At Telgar the brown watchdragon bugled threateningly to Arith, ordering the blue to land on the Rim instead of proceeding down to the Bowl.
“My orders, Weyrwoman,” C’ver said with no apology. “M’tani wants no strangers in the Weyr.”
“Since when are dragonriders strangers to each other?” Moreta demanded, offended by the order and insolence with which it was delivered. Arith trilled with concern over their reception and he could sense Moreta’s fury. “I’ve come in Search”
“And left your queen alone?” C’ver was openly contemptuous.
“The eggs harden. I call M’tani to honor his promise to S’peren to send us candidates for Impression. I have vaccine with me if it is needed for the weyrfolk I seek.”
“We have all of that we need for those who deserve it.”
“If I were on Orlith, C’ver”
‘Even if you were on your queen, Moreta of Fort, you wouldn’t be
Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern 285
welcome here! Take your Search into your own Holds. If there’re any holders left, of course!”
“If those are your sentiments, C’ver”
“They are.”
“Then have a care, C’ver, when this Pass is over. Have a care!”
C’ver laughed and his brown reared to his hind legs, trumpeting derisively. Arith trembled from muzzle to tail tip.
“Get out of here, M’barak.” Moreta spoke through clenched teeth. Telgar could bum in fever and she’d never answer them. They could be down to the last sack of firestone and she’d not send them a sliver. The Weyr could be full of Thread and she“Take us to the High Reaches.”
A Rim landing indeed! The cold of between did not dampen Moreta’s fury, but Arith stopped trembling only when the High Reaches watchdragon caroled a welcome.
“Ask Arith to request permission to land in the Bowl near Tamianth’s quarters. Say we come in Search.”
“I already did, Moreta,” M’barak said, his eyes still shadowed by Telgar’s rejection. “We are twice and twice times twice welcome at the High Reaches. Arith says Tamianth is warbling.”
As Arith glided past the Seven Spindles and the waving watchrider, they could indeed hear Tamianth’s intricate vocaliza-tion. B’lerion’s Nabeth answered then charged out of his weyr to its ledge. S’ligar’s Gianarth emerged as if catapulted, flapping his wings and uttering high crackling trills as Arith made his landing.
M’barak turned to grin at Moreta, his shattered confidence restored by the spontaneous greetings and goodwill. Then Moreta saw B’lerion standing in the wide aperture to the weyrling quarters that accommodated the wounded Tamianth. He waved his right arm vigorously and then trotted out to meet her.
“Just a quick word alone,” he said, folding his good arm around her shoulders with careless ease. “I took Desdra and Oklina to the Nerat plantations late last night. We’ve all the needlethom we could possibly require. I’ve not mentioned either of your Searches to Falga and S’ligar and there have been no awkward questions from any other source.” He raised his voice, chatting casually. “Tamianth’s wing is dripping ichor, and she’s got a tub for diving; S’ligar’s improving, the sun is shining, the Weyr is righted, and Pressan and I were just giving Falga a little walk. Pressen thinks very highly of
286 Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
you, my dear Moreta. Cr’not may tell me that Diona did it, but we know Diona, don’t we? Pressen attended the dragon injuries from yesterday’s Fall. Spends his free time badgering Falga about dragon cures, which keeps her from feeling useless. Ah, here we are, Falga, your waterbearer!”
The first thing Moreta noticed was the enormous water butt conveniently placed at Tamianth’s left, full to its brim. Then she saw the neat stack of buckets.
B’lerion chuckled. “My idea. Everyone who wants to visit Falga goes by way of the lake and brings in a full bucket. Every hour a weyrling returns the empties to the lake. If you count the current buckets, you’ll realize that Falga’s been having entirely too much company. Or Tamianth’s thirst has finally been slaked.”
Falga was propped against cushions on a wide couch that had been made of several weyrling beds tied together. Moreta was delighted to see the good color in Falga’s face and returned her embrace, almost embarrassed by the woman’s profuse thanks for saving her queen’s life. Then, out of deference to Falga’s fervent request, Moreta checked the progress of Tamianth’s wing with Pressen while Tamianth hummed softly, watching Moreta with softly glowing eyes.