“Not to mention the Masterhealer and a general quarantine.”
“But Master Capiam is at Fort Hold,” Nesso protested as if that sanctioned all. “And what will be happening at Fort Hold in Lord Tolocamp’s absence I cannot imagine!”
It was the happenings at Ruatha Hold that concerned Moreta more vitally, and the second drum message.
“What is this of sick riders? Did it come in on open code?”
“No, indeed! Curmir had to look it up in his Record. We did nothing about that. Not even forward it for it didn’t have the pass-on cadence. F’neldril and K’lon said you should know. There are forty-five riders ill at Telgar alone!” Nesso placed one hand on her chest in a dramatic gesture. “Nine are very ill! Twenty-two are ill at Igen and fourteen at Ista.” Nesso seemed obscurely pleased by the numbers.
Eighty-one riders ill of this epidemic? Despair and fear welled through Moreta. Riders ill? Her mind reeled. It was Fall! All the dragonriders were needed. Fort Weyr was down thirty in strength from the last Fall, and thirty-three from this one. It would be a full Turn before Dilenth flew. Why this? Only eight Turns remained in this Pass and then the riders would be free of the devastation that Thread wrought on dragons, themselves, and Pern. Moreta shook her head in an effort to clear her thinking. She ought to have paid
134 Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
more heed to Sh’gall’s agitated report of illness instead of discounting the truth because it was unpalatable. She knew that Master Capiam was not in the habit of issuing arbitrary orders. But riders were healthy, fit, less susceptible to minor ailments. Why should they, in their splendid isolation, pursuing their historic occupation, be vulnerable to an infection rampant in crowded holds, halls, and among beasts?
Yet, her rational self said, the damage was already spreading by the time Sh’gall brought her the news. Even she had already innocently compounded her involvement by showing off her sensitivity to impress Alessan. How could anyone at Ruatha Gather have realized the danger in approaching that dying runnerbeast? Why, when Talpan had correlated illness to the joumeyings of that caged beast, she and Alessan had probably been watching the races.
You are not at fault, the tender, loving voice ofOrlith said. You did no harm to that runnerbeast. You had the right to enjoy the Gather.
“Is there anything we should do about the other Weyrs, Moreta?” Nesso asked. She had stopped weeping but she still twisted and washed her hands in an indecisive way that annoyed Moreta almost as much.
“Has Sh’gall returned?”
“He was here and went off, looking for Leri. He was angry.”
Orlith?
They are busy but unharmed.
“Nesso, did you tell him about the drum messages?”
Nesso cast a desperate look at Moreta and shook her head. “He wasn’t on the ground long enoughreally, Moreta.”
“I see.” And Moreta did. Nesso could never have brought herself to inform the Weyrleader of such fateful tidings had there been worlds of time. Moreta would have to present the matters to Sh’gall soon enough, a conversation that would cause more acrimony on a day when both had more problems than hours. “How is Sorth?”
“Well, now, he’s going to be fine,” Nesso said with considerably more enthusiasm for that topic. “He’s just over here. I thought you might like to check over my work.”
The westering sun glinted off the Tooth Crag above Fort Weyr and the glare hurt Moreta’s tired eyes as she looked in the direction Nesso pointed. The repair of Dilenth’s wing had taken far longer than she had realized.
Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern 135
There is still sun on your ledge, Orlith. You should enjoy it. Get the cold (^between and Fall out of your hide.
You are as tired. When do you rest?
When I have finished what must be done, Moreta said, but her dragon’s concern was comforting. Moreta scrubbed at her fingertips, which had become insensitive where numbweed had seeped through the oil. She rinsed her hands in redwort and dried them well in the cloth Nesso offered.
A blue dragon wailed plaintively from his ledge, and Moreta looked up, worried.