"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-storey 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?"
"Good Journeyman Harper Tuero, if I can procure Benden white, you may have your just share of it." He raised his cup solemnly and Tuero touched his to it. "Agreed?"
Tuero hiccuped. "Agreed!" He tried to swallow the next hiccup.
Desdra looked at Alessan then leaned forward and prodded the wineskin under his elbow. She made a noise of amused reproof.
"There's not much left in it," Alessan assured her.
"That's just as well. Tomorrow your heads must be as clear as can be," she said. "Come, Oklina, you're half asleep as it is."
Regarding her through the lovely euphoria produced by several cups of his superlative Benden white, Alessan wondered if Desdra was being solicitous of his sister or merely needed support up the stairs. The progress of the two women was steady but uncertain, and their indirect course not entirely due to the cartwheels, apparatus, and equipment that lay strewn about the spacious whitewashed Hall. That was another thing he must do, Alessan decided suddenly– repaint the Hall. The austere white was too much a reminder of too many painful scenes.
"I say, Alessan," Tuero said as he tugged at the Lord Holder's sleeve, "where do you get all that white Benden?"
Alessan grinned. "I have to have a few secrets." His head was wobbling and if he wasn't careful, it would fall sideways onto the table.
"Secrets? Even from your harper?" Tuero tried to sound indignant.
"If you find out, I'll tell you if you're right."
Tuero brightened. "That's fair enough. If a harper can't find out– and this harper is very good at finding things out-if a harper can't find out, he doesn't have the right to know. Is that right, Alessan?" But Alessan's head reposed on the table; a snore issued from his half-open mouth. Tuero stared at him for a moment in mixed pity and rebuke, then pushed at the wineskin under his elbow and sighed in disgust. There wasn't more than a dribble in it.
Footsteps sounded behind Tuero. He turned. ,
"Has he finished it?" Rill asked.
"Yes, it's empty, and he's the only one who knows where the supply is!"
Rill smiled. "The foal is a male, a fine strong one. I thought Lord Alessan would like to know. Dag and Fergal are watching to be sure it stands and suckles." She looked down at the sleeping Lord Holder, an expression of ineffable tenderness lending her a look of quiet beauty.
Tuero blinked to be sure it was the wine that had enhanced the tall woman. She had good bones in her face, he decided after making an effort at concentration. With a bit of thought to her clothing, brighter colors, with hair longer than that unattractive crop, she'd be attractive. Unexpectedly her expression altered, and so did the illusion of beauty-once again she bore the resemblance that perplexed Tuero and Desdra.
"I know I know you," Tuero said.
"I'm not the sort of person a journeyman harper knows," she replied. "Get to your feet, Harper. I can't allow him to sleep in this uncomfortable position and he needs a proper rest."
"Not so sure I can stand."
"Try it." Her terse reply was issued with an authority that Tuero found himself obeying though he was shaky on his legs.
Rill was only half a head shorter than Alessan so she looped one limp arm over her shoulder, urging Tuero take the other. Between them they managed to get Alessan upright, though he remained only half-conscious of their efforts. Tuero had to cling with his free hand to the bannister but fortunately, Alessan's rooms were the first apartment past the head of the stairs. They got him through to the bedroom where Rill arranged his limp body comfortably before she covered him. Tuero was mildly jealous that Alessan could arouse such tenderness.
"I wish ... I wish . . ." he began but lost the words to express that longing.
The doss-bed is still in the next room, Harper."
"Will you cover me up, too?" Tuero asked wistfully. Rill smiled and merely pointed to the pallet on the floor and shook out the blanket folded on it. With a sigh of weary gratitude, Tuero lay down on his side.
"You're good to a drunken sot of a harper," he murmured as he felt the blanket spread over him. "One day I'll rememmmm ..."
The morning began as any other in the Weyr. Though bothered by a lingering cough, Nesso had otherwise recovered from her illness. She brought Moreta breakfast and so many complaints about Gorta's management of the Lower Caverns during her illness that Moreta cut short the tirade by saying she had to check Leri's harness.
"I can't imagine why the queen riders would fly with Telgar after what M'tani did yesterday."
Moreta was grateful that the Fall would mask the queens' real activities and grateful, too, that Nesso had obviously not discerned that the rising to Fall was merely an excuse, that Telgar had nothing to do with the queens' flight that day.
"It's the last time," Moreta said, hastily draining her cup. "We had our duty to hold and hall!"
Orlith was carefully turning eggs on the hot sands, testing their shells with a gentle tongue. She was more solicitous of the queen egg and turned it nearly every hour; the lesser ones were rearranged only three or four times a day. Moreta would see Leri safely off on her mission and then take Orlith to the feeding ground. They would have to insist that drovers restock the Weyr, once the threat of plague was over. Just then there wasn't much choice among what beasts were left. She'd speak to Peterpar. Maybe wild wherries could be found nearby fattening on the spring growth in the lower range. Once the day was over, there'd be a lot of details she'd best attend and get affairs back to a normal pace. And then a real Search for candidates would be initiated.