"

  Moreta had never doubted that Leri kept an ear on everything that occurred outside her weyr, but the former Weyrwoman was too discreet to display her knowledge.

  "Berchar?" Sh'gall exclaimed. "What's wrong with him?"

  "Quite likely what ailed K'lon. At Berchar's instructions, S'gor isolated him and will himself remain weyrbound."

  Sh'gall began to sputter with the questions he wanted to ask. "If K'lon has recovered, Berchar should as well," Moreta continued reasonably.

  "Two sick!" Sh'gall's hand went to his throat, then his forehead. "If Capiam says two to four days before the onset of illness, you shouldn't be feeling ill yet," Leri said bluntly but not unkindly. "You'll lead in tomorrow's Fall. Holth and I will fly with the queens' wing and, as is my custom, I will receive ground‑crew reports, that is, if any ground crew are about. It's unlikely that Nabol and Crom will panic. A disease would have to be desperate indeed to seek victims in those forsaken holds. As is my custom, I shall remain on Holth, thus keeping to a minimum any possible contagion. It is essential to the main duty of the Weyrs to keep in contact with every holder. Without ground crews to assist us, we'd have twice the work. Do you not agree, Weyrleader?"

  Judging by the consternation on Sh'gall's face, he had not yet considered the possibility of inadequate ground‑crew support.

  "Not that it would matter if I did contract this plague of Capiam's. As well as being elderly," Leri cast a malicious glance at Sh'gall, "I'm certainly the most expendable rider."

  Holth and Orlith trumpeted in alarm. Even Kadith spoke as Moreta rushed to embrace Leri, her throat suddenly thick at the casual remark.

  "You are not expendable! You are not! You're the most valiant of all the queen riders on Pern."

  Leri gently disentangled herself from Moreta's fierce grasp then dismissed Sh'gall imperiously. "Go. All that can be done has been done."

  "I'll get Kadith settled," he said, leaving as if pursued. "And you settle yourself," Leri said to Moreta. "I'm worth no one's tears. Besides, it is true. I am expendable. I think Holth would like to rest and she can't until I do, you know."

  "Leri! Don't say such things! What would I do without you?" Leri gave her a long searching look, her eyes very bright. "Why, my girl, you'd do what you have to. You always will. But I'd miss you. Now, you'd best get down to the Cavern. Everyone will have heard the queens sounding off and Kadith's tizzy. They'll need to be reassured."

  Moreta stepped back from Holth's couch and Leri, abashed by the intensity of her feeling.

  "You're not worried because you touched that runner at Ruatha, are you?"

  "Not particularly." Moreta shrugged diffidently. "But I did and it's done. My rash impulses always worried L'mal."

  "Not half as much as your ability to deal with injured dragons pleased him. Now go, before they have too much time to fret themselves. Oh, and would you take this piece of harness to T'ral to be mended?" She chucked a roll of leatherstrap to Moreta. "Would never do for me to tumble off, would it? Such an ignominious end! Go on now, girl. And check your own harness, routine is reassuring in times like these. I wish to continue my fascinating reading!" Leri made a comical grimace as she tugged the Record volume into a more comfortable position.

  Moreta left Leri's weyr, her fingers finding the stretched length in the strap. She re‑coiled it. In a subdued mood, Moreta dutifully inspected her own harness, which she had oiled after the last Fall and hung neatly on its pegs.

  "I did not like to wake you but when Holth asked, I did."

  "And you did exactly as you should."

  "Holth is a great queen." Oriith's eyes whirled brightly. "And Leri is marvelous."

  Moreta went to her queen, who lowered her head to accept her rider's caresses. "This will be the last Fall you fly for a while!" she added, assessing the bulge in Orlith's belly.

  "I will fly tomorrow. I can fly in need as well."

  "Don't you fret about my riding Malth that short hop!"

  "I don't. I do wish you to know that I can always fly you."

  "There could be no need so great to take you from your eggs, my love." Moreta stroked the bulges appreciatively. "A good clutch, I think."

  "I know." A degree of smug satisfaction tinged her tone. "I'd best get down to the Lower Cavern." Moreta pulled her shoulders back, bracing against the stresses. Then she reminded herself that weyrfolk were hardy, not only in body but in mind. Each Fall they faced the knowledge that some among them would suffer injury, possibly death. They endured the certainty with fortitude and courage. Why should an additional transient hazard dismay them? Why should something unseen appear more dangerous than the visible Thread that scored?

  Sh'gall's apprehension was insidiously affecting her. There was even no surety that contact would result in illness. K'lon and Berchar? Well, that could be dismissed as misfortune. K'lon so often visited A'murry at Igen. At that, she was more likely to take ill than Sh'gall, after succoring that runnerbeast.

  Moreta took Leri's strap then, with a backward look at Orlith, who was composing herself as comfortably as she could, she left the weyr. The fog appeared to be thinning. It eddied about her more freely, and she could make out the full flight of stairs although the Lower Caverns remained invisible until she was more than halfway across the Bowl.

  When Moreta arrived, the Lower Cavern was already well populated. Most of the Weyr was about, in fact. Judging by the clutter of dishes and cups on the tables, a hearty meal had been consumed. Wo
men and weyrlings moved among the diners with klah pitchers, but not many wineskins were in evidence. The other queen riders, Lidora, Haura, and Kamiana, were at the raised table to one side of the dining area, their weyrmates seated with them.

  Moreta's presence was noted, and conversations subsided briefly. She located T'ral, who was busy at his leather‑mending, then made her way across the cavern, nodding and smiling to riders and weyrfolk, feeling more at ease as she began to appreciate the receptive mood of the assembled.

  "Leri's neck strap needs a mend, T'ral."

  "We can't be losing her!" the brown rider said, taking the strap and putting it on top of other work.

  "Did we mishear the drums, Moreta?" one of the younger brown riders asked in a voice suddenly too loud and brash.

  "Depends on the strength of your morning headache," she said with a laugh, which drew a scatter of echoes.

  "Klah or wine?" Haura asked Moreta as she stepped up on the dais.

  "Wine," Moreta said firmly, a choice that was greeted appreciatively by those nearby.

  "It's her legs that wobble," someone suggested.

  "The dancing was good at Ruatha, wasn't it?" She took a sip of the wine and then looked out over the faces turned toward her. "Who doesn't know what the drums have been relaying?"

  "Whoever slept through them heard the news from Nesso at the breakfast hearth," someone remarked from the center of the diners. Nesso brandished her ladle in that direction.

  "Then you all know as much as I do. An epidemic's loose on Pern, caused by that unusual beast the seamen rescued in the Current between Igen and Ista island. Runnerbeasts are affected but Master Talpan says that watchwhers, wherries, and dragons don't contract the disease. Master Capiam hasn't a name for it yet but if the disease originated from the Southern Continent, the odds are it'll be mentioned in the Records."

  "Like everything else," a wit called out.

  "Consequently it's only a matter of time before we know how to treat it. However," Moreta altered her voice to a serious tone, "Master Capiam warns against any congregating, "

  "He should have told us that yesterday."

  "Agreed. We may have Fall tomorrow but I want no heroes. Headache and fever are the symptoms."

  "Then K'lon had the plague?"

  "It's possible, but he's hale again."

  A worried voice came from the eastern side of the cavern. "What about Berchar?"

  "Caught it from K'lon, more than likely, but he and S'gor have isolated themselves, as you are probably aware."

  "Sh'gall?"

  An uneasy stir rippled around the Cavern.

  "He was fine ten minutes ago," Moreta said dryly. "He'll fly Thread tomorrow. As we all will."

  "Moreta?" T'nure, green Tapeth's rider, rose from his table to speak. "How long does this quarantine condition last?"

  "Until Master Capiam rescinds it." She saw the rebellious look on T'nure's face. "Fort Weyr will obey!" Before she finished that injunction, the unmistakable trumpeting of the queens was heard. No lesser dragon would disobey the queens. Moreta thanked Orlith for the timely comment. "Now, in view of Berchar's indisposition, Declan, you and Maylone share responsibility for the injured. Nesso, you and your team must be prepared to assist. S'peren, can I rely on your help?"

  "Anytime, Weyrwoman."

  "Haura?" The queen rider nodded, none too keen. "Now, are there any other matters to be discussed?"'

  "Does Holth fly?" Haura asked quietly.

  "She does!" Moreta spoke in a fiat voice. She would not have that right challenged by anyone. "Leri, as is her custom, will speak to the ground crews, keeping her distance up on Holth."

  "Moreta?" T'ral spoke up. "What about ground crews? I know Nabol and Crom will turn out tomorrow, but what happens next Fall, over Tillek and, after that, at Ruatha, if this plague spreads and we've no ground crews?"

  "Time enough to worry about that in the next Fall," Moreta said quickly, with an unconcerned smile. Ruatha! With all the Gatherers there, crowded in! "The Holds will do their duty as the Weyrs discharge theirs."

  An approving applause capped her restatement as she sat down, signalling that the discussion was at an end. Nesso stepped up on the dais with a plate of food.

  "I think you should know," she said in a low voice, "that all the drum messages sign Fortine as sender now."

  "Not Capiam?"

  Nesso shook her head slowly from side to side. "Not since the first one this noon."

  "Has anyone else noticed that?"

  Nesso sniffed in offended dignity. "I know my duty, too, Weyrwoman."

  The headache didn't know when to quit, Capiam decided, trying for another position in which to ease his aching skull and his feverish body. His clock was slow. He had another hour before he could take a fourth draught of fellis juice. His heartbeat was more regular thanks to the aconite. Carefully the Healer rolled onto his right side. He forced himself to relax his neck muscles, let his head sink into the fiber‑filled pillow. He was certain he could count every strand within the case from its pressure on the sensitized skin of his cranium.

  To compound his misery, the drum tower began to transmit an urgent message. At this hour? Were they manning the drums on a twenty‑four‑hour basis? Could no one sleep? Capiam recognized that the message was being relayed to Telgar Weyr but that was as far as he could force himself to concentrate.

  An hour before he could take more fellis juice? It was his duty to Pern not to be insensible as the disease followed its course with his resisting body. Sometimes duty was a very difficult task.

  Capiam sighed again, willing his execrable headache to abate. He ought to have listened to that message to Telgar. How was he to know what was happening on Pern? How the disease was progressing? How could he think?

  CHAPTER VIII

  Fort Weyr, Present Pass, 3.12.43

  The next morning when Orlith roused Moreta early, the fog had cleared from Fort Weyr's mountain slopes.

  "And to the northwest? Toward Nabol and Crom?" Moreta asked as she donned riding gear.

  "Sweeprider's gone out. He'll know," Orlith replied.

  "Sh'gall?"

  "Awake and dressing. Kadith says he's well and rested."

  "What does Malth say about Berchar?"

  The conversation paused while Orlith inquired. "Malth says the man feels worse today than he did yesterday."

  Moreta didn't like the sound of that. If Berchar had been taking sweatroot, the fever should have been sweated from his body.

  "Neither you nor the Weyrleader are ill." Orlith remarked by way of encouragement.

  Emerging from her sleeping quarters, Moreta laughed and went to throw her arms around her queen's neck, scratching the eye ridges affectionately. She couldn't help but notice the protruberances marring the curve of Orlith's belly.

  "Are you sure you should fly Fall today?"

  "Of course I can." Orlith craned her neck around to look at the bulges. "They will settle once I am airborne."

  "Holth and Leri?"

  "They still sleep."

  "Staying awake until the small hours, poring over Records!"

  Orlith blinked.

  When Moreta had returned the mended strap to Leri after the Weyr meeting, she found the old Weyrwoman deep in her studies.

  "Weyrfolk don't get sick," she had said with considerable disgust. "Bellyache from overeating or drinking raw wines, Threadscore, stupid collision, knife fights, abscesses, kidney and liver infections by the hundreds, but sick? I've looked through twenty Turns after the last Fall," Leri paused to give a great yawn, "bloody boring. I'll read on, but only because duty requires. Dragonriders are a healthy lot!"

  Moreta had been quite willing to take that reassurance with her to bed. Though Nesso might have found it curious that Fortine was sending drum messages, Moreta logically concluded that Capiam was sleeping off the exhaustion of his round of the afflicted Holds. Sh'gall said that the man had been traveling for days. Sh'gall's excessive alarm over the epidemic was l
ikely compounded by his innate antipathy for injury or minor ailments. The Weyrleader had been overreacting. She felt more sanguine about her contact with the diseased runner: It had been so brief that she failed to see how she could be affected.

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

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

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

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

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