«You're not if you happened to bring any more of that Benden wine. Mind you, the Tillek you're serving is not bad,»
«But it doesn't at all compare with the Benden, and I hope you haven't mentioned the difference to anyone.»
«What? And miss out on my share? And you brought more wherry! My compliments to your cook. The roast is superior and I'm starving. Here, sit on a pack saddle.» She pushed one toward him and, after emptying her cup of the inferior wine, held it out to him. «More Benden, please?»
«I've a full skin here.» Alessan poured carefully.
«But surely you must share it with your partners?»
«Don't you dare,» Alessan reached for her goblet in a mock attempt to retrieve the wine from her.
«That wasn't fair of me. You were doing your duty as Lord Holder, and very nicely, if I may say so.»
«Well, I've done my duty as Lord Holder and will now resume the responsibilities of being your escort. I will now enjoy the Gather.»
«Hosts rarely do.»
«My mother, the good and worthy,»
«and duty conscious,»
«Has paraded every eligible girl in the west, with all of whom I have dutifully danced. They're not much on talking. By the way, speaking of talking, is that bronze rider who's been monopolizing Oklina a kind and honorable man?»
«B'lerion is kind, and very good company. Is Oklina aware of dragonriders' propensities?»
«As every proper hold girl is.» Alessan's tone was dry, acknowledging dragonrider whims and foibles.
«B'lerion is kind and I have known him many Turns,» Moreta went on by way of reassurance. Oklina's adoration of her brother was not misplaced if he troubled himself to speak to a Weyrwoman about a bronze rider who was paying marked attention to his sister.
They ate in companionable silence, for Alessan was as hungry as Moreta. Suddenly the harpers struck up another tune, one of the sprightlier dances, more of a patterned run, requiring the lighter partner to be lifted, twirled, and caught. She recognized the challenge gleaming in Alessan's eyes; only the young and fit usually attempted the toss dance's acrobatics. She laughed low in her throat. She was no timid adolescent, uncertain of herself, and no decorous hold woman, vitality and body drained by constant childbearing; she was the fighting-fit rider of a queen dragon and she could outdance any man, holder, crafter, rider. In addition, Orlith was encouraging her. Deserting the remains of her food and her wine, she caught Alessan by the hand and pulled him after her toward the dancing square where already one pair had come to grief and lay sprawled, the subject of goodnatured teasing.
Weyrwoman and Lord Holder were the only pair to survive the rigors of that dance without incident. Cheers and clapping rewarded their agility. Gasping for breath and trying not to weave with the dizziness generated by the final spins, Moreta reeled to the sidelines. A goblet was put in her hand and she knew before sipping that it would be the Benden. She toasted Alessan as he stood beside her, chest heaving, face suffused with blood, but thoroughly delighted by their performance.
«By the Shell, with the right partner, you can really show your quality,» Falga cried, as she walked up to them. «You're in rare form tonight, Moreta. Alessan, best Gather I've been to in Turns. You've outshone your sire who is, as of this moment, no longer lamented. He set a good spread but nothing to compare to this. S'ligar will be sorry he didn't come with me.»
The other dragonriders with Falga lifted their cups to Alessan. «See you at Crom,» Falga said to Moreta in parting as the harpers began a gentle old melody. «Can you move at all?» Alessan asked Moreta, bending to speak quietly in her ear.
«Of course!» Moreta cast a glance in the direction of Alessan's gaze and saw Lady Oma escorting a girl across the floor.
«I've had my shins kicked enough this evening!» Alessan clasped Moreta firmly, his right hand flat against her shoulder blade, the fingers of his left hand twining in hers as he guided her out in the center of the square.
As she surrendered to the swaying step and glide of the stately dance, Moreta had a brief glimpse of the smileless face of Lady Oma. She could feel Alessan's heart pounding, as hers still was, from the exertions of the previous dance but gradually the thudding cased, her face cooled, and her muscles stopped trembling. She realized that she had not danced to this melody since leaving Keroon, since the last Gather she had attended with Talpan, so many Turns ago.
«You're thinking of another time,» Alessan whispered, his lips close to her ear.
«A boy I knew. In Keroon.»
«And you remember him fondly?»
«We were to be apprenticed to the same Masterhealer.» Could she detect a note of jealousy in Alessan's voice? «He continued in the craft. I was taken to Ista and Impressed Orlith.»
«And now you heal dragons.» For a moment, Alessan loosened his grip but only, it seemed, to take a fresh and firmer hold of her. «Dance, Moreta of Keroon. The moons are up. We can dance all night.»
«The harpers may have other plans.»
«Not as long as my supply of Benden white lasts …»
So Alessan remained by her side, making sure her goblet was full and insisting that she eat some of the small hot spiced rolls that were being served to the dwindling revelers. Nor did he relinquish her to other partners.
The wine got to the harpers before the new day. Even Alessan's incredible store of energy was flagging by the time Orlith landed again in the dancing square.
«It has been a memorable gather. Lord Alessan,» Moreta said formally.
«Your presence has made it so, Weyrwoman Moreta,» he replied, assisting her to Orlith's forearm. «Shells! Don't slip, woman. Can you reach your own weyr without falling asleep?» His voice carried an edge of anxiety despite his flippant words.
«I can always reach my own weyr.»
«Can she, Orlith?»
«Lord Alessan!» The audacity of the man consulting her dragon in her presence.
Orlith turned her head, her eyes sleepily golden. «He means well.»
«You mean well, Orlith says!» Moreta knew that fatigue was making her sound silly, so she made herself laugh. She didn't wish to end the marvelous evening on a sour note.
«Yes, my lady of the golden dragon, I mean well. Safe back!»
Alessan gave her a final wave and then moved slowly through the disarray of fallen benches and messy tables, toward the deserted roadway where most of the stalls had been dismantled and packed away.
«Let's get back to Fort Weyr,» Moreta said softly, reluctantly. Her eyes were heavy, her body limp with a pleasant if thorough fatigue. It took an effort to think of the pattern of Fort Weyr's Star Stones.
Then Orlith sprang off the dancing square, the standards whipping about with the force of her backwing stroke. They were aloft and Ruatha receding, the darkness punctuated by the last few surviving glows.
CHAPTER IV
«WELL?»
Capiam raised his head from the pillow he had made of his arms on the small wooden table in the dispensary. Fatigue and the tremendous strain disoriented him and at first he couldn't identify the figure standing imperiously in front of him.
«Well, Masterhealer? You said you would return immediately to bring me your conclusions. That was several hours ago. Now I find you sleeping.»
The testy voice and overbearing manner belonged to Lord Ratoshigan. Behind him, just outside the door, was the tall figure of the Weyrleader who had conveyed Capiam and Lord Ratoshigan from Ista's Gather to Southern Boll.
«I sat down only for a moment, Lord Ratoshigan,» Capiam lifted his hand in a gesture of dismay, «to organize my notes.»