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Holth says Orlith sleeps. It was Tamianth who spoke.
Startled, Moreta glanced at Falga, who was equally surprised but smiled warmly at her.
"You've come on Search," Falga began. "Surely it's early, and even a shade unwise to assemble candidates." Falga indicated that Moreta should sit on one end of the couch, B'lerion on the other.
Moreta hesitated, glancing at Pressen, but he was busy in the far end of the large room.
"I've two reasons for coming."
"But there's only one queen egg." Then Falga slumped back against her pillows, resigned. "What else has gone wrong then?"
"No, I think you could say that something has come right," Moreta said in a positive ma
"Moreta, after saving Tamianth you can have anything in this Weyr . . . except S'ligar and Gianarth. Fortunately"-Falga's delightful laugh pealed out-"he's feeling his age. B'lerion, I know you time it as a matter of everyday convenience. This is the sort of thing you're good at organizing. Besides, I doubt if there's a cot you don't know in any western hold."
"Falga!" B'lerion affected indignation and hurt, laying his right hand on his heart. "May I see this plan of Master Capiam's?"
The bronze rider was a very shrewd dissembler for he examined the plan as if that were his first viewing. Moreta wished that B'lerion were not so comprehensively charming.
"Moreta," Falga said, eyeing her thoughtfully, "if Tamianth says Holth says Orlith's asleep. High Reaches has not been your first stop."
"No, I kept the best for the last."
"Could that be why Tamianth tells me Holth now informs her that Raylinth and his rider have arrived, in great agitation, at Fort?" When Moreta nodded grimly, she added, "M'tani would have none of it?"
"The watchrider made Arith land on the Rim."
B'lerion cursed with real fervor, all languor gone.
"If I'd been on Orlith, that squatty mildewed brown of C'ver's would-"
"Consider the source," Falga said earnestly. "A mere brown rider! Really, Moreta, save your wrath for something worth the energy to spit at. I don't know what has got into M'tani over the last Turn. Maybe he's battle-weary from fighting Thread for so many years. He's gone sour totally, and it's affecting his whole Weyr. That would be disastrous enough in ordinary times, but this plague has only shown up his deficiencies. Do we have to force a change there? We'll take up that matter later. Meanwhile, High Reaches will take up distribution on the eastern side of Telgar's region. Bessera can time it, and has, which accounts for that smug look so often on her face. B'lerion, which of the bronzes?"
"Sharth, Melath, Odioth," B'lerion closed a finger into his palm with each name. "Nabeth, as you suspected, Ponteth and Bidorth. That makes seven, and if my memory serves me, N'mool, Bidorth's rider, comes from Telgar Upper Plains. Of course, T'grel's not the only rider who's dissatisfied with M'tani's leadership. I told you, didn't I, Falga, that once those Telgar riders had had a taste of real leadership, there'd be trouble." He smiled wi
"Do stop your chatter, B'lerion. Holth has told Tamianth that Moreta had better get back to her Weyr. And we'll send you over a few weyrlings from our cavern. You can take your pick. If we discover any more likely lads and girls while we're delivering Master Capiam's brew, we'll bring them in."
"I'll just give Moreta a leg up," B'lerion called back over his shoulder as he hurried out with her.
"It's a good thing you've only the one arm, B'lerion," Falga called after them goodhumoredly.
"I was going back by way of Ruatha," Moreta said anxiously.
"I thought you might be. You don't have to. They're doing splendidly. Capiam's sent more people in to help. Desdra's overseeing. She says Tirone and his harpers are doing a magnificent job with the Lords Holder and Crafthallmasters."
"He must be. I haven't seen K'lon in days."
"Good fellow, K'lon; and I don't say that about just any blue rider."
Then they were beside Arith and, one-armed or not, B'lerion nearly lifted her over the blue dragon.
Orlith was awake on Moreta's return to Fort Weyr because Sh'gall had roused her while looking for Moreta. He was pacing up and down in front of the tier and whirled belligerently at her when she entered.
"M'tani sent a green weyrling," he cried, fuming, "hardly more than a babe, to give our watchrider the most insulting message I have ever received. He has repudiated any agreement made at the Butte, a meeting at which I was not present." Sh'gall shook his fist first at Moreta and then in the vague direction of the Butte. "And at which arbitrary decisions were made, which I ca
Moreta had never seen him so furious. She listened to what he had to say but offered no response, hoping he would vent his rage and leave. Having repeated himself at length on his displeasure with her shameless venture for the Weyr that had resulted in such an insufferable message from M'tani, he ranted on through his usual grievances, about his illness, about the puny size of the clutch. Finally Moreta could bear no more.
"There is a queen egg, Sh'gall. There have to be enough candidates to give the little queen some choice. I applied to Telgar Weyr as I did to Benden, Igen, Ista, and the High Reaches. No one else thought my appearance or my request importunate. Now leave the Ground. You've upset Orlith sufficiently for one day."
Orlith was visibly upset as Moreta ran across the hot sands to her, but not, Moreta knew very well, by Sh'gall. By Telgar Weyr. She paced in front of her eggs, her eyes wheeling from red to yellow and orange as she recited to her rider a list of the damages she would inflict on bronze Hogarth in such detail that Moreta was torn between laughter and horror. A mating dragon could be savage with the drive of that purpose, but a clutching dragon was usually passive.
Moreta scratched Orlith's eye ridges and head knob to soothe her, urging the dragon to have a care for her eggs and come lie down again and let the hot sands lull her.
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.