After considerable discussion with Tuero, Deefer, and Oklinahis inner councilit had been decided that he couldn’t leave the Hold proper, for there was no one else of sufficient rank to enforce his orders. He hadn’t wanted Tuero to make the journey as the harper was only just out of bed. But Tuero had been a wily talker, which was why, Tuero had said at the conclusion of the council, he was a harper and why he was the best emissary to send. A few days or so in the fresh spring air on an untaxing mission would complete his re-222 Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
covery. After all, while a harper was generally able to turn his hand to most tasks, Tuero couldn’t plow. Alessan hadn’t believed a word of Tuero’s cheery bluff but he had no one else to send.
Despite the awkward height of its rider, Tuero’s lean mount moved easily, with a quick high step, head held high and eager once it knew itself to be home. Tuero’s feet were level with the wiry beast’s knees, and the harper’s gaunt frame towered above its ears. Certainly not the mount that Alessan would have assigned Tuero by choice, but they seemed to have gotten along. They were riding at a right angle to Alessan’s field, but he could not remove his hands from the plow to hail Tuero. He’d reached the downslope of the field and the team was fractious with the pole hitting against their hocks. The field was nearly done; he’d finish it! Once he had he could give all his attention to Tuero’s news.
He would have wished to see Tuero returning with a sturdy team, but there did seem to be something in his pack. Two more furrows and the day’s stint was done.
As he drove the weary team back to the beasthold, the sowers were still busy setting seed. They’d have some sort of a crop in spite of the bloody plague. That is, if the weather held, and some other disasterlike a Thread burrowingdid not overtake wretched Ruatha.
To Alessan’s surprise, Tuero was waiting for him in the beasthold, sitting on an upturned pail, his saddlebags at his feet and a look of satisfaction on his long face. His mount was munching sweetgrass in its stall, all saddle marks rubbed from its back.
“I saw you at your labors, Lord Alessan,” Tuero began, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes as he rose to take the bridles of the team. “Your furrows improve.”
“They could stand to.” Alessan began to unhook the harness.
“Your example inspires many. In fact, your industry and occupation are already legend in the Hold. Your participation does you no disservice.”
“But brought me no team. Or is there more bad news?” Alessan paused before he removed the heavy collar from the off-sider.
“No more than you’ve probably figured out for yourself.” Tuero nodded to the saddlebags and took the collar from the other runner. “I’ve some bits and stashes but I saw myself how bare the cupboards are of what is needed most. At least in the north.”
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“And?” Alessan liked all his bad news at once so he could absorb the different shocks according to their merits.
“Others have started working the land but in some of those holds” Tuero gestured north with the twist of straw he made to rub the mount’s sweat marks“they had severe losses. Some Gatherers left before the quarantine and made it to their homes, bringing the virus with them. I’ve made a list of the deaths, a sad total it is, too, and no way I can ease the telling of it. They say misery loves company, and I suppose if you’re of a dismal temperament, you get joy of it.” Tuero quirked his eyebrows. “I’ve a list of needs and musts and worries. But I’d a thought on my way back which may sweeten all.
“I was right about people’s being afraid to come here, to Ruatha Hold proper. I was right about their not wanting to send good stock to their deaths for all the marks you’d be willing to give. I had a time of it to get them to let Skinny there in their holds. They were afraid.”