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, stu-pid 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 likely 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
114 Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
a mug of klah while she checked his efforts. Moreta had briefly considered sending a weyriing to the Healer Hall for a more experienced healer to replace Bcrchar, but because of the quarantine and the efficiency shown by Declan and Maylone, she decided the Wcyr 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 weyriing, 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 Wcyr 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.