“And here’s Vander’s picket.” Alessan counted them. “As I recall he’d entered seven. Did you say you were from Keroon? This is a runner he bought from Keroon last Turn.”
Moreta laughed as she let the runner sniff her hand. She stroked its head until it accepted her touch then she felt its warm ear for the breed tattoo.
“No, it didn’t come from my family’s hold.”
Alessan grinned at her whimsy as he examined the other animals. “They’re in good shape. Vander got here two days ago to rest them well before the races. I’ll have a word with him later. Shall we get back to the racesShells!” The shouts and movements of the crowd indicated that the next race had started. Alessan looked abashed. “Now you’ve missed another race.”
“I watch the racing because, in my exalted position as Weyrwoman, that is much more dignified than scrambling around the pickets. Which is what I would rather do. Now that we’re here, could I see your winner? I’ve a suspicion that only a sense of duty to your guest has kept you from checking it.”
The relief and delight in Alessan’s eyes confirmed her guess. He had just indicated the proper direction when a short man with the heavy chest, well-developed arms, and thin shanks of a rider trotted toward them, his face wearing the broadest of smiles.
“Lord Alessan? Have you been looking for Squealer?”
“I have indeed, Dag. Well done! Well done!” Alessan shook Dag by the hand and thumped him across the shoulders. “A fine race. Perfect!”
Dag gave Moreta a stiffly correct bow.
“You are to be congratulated on training a winner,” Moreta said. Then she couldn’t resist adding, “It’s a few people could contrive against Lord Leef.”
Dag’s expression was one of shock, betrayal, and consternation. “Lady Moreta, I wouldn’t … I didn’t.”
Alessan laughed and gave Dag a reassuring clout on the shoulder. “Lady Moreta’s runnerhold bred. She approves.”
“Where is this Squealer of yours, Dag? I very much want a closer look at such a success.”
“This way, Lady. And now he’s not all that much to look at close on, mind you,” Dag began in the deprecating way of all devoted
28 Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
handlers. “Over to the right, if you would. I walked him cool. Lord Alessan, and washed him down with tepid water. Race didn’t take a thing out of him. He could go again …” Dag caught himself short with a startled glance at the Lord Holder and the Weyrwoman.
“It’s a full male then?” Moreta asked, rescuing Dag from indiscretion.
“That he is. On account of him looking so weedy, I always managed to convince the herdmaster that he was too young yet to be gelded, or too sickly, and shouldn’t we wait awhile. Then I’d sneak
him off to another field.”
“Turn after Turn?” Moreta was impressed by such devotion. “Squealer doesn’t have any distinguishing marks to set him in a man’s mind,” Alessan said. “There he is.”
Suddenly Moreta faced a scrawny, thin-legged, big-kneed, mid-brown runner, standing all by itself at the end of a half-empty picket line. In a pause during which she wracked her brain to find something creditable to say about the beast, all she could see was the
length of empty pickets. “He has a kind eye,” she said, blurting it out. “Well placed in the
head.” As if Squealer knew he was under discussion, he turned his head
and regarded her.
“Intelligence, too. Heart. Calm.” Squealer ducked his head, seemingly agreeing with her points so
that all three laughed.
“There really isn’t much good you can say about Squealer,” Alessan said, absolving her from further comment. He swatted the run-ner affectionately on the neck.
“Squealer won his first race, Lord Alessan. That’s all that needs to be said of him. May he win many more. But not,” Moreta added
slyly, “all on the same day.”
Dag groaned and turned away with embarrassed mortification.
“Lord Alessan, had you expected many more entries?” Moreta asked, gesturing toward the unused pickets.
“Dag, you were assisting Norman …”
“Well, we did expect a fair turnout, what with fine weather over the past sevendays and plenty of holds to shelter strings on the road. Come to think on it, I’d expected Lord Ratoshigan to sail his