CHAPTER VI
Ruatha Hold, Present Pass, 3.11.43
I
ALESSAN WATCHED AS the great dragon sprang into the air with Moreta lifting her arm in farewell. The dragon glowed in the dark-gray sky, and not from the feeble light of the dying lamp standards. Did her gravid state account for that luminescence? Then the phe-nomenon occurred for which Alessan waited: The golden glowing queen and her lovely Weyrwoman disappeared. A whoosh of air made the languid banners flutter.
Smiling, Alessan took a deep breath, well satisfied by the high moments of his first Gather as Lord of Ruatha Hold. As his sire had often repeated, good planning was the essence of success. True enough that good planning had resulted in his sprinter’s win, but he had never counted on Moreta’s company at the racesshe had been such a spontaneous companion. Nor had he anticipated her dancing with him. He’d never had such an agile partner in the toss dance. Now, if his mother could find a girl in any way comparable to Moreta …
“Lord Alessan …”
He swung around, surprised out of his pleasant reverie by the hoarse whisper. Dag scuttled out of the shadows and stopped, bolt still, half a dozen paces from him.
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Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
“Lord Alessan …” The anxiety in Dag’s voice and the formal address alerted Alessan.
“What’s the matter, Dag? Squealer”
“He’s fine. But all Vander’s animals is down with the cough, hacking out their lungs, feverish and breaking out in cold sweats. Some of those picketed next to Vander’s lot are coughing, too, and sweating. Norman don’t know what to make of it, it’s so sudden. I know what I make of it, Lord Alessan, and so I’m going to take our animals, those that have been in the beasthold and ain’t been near that lot in the pickets. I’m going to take ‘em away before that cough spreads.”
“Dag, I’m not”
“Now, I ain’t saying, Lord Alessan”Dag raised his hand in a placatory gesture“but what the cough could be the warm weather and a change of grass, but I’m not risking Squealer. Not after him winning.”
Alessan suppressed a smile at Dag’s vehemence.
“I’ll just take our bloodstock up to the high nursery meadowstill they clear away.” He jerked his thumb at the race flats. “I’ve packed some provisions and there’re plenty of crevice snakes for eating. And I’ll take that ruffian of a grandson of mine with me.”
Second only to Squealer in Dag’s affections was his daughter’s youngest son, Fergal, a lively rascal who was more often in the black records than any other holdling. Alessan had a sneaking admiration for the lad’s ingenuity, but as Lord Holder he could no longer condone the antics that Fergal inspired. His most recent prank had so angered Lady Oma, involving as it did the smirching of guest linens, that he had been forbidden to attend the Gather, and the punishment was enforced by locking the boy in the Hold’s cell.
“If I thought”
Dag laid a finger along his snub nose. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Get along then.” Alessan longed for sleep and Dag was plainly in an obstinate frame of mind. “And take that … that …”
“Dirty piece of laundry?” Dag’s grin was slyly infectious.
“Yes, that’s an apt description.”
“I’ll wait for a message from you, Alessan, that all the visitors have gone and taken their cough with ‘em.” Dag’s grin broadened and he turned smartly on one heel, setting off toward the beasthold at such a clip that his bandy figure rolled from side to side. Alessan watched his departure thoughtfully for a moment, won-Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern 85
dering if he gave Dag too much latitude. Perhaps the old handler was covering up some new prank Fergal had pulled. But a cough spreading through the pickets was not so easily dismissed. When he’d had some sleep, he’d have a word with Norman, see if they had discovered why Vander’s runner had died. That incident bothered Alessan. But a cough hadn’t killed the runner. Was it possible that Vander, keen to win at the Gather, had ignored the signs of illness to bring his middistance runner? Alessan would prefer not to think so, but he knew well how the desire to win could grip a man.