Rill smiled. “The foal is a male, a fine strong one. I thought Lord Alessan would like to know. Dag and Fergal are watching to be sure it stands and suckles.” She looked down at the sleeping Lord Holder, an expression of ineffable tenderness lending her a look of quiet beauty.
Tuero blinked to be sure it was the wine that had enhanced the tall woman. She had good bones in her face, he decided after making an effort at concentration. With a bit of thought to her clothing, brighter colors, with hair longer than that unattractive crop, she’d be attractive. Unexpectedly her expression altered, and so did the illu-sion of beautyonce again she bore the resemblance that perplexed Tuero and Desdra.
“I know I know you,” Tuero said.
“I’m not the sort of person a journeyman harper knows,” she replied. “Get to your feet, Harper. I can’t allow him to sleep in this uncomfortable position and he needs a proper rest.”
“Not so sure I can stand.”
“Try it.” Her terse reply was issued with an authority that Tuero found himself obeying though he was shaky on his legs.
Rill was only half a head shorter than Alessan so she looped one limp arm over her shoulder, urging Tuero take the other. Between them they managed to get Alessan upright, though he remained only half-conscious of their efforts. Tuero had to cling with his free hand to the bannister but fortunately, Alessan’s rooms were the first apartment past the head of the stairs. They got him through to the bedroom where Rill arranged his limp body comfortably before she covered him. Tuero was mildly jealous that Alessan could arouse such
tenderness.
‘I wish … I wish …” he began but lost the words to express that longing.
The doss-bed is still in the next room, Harper.”
Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
295
“Will you cover me up, too?” Tuero asked wistfully. Rill smiled and merely pointed to the pallet on the floor and shook
out the blanket folded on it. With a sigh of weary gratitude, Tuero
lay down on his side.
“You’re good to a drunken sot of a harper,” he murmured as he felt the blanket spread over him. “One day I’ll rememmmm …”
The morning began as any other in the Weyr. Though bothered by a lingering cough, Nesso had otherwise recovered from her illness. She brought Moreta breakfast and so many complaints about Gorta’s management of the Lower Caverns during her illness that Moreta cut short the tirade by saying she had to check Leri’s harness.
“I can’t imagine why the queen riders would fly with Telgar after what M’tani did yesterday.”
Moreta was grateful that the Fall would mask the queens’ real activities and grateful, too, that Nesso had obviously not discerned that the rising to Fall was merely an excuse, that Telgar had nothing to do with the queens’ flight that day.
“It’s the last time,” Moreta said, hastily draining her cup. “We had our duty to hold and hall!”
Orlith was carefully turning eggs on the hot sands, testing their shells with a gentle tongue. She was more solicitous of the queen egg and turned it nearly every hour; the lesser ones were rearranged only three or four times a day. Moreta would see Leri safely off on her mission and then take Orlith to the feeding ground. They would have to insist that drovers restock the Weyr, once the threat of plague was over. Just then there wasn’t much choice among what beasts were left. She’d speak to Peterpar. Maybe wild wherries could be found nearby fattening on the spring growth in the lower range. Once the day was over, there’d be a lot of details she’d best attend and get affairs back to a normal pace. And then a real Search for candidates would be initiated.
Leri was dressed in her flying gear but grumpy.
“Maybe you’d better not fly your run if your joints are bothering you so much. Did you take enough fellis juice in your wine?”
“Hah! I knew there’d come a day when you’d beg me to take fellis juice!”
“I’m not begging you”
296 Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern