«She has some very good ideas,» came the unmistakable voice of Holth. «Leri says that Raylinth's rider understands all that is necessary. She says that in the interests of tranquility, you are to stay in the Ground, eat and sleep well.»
«Do you miss anything, Holth-Leri?»
«No. If Orlith does not finish Hogarth appropriately, I will do so.»
«Leri says,» and the voice was now only Orlith's, her tone sullen, «that we must not stop Holth.»
«Why not?»
«If you had ridden me, you would not have been insulted.»
«Actually, I'd rather have C'ver's skin for a floor rug,» Moreta said in a considered tone. «He's hairy enough.»
The notion of flaying a rider was originally Leri's, but thinking about the process restored Moreta and indirectly placated Orlith. Perhaps she should go for Sh'gall's hide, too, except that she was fond of Kadith and wouldn't cause him anxiety.
«Kamiana comes,» Orlith said, her tone calmer, her eyes more green than yellow.
Moreta looked up and saw the Weyrwoman beckoning urgently for Moreta to join her on the tier.
«Leri told me to wait until you'd both had a chance to cool down!» Kamiana said, rolling her eyes and grinning sympathetically at Moreta. «Sh'gall will drone on when he's offended, won't he? You'd think the plague had been invented to annoy him alone. And that M'tani? We're all tired of Thread but we still do what is expected. He may find himself flying by his lonesome, and I know his Weyr's at half strength. Can we not replace him? Or must we wait until Telgar's Dalgeth rises to replace him as Leader? However, we're flying for Capiam tomorrow, Lidora, Haura, and myself. I wish you could persuade Leri not to, but she does know the hole-in-the-hill places better than anyone else in the Weyr. She's talked S'peren into taking a few runs and K'lon, though he's only a blue.» Kamiana frowned dubiously over that choice. «I think P'nine would have been wiser but he got scored.»
«K'lon's already stumbled onto timing; besides, he's done a lot of conveying lately, you know.»
«I didn't know,» Kamiana rolled her eyes expressively again, «just how much was going on around here, Moreta, and your queen on the Hatching Ground, pushing sand about to warm her eggs!»
In the main Hall of Ruatha Hold, which had so recently been a hospital, forty cartwheels had been rigged as centrifuges. A hundred or more ornamental bottles had also served their purpose and were now stacked against the stair wall where once the banquet table of Ruathan Lords had graced the raised end of the long Hall. The frenzied activity of the past three days had, in the late hours of this night, abated to weary preparations for the morning's final effort. It was no comfort to the fatigued that similar activity had wearied anxious men and women in Keroon Beasthall and Benden Hold.
In the corner nearest the kitchen entrance, a trestle table had been serving as dining table at appropriate hours and a worktable at all other times. The remnants of an evening meal were at the end nearest the wall, where maps and lists had been tacked to the hangings, On its long benches sat the eight people whom Alessan called his Loyal Crew, relaxing with a cup of wine from Alessan's skin of Benden white.
«I wasn't so taken with that Master Balfor, Lord Alessan,» Dag was saying, his eyes on the wine in his cup.
«He's not confirmed in the honor,» Alessan said. He was too weary to take part in an argument and well aware that Fergal was listening with avid ears to store bits and pieces of irrelevant information in his cunning young mind.
«I'd worry who else might have the rank, for Master Balfor certainly hasn't the experience.»
«He has done all that Master Capiam asked,» Tuero said with an eye on Desdra, who apparently was not listening.
«Ah, it's sad to realize how many good men and women have died.» Dag lifted his cup in a silent toast. «And sadder to think of the fine bloodlines just wiped out. When I think of the races Squealer will walk away with and no competition to stretch him in a challenge.»
Alessan poured a bit more wine in his cup, Fergal's eyes on the business. He'd been offered a portion but disdained it with an insolence that Alessan excused only because the lad had worked so diligently at any task assigned him. But then, the work had been to save runners, and the boy had obviously inherited his grandfather's total commitment to the breed.
«You say Runel died?» Dag continued, finding it hard to comprehend how few of his old cronies remained. «Did all his bloodline go?»
«The oldest son and his family are safe in the hold.»
«Ah, well, he's the right one for it. I'll just have a look at that brown mare. She could foal tonight. Come along, Fergal.» Dag swung his splinted leg off the bench and took up the crutches Tuero had contrived for him. For just a moment, Fergal looked rebellious.
«I'll come with you if I may,» Rill said, rising and unobtrusively assisting Dag. «A birth is a happy moment!»
Fergal was on his feet in an instant, extremely possessive of Dag and unwilling to share the man's attention with anyone, not even with Nerilka, for whom he had taken a curious liking.
Tuero watched the curious trio until they had left the hall. «I know I've seen that woman before.»
«I have, too,» Desdra said, «or maybe her kinfolk. Faces have got blurred. Overdose!» She was leaning back against the wall behind her, hands limp in her lap, a few wisps of dark hair escaping from the tight braids. «When this is over tomorrow, I'm going to sleep and sleep and sleep. Anyone, anyone whosoever attempts to rouse me, shall be … shall be … I'm too tired to think of something suitably vile.»
«The wine was excellent, Lord Alessan,» Follen said, rising. He pulled at Deefer's sleeve. «We've just three more batches to decant tonight. There could be breakages, so we must have spares. It won't take long now.»
Deefer yawned mightily then belatedly covered his mouth, apologetically glancing around. But a yawn was not in the same category as a sneeze or a cough.
«When you think that I thought,» Tuero began with a long sigh as he regarded the interior of his empty cup, «that a Ruathan Gather would be less tedious than a Crom wedding, you may wonder what I was doing for wits that day.»
Alessan looked up, his light-green eyes sparkling. «Does that mean, my friend, you have considered my offer of a post here at Ruatha?»
Tuero gave a little chuckle. «My good Lord Holder Alessan, there comes a time in a harper's life when he decides that the variety and change of temporary assignments begin to pall and he wishes a comfortable living where his capabilities are appreciated, where he can be sure of witty conversations over the dinner table, to save his fingers from the harping, where his energies are not abused.»
«I wouldn't post to Ruatha in that event,» Desdra remarked caustically, but she smiled.
«You weren't asked,» Alessan replied, mischief in his eyes.
«It's no joy to serve a cautious man.» Tuero flung an arm about Alessan's shoulders. «There is one condition, however, which,» the harper held up a long forefinger, pausing before his stipulation «must be met.»
«By the first Egg,» Alessan protested, «you've already got me to agree to a first-story apartment on the inside, second tithe of our Crafthalls.»
«When you've got them staffed again.»
«Your choice of a runnerbeast, top marks as journeyman, and leave, if you wish, to take your mastery when the Pass is over. What more can you ask of an impoverished Lord Holder?»
«All I ask is what is fitting for a man of my accomplishments.» Tuero humbly put one hand on his heart.
«So what is this final condition?»
«That you supply me with Benden white.» He spoiled the gravity of his pronouncement by hiccuping and gestured urgently for Alessan to fill his cup. He sipped wine to stop the spasms. «Well?»