Moreta (36 page)

“You’re a managing soul,” Capiam said without rancor.

“He’s sensible,” Desdra said, making a minor correction. “I was dreading the thought of being plunged back into all that must be done. Not to mention explaining these.” She examined her scratched hands.

“If you keep everyone as busy as you usually do, Desdra,” Capiam replied at his driest, “no one will have time to notice.”

“So just make yourself comfortable beside Nabeth. He won’t mind being pillow as well as windscreen, but there’s enough cover on the ground to keep you from scratching yourselves and the landward breeze will keep the midges off.”

B’lerion then had Nabeth stretch out his neck so that he and Oklina could settle themselves. Capiam and Desdra arranged themselves in the tail curve so Moreta lay down against Nabeth’s ribs and gestured for Alessan to join her.

“He won’t roll over or anything?” Alessan whispered to Moreta as he lay down.

“Not while B’lerion’s lying on his neck!”

So Alessan fitted himself against Moreta, drawing her arms around his waist and clasping them in his. She could feel his breath slow as he began to relax, and she pillowed her forehead against his strong shoulder blade.

The tropical night was warm and fragrant. Moreta tried to compose herself for sleep. She could hear Capiam’s baritone murmur and then silence. Alessan slept and she wanted to but was haunted by the sense of disorientation she had left that morning. Then the spicy smell of dragon, still tainted by a hint of firestone, began to soothe her and she realized that—for the first time in twenty Turns—she had passed a day without Orlith. She did miss her. Orlith would have liked Alessan’s exuberant loving. All that had been missing from that experience had been the dragon’s share of her rider’s gratification. Comforted, Moreta slept.

The moment Nabeth burst into the air above Ruatha, Moreta felt Orlith’s distressed touch.

You are there! You are there! Where have you been?

Where could you have been?
That deep-toned question was from an equally distraught Holth.

To Ista. As Nabeth told you.

We could not find you there!
That came from both queens.

I am here. I have what we went for. All is well! I won’t be long here now.

The time distortion that accounted for the strange feeling of separation and disorientation lingering even in her dreams at Ista had dissipated the moment Moreta felt Orlith’s touch. She was not only rested but extraordinarily revived, to the point that the warm sphere of euphoria in her belly expanded to fill her entire body with strength. B’lerion had been sensible indeed to insist they take time for rest.

Seated behind Moreta, Alessan became suddenly tense, his hands tightening about her waist fiercely. She knew he was swearing though the wind of Nabeth’s glide obscured the words. She looked down at sad Ruatha and knew that a dragonback perspective of the ruins could not fail to distress him. When she managed to twist to speak to him, his expression was full of urgent determination.

As soon as Nabeth came to a graceful landing across the roadway from the beasthold, he turned to Oklina.

“Surely some of the convalescents must be strong enough to do maintenance, Oklina. Did you have a good look at the Hold proper? It’s a shambles. Here, Moreta, I’ll give you a hand.” Alessan slid down Nabeth’s side and extended his hands to her. It was, Moreta quickly realized, an excuse to hold her, and he kept one arm loosely about her shoulders as they backed far enough away from the dragon’s bulk for Alessan to address the other riders. “I’ll continue making the serum, Master Capiam, and wait for any further instructions. Oklina, have you seen what I mean? Then I’ll help you down. My duty to you, Nabeth, and my eternal gratitude.” Alessan bowed formally to the bronze dragon, who winked at him from eyes that whirled pleasantly green-blue.

“He says his duty was a pleasure,” B’lerion replied, smiling as he handed Oklina down to his dragon’s raised forearm. He waited until she was clear and then waved cheerily as Nabeth sprang aloft again.

They had made most of their farewells at Ista when Belior rose, round and greenly gold in the dark Istan sky. B’lerion would convey the two healers to their hail with the needlethorns. If more should be needed, B’lerion would harvest it discreetly at Nerat with Oklina and Desdra. Capiam had composed messages for the Masterherdsman and all the holds that bred or kept runners. Relays would go to drumless settlements.

The dust of Nabeth’s departure was blowing away from them when Tuero came out of the beasthold, a look of surprise on his homely face.

“That didn’t take you long,” he said. “Alessan, we can’t make up another batch unless M’barak finds more glass bottles. I don’t know what’s taking him so long.”

The three travelers recoiled in a group, but before Tuero could comment on their reaction, Arith and M’barak hurtled across the fields to land almost exactly in the spot Nabeth had just occupied. Moreta clung to Alessan’s hand for support.

“Who’s he got with him?” Tuero demanded. As the blue dragon settled, it was obvious he bore three passengers as well as the carry-nets.

“Moreta!” M’barak called, gesturing to her urgently. “Hurry up. I need help with these silly bottles and I’ve people here who say they can handle runners. And we’ve got to hurry because I have to prepare for the Fall. F’neldril will skin me if I’m late!”

So Alessan, Tuero, Oklina, and Moreta rushed to unburden Arith of passengers and ornamental apprentice-blown glass bottles. Then Alessan gave Moreta a leg up to Arith’s back and if his hands lingered on her ankle as she settled herself, no one remarked on the Lord Holder’s behavior. As Moreta looked down at Alessan’s upturned face, she wished she might give him more than a smile in farewell. Then he stepped back and one of the newcomers touched his arm. The woman was tall and thin, with dark hair as close-cropped as a weyrwoman’s. She reminded Moreta of someone. Then they were airborne, and M’barak warned her that they’d go
between
as soon as Arith had air space.

Back at Fort Weyr, there was so much activity in the Bowl, readying the two wings, that no one noted their arrival though M’barak had craftily come in over the lake. Arith glided to deposit Moreta at the Hatching Ground cavern. After remembering to give the blue’s ribs a grateful thump, Moreta ran toward Orlith across the sands, not totally surprised to see Leri’s figure beside her.

You’re here! You’re here!
Orlith was bugling in relief, her wings extended, sweeping sand over Leri’s small figure.

“It’s all right, Orlith. I’m here! Don’t make so much commotion!” Moreta raced to her dragon, throwing her arms around Orlith’s head and hugging her as tightly as she could, then scratching eye ridges and murmuring reassurances.

“By the first Egg,” Leri was saying, leaning against Orlith’s side, “am I glad to see you! What have you been doing? Holth couldn’t find you either. Oh, do be quiet, Orlith!
Holth!
”

You have finally returned.
There was more reproof in Holth’s voice than Orlith would ever express.

“Couldn’t you contact Nabeth?” Moreta asked Orlith, then Leri and Holth. Orlith’s, color was very poor and there was an ashen hue to Leri’s complexion. She was full of remorse for having caused them a moment’s anguish. “Why didn’t you speak with Nabeth?”

I wanted you,
Orlith said piteously.

“Could you spare me a word of explanation?” Leri asked in a caustic tone, her voice breaking effectively. Contrite, Moreta grasped Leri’s shoulder. “The past hour has been dreadful. It took all my tact and patience to keep Orlith from blasting after you, wherever you were—which was where?”

“Didn’t Nabeth explain? B’lerion said he had.”

Leri waggled her hands irritably.
“He
only said that you had to go on an imperative journey that would take no more than an hour.”

“And we were back at Ruatha within that hour.” Moreta knew that had to be the truth and, indeed, now that she was back with Orlith, the past subjective twenty hours seemed the dream, not the reality. “Just an hour?”

“No, actually,” Leri said firmly, “a little longer than an hour. You were talking with Capiam about something”—Leri underscored her ignorance of that interview by a significant pause—“before you, he, and that journeywoman of his went skiting off to Ruatha on M’barak. The next thing I hear is a request through Holth from Nabeth and B’lerion.” She gave Moreta a stern look, an effect that was slightly spoiled by her changing from one foot to another during her reprimand.

“You look a bit uncomfortable on these hot sands, Leri. I think we’d better get off the Ground. I’ve rather a lot to tell you. No, Orlith, I won’t leave your sight but what suits your eggs is hard on your rider.” Moreta gave Leri a gentle shove toward her temporary living space and then fondled Orlith’s muzzle.

Leri had already seated herself before Moreta had sufficiently reassured Orlith. The queen gently pushed her weyrmate off and began to reposition the queen egg.

“It all began,” Moreta said to Leri as she settled herself, “when Master Capiam came to ask me the same question Alessan had”—Moreta caught herself before she could blurt out “two nights ago”—“about vaccinating the runners.”

Leri gave a disgruntled snort. “I would have thought he had enough on his hands healing humans.”

“He does, but the plague is an instance of zoonosis—animals infecting people
and
other animals.”

Leri stared at Moreta, her jaw dropping in alarm. “Zoonosis? Even the term sounds repulsive!” She fiddled with the cushion behind her back. “So, now that I’m comfortable, give me all the details.”

Moreta told Leri about Capiam’s visit, his fears for the continent’s health, how via zoonosis a second, more virulent wave of the viral infection could spread, and why mass vaccination was so essential. Capiam had left his chart behind, and Moreta produced it for Leri to examine.

“Capiam has it all planned so that a minimum of dragonriders would be needed—” She broke off, seeing the shock on Leri’s face as the method of distribution became apparent to the older Weyrwoman.

“The riders would have to time it!” Leri stared at her, the nostrils of her straight, finely arched nose flaring with indignation. “You did say that Master Capiam brought this—this incredible plan
with
him?” When Moreta nodded, Leri’s voice crackled with
fury. “How,
may I ask,
how
did Master Capiam know that dragons can move in time? I’ll flay K’lon to his bones!” Leri all but bounced off the stone tier. From above, Holth bugled a protest.

“It wasn’t K’lon,” Moreta said as she clasped Leri’s wildly gesticulating hands in hers. “Calm Holth down. She’ll have Sh’gall on us!”

“If you told Capiam, Moreta—” Leri freed one hand to raise it aggressively.

“Don’t be silly. He knew!” Remembering her own outrage at Capiam’s knowledge, Moreta could well appreciate Leri’s reaction. “He knew because, as he had to remind me, his Craft bred the ability into dragons.”

Leri opened her mouth to protest that statement, then took a deep breath and nodded her head in belated acceptance. “You still have some explaining to do, Moreta. Where have you been the past hour where neither Orlith nor Holth could reach you?”

Moreta was not so certain, suddenly, of Leri’s reaction to the truth of her whereabouts, especially now that it was obvious that Nabeth’s explanation had been somewhat less than candid. And she’d given B’lerion far too good a reason to prevaricate.

“We went to Ista. We went forward in time to Ista to harvest needlethorn. There’s not much point in producing vaccine if there’s no way to administer it.”

Meekly Moreta endured Leri’s piercing stare, the expression of disbelief, anger, anxiety, and finally resignation that flashed through the woman’s eyes.

“You just casually”—Leri flapped one hand in a careless motion—“jumped four or five months ahead?”

“Not
casually—B’lerion
checked the position of the Red Star and the two moons to be sure he was near the autumnal equinox. And we arrived back in Ruatha in an hour. Nabeth told you that much, didn’t he?”

“That much!” Leri drummed her fingers on her short thighs, indicating a displeasure she evidently couldn’t express in another way.

Moreta put out a tentative hand, a request for absolution, and Leri caught it, noticing for the first time the delicate tracery of needle scratches.

“Serves you right.” With a snort of disgust she released the hand. Then, with a grudging smile, she added, “I’d have thought you’d’ve taken a lesson from K’lon’s ineptitude. Sunburn. Scratches!”

“Nothing that redwort won’t hide this afternoon.” But Moreta tucked both hands under her thighs, the stone cool on the deeper slashes. “Nabeth didn’t tell you he took us to Ista? I chose a spot that isn’t easily reached through the rainforests. There’re only two places on the northern continent where needlethorn grows, and I thought the ravine on Ista safer than Nerat. We were perfectly safe the entire time.”

“We?
” Leri eyed Moreta with renewed alarm.

“I could scarcely harvest the quantity of needlethorn required by myself.” Then Moreta realized that, in her effort to reassure Leri, she had said altogether more than was strictly necessary.

“Who went?” Leri was quietly resigned to her indiscretions.

“B’lerion . . .”

“He would have to.”

Moreta winced at Leri’s dry sarcasm.

“Master Capiam and Desdra, the journeywoman. She knows about timing because she found the entries in the old Records.”

“Could we ask Master Capiam to
burn
those old Records?” Leri asked hopefully.

“He’s agreed to ‘lose’ them. Which is why
I
agreed to go.”

“That makes four of you. So! Who else went? We’ve known each other far too long, my dear, for you to delude me!”

“Alessan and Oklina.”

Leri sighed heavily, covering her eyes with one hand.

“Alessan has too much at stake and too much honor in him to prate about dragon capability. And judging by the way Arith has been snuffling around Oklina, she would make a candidate for Orlith’s egg.”