Moreta went to her queen, who lowered her head to accept her rider's caresses. «This will be the last Fall you fly for a while!» she added, assessing the bulge in Orlith's belly.
«I will fly tomorrow. I can fly in need as well.»
«Don't you fret about my riding Malth that short hop!»
«I don't. I do wish you to know that I can always fly you.»
«There could be no need so great to take you from your eggs, my love.» Moreta stroked the bulges appreciatively. «A good clutch, I think.»
«I know.» A degree of smug satisfaction tinged her tone. «I'd best get down to the Lower Cavern.» Moreta pulled her shoulders back, bracing against the stresses. Then she reminded herself that weyrfolk were hardy, not only in body but in mind. Each Fall they faced the knowledge that some among them would suffer injury, possibly death. They endured the certainty with fortitude and courage. Why should an additional transient hazard dismay them? Why should something unseen appear more dangerous than the visible Thread that scored?
Sh'gall's apprehension was insidiously affecting her. There was even no surety that contact would result in illness. K'lon and Berchar? Well, that could be dismissed as misfortune. K'lon so often visited A'murry at Igen. At that, she was more likely to take ill than Sh'gall, after succoring that runnerbeast.
Moreta took Leri's strap then, with a backward look at Orlith, who was composing herself as comfortably as she could, she left the weyr. The fog appeared to be thinning. It eddied about her more freely, and she could make out the full flight of stairs although the Lower Caverns remained invisible until she was more than halfway across the Bowl.
When Moreta arrived, the Lower Cavern was already well populated. Most of the Weyr was about, in fact. Judging by the clutter of dishes and cups on the tables, a hearty meal had been consumed. Women and weyrlings moved among the diners with klah pitchers, but not many wineskins were in evidence. The other queen riders, Lidora, Haura, and Kamiana, were at the raised table to one side of the dining area, their weyrmates seated with them.
Moreta's presence was noted, and conversations subsided briefly. She located T'ral, who was busy at his leather-mending, then made her way across the cavern, nodding and smiling to riders and weyrfolk, feeling more at ease as she began to appreciate the receptive mood of the assembled.
«Leri's neck strap needs a mend, T'ral.»
«We can't be losing her!» the brown rider said, taking the strap and putting it on top of other work.
«Did we mishear the drums, Moreta?» one of the younger brown riders asked in a voice suddenly too loud and brash.
«Depends on the strength of your morning headache,» she said with a laugh, which drew a scatter of echoes.
«Klah or wine?» Haura asked Moreta as she stepped up on the dais.
«Wine,» Moreta said firmly, a choice that was greeted appreciatively by those nearby.
«It's her legs that wobble,» someone suggested.
«The dancing was good at Ruatha, wasn't it?» She took a sip of the wine and then looked out over the faces turned toward her. «Who doesn't know what the drums have been relaying?»
«Whoever slept through them heard the news from Nesso at the breakfast hearth,» someone remarked from the center of the diners. Nesso brandished her ladle in that direction.
«Then you all know as much as I do. An epidemic's loose on Pern, caused by that unusual beast the seamen rescued in the Current between Igen and Ista island. Runnerbeasts are affected but Master Talpan says that watchwhers, wherries, and dragons don't contract the disease. Master Capiam hasn't a name for it yet but if the disease originated from the Southern Continent, the odds are it'll be mentioned in the Records.»
«Like everything else,» a wit called out.
«Consequently it's only a matter of time before we know how to treat it. However,» Moreta altered her voice to a serious tone, «Master Capiam warns against any congregating,»
«He should have told us that yesterday.»
«Agreed. We may have Fall tomorrow but I want no heroes. Headache and fever are the symptoms.»
«Then K'lon had the plague?»
«It's possible, but he's hale again.»
A worried voice came from the eastern side of the cavern. «What about Berchar?»
«Caught it from K'lon, more than likely, but he and S'gor have isolated themselves, as you are probably aware.»
«Sh'gall?»
An uneasy stir rippled around the Cavern.
«He was fine ten minutes ago,» Moreta said dryly. «He'll fly Thread tomorrow. As we all will.»
«Moreta?» T'nure, green Tapeth's rider, rose from his table to speak. «How long does this quarantine condition last?»
«Until Master Capiam rescinds it.» She saw the rebellious look on T'nure's face. «Fort Weyr will obey!» Before she finished that injunction, the unmistakable trumpeting of the queens was heard. No lesser dragon would disobey the queens. Moreta thanked Orlith for the timely comment. «Now, in view of Berchar's indisposition, Declan, you and Maylone share responsibility for the injured. Nesso, you and your team must be prepared to assist. S'peren, can I rely on your help?»
«Anytime, Weyrwoman.»
«Haura?» The queen rider nodded, none too keen. «Now, are there any other matters to be discussed?"'
«Does Holth fly?» Haura asked quietly.
«She does!» Moreta spoke in a fiat voice. She would not have that right challenged by anyone. «Leri, as is her custom, will speak to the ground crews, keeping her distance up on Holth.»
«Moreta?» T'ral spoke up. «What about ground crews? I know Nabol and Crom will turn out tomorrow, but what happens next Fall, over Tillek and, after that, at Ruatha, if this plague spreads and we've no ground crews?»
«Time enough to worry about that in the next Fall,» Moreta said quickly, with an unconcerned smile. Ruatha! With all the Gatherers there, crowded in! «The Holds will do their duty as the Weyrs discharge theirs.»
An approving applause capped her restatement as she sat down, signaling that the discussion was at an end. Nesso stepped up on the dais with a plate of food.
«I think you should know,» she said in a low voice, «that all the drum messages sign Fortine as sender now.»
«Not Capiam?»
Nesso shook her head slowly from side to side. «Not since the first one this noon.»
«Has anyone else noticed that?»
Nesso sniffed in offended dignity. «I know my duty, too, Weyrwoman.»
The headache didn't know when to quit, Capiam decided, trying for another position in which to ease his aching skull and his feverish body. His clock was slow. He had another hour before he could take a fourth draught of fellis juice. His heartbeat was more regular thanks to the aconite. Carefully the Healer rolled onto his right side. He forced himself to relax his neck muscles, let his head sink into the fiber-filled pillow. He was certain he could count every strand within the case from its pressure on the sensitized skin of his cranium.
To compound his misery, the drum tower began to transmit an urgent message. At this hour? Were they manning the drums on a twenty-four-hour basis? Could no one sleep? Capiam recognized that the message was being relayed to Telgar Weyr but that was as far as he could force himself to concentrate.
An hour before he could take more fellis juice? It was his duty to Pern not to be insensible as the disease followed its course with his resisting body. Sometimes duty was a very difficult task.
Capiam sighed again, willing his execrable headache to abate. He ought to have listened to that message to Telgar. How was he to know what was happening on Pern? How the disease was progressing? How could he think?
CHAPTER VIII
The next morning when Orlith roused Moreta early, the fog had cleared from Fort Weyr's mountain slopes.