“What?” Leri snapped out in surprise at the question, then snorted. “Not likely. Torenth told Holth that half the Weyr is sick and the other half looks sick. Their damned curiosity and all that sun on their heads all the time. Slows ‘em down. Nothing to do with their spare time but bake their brains. Of course, they all went to gawk at a raree! And we’ll never hear the last of their moans for the unexpected tariff!” She made a business of scanning the lists S’peren had handed her. “Can’t say as I can put a face or pair a dragon name with some of these. Must all be new. When L’mal was Leader, I kept up with all the new riders in every Weyr.” “S’ligar asked about Moreta.”
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“Worried about Orlith and her eggs?” Leri peered wisely over the lists at the bronze rider.
S’peren nodded. “S’ligar volunteered candidates in case”
“Only what I’d expect.” Leri’s answer was tart but, seeing the expression on S’peren’s face, she relented. “It was good of him to offer. Especially since Orlith is the only queen currently bearing eggs.” Leri’s round face produced a slightly malicious smile.
S’peren continued to nod for he hadn’t realized that. It put another light on S’ligar’s concern for Moreta and Orlith.
“Don’t worry, S’peren. Moreta’s doing well. Orlith’s with her constantly and that queen’s a marvel of comfort, as everyone in this Weyr should know by now.”
“I thought it was just with injured dragons.”
“And no comfort for her own weyrmate and rider? Of course Orlith helps Moreta. The other Weyrs could leam a thing or two from our senior queen dragon. Wouldn’t surprise me if there were some pretty crucial changes made when Moreta’s well. And when Orlith rises to mate again!” Leri winked broadly at S’peren. “That girl has got to show her true preference to her queen.”
S’peren managed to hide his surprise at Leri’s outspokenness. Of course, they were old friends and she probably felt able to be candid in his company. Then he took a quick sip of the wine. What could Leri possibly be suggesting? He liked Moreta very much. She and Orlith had done a fine job of healing a long Threadscore on his Clioth’s flank last Turn. And Clioth had risen to fly in Orlith’s last mating flight. He had been perversely relieved when Clioth had failed, despite his admiration and respect for Moreta, and despite a natural desire to prove his bronze dragon superior to the other bronzes of Fort. On the other hand, he had never questioned Sh’gall’s ability as a flight leader. The man had an uncanny instinct for which dragon might be failing in strength or losing his flame, or which rider might not be as courageous as he ought in following Thread out of path, but S’peren did not covet the Leadership half as much as his Clioth yearned to mate with Orlith.
“K’lon?” Leri said, breaking into his thoughts. She and her dragon looked toward the weyr entrance.
Clioth confirmed the arrival of Rogeth to S’peren, telling his rider that he was moving over to permit the blue to land on Holth’s ledge.
“About bloody time that young man came back to his own Weyr,”
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Leri said, frowning. “There has to be another dragonrider able to do what K’lon’s doing or he’ll kill himself. Misplaced guilt. Or more likely the chance to get in and out of Igen to see that lover of his.”
There was no question that the blue rider was exhausted as he entered the weyr. His shoulders sagged and his step had no spring. His face was travel-stained except for the lighter patches of skin around his eyes, protected from flight dirt by his goggles. His clothes were stiff with moisture frozen into the hide by constant journeys between.
“Five drops from the blue vial,” Leri said quickly in an undertone, leaning toward S’peren. Then she straightened, speaking in a normal tone. “S’peren, fix a mug of klah laced with that fortified wine of mine for K’lon. And sit down there, young man, before you fall.” Leri pointed imperiously to a chair. She had replaced her one stool with several comfortable seats positioned, as she phrased it, in non-contagious spacing in front of Holth’s couch.