Anne McCaffrey - Pern 07 - Moreta Dragonlady of Pern

Moreta: Dragon Lady Of Pern

By: Anne McCaffrey

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Version 1.1

PROLOGUE

RUKBAT, in the Sagittarian Sector, was a golden G-type star. It had five

planets, two asteroid belts, and a stray planet that it had attracted and held

in recent millennia. When men first settled on Rukbat's third world and called

it Pern, they had taken little notice of the strange planet swinging around

its adopted primary in a wildly erratic orbit. For two generations, the

colonists gave the bright Red Star little thought, until the path of the

wanderer brought it close to its stepsister at perihelion. When such aspects

were harmonious and not distorted by conjunctions with other planets in the

system, the indigenous life form of the wandering planet sought to bridge the

space gap between its home and the more temperate and hospitable planet. At

these times, silver Threads dropped through Pern's skies, destroying anything

they touched. The initial losses the colonists suffered were staggering. As a

result, during the subsequent struggle to survive and combat the menace,

Pern's tenuous contact with the mother planet was broken.

To control the incursions of the dreadful Threads, for the Pernese had

cannibalized their transport ships early on and abandoned such technological

sophistication as was irrelevant to the pastoral planet

The more resourceful men embarked on a long-term plan. The first phase

involved breeding a highly specialized variety of fire-lizard, a life form

indigenous to their new world. Men and women with high empathy ratings and

some innate telepathic ability were trained to use and preserve the unusual

animals. The dragons, named for the mythical Terran beast they resembled, had

two valuable characteristics. They could instantaneously travel from one place

to another and, after chewing a phosphine-bearing rock, they could emit a

flaming gas. Because the dragons could fly, they could intercept and char the

Thread in midair before it reached the surface.

It took generations to develop to the fullest the potential of the

dragons. The second phase of the proposed defense against the deadly

incursions would take even longer. For Thread, a space-traveling mycorrhizoid

spore, devoured with mindless voracity all organic matter and, once grounded,

burrowed and proliferated with terrifying speed. So a symbiote of the same

strain was developed to counter this parasite, and the resulting grub was

introduced into the soil of the Southern Continent. It was planned that the

dragons would be a visible protection, charring Thread while it was still

skyborne and protecting the dwellings and the livestock of the colonists. The

grub-symbiote would protect vegetation by devouring what Thread managed to

evade the dragons' fire.

The originators of the two-stage defense did not allow for change or for

hard geological fact. The Southern Continent, though seemingly more attractive

than the harsher northern land, proved unstable, and the entire colony was

eventually forced to seek refuge from the Threads on the continental shield

rock of the north.

On the northern continent the original Fort, Fort Hold, constructed on

the eastern face of the Great West Mountain Range, was soon outgrown by the

colonists, and its capacious beasthold could not contain the growing numbers

of dragons. Another settlement was started slightly to the north, where a

great lake had formed near a cave-filled cliff. But Ruatha Hold, too, became

overcrowded within a few generations.

Since the Red Star rose in the east, the people of Pern decided to

establish a holding in the eastern mountains, provided a suitable cavesite

could be found. Only solid rock and metal, both of which were in distressingly

short supply on Pern, were impervious to the burning score of Thread.

The winged, tailed, fire-breathing dragons had by then been bred to a

size that required more spacious accommodations than the cliffside holds could

provide. The cave-pocked cones of extinct volcanoes, one high above the first

Fort, the other in the Benden Mountains, proved to be adequate and required

only a few improvements to be made habitable. However, such projects took the

last of the fuel for the great stone-cutters, which had been programmed only

for regular mining operations, not for wholesale cliff excavations. Subsequent

holds and Weyrs had to be hand-hewn.

The dragons and their riders in their high places and the people in

their cave holds went about their separate tasks, and each developed habits

that became custom, which solidified into tradition as incontrovertible as

law. And when a Fall of Thread was imminent-when the Red Star was visible at

dawn through the Star Stones erected on the rim of each Weyr, the dragons and

their riders mobilized to protect the people of Pern.

Then came an interval of two hundred Turns of the planet Pern around its

primary, when the Red Star was at the far end of its erratic orbit, a frozen,

lonely captive. No Thread fell on Pern. The inhabitants erased the signs of

Thread depredation and grew crops, planted orchards and thought of

reforestation for the slopes denuded by Thread. They even managed to forget

that they had once been in great danger of extinction. Then, when the

wandering planet returned, the Threads fell again, bringing another fifty

years of attack from the skies. Once again the Pernese thanked their

ancestors, now many generations removed, for providing the dragons whose fiery

breath seared the falling Thread midair.

Dragonkind, too, had prospered during that Interval and had settled in

four other locations, following the master plan of interim defense.

Recollections of Earth receded further from Pernese memories with each

generation until knowledge of Mankind's origins degenerated into a myth. The

significance of the southern hemisphere, and the instructions formulated by

the colonial defenders of dragon and grub, became garbled and lost in the more

immediate struggle to survive.

By the Sixth Pass of the Red Star, a complicated

socio-political-economic structure had been developed to deal with the

recurrent evil. The six Weyrs, as the old volcanic habitations of the

dragonfolk were called, pledged themselves to protect Pern, each Weyr having a

geographical section of the Northern Continent literally under its wing. The

rest of the population agreed to tithe support to the Weyrs since the

dragonmen did not have arable land in their volcanic homes, could not afford

to take time away from nurturing their dragons to learn other trades during

peacetime, and could not take time away from protecting the planet during

Passes.

Settlements, called holds, developed wherever natural caves were

found-some, of course, more extensive or strategically placed than others. It

took a strong man to exercise control over terrified people during Thread

attacks; it took wise administration to conserve victuals when nothing could

be safely grown, and it took extraordinary measures to control population and

keep it productive and healthy until such time as the menace passed.

Men with special skills in metalworking, weaving, animal husbandry,

farming, fishing, and mining formed crafthalls in each large Hold and looked

to one Mastercrafthall where the precepts of their craft were taught and craft

skills were preserved and guarded from one generation to another. One Lord

Holder could not deny the products of the crafthall situated in his Hold to

others, since the Crafts were deemed independent of a Hold affiliation. Each

Craftmaster of a hall owed allegiance to the Master of his particular craft,

an elected office based on proficiency in the craft and on administrative

ability. The Mastercraftsman was responsible for the output of his halls and

the distribution, fair and unprejudiced, of all craft products on a planetary

rather than parochial basis.

Certain rights and privileges accrued to different leaders of Holds and

Masters of Crafts and, naturally, to the dragonriders whom all Pern looked to

for protection during the Threadfalls.

It was within the Weyrs that the greatest social revolution took place,

for the needs of the dragons took priority over all other considerations. Of

the dragons, the gold and green were female, the bronze, brown, and blue male.

Of the female dragons, only the golden were fertile; the greens were rendered

sterile by the chewing of firestone, which was as well since the sexual

proclivities of the small greens would soon have resulted in overpopulation.

They were the most agile, however, and invaluable as fighters of Thread,

fearless and aggressive. But the price of fertility was inconvenience, and

riders of queen dragons carried flamethrowers to char Thread. The blue males

were sturdier than their smaller sisters, while the browns and bronzes had the

staying power for long, arduous battles against Thread. In theory, the great

golden fertile queens were mated with whichever dragon could catch them in

their strenuous mating flights. Generally speaking, the bronzes did the honor.

Consequently the rider of the bronze dragon who flew the senior queen of a

Weyr became its Leader and had charge of the fighting Wings during a Pass. The

rider of the senior queen dragon, however, held the most responsibility for

the Weyr during and after a Pass when it was the Weyrwoman's job to nurture

and preserve the dragons, to sustain and improve the Weyr and all its folk. A

strong Weyrwoman was as essential to the survival of the Weyr as dragons were

to the survival of Pern.

To her fell the task of supplying the Weyr, fostering its children, and

Searching for likely candidates from hall and hold to pair with the newly

hatched candidates. As life in the Weyrs was not only prestigious but easier

for women and men alike, hold and hall were proud to have their children taken

on Search and boasted of the illustrious members of the bloodline who had

become dragon riders.

We begin our story toward the end of the Sixth Pass of the Red Star,

some fourteen hundred Turns after men first came to Pern.

CHAPTER I

Fort Weyr, Present Pass, 3.10.43-1541, and Ruatha Hold

"SH'GALL is OUT on other Weyr business," Moreta told Nesso for the third

time, beginning to loosen her sweat and oil stained tunic as a hint.

"His Weyr business should be accompanying you to Ruatha Gather." Nesso's

voice had a whining note to it in the best of her humors. Now the Fort Weyr

Headwoman was filled with aggrieved indignation at the fancied slight to her

Weyrwoman, and her voice grated like a bone saw in Moreta's ear.

"He saw Lord Alessan yesterday. A Gather is not a time to discuss

serious matters." Moreta rose, seeking to end an interview she hadn't wanted

to give, one that could continue as long as Nesso could dredge up complaints,

real or imaginary, against Sh'gall. Their antagonism was mutual, and Moreta

often found herself in the position of placating or explaining the one to the

other. She could not change Sh'gall and was loathe to displace Nesso for,

despite her faults, the woman was an exceedingly efficient and hard-working

Headwoman. "I must bathe, Nesso, or I'll be unpardonably late at Ruatha. I

know you've arranged a good meal for those who remain. K'lon's comfortable now

that the fever has broken. Berchar will look in on him. Just leave him alone."

Moreta fixed Nesso with an admonitory gaze, reinforcing her injunction.

Nesso had an officious habit of 'taking' Moreta's place whenever the Weyrwoman

was absent unless specifically ordered not to. "Away with you now, Nesso.

You've enough to do, and I'm longing to be clean." Moreta accompanied her

words with a smile as she gave Nesso a gentle shove toward the exit from her

sleeping room.

"Sh'gall should go with you. He should," the irrepressible woman

muttered as Moreta held aside the vivid door-curtain. Only when Nesso neared

the sleeping queen dragon did she cease her imprecations.

Heavy with egg, Oriith dozed on, oblivious to the woman's passing. The

golden dragon had arranged herself on the stony couch so as not to mar the

fine gleam of oil that Moreta had rubbed into her hide as part of the

morning's preparation for the Gather at Ruatha. Moreta was heading for her own

much needed wash when she was asked to examine K'lon, so she'd been late for

her chat with Leri to be sure the old Weyrwoman had what she required for the

day. Leri would have no ministrations from Nesso's hands.

The interview with Nesso had proved unavoidable. The Headwoman had

'heard' that Sh'gall and Moreta had 'had words' that had caused the

Weyrleader's abrupt departure, dressed in riding gear rather than in his

Gather finery. Nesso had also to be reassured that K'lon was not wasting from

a virulent fever that would spread rapidly through the Weyr, it being only

three days to a Fall.

Moreta stripped off her clothes. She ought to have been at the Gather

long since, getting through the obligatory courtesies before the racing

started.

"Orlith?" Moreta called softly, concentrating the strength of her gentle

summons in her head. As always, the sleepy response of her queen cheered her

of Nesso's petulance. "Rouse yourself, my golden beauty. We'll be leaving soon

for Ruatha's Gatherday."

"It's still sunny at Ruatha?" Oriith asked hopefully.

"It should be. T'ral did the morning sweep," Moreta said, opening her

robe chest. The new gown lay in gold and soft, warm-brown folds, colors that

would accent Moreta's eyes. "You know how accurate T'ral's weather sense is."

The dragon rumbled with satisfaction, and Moreta could hear her

stretching and turning.

"Don't roll too much now," Moreta said politely.

"I know. I mustn't lose my shine." Oriith spoke with patient

acknowledgment. "I will keep clean until we reach Ruatha. And then I'll sun.

When I get hot enough, I'll swim in Ruatha Lake."

"Would that be wise so close to clutching, my dear? That lake's cold as

between." Moreta shivered at her memory of those ice-fed waters.

"Nothing is colder than between." Oriith spoke definitively.

Having laid out her Gather finery, Moreta strode into the bathing room.

She grabbed a handful of sweet sand, then swung her legs over the lip of the

raised pool, whose surface was faintly steaming. Standing waist deep, she

sanded her body until her skin tingled. Submerging for a moment, she surfaced,

tipping her head until her short hair fanned out in the water. Then she pushed

back to the edge of the pool, reaching for more sand, which she scrubbed into

her scalp and hair.

"You take a long time to get clean though there's not much of you,"

Oriith remarked, somewhat impatient now that she was fully awake.

"There may not be much of me, but there was a great deal of you to be

bathed and oiled."

"You always say that."

"So do you."

The countercomplaints were lodged with total affection and

understanding. Queen and rider had been partnered for nearly twenty Turns,

though they had only recently become the leading pair at Fort Weyr when Leri's

Holth had not risen to mate the previous winter.

Moreta gave her head a final drubbing, then flicked her fingers through

her hair to make the short crop settle into natural waves. Wearing a leather

cap during Threadfall made her scalp sweat so much that the long blond braids

in which she had taken so much pride as a holder girl had been shorn. Once

this Pass was completed, she could grow her hair!

Once the Pass was completed ... In the act of pulling on a clean

undertunic, Moreta paused in surprise. Why, this Pass would end in another

eight Turns. No, seven if one counted this Turn a quarter gone. Moreta sternly

corrected an optimistic attitude. The Turn was barely seventy days old. Eight

Turns then. In eight Turns, she, Moreta, would no longer have to fly with

Orlith against Thread. The Red Star would have passed too far to rain the

devastating parasitic

Thread over Pern's tired continent. Dragonriders would not have to fly

because no Thread would blur the sky.

Did Thread just stop, Moreta wondered as she slipped on her soft brown

shoes, like a sudden summer storm? Or did it dribble on, like a winter rain?

They could use some rain. Snow would be even better. Or a good hard

frost. Frost was always a Weyr ally.

She slipped into the dress now, smoothing it over her rather too broad

shoulders, over breasts firm rather than large, a waist that was trim, and

buttocks flat from long hours of riding astride. The gown hid muscled thighs

that she sometimes resented, but they, too, were the legacy of twenty Turns

riding a dragon and little enough inconvenience for being a queen's rider.

She did wish that Sh'gall had chosen to come with her. She wasn't

acquainted with the new Ruathan Lord Holder, Alessan. She had a vague

recollection that he was the leggy young man with light-green eyes that were

an odd contrast to his dark complexion and shaggy black hair. He had always

stood most correctly behind the old Lord Holder, his father. Lord Leef had

been a stern if just holder from whom the Weyr could expect every traditional

duty and the last tittle of tithe. Just the sort of man the Weyr, and Pern,

needed in command of such a prosperous Hold. But then, at Ruatha traditions

had always been zealously maintained, and many of that bloodline had impressed

queen as well as bronze.

None of the many sons that the old Lord Leef had bred had known which

would be named his successor. Lord Leef had kept the whole tangle of them in

hand, preventing discord. Despite Threadfall and the other dangers of a Pass,

Lord Leef had contrived to build several new holds into the sides of Ruatha's

steep valleys, to accommodate the worthiest of his sons and their families.

Such expansion had been one of his many schemes to keep order in his Hold.

Lord Leef had planned ahead for the end of the Pass as well as for an orderly

succession. Moreta could not fault such provisions though Sh'gall, among other

dragonriders, had become concerned over the creeping expansion of the hold

populations. Six Weyrs, twenty-three hundred dragons, were hard-pressed to

keep cultivated lands Threadfree in this Pass. There had been talk of founding

another Weyr during the Interval. That would not be her problem, however.

Moreta set the gold and green jeweled band at her neck and slipped on

her heavy bracelets. The light-eyed man must be Alessan. She had often seen

him at the end of Fall with the flamethrower gangs. Always correct in his

manner, nevertheless Alessan's presence was felt despite his reserve. For the

life of her, Moreta couldn't remember as distinctly any of the other nine sons

though they all seemed to have inherited the strong craggy features of their

sire rather than those of their various mothers.

Today would be Alessan's first Gather since the Conclave of Lord Holders

had confirmed his accession to Ruathan honors at the beginning of the Turn.

Rest days, Threadfree days, and clear weather combined infrequently.

"Since there are the two Gathers, I shall attend Ista's," Sh'gall had

told her that morning. "I told Alessan so yesterday, and it didn't displease

him." Sh'gall gave a scornful snort. "He's got every rag and tag at the race

meeting of his so you should enjoy yourself." Sh'gall did not approve of

Moreta's uninhibited enjoyment of racing and, on those few occasions when they

had attended a Gather since Orlith's mating flight with Kadith, he had put

quite a damper on her pleasure in the sport. "I shall enjoy the sun and the

seafood. Lord Fitatric always provides superb feasts. I can only hope you'll

do as well at Ruatha."

"I've never found fault with Ruathan hospitality." Something in

Sh'gall's tone required her to defend the Hold. Sh'gall had been awed by Lord

Leef, but not by the new young Lord. Moreta did not always agree with

Sh'gall's snap judgments so she would wait and form her own opinion of

Alessan.

"Besides, I've promised to convey Lord Ratoshigan to Ista. He does not

care to attend Ruatha. He does wish to see the curious new animal to be

displayed at Ista."

"Oh?"

"Thought you might have heard?" Sh'gall's tone implied she should have

known what he was talking about. "Seamen from Igen Sea Hold found the beast

adrift in the Great Current, clinging to a floating tree. They'd never seen

its like and took it to the Master Herdsman in Keroon."

Ah, Moreta thought, that was why. She should have known. Why Sh'gall

assumed she knew everything that transpired in her native hold she did not

know. She was firmly and totally committed to Fort Weyr, and had been for ten

Turns.

"It's some species of feline, I hear," Sh'gall added. "Probably

something left behind on the Southern Continent. Quite a fierce beast. Wiser

to leave that sort."

"With the way we're being overrun by tunnel snakes, a fierce, hungry

feline might be useful. The canines aren't quick enough." Her comment annoyed

Sh'gall, who gave her one of his dark, ambiguous glares and stalked out of the

weyr. His unexpected reaction irritated Moreta. Not for the first time, she

heartily wished that Sh'gall's Kadith had not flown Orlith a second time. Then

she told herself firmly that old L'mal had considered Sh'gall one of the

ablest wingleaders. Until the end of the Pass, Fort Weyr needed the ablest

wingleader. Everyone had thought L'mal would last out the Pass, so his sudden

illness and death had been a great loss. Moreta had always liked L'mal, and

Leri spoke very highly of him as a weyrmate. Sh'gall was young, Moreta

reminded herself; this was not an easy time to assume Weyrieadership, and

Sh'gall suffered by comparison to the older, more experienced L'mal. Time

would teach Sh'gall tolerance and understanding. Meanwhile Moreta must have

those qualities in full measure to survive his learning period.

As Moreta lifted the fur cape about her shoulders, the bracelets slid up

her arms. They had been the gift of old Lord Leef for her having ridden Thread

down, perilously close for the safety of Orlith, to the Lord's cherished fruit

trees, which were threatened by the parasite. Aided by Orlith's agile

maneuvering, Moreta had seared the Thread to harmless char with her

flamethrower. She had been very young then, just transferred to Fort Weyr from

Ista and eager to prove to her new folk just how keen and clever Orlith was.

She wouldn't take such a risk now, though it was not due to the memory of the

rage in the eyes of L'mal, who had been Weyrleader then, when he had berated

her for recklessness. Leef's gift had not appreciably lessened her disgrace or

eased her conscience, but they looked well with her new gown.

"Are we going to the Gather at all?" Orlith asked wistfully.

"Yes, we are going to the Gather," Moreta replied, shaking her head clear of

such reflections.

She'd have a good Gather, too, for Ruatha Hold would be gay and bright,

dominated by the young Alessan's young friends. Sh'gall had said that they

were still full of their success, that he'd had to remind Alessan that Thread

brought no joy and he must attend his duties as Lord Holder before attending

to his pleasures.

"Perhaps it's just as well Sh'gall decided to go to Ista ... and take

Lord Ratoshigan with him," Moreta told Orlith, convincing herself in the

process.

"He and Kadith are well occupied," Orlith said complacently as she

followed her rider from their weyr.

Orlith paused on the ledge, glancing around the Weyr Bowl. Most of the

sun-struck ledges usually occupied by dragons were empty.

"Have they all gone?" Orlith asked in surprise, craning her neck to see

the shadowed west ledges.

"With two Gathers? Of course. I hope we're not too late for the racing."

Orlith blinked her great, many-faceted eyes. "You and your racing."

"You enjoy it as much as I do and generally have a far better view on

the fire-heights. Don't fret. It's fun to watch, but I ride only you."

Mollified by her rider's teasing assurance, Orlith crouched, setting her

forearm so Moreta could climb to her place between the last two neck ridges

above her shoulder. Moreta settled her skirts and pulled the cloak about her.

Nothing would really keep her warm in the awesome total cold of between but

the transition lasted only a few breaths, which anyone could endure.

Orlith sprang from the ledge. Though gravid, she was not a lazy dragon,

to tumble off into the air before making first use of her wings. The old

queen, Holth, trumpeted a farewell; the watchdragon spread his wings, masking

the Star Stones on the summit. The watchrider extended his arm, completing the

salute as Moreta waved acknowledgment.

Orlith caught the wind flowing down the oblong Bowl, the crater of an

extinct volcano which was home to the Weyr. In a distant Turn, an earthslide

had rampaged down the range, broken through the southwest part of the Weyr and

into the lake. Stonecraftsmen had cleared the lake and shored up the edge in a

massive wall but little could be done to clear the lost caverns and weyrs, or

restore the symmetry of the Bowl.

"Surveying your Weyr, O Queen?" Moreta asked, indulging Orlith's

leisurely glide.

"At height, one sees many details in proper order. All is well."

Moreta's laugh was blown from her lips, and she had to hang on to the

riding straps. Orlith constantly surprised her with gratuitous observations.

Conversely, when Moreta needed guidance, Orlith might reply that she didn't

understand any rider but Moreta. The queen could be counted on to comment on

the Weyr in general, or on the morale of the fighting wings, or to supply

information'about the Weyrleader's dragon, Kadith. Orlith was not so

forthcoming about Sh'gall. But, after twenty Turns of their symbiotic

relationship, Moreta had learned to discover as much in the queen's

impartiality or evasion as from her candid remarks. Being a queen's rider was

never easy. Being the Weyrwoman, Leri had more than once told Moreta, doubled

both honors and horrors. One took the good with the bad and used fellis

sparingly.

Now Moreta visualized the fire-heights of Ruatha Hold, with its

distinctive pattern of fire-gutters and beacons and the eastern watch rampart.

"Take us to Ruatha," she said to Orlith and clenched her teeth against

the cold of between.

"Black, blacker, blackest; colder beyond frozen things, Where is between

when there is naught To Life but fragile dragon wings."

Moreta often held the words of the old song as a talisman against the

bitter breathless journey. Ruatha was not far from Fort Weyr by any means of

travel, and Moreta had only reached 'colder' when the warm sun shone on them

and on Ruatha's fire-heights below. The host of dragons lounging on the rocky

cliff summit, whole wings of them, voiced greetings at Orlith's appearance in

the air. Orlith's thoughts echoed her pleasure in the accolade. Dragons met so

rarely for pleasure, Moreta mused. Thread was the cause. Soon, in eight Turns

...

As the queen glided down, Moreta recognized some of the dragons from

other Weyrs by the scar patterns on their bodies and wings.

Bronzes from Telgar and High Reaches, Orlith reported, making her own

identifications, browns, blues, and greens. But Benden has been and gone. We

should have come earlier. The last held a plaintive note because Orlith had a

partiality for the Benden bronze Tuzuth.

"Sorry, dear heart, but I had so much to do."

Orlith snorted. Moreta felt the jerk of chest muscles through the

dragon's withers. She had begun to circle, dropping toward the fireheights.

Anticipating a landing, Moreta tightened her hold on the straps. Orlith

overshot the heights, clearly headed down over the roadway crowded with the

stalls of the Gather and a milling throng of folk gaily dressed for the

occasion. Suddenly Moreta realized that Orlith meant to land in the empty

dancing square ringed by lamp standards, trestle tables, and benches.

"I do not forget that we are senior now," Orlith said primly, and that

the Hold's honors are due the Fort Weyrwoman.

Orlith landed with neat precision in the dance square, her broad pinions

vaned high to avoid excessive backwinds. The banners on the lamp standards

snapped vigorously, but little dust rose from the square already swept to hard

ground.

"Well done, dear heart," Moreta said, scratching her mount's back ridge

affectionately.

She glanced over at the imposing precipice that housed Ruatha Hold,

magnificently topped by ranks of sunbathing dragons. The Hold's unshuttered

windows displayed banners and brightly woven rugs. Tables and chairs had been

set out on the open forecourt so distinguished visitors could view the gather

stalls and the dancing square without obstruction. Moreta glanced quickly in

the other direction, toward the flats where the racing was held. She could see

the picket lines off to the right. The brightly painted starting poles were

not in position so she hadn't missed any racing.

The entire Gather had ceased its activity to watch Orlith's landing. Now

there was a stir among the onlookers, who parted to allow a man to step from

their midst.

"See! The Lord Holder approaches," Orlith said.

Moreta swung her right leg over Orlith's neck, pulling her skirts about,

preparatory to dismounting. Then she glanced at the man approaching them. She

could just make out his features, which corresponded to her recollection of

Lord Leef's light-eyed son. His broad shoulders were held at a confident angle

and his rangy stride was assured, neither diffident nor hasty.

He came to an abrupt halt, bowing to Orlith, who lowered her head to

acknowledge his greeting. Then he moved on quickly to assist Moreta to

dismount, looking intently up at her.

His light-green eyes, unusual in one so dark-skinned, caught hers. His

gaze was as formal and impersonal as his hands as he seized her by the waist

and swung her down from Orlith's forearm. He bowed, and Moreta couldn't but

notice that his shaggy hair had been neatly trimmed and attractively shaped.

"Weyrwoman, welcome to Ruatha Hold. I had begun to think that you and

Orlith were not going to attend." His voice was unexpectedly tenor for a man

so tall and lean, his words clearly spoken.

"I bring the Weyrleadcr's regrets."

"He gave them in advance yesterday. It would have been your regrets

which I, and Ruatha, would have been sad to receive. Orlith is in splendid

color," he added, his voice unexpectedly warming, "for a queen so near

clutching."

The queen blinked her rainbow-hued eyes, echoing the surprise that

Moreta felt in Alessan's adherence to formalities. Moreta hadn't expected so

polished a delivery from so young a man but, after all, Leef had drilled his

heir in the proprieties. Besides, she was always ready to discuss Orlith.

"She's in great health and she's always that unusual shade."

As her reply deviated from the tradition, Alessan hesitated.

"Now, some dragons are so light as to be more pale yellow than gold

while others are dark enough to vie with the bronzes. Yet she is not," Moreta

eyed her queen candidly, "the classic shade."

Alessan chuckled. "Does shade make any difference?"

"Certainly not to me. I would scarcely mind if Orlith were green gold.

She is my queen, and I am her rider." She glanced at Alessan, wondering if he

was mocking her. But his green eyes, with their tiny flecks of brown around

the pupil, registered only polite query.

Alessan smiled. "And senior at Fort Weyr."

"As you are Lord of Ruatha." She felt slightly defensive for, despite

the innocuous and formal phrases, she sensed an undercurrent in his speech.

Had Sh'gall discussed his Weyrwoman with a Lord Holder?

"Orlith?"

"The fire-height is warm in the full sun," the dragon replied evasively,

swinging her head toward her rider. The many facets of her eyes were tinged

with the blue of longing.

"Off you go, dear heart." Moreta gave Orlith's shoulder a loving thump

and then, with Alessan at her side, she walked from the dancing square. As

they reached the edge, Orlith leaped, her broad wings clearing the ground in

the first downward sweep. The dragon had launched herself in a very shallow

angle toward the sheer rock of Ruatha. As the queen flew a mere length above

the stalls and gatherers, Moreta could hear the spate of startled cries.

Beside her, Alessan stiffened.

"Do you know what you're doing, my love?" Moreta asked, reasonably but

firm. "You're a bit egg-heavy for antics."

"I am demonstrating the abilities of their queen. It will do them good

and me no harm. See?"

Orlith had judged her angle finely, though from Moreta's perspective,

she looked to be in danger of clipping her forearms on the cliff edge. But

Anne McCaffrey - Pern 07 - Moreta Dragonlady of Pern

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