"They talk. There are enough of them, however, to keep the dancing square filled until dawn, now that your queen has graced it. And our ever jovial Masterharper has promised to dignify our Gather with his presence."
Moreta frowned at yet another undercurrent in Alessan's speech. Didn't he like Tirone? The Masterharper was a big hearty man with a robust bass voice that he allowed to dominate every group he sang in. He favored the rousing ballads and stirring sagas that best displayed his own talents, but that was his one conceit, and Moreta had never considered it a flaw. But then, herself only lately the Weyrwoman, she had not seen as much of him in his capacity as Masterharper of Pern as had Alessan. She didn't think she would like to antagonize Tirone.
"He has a beautiful voice," she said noncommittally. "Is Master Capiam coming?"
"So I believe."
Shells, thought Moreta to herself at Alessan's terse reply. With the exception of Lord Shadder, Alessan apparently did not share any of her preferences among the leaders of Pern. She'd never heard of anyone who didn't like Masterhealer Capiam. Could Alessan fault the man for failing to mend his wife's broken back?
"Is that sort of exercise good for Orlith at this time, Moreta?" demanded Lord Tolocamp, bearing down on them suddenly. He must have been following their progress along the roadway to have intercepted them so neatly.
"She's not due to clutch for another ten days." Moreta stiffened, annoyed both by the question and the questioner.
"Orlith flew with great precision," Alessan said. "An ability well appreciated by Ruatha."
Lord Tolocamp checked, coughed, covering his mouth belatedly and plainly not understanding Alessan's reference.
"She's thoroughly shameless," Moreta said, "whenever there's a new audience for her tricks. She's never so much as bunged a claw."
"Yes, well, ah. Lady Pendra is just over here, Moreta," Tolocamp went on with his usual ponderous geniality. "Alessan, I would like you to become better acquainted with my daughters."
"At the moment, Lord Tolocamp, I am obliged to become better acquainted with the Weyrwoman, as Sh'gall is not here as her escort. Your daughters"-Alessan looked over at the young women, who were talking placidly with some of his subordinates-"seem well suited."
Tolocamp began to huff.
"A glass of wine, Moreta? This way." Alessan firmly propelled her away from Lord Tolocamp, who stood staring after them, somewhat surprised by their abrupt departure.
"I'll never hear the last of this from him, you know," Moreta said as she allowed herself to be hurried off.
"Then you can drown your sorrow in a Benden white wine I have chilling." He beckoned to a servitor, pantomiming the pouring of wine into a glass.
"Benden white? Why, that's my favorite!"
"And here I thought you were partial to Tillek's."
Moreta made a face. "I'm obliged to assume a partiality for Tillek wines."
"I find them sharp. Soil's acid in Tillek."
"True, but Tillek tithes its wines to Fort Weyr. And it's far easier to agree with Lord Diatis than argue with him."
Alessan laughed.
As the servitor returned with two finely engraved cups and a small wineskin, Moreta glimpsed Lord Tolocamp, Lady Pendra, and Lady Oma shepherding the daughters toward them. Just then a stentorian voice proclaimed the start of the runner races.
"We'll never elude Lady Pendra. Where can we go?" Moreta asked, but Alessan was staring toward the race course.
"I have a particular reason for wanting to watch that first race. If we hurry . . ." He pointed to the roadway that wound to the racing flats, but that path would not avoid the Fortian progression.
"Short of calling on Orlith's assistance, we'd never make it. And she's asleep." Then Moreta saw the scaffold surrounding the wall being built at the southern edge of the forecourt. "Why not up there?" She pointed.
"Perfect-and you've a head for heights!" Alessan took her hand and guided her deftly through the guests and away from the Fortians.
Those already standing by the unfinished courses of the wall made room for the Lord Holder and the Weyrwoman. Alessan put his goblet in her free hand and neatly jumped to the top course. Then he knelt, gesturing for her to hand up both wine cups.
For just a moment, Moreta hesitated. L'mal had often chided her about the dignity expected of Weyrwomen, especially outside the precincts of the Weyr, where holder, crafter, and harper could observe and criticise. Quite likely she had been stimulated by Orlith's outrageous exhibition. What affected dragon affected rider. It was a lovely warm Gather, just the respite she'd needed from her onerous responsibilities all Turn. There was racing and Benden wine, there'd be dancing later. Moreta, Weyrwoman of Fort Weyr, was going to enjoy herself.
You should, you know, Orlith commented sleepily.
"Hurry," Alessan said. "They're milling at the start."
Moreta turned to the nearest dragonrider at the wall.
"Give me a leg up, R'limeak, would you?"
"Moreta!"
"Oh, don't be scandalized. I want to see the race start." She arranged her skirts and bent her left knee. "A good lift, R'limeak. I'd rather not scrape my nose on the stones."
R'limeak's lift was not wholehearted. If Alessan's strong hands had not steadied her, she would have slipped.
"How shocked he looks!" Alessan laughed, his green eyes merry.
"It'll do him good. Blue riders can be so prim!" She took her wine from Alessan. "Ah, what a marvelous view!" Having observed that the race was not about to start, she turned slowly, to appreciate the sweep of the land from the foot of Ruatha's cliff hold, over the crude roofs of the decorated stalls, to the empty dancing square, the fields beyond, the walled orchards on each side, and then the slope that descended gradually to Ruatha's river, its source the Ice Lake high in the mountains above. True, the orchards were bare, the fields browned by what frost had fallen that Turn, but the sky was a vivid green-blue, not a cloud in sight, and the air was pleasantly warm. Favored with a long eye, Moreta saw that three laggard racers had yet to join the starters.
"Ruatha's looking so gay," she said. "Generally when I'm here, the shutters are all in place against Thread, not a soul or beast in sight. Today it's a different place entirely."
"We are often good company here," Alessan said. His eyes lay on the scene at the starting poles. "Ruatha is considered one of the bestplaced Holds. Fort may be older but, I think, not so well laid out."
"The harpers tell us that Fort Hold was thrown together as a temporary accommodation after the Crossing."
"A mere fourteen hundred Turns temporary. Whereas we of Ruatha have always been planners. We even have special accommodations for visiting race enthusiasts."
Moreta grinned at him. She realized that they were both rambling on in excitement at the impending race.
"Look! They're finally lined up!"
The mild breeze cooperated by blowing the churned dust of the racing flats away from the straggling line of cavorting beasts. She saw the white flag drop, caught her breath at the incredible leap as the animals surged forward.
"This is the sprint?" she asked, trying to make out an early leader in the knot of nodding heads, bobbing bodies, and flashing legs. So close packed were the runners that neither riders' hat colors nor saddle pads could be identified.
"As is usual," Alessan replied absently, shielding his eyes with his hand to see better.
"Good field, too. Spreading out and ... I'd swear the leader is wearing Ruathan colors!"
"I hope so!" Alessan cried in considerable excitement.
Cheers and exhortations rose from nearby and drifted up from the race course.
"Fort is challenging!" Moreta said as a second beast separated from the pack. "And fast!"