“That’s no consolation!” F’gal snapped. “I don’t know how many times I warned Lord Fitatric that overcrowding hold and cot would have dire consequences.”
“None of us had this in mind,” K’dren said. “However, none of us had to run see the curious new beastie from the sea. Or attend two Gathers in one day”
“Enough, K’dren,” S’ligar said. “Cause and effect are now irrelevant. Our purpose here is to discuss how best to insure that the dragonriders of Pern fulfill their purpose.”
“That purpose is dying out, S’ligar,” L’bol cried. “What’s the purpose of flying Thread to protect empty holds? Why preserve nothing at the risk of our skins and our dragons? We can’t even defend ourselves from this plague!” L’bol’s dragon crooned and extended his head toward his distressed rider. The other bronzes rumbled comfortingly and moved restlessly on the warm sand. L’bol scrubbed at his face, leaving white runnels where tears had wet his cheeks.
“We will fly Thread because that is the one service we can provide the sick in the Holds. They must not fear the incursions of Thread
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from without!” S’ligar said in his deep gentle unhurried voice. “We have labored too long as a Craft to surrender Pern now to the ravages of Thread because of a menace we can’t see. Nor do I believe that this disease, however fiercely it spreads, however ruthless it appears, can overcome us who have for hundreds of Turns defended ourselves from Thread. A disease can be cured by medicines, defeated. And one day we will fly Thread to its source and defeat it.”
“K’lon, Rogeth’s rider, has recovered from the plague,” S’peren announced in the silence following S’ligar’s statement. “K’lon says that Master Capiam is on the mend”
“Two?” L’bol flung the number derisively back at S’peren. “I’ve fifteen dead, one hundred and forty sick at Igen. Some holds in the mideast no longer respond to their drum codes. And what of the holds which have no drums to make known their needs and the toll
of their dead?”
“Capiam on the mend?” S’ligar said, seizing at that hope. “I have every faith in that man’s ability to lick this. And more than those two must have recovered. Keroon Beasthold still drums, and they were the hardest hit by the plague. High Reaches and Fort Weyrs have sickness, it is true, but the holds of Tiliek, High Reaches, Nabol, and Crom have none.” S’ligar tried to catch L’bol’s despair-ing gaze. “We have only seven Turns to go before this Pass is over. I have lived under the scourge of Thread all my life.” Suddenly he straightened his shoulders, his face severe. “I haven’t fought Thread as a dragonrider for nearly fifty Turns to quit now over some fever
and aches!”
“Nor I,” K’dren added quickly, taking a step toward the High Readier. “I made a vow, you know”he gave a short laugh“to Kuzuth, that we would see this Pass through.” K’dren’s tone turned brisk. “There’s Fall tomorrow at Keroon, and it has become the responsibility of all the Weyrs of Pern. Benden has twelve full wings
to fly.” “Igen has eight!” Anger brought L’bol out of his despondency to
glare fiercely at K’dren. Timenth, his dragon, bugled defiance, rearing back onto his haunches and spreading his wings. The other bronzes reacted in surprise, sounding off. Two extended their wings and gazed skyward in alarm. “Igen will rise to Fall!”
“Of course your Weyr will rise,” S’ligar said reassuringly, raising his arm in an incomplete gesture of comfort. “But our queens know
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how many Igen riders are ill. Fall has become the problem of all the Weyrs, as K’dren said. And we all supply the muster from our healthy riders. Until this epidemic is over, the Weyrs must consolidate. Full wings are essential since in many places, we shall be deprived of ground crews for close encounters with Thread.”
S’ligar took a thick roll of hide from his pouch. With a deft flick of his wrist, the roll fell into five separate sections on the sand. Mindful to make no physical contact with the other Leaders, S’ligar slid a section to each of the other bronze riders.