Nerilka's Story (9 page)

I gave the heavy fur robe on Alessan’s bed a yank, and it tumbled about my feet, briefly hindering us as we maneuvered Alessan’s limp body. He collapsed on to the bed, feet hanging over the edge. Tuero clasped the bedpost, murmuring an apology as the bed-curtain tore a bit from its frame. I tugged off Alessan’s boots, loosened his belt, bent his legs upward, and, with one hand on his hips, gave as mighty a push as I could and managed to get all of his long frame on the bed, on his right side.

“I wish . . .” Tuero began as I covered Alessan with the robe, tucking it in carefully above his shoulders so that if he rolled, he would not be cold. He smiled slightly in his sleep and my breath caught. “I wish . . .” Tuero stared at me with a suddenly blank face, frowned, and lowered his head to his chest.

“The doss-bed is still in the next room, Harper.” Even with Tuero’s drunken help, I doubt I could have assisted him to his room far down the corridor.

“Will you cover me up, too?”

Tuero’s request was delivered in such a wistful tone that I had to smile. In two or three lurches, he had followed me into the next room. I picked up the blanket and shook it out. With a sigh of weary gratitude, he lay on his side.

“You’re good to a drunken sot of a harper,” he murmured as I covered him. “One day I’ll rememmmm . . .” He was unconscious. Perhaps one day Tuero would remember that it was he who had coined the phrase “the Fort Hold Horde,” which had been joyfully applied to my sisters and me. I suspect it would put a blight on our relationship when he did. But that was really his problem.

Mine was getting into my own bed, and not wishing that there was someone who might care to tuck me in.

Chapter IX

3.23.43

B
RIGHT AND CLEAR
, with a promise of spring that was soon to be blighted in the heart, dawned that momentous day. Despite our excesses of the night before, or because of them, we rose rested, and breakfasted early. Everyone was smiling, including Desdra, who was not much given to trivial expressions. Details of the day’s business were discussed at the breakfast table. Alessan ran up to the beasthold to inspect the colt foal, expressing considerable pleasure in its strength and friskiness. Oklina and I got the fosterlings and several of the stronger male convalescents to help trundle the apprentice jars up to an unused beasthold so that some progress could be made in setting the Main Hall back to the purpose for which it was intended.

Deefer took others off to see if there might not be a few plump wherries in the hills; they would make a nice change from the tough herdbeast meat, the supply of which was now virtually exhausted.

I made plans in my head, rehearsing suggestions to present to Alessan tonight. I felt that a week’s hard work would clean up the debris, and he must wish to see the last of the reminders of that horrible time. Not that we could do anything to block out the sight of the burial mounds. Spring would at least bring grass to cloak the muddy prominences. When the earth had settled, we would be able to level them, but that would be some time in the future.

“Dragons!” someone yelled from the Outer Court. We all rushed out to see the spectacle. The first one to land was B’lerion on Nabeth. Oklina’s little face filled with joy. Bessera, one of the High Reaches queen riders, on her great beast, settled to the ground behind him. The Court, an ample space, seemed suddenly dwarfed and constricted by the presence of the huge beasts. They looked immensely pleased with themselves, glowing in the bright sunshine. Six more dragons, bronzes all, landed on the roadway.

As Oklina rushed out to B’lerion with his supplies, I could not help but notice the way the bronze rider’s face lit up as he slipped down his dragon’s side. When she reached him, she halted abruptly to gaze lovingly up at him until, smiling a trifle foolishly himself, he took the serum from her.

I felt a touch on my arm. Desdra stood there with the brace of packaged serum bottles for me to deliver to a rider. “Don’t stare, Rill. It has been sanctioned.”

“I wasn’t staring—not exactly. But she’s so young, and B’lerion has quite a reputation.”

“There’s a queen egg hardening at Fort Weyr.”

“But Oklina’s needed here.”

Desdra shrugged, transferred the serum to my hands, and gave me a bit of a push to call me to attention. I rushed off, but my mind was unsettled. Oklina was so very young, and B’lerion so very charming. Yet Alessan sanctioned the alliance? How odd, when he would need her children as well to secure the Bloodline. Oh, I knew perfectly well that Ruathan women often became queen riders and that Weyrwomen conceived and bore children like any others, though not as prolifically. But I wouldn’t fancy such a life. The bond between rider and dragon was too intense, too all-consuming for someone like me. What I envied in Oklina was the happiness, the rapture in her face as she looked up at B’lerion. Nabeth’s rainbow-sparkling eyes were turned on the pair, as if he knew everything that was passing silently between them. Dragons had such powers, I knew. I wasn’t certain I would like having someone know exactly what I was thinking all the time. But I supposed dragonriders grew accustomed to it.

No sooner had we recovered our breath from the departure of that dragon contingent than the Fort Weyr queens arrived. Leri, whom I was surprised to see, set old Holth down in the Courtyard while Kamiana, Lidora, and Haura landed on the roadway. Then S’peren and K’lon arrived. Leri was in great form, joking with Alessan and Desdra, but I noticed that she kept watching Oklina. And so did Holth. So this involvement was of recent origin? Then I remembered my arrival here at Ruatha, a mere three days ago that had the quality of three months, so much had happened in that short space. Alessan had seemed happy; so had Moreta, and Oklina had been positively shining. So was Leri reviewing the situation today?

The Weyr had the right to Search for suitable candidates from any hold, especially when a queen egg was hardening. Oklina was so young, so sweet. I chided myself for criticizing my new Lord Holder. What right had I, save that of a concerned friend? But then I was good at seeing the bad side in everything.

Around midday, we had time for a cup of soup and bread. Most of the serum bottles had been speedily delivered to the messengers—I tried to figure out the logistics of delivery. It took nearly five minutes for a dragon to land. Working as fast as we could, another five minutes were needed to hand the rider the bottles, then three to four minutes for the dragon to become airborne. Although his actual flight time
between
one location and another was a few seconds, it had to take at least half an hour to complete each delivery. With all the holds in the west, South Boll, Crom, Nabol, Fort, what few were occupied in Ruatha, Ista, and the western portions of Telgar, the entire complement of each Weyr ought to have been turned out. And there were but eight from the High Reaches, seven from Fort, and six from Ista.

“Don’t try to make sense of it, Rill,” Desdra advised me, her wry tone amused. “It actually can be done if one takes into account unusual draconic abilities.”

Her reference confused me further, but the Istan and Fort contingents of dragons were back for their last consignments. If the dragons looked a bit off-color, that was to be expected. Going
between
must take a great deal of energy, as did all that landing and taking off. Leri looked exhausted, but then she was the oldest of the dragonriders at Fort. It was a measure of her dedication to the Weyrs that she undertook such a task.

Suddenly all the queens let out roars of angry protest. The only blue dragon present cringed. Leri looked furious, as did the other queen riders. There seemed to be an intense, if silent, conference among them. Leri signaled me, as the nearest person to her, to take her last consignment from her.

“Take these to S’peren; there’s a good girl. He’ll deliver.”

I was soon covered in the dust stirred up by Holth’s precipitous departure. I think the dragon hadn’t so much as cleared the outer wall before she went
between.
A whoosh of cold air made me shudder convulsively. Everyone else had grown grim indeed when there should have been some measure of satisfaction for the completion of a difficult and most unusual task. I walked slowly back to the Hall.

“These can go back to the cool rooms.” Alessan was indicating the remaining crates of serum, the extras prepared against the possibility of breakage. “We ought to get them over to Keroon Beasthold when the fuss subsides. Whoever becomes Beastcraftmaster will be glad of them. They’re sure to discover more abandoned runners in Keroon or Telgar. There are many untenanted holds there now.”

At that point, Deefer and his team came back, all grinning broadly, each man carrying at least one plump wherry on his back.

“We shall feast tonight. Oklina, Rill, what else can we find in the larder to add to roast wherry? We owe ourselves a real celebration; a proper meal, not another stew, and a swing round with a wineskin.”

There was a general outbreak of cheers and shouts, and offers of assistance to the cooks. The Hall was enthusiastically cleared of its medical detritus, and the long-absent sturdy dinner tables were hauled, dusty, from their cupboards. They had been so hastily stored after the Gather that some still bore wine- and food-stained cloths. Oklina and I quickly bundled those up and out of sight in the mound of wash.

“I shall be sorry to leave here,” Desdra said to me as she paused in collecting her bits and pieces and her records of the serum manufacture. “Despite all this—” she gestured at the disorder “—Ruatha is recovering quickly.”

“You and Master Capiam must come back soon,” Oklina said, her eyes still shining from B’lerion’s last visit. “You’ll see what Ruatha should look like, won’t she, Rill?”

“Just give me elbow room, and we’ll have the place to rights in no time,” I vowed so fervently that Desdra laughed.

Then she winked so that Oklina wouldn’t see. “You were right to come here, Rill. You were never appreciated at your former Hold. And I’d like to apologize for misconstruing your motive in offering your assistance at the Hall. You’d’ve been a rare, fine help to us there.”

“No, I would not have been allowed,” I said, relieved that Oklina had moved out of earshot. “Here I am my own person, accepted on the strength of my own endeavors. I can be of use here, especially if Oklina—” I paused, not certain what I meant to say.

Desdra cocked one eyebrow, and I quickly corrected any misapprehension she had of high-flown ambitions.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Desdra. Despite Ruatha’s present state, this is a prestigious Hold for alliance. Alessan’s done himself no harm in anyone’s eyes to pull out of this disaster with so much dignity. Every Lord Holder with eligible daughters will be courting him assiduously as soon as they can wangle conveyance here.”

“You’ve sufficient rank, Lady Nerilka.”

“Hush! Rank to be sure I
had
.” I emphasized the past tense. “And little joy of it. I am far more satisfied to be part of Ruatha’s future, for I had none of my own at Fort.”

Desdra conceded my point with an open gesture of both hands. “Is there anyone to whom I should drop a hint of your whereabouts? I shall be most discreet.”

“If you would, tell my Uncle Munchaun that you have seen me on your travels, well and happy. He’ll reassure my sisters.”

“Campen was worried, too, you know. He and Theskin searched the surroundings for a whole day, certain you had been hurt out gathering herbs.”

I nodded, accepting what she didn’t say as well as Campen’s attempt.

I remember that I was wondering if we’d ever eradicate the astringent odor of redwort from the Main Hall when Oklina, setting the highly burnished copper ornaments back on the mantel, suddenly cried out and would have fallen had not Desdra, beside her, held her up. Ashen-faced, Alessan burst from the small office that had so recently been Follen’s surgery.

“MORRRETTTAAA!” Alessan’s scream was the anguish of a man already overburdened by grief and loss. He fell heavily to his knees after that one shout, sobs racking his body as he bent over, pounding his fists on the stone, heedless of Follen’s attempts to restrain him from doing himself damage.

I couldn’t stand those sobs and ran to him, kneeling so that his already-bloodied fists pummeled my thighs, not cold stone. He gripped my thighs so fiercely I had to bite my lips to suppress a cry, but then he burrowed his head in my lap, convulsed by this grief.

Moreta! What harm could have befallen her at Fort Weyr? I knew that her queen was in the Hatching Ground, surely the safest place in any Weyr.

Alessan’s arms encircled my hips, his fingers clawing at my back, as he wrestled with this new and tremendous grief. I clasped him to me as tightly as I could, murmuring inanities, trying to understand what could have happened.

I was aware that Follen and Tuero were standing beside us, but whatever they said was masked by Alessan’s hideous, gasping sobs and the scrape of his boots on the stone as his very body tried to escape this new tragedy.

“Whatever it is,” I said, “let him purge it, for he has not indulged himself with tears until now. What can have happened to Moreta?”

“Whatever,” Desdra said, joining them, “has rendered Oklina unconscious. I don’t understand any of this. He’s not a rider, nor is she yet.”

We heard a mournful howl, far louder than could have come from the throat of only one watchwher.

“Shards!” Desdra cried.

I looked up at the anguish in her voice and saw B’lerion leaping up the stairs into the Hold, his face totally white, his eyes wild. The grayed dragon beyond him was a terribly altered Nabeth. It was his weird keening we had heard.

“Oklina!” B’lerion cried, trying to find her among us.

“She fainted, B’lerion.” Desdra pointed to the Hall where Oklina’s body was stretched out on the table, a servant hovering solicitously by her. “What has happened to Moreta?”

B’lerion turned haggard tear-filled eyes from Oklina to Alessan, whose sobs as he lay in my arms were as racking as ever, and the bronze rider’s whole body sagged as he dropped his head on his chest. Tuero reached out to support him on one side, Follen on the other.

“Moreta went
between
.”

I couldn’t quite grasp what he meant. Dragons and riders went
between
so frequently.

“On Holth. Telgar riders defected. She knew Keroon. She made the run. Holth was already tired. She did too much. They both went
between.
And died!”

I held Alessan even tighter then, my own tears mingling with his, my grief as fierce but more for him now than for the valiant Weyrwoman. How could he endure this third ghastly tragedy when he had stood so courageously against the plague, and mourned Suriana far longer than would most men. I burned anew against my father. Why, if there was any justice in the world, was Alessan so grievously assaulted by misfortunes of the most terrible degree while Tolocamp enjoyed health, fortune, and fleshly pleasures that he no longer deserved?