Are we going to the Gather at all? Orlith asked wistfully. “Yes, we are going to the Gather,” Moreta replied, shaking her head clear of such reflections.
She’d have a good Gather, too, for Ruatha Hold would be gay and bright, dominated by the young Alessan’s young friends. Sh’gall had said that they were still full of their success, that he’d had to remind
Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern 7
Alessan that Thread brought no joy and he must attend his duties as Lord Holder before attending to his pleasures.
“Perhaps it’s just as well Sh’gall decided to go to Ista … and take Lord Ratoshigan with him,” Moreta told Orlith, convincing herself in the process.
He and Kadith are well occupied, Orlith said complacently as she followed her rider from their weyr.
Orlith paused on the ledge, glancing around the Weyr Bowl. Most of the sun-struck ledges usually occupied by dragons were empty.
Have they all gone? Orlith asked in surprise, craning her neck to see the shadowed west ledges.
“With two Gathers? Of course. I hope we’re not too late for the racing.”
Orlith blinked her great, many-faceted eyes. You and your racing.
“You enjoy it as much as I do and generally have a far better view on the fire-heights. Don’t fret. It’s fun to watch, but I ride only you.”
Mollified by her rider’s teasing assurance, Orlith crouched, setting her forearm so Moreta could climb to her place between the last two neck ridges above her shoulder. Moreta settled her skirts and pulled the cloak about her. Nothing would really keep her warm in the awesome total cold of between but the transition lasted only a few breaths, which anyone could endure.
Orlith sprang from the ledge. Though gravid, she was not a lazy dragon, to tumble off into the air before making first use of her wings. The old queen, Holth, trumpeted a farewell; the watchdragon spread his wings, masking the Star Stones on the summit. The watchrider extended his arm, completing the salute as Moreta waved acknowledgment.
Orlith caught the wind flowing down the oblong Bowl, the crater of an extinct volcano which was home to the Weyr. In a distant Turn, an earthslide had rampaged down the range, broken through the southwest part of the Weyr and into the lake. Stonecraftsmen had cleared the lake and shored up the edge in a massive wall but little could be done to clear the lost caverns and weyrs, or restore the symmetry of the Bowl.
“Surveying your Weyr, o Queen?” Moreta asked, indulging Or-lith’s leisurely glide.
At height, one sees many details in proper order. All is well.
Moreta’s laugh was blown from her lips, and she had to hang on to
8 Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
the riding straps. Orlith constantly surprised her with gratuitous observations. Conversely, when Moreta needed guidance, Orlith might reply that she didn’t understand any rider but Moreta. The queen could be counted on to comment on the Weyr in general, or on the morale of the fighting wings, or to supply information’about the Weyrleader’s dragon, Kadith. Orlith was not so forthcoming about Sh’gall. But, after twenty Turns of their symbiotic relationship, Moreta had learned to discover as much in the queen’s impartiality or evasion as from her candid remarks. Being a queen’s rider was never easy. Being the Weyrwoman, Leri had more than once told Moreta, doubled both honors and horrors. One took the good with the bad and used fellis sparingly.
Now Moreta visualized the fire-heights of Ruatha Hold, with its distinctive pattern of fire-gutters and beacons and the eastern watch rampart.
Take us to Ruatha, she said to Orlith and clenched her teeth against the cold of between.
“Black, blacker, blackest; colder beyond frozen things, Where is between when there is naught To Life but fragile dragon wings.”
Moreta often held the words of the old song as a talisman against the bitter breathless journey. Ruatha was not far from Fort Weyr by any means of travel, and Moreta had only reached “colder” when the warm sun shone on them and on Ruatha’s fire-heights below. The host of dragons lounging on the rocky cliff summit, whole wings of them, voiced greetings at Orlith’s appearance in the air. Orlith’s thoughts echoed her pleasure in the accolade. Dragons met so rarely for pleasure, Moreta mused. Thread was the cause. Soon, in eight Turns …