“It goes off feed and water.”
“Not wagon beasts. They go till they drop.”
Both men looked across the fields where the Hold’s sturdy cart and wagon runnerbeasts grazedthe ones Alessan had bred to his sire’s specifications.
“Set up a buffer area. Keep racers and wagoners well separated.”
“I will. Lord Alessan, but the racers have been drinking upriver of them!”
“It’s a wide river, Norman. Hope for the best.”
The first thing Alessan noticed at the flats was that the manager had utilized the entire spread of picket lines. The healthy beasts were on the outside, well away from the cleared circle surrounding the sick ones. The coughing of the infected beasts was audible on the still, slighty chill air. They coughed, necks extended, mouths gaping, in hard painful-sounding barks. Their legs were swollen, their hides dull and starring.
“Add featherfern and thymus to their water. If they’ll drink, Nor-man. Use a syringe to get fluid into them before they dehydrate completely. We might offer nettleweed, too. Some runners are smart
Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern 93
enough to know what’s good for them. Nettles, at least, are in plenti-ful supply.” Alessan gazed out over the meadows where the annual battle to reduce the perennial had not yet started. “Any coughs among the herdbeasts?” He swung in the other direction.
“Truth to tell, I’ve had little time to think about them.” Norman had the dedicated racer’s almost contemptuous disdain for the placid herd creatures. “Harper told me the drums only mentioned runners.”
“Well, we’ll have to slaughter herdbeasts to feed our unexpected guests. I don’t have enough fresh meat left after the Gather.”
“Lord Alessan, did Dag …” Norman began tentatively, with a half-gesture toward the cliff, to the great apertures where the Hold’s animals were normally sheltered during Threadfall.
Alessan gave Norman a shrewd glance.
“So, you were in on that?”
“Sir, I was,” Norman replied staunchly. “Dag and I got worried when the cough started to spread. Didn’t want to interrupt your dancing, but as the bloodstock had no contact with theseLook at that!”
“Shards!”
They watched as the leader in a team of four hitched to a big wagon collapsed in the traces, pulling its harness mate to its knees.
“Right, Norman. Get some men up to take charge of that team. Use them as long as they last to haul carcasses. Bum the dead animals down there.” Alessan pointed to a dip in the far fields, out of sight from the forecourt and downwind. “Keep track of the dead beasts. Reparation should be made.”
“I’ve no recorder.”
“I’ll send down one of the fosterlings. I’ll also want to know how many people stayed the night down here.”
“Most of the handlers stayed, and some keen ones like old Runel and his two cronies. Some of the breeders were in and out, not caring much for the dancing after you were thoughtful enough to send a few kegs down here.”
“I wish we knew more about this illness. ‘Medicate the symptoms,’ the drums said.” Alessan looked back at the lines of coughing animals.
“Then we give ‘em thymus and featherfern, and nettles. Maybe we’ll get a message from the Masterherdsman. Could be on its way
94 Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
from the east right now.” Norman looked confidently in that direction.
Help didn’t usually come from the east, Alessan thought, but he clapped Norman reassuringly on the shoulder. “Just do the best you can!”
“You can count on me, Lord Alessan.”
Norman’s quietly issued assurance heartened Alessan as he took the shorter way across the stubble field to the hold. Was it only the day before that he and Moreta had paused on the rise to watch the racing? She had touched Vander’s dying runner! Alessan’s stride faltered. The Weyr would have received the drum message before Ruatha did. She would know by now the consequences of her act. She would also probably know better how to prevent falling ill herself.
As did everyone of Ruatha Hold, he knew the Fort Weyrwoman by sight, but Alessan had always been on the fringes of such Hold gatherings as she had attended since achieving her senior position in the Weyr. So he had thought her a distant, self-contained person, totally immersed in Weyr culture. The discovery that her fascination with racing was as keen as his own had been an unexpected delight. Lady Oma had rebuked him firmly at one point in the early evening for taking so much of Moreta’s time. Alessan knew perfectly well that she meant that he was not making the most of the chance to meet eligible girls. He knew, too, that he must soon secure his bloodline and so he had tried to be properly receptive until he saw Moreta slip behind the harpers’ dais. By then he had had enough of stammering insipidity and timorousness. He had acquitted his duty as Lord Holder but he was also going to enjoy himself at his first Gather. In Moreta’s company. And he had. Alessan had been raised to anticipate both just reward and just punishment. Momentarily the thought that today’s trials balanced yesterday’s pleasures sprang to his mind but was quickly rejected as juvenile.