She did, and the boy's eyes widened with apprehension and a growing eagerness that answered the challenge.
"Wimmia would agree, D'say-you know she would. We only have to present the urgency to her. She's not a passive person, like F'gal. He's-he's changed a lot recently." As M'ray blurted out his opinion, he eyed D'say to see if the bronze rider would try to refute him. D'say shrugged. "Anyway, I'd like to help and my wingleader, T'lonneg, is hold-bred. If there's anyone who'd know the rainforest holds, it's him. He caught the plague, too, and lost family. He should know about this, D'say, really he should. This isn't the sort of request you can deny, is it? No more than we can stop rising to Fall." M'ray faced his sire, shoulders back, jaw forward, a pose she remembered striking when she had acted on her own initiative in treating a runner in her family's hold. "I rose with Ista's wings at every Fall. Haven't got so much as char in my face."
"Keep it that way," D'say remarked in a flat voice that masked the pride he had for his lad. "T'lonneg says they fly well, M'ray and Quoarth."
"What we'd expect," Moreta said fondly, smiling all the more warmly at the lad. It was a pity that she hadn't been able to give him more time but she'd had to go on to Fort Weyr, and D'say had remained at Ista. "K'dren thought that six or seven riders would be needed from each Weyr."
D'say rose to stand beside his son; there wasn't a hair's difference in height between them. Moreta had never been motherly toward her children; as a queen rider, she'd had to foster them immediately. She could be proud of M'ray, though, of his eager enthusiasm. Though he was committed to the Weyr, it suddenly occurred to her that she had other children and her bloodline could be sustained in Keroon.
"We will recruit riders who are adequate to the task and will discharge this duty to the Hall," D'say assured her. "I'll speak to Wimmia as soon as she's free. She'll review the fosterlings for your queen's clutch, though I must remind you that we had heavy losses among the weyr and hold folk. Everyone wanted to see that peculiar beast when it passed through here on its way to the Gather."
"I grieved to know you had such heavy losses." Moreta looked up at the fine lad, grateful he had been spared. "When you've arranged the matter, send a messenger to Master Capiam. He has all the details worked out."
"I'll see you at the Hatching?" M'ray winked impudently at her. "Of course!" Moreta laughed, and he embraced her again, a little more certain of where his arms should go and not quite so fierce with his strong arms.
Both riders walked her to the weyr entrance.
"You're off to Igen now?" D'say asked. "See Dalova. She'll agree." D'say's smile showed some of the charm that had once attracted her. The bronze rider had always been slow to make up his mind, but his loyalty never faltered after he had. "Don't try to talk to M'tani at Telgar. Ask for T'grel. He's sensible."
Then the bronze and brown rider locked fingers to give Moreta a lift to Arith's back, warning M'barak in a jocular fashion that he'd better be careful with that conveyance. M'barak replied solemnly that it was his sworn obligation.
Then they were above Igen Weyr, the brilliance of the sun glancing off the distant lake painful to eyes between blinded; but the heat, the dry intense desert heat, was welcome to chilled bodies as Arith bugled his request to the watchrider.
Dalova was at her weyr ledge to greet Moreta, her tanned face wreathed in delighted smiles for her visitor.
"You come in Search?" she cried, embracing Moreta and drawing her into the cool of her quarters. Dalova had a demonstrative and affectionate nature, though the strains of the recent past were apparent in her nervous gestures and grimaces, the way she constantly shifted her position by her queen, often tapping her fingers on Allaneth's forearm as she listened to Moreta's explanation of her double Search.
"There's no question of my refusing help, Moreta. Silga, Empie, and Namurra won't refuse either. Six, you say Capiam'll need? I'd wager any amount"-she laughed, a high nervous laugh-"that P'leen times it. You do get to know, you know. As I'm sure you do." She grimaced, causing the sun-lines around her sad brown eyes to crease. "If only L'bol were not so terribly depressed. He feels that if he hadn't let our riders convey that dreadful beast about-" She broke off and threw her arms out as if she could scatter all the unpleasantness and misery. Absently she patted her dragon's face, and Allaneth regarded her fondly. "I can help you distribute the vaccines but I cannot, in conscience, give you any candidates. We have so few young people to present to hatchlings, much less a queen. Besides, Allaneth should rise soon; I'm counting on it." A flash of desperation crossed Dalova's mobile face.
"There's nothing like a good mating flight to buoy the spirits of the entire Weyr," Moreta said, thinking ahead to Orlith's next flight with increasing anticipation.
"Oh, my, not you, too?" Dalova asked with a shaky little laugh. Tears formed in her expressive brown eyes, and now her queen licked her hand.
Without hesitation, Moreta took Dalova in her arms and the woman wept, in the quiet forlorn way of someone who has cried often without relief.
"So many, Moreta, so many. So suddenly. The shock of it when Ch'mon and Helith went. Then . . ." She could not continue for sobbing. "And L'bol is sunk in apathy. P'leen has risen with the Igen wings. That's not out of order, but when we're no longer consolidated, if he cannot lead ... So I'm counting on Allaneth's rising, and me! Once there's been a good mating flight, everyone's spirits will improve. And once the fear of this hideous plague is over, everyone will be restored."
Dalova raised her head from Moreta's shoulder, drying her eyes. "You know how firestone makes me sneeze, and I nearly burst myself to keep from doing it because a sneeze frightens people so! Ridiculous, but it is the truth." Dalova sniffled, found her kerchief, and blew her nose lustily. "I must say, I do feel better because you know what it's like. Now, let me have a look at our Weyr maps. Yes, I see what Master Capiam means and he's worked so much of the detail out, it'll be no trouble. I'll organize Igen. Have you been to Telgar yet? Well, ask for T'grel. Then you'll go to High Reaches? Is Falga improving? Will Tamianth really fly again? Oh, that is good news. Look, much as I'd love you to stay, you'd better go or I'll drip tears all over you again. I try not to for L'bol's sake because Timenth tattles on me and that depresses L'bol even more. You can't imagine what a relief it is to weep all over you. Look, I'll send Empie when we've decided, and I might not ask more than the queens or P'leen. I can trust them but L'bol never approves of timing it, for any reason, and now is not the moment to upset him on minor matters." Dalova had been ushering Moreta to the weyr entrance, holding tightly to her arm as they walked. She smiled warmly up at M'barak, stroked Arith's nose, and gave Moreta a leg up.
At Telgar the brown watchdragon bugled threateningly to Arith, ordering the blue to land on the Rim instead of proceeding down to the Bowl.
"My orders, Weyrwoman," C'ver said with no apology. "M'tani wants no strangers in the Weyr."
"Since when are dragonriders strangers to each other?" Moreta demanded, offended by the order and insolence with which it was delivered. Arith trilled with concern over their reception and he could sense Moreta's fury. "I've come in Search-"
"And left your queen alone?" C'ver was openly contemptuous.
"The eggs harden. I call M'tani to honor his promise to S'peren to send us candidates for Impression. I have vaccine with me if it is needed for the weyrfolk I seek."
"We have all of that we need for those who deserve it."