As the queen glided down, Moreta recognized some of the dragons from other Weyrs by the scar patterns on their bodies and wings.
Bronzes from Telgar and High Reaches, Orlith reported, making her own identifications, browns, blues, and greens. But Benden has been and gone. We should haw come earlier. The last held a plaintive note because Orlith had a partiality for the Benden bronze Tuzuth.
“Sorry, dear heart, but I had so much to do.”
Orlith snorted. Moreta felt the jerk of chest muscles through the
Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern 9
dragon’s withers. She had begun to circle, dropping toward the fire-heights. Anticipating a landing, Moreta tightened her hold on the straps. Orlith overshot the heights, clearly headed down over the roadway crowded with the stalls of the Gather and a milling throng of folk gaily dressed for the occasion. Suddenly Moreta realized that Orlith meant to land in the empty dancing square ringed by lamp standards, trestle tables, and benches.
I do not forget that we are senior now, Orlith said primly, and that the Hold’s honors are due the Fort Weyrwoman.
Orlith landed with neat precision in the dance square, her broad pinions vaned high to avoid excessive backwinds. The banners on the lamp standards napped vigorously, but little dust rose from the square already swept to hard ground.
“Well done, dear heart,” Moreta said, scratching her mount’s back ridge affectionately.
She glanced over at the imposing precipice that housed Ruatha Hold, magnificently topped by ranks of sunbathing dragons. The Hold’s unshuttered windows displayed banners and brightly woven rugs. Tables and chairs had been set out on the open forecourt so distinguished visitors could view the gather stalls and the dancing square without obstruction. Moreta glanced quickly in the other direction, toward the flats where the racing was held. She could see the picket lines off to the right. The brightly painted starting poles were not in position so she hadn’t missed any racing.
The entire Gather had ceased its activity to watch Orlith’s landing. Now there was a stir among the onlookers, who parted to allow a man to step from their midst.
Seel The Lord Holder approaches, Orlith said.
Moreta swung her right leg over Orlith’s neck, pulling her skirts about, preparatory to dismounting. Then she glanced at the man approaching them. She could just make out his features, which corresponded to her recollection of Lord Leef’s light-eyed son. His broad shoulders were held at a confident angle and his rangy stride was assured, neither diffident nor hasty.
He came to an abrupt halt, bowing to Orlith, who lowered her head to acknowledge his greeting. Then he moved on quickly to assist Moreta to dismount, looking intently up at her.
His light-green eyes, unusual in one so dark-skinned, caught hers. His gaze was as formal and impersonal as his hands as he seized her
10 Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
by the waist and swung her down from Orlith’s forearm. He bowed, and Moreta couldn’t but notice that his shaggy hair had been neatly trimmed and attractively shaped.
“Weyrwoman, welcome to Ruatha Hold. I had begun to think that you and Orlith were not going to attend.” His voice was unexpectedly tenor for a man so tall and lean, his words clearly spoken.
“I bring the Weyrleadcr’s regrets.”
“He gave them in advance yesterday. It would have been your regrets which I, and Ruatha, would have been sad to receive. Orlith is in splendid color,” he added, his voice unexpectedly warming, “for a queen so near clutching.”
The queen blinked her rainbow-hued eyes, echoing the surprise that Moreta felt in Alessan’s adherence to formalities. Moreta hadn’t expected so polished a delivery from so young a man but, after all, Leef had drilled his heir in the proprieties. Besides, she was always ready to discuss Orlith.
“She’s in great health and she’s always that unusual shade.”
As her reply deviated from the tradition, Alessan hesitated.
“Now, some dragons are so light as to be more pale yellow than gold while others are dark enough to vie with the bronzes. Yet she is not”Moreta eyed her queen candidly“the classic shade.”
Alessan chuckled. “Does shade make any difference?”
“Certainly not to me. I would scarcely mind if Orlith were green-gold. She is my queen, and I am her rider.” She glanced at Alessan, wondering if he was mocking her. But his green eyes, with their tiny flecks of brown around the pupil, registered only polite query.