Moreta (33 page)

Moreta found herself grasping and shaking his hand repeatedly and wondering suddenly if anyone was noticing, but surely she could publicly congratulate him for such splendid good fortune. Then Capiam brought Desdra forward to introduce her, and Moreta saw that Desdra was measuring Alessan with the same penetrating gaze to which she had already been subjected. Moreta felt protective of Alessan and worried that the healer would divine her attraction to him.

“I deduce that you have produced a serum vaccine and used it.”

“I have indeed, Capiam, for I couldn’t risk the bloodstock in this infected area.” Alessan’s hand eloquently swept the Hold proper and its fields. “Journeyman Follen is in the process of making more.” He nodded toward the beasthold. “The plague dealt us terrible losses both in men and animals.” He motioned them all to follow him into the beasthold. “We prepared a serum as soon as I returned last evening, and I injected that beast.” Alessan pointed to the lame one, its right front leg pointing despite the depth of the straw of its bed. “It seems none the worse for it . . .

“It won’t be, I assure you,” Capiam said warmly, adroitly steering them to an isolated area, away from others. “The theory is as sound for animals as it has proved for people. And”—he lowered his voice, peering first at Alessan and then at Tuero with a meaningful stare—“absolutely essential at this juncture.” He shot Desdra a quick look at his inadvertent use of one of Tirone’s favorite phrases. A twist of her lips showed that she had marked it. With a quick motion of his hands, Capiam circled the others closely around him, tucking his hands about Alessan’s and Tuero’s arms. He glanced about to be sure that everyone was busy, Follen with his group around the centrifuge and the holders about the animals being retacked. “Lord Alessan, the plague could break out again.”

Moreta caught Alessan’s free arm as he staggered back from Capiam. The Healer supported him on the other. Tuero’s first reaction was to see how Alessan coped with the news. The harper’s expression was unusually serious and compassionate.

“Animals as well as humans must be vaccinated this time round,” Capiam continued. “All across the continent. I have worked out a plan of distribution, and Moreta will seek dragonrider assistance. What is needed is serum from recovered animals. You have them, sufficient at least to supply the needs of this Hold, Fort, Southern Boll, and that portion of Telgar which marches your boundaries. Lord Shadder, I know, will accommodate us in the east.”

“But the herds in Keroon are vast . . .” Alessan was clearly stunned by the enormity of the project.

“No longer,” Capiam said gently. “If this Dag of yours has saved bloodstock for you, you are richer than you think. May we have your help?”

Alessan looked at the Masterhealer, a curious expression playing in his light-green eyes and the oddest twist to his lips.

“Ruatha lost much—of its people, its herds, its honor, and its pride. Any help which Ruatha can now offer may perhaps remove the stain of our enduring”—-Alessan indicated the burial mounds—“hospitality.”

There was no bitterness in the young Lord Holder’s voice but there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the aftermath of his first Gather had burned indelibly into his soul.

“What makes you think that
you
are responsible for that? Or any of this?” One flourish of Capiam’s hand indicated the burial mounds, the next their meeting in the beasthold and the veterinary preparations being made to one side. “No blame adheres to you, Lord Alessan. Circumstance, unpredictable circumstance, drove the
Windtoss
from her course. Opportunism prompted its master to land in the Southern Continent, and greed kept him there for three days. What prompted the crew to transport that animal to the unprotected north will never be known for every witness to that reprehensible decision is now dead. But that circumstance was beyond your control. What
has
been in
your
control, my Lord Alessan, is the courage with which you have conducted yourself, your care of the sick, your effort to sow crops, and the preservation of Ruathan bloodstock. Most of all”—Capiam drew in a deep breath— “most of all, that you are, in the midst of the severe trials you have endured, willing to
help
others.

“When bad fortune occurs, the unresourceful, unimaginative man looks about him to attach the blame to someone else; the resolute accepts misfortune and endeavors to survive, mature, and improve because of it.

“A fishing ship is blown off course in an unseasonal squall and that minor event has influenced us all.” Capiam’s expression was rueful. He glanced at Desdra, who was staring at him in a baffled manner. “If you view justice as the foundation of your life, then it has been served—for captain, crew, and cargo are dead.
We
live. And
we
have work to do.” Capiam gripped Alessan by the shoulder, emphasizing his words by shaking him. “Lord Alessan, take no blame to yourself for any of this. Take credit for your vision!”

Outside Arith suddenly bugled in welcome and was answered by a deeper note.

“A bronze? Here?” Moreta hastily made her way to the entrance of the beasthold. M’barak stood by Arith, who was gazing skyward. The blue was not agitated even if Moreta feared that Sh’gall might have followed. “M’barak! Who comes?” Why hadn’t Orlith contacted her?

“Nabeth and B’lerion,” M’barak said without concern, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“B’lerion!” Moreta was relieved but, when a slender figure rushed down the ramp from the Hold, she began to understand B’lerion’s presence.

Arith rose on his hindquarters, emitting what Moreta could only interpret as a challenge.

“I don’t know what’s got into him, Moreta,” M’barak cried, embarrassed. “He’s gotten to be awfully protective of Lady Oklina.”

“There is a queen egg on the Hatching Ground, M’barak,” she said, and added when it was obvious her explanation eluded the weyrling. “Blue dragons are often very keen on Search. Arith would seem to be precocious, though.” She frowned, observing Oklina awaiting B’lerion. “I don’t think Fort Weyr has the right to deplete Ruathan resources . . .”

She swiveled around. Alessan was escorting Capiam, Desdra, and Tuero to the centrifuge. The big wheel was slowing and the next batch of serum could be examined. Turning her head, she saw that Nabeth had landed and B’lerion was sliding gracelessly from the bronze back. Oklina greeted him with restraint, pointing toward the beasthold. B’lerion caught her hand, and the girl fell in step with him willingly enough but did not reclaim her hand. As the pair turned down the roadway, Moreta could see B’lerion’s left arm was in a sling. He could not fly Threadfall. Had he been glad to escape from his Weyr when the High Reaches wings rose? Did B’lerion feel—as she did when the wings rose without her—an irrational compulsion to be with them? Or did he feel the injury was little more than a valid excuse to visit Oklina?

Drawing back into the shadow, Moreta turned to join the group by the centrifuge, standing a little to one side—the better to watch Alessan—as the healers discussed the quantity of vaccine they would need, the minimum effective dose, and how they could discreetly discover how many runners were in-holded.

“Body weight is always the factor,” Moreta said, slipping into the conversation.

“We must make the determination of dosage as easy for the uncertain and the inept as possible,” Alessan said. “Some of the handlers in the back holds are going to be incompetent as well as skeptical. Where handlers are still alive, that is.” He flushed as Capiam fixed him with a reproving eye.

“We have been relocating capable people and trying to ascertain where more might be needed. It is amazing what people can do when they have no other options available.”

“Master Capiam, how crucial is it that the runners be vaccinated . . . at this juncture?” Desdra asked, her gray eyes intent on the Healer’s face.

“With zoonosis the determining factor—and I thought we had agreed on that point—”

“We have, but we cannot also waste effort.” Desdra indicated the ornamental glass, the layers of blood now at rest. “I am forced to admit to you now that we have barely enough needlethorn to vaccinate the
people,
much less the animals. It would be unwise to reuse needle-thorns,” Desdra went on softly. “The danger of contagion—”

“I know. I know.” Capiam pulled his hand across his forehead and down his cheek, rubbing at his jaw. He gave a weak laugh, tossing his hand in the air in a futile gesture before he eased himself to a bale of straw. “And we can only be sure of eradicating the threat of plague if we vaccinate both.”

“It is just needlethorn which you lack?” Moreta asked, catching Capiam’s despondent gaze. The Masterhealer’s eyes began to widen and his stricken expression changed to incredulity as he realized what her question implied.

“And will lack, unfortunately, until autumn,” Desdra was saying, turning away from the disappointment she had just inflicted on her master. She did not see the exchange that passed between Moreta and Capiam. “I have appealed to every hall and hold on the drum network to send us their inventory. As it is, we may be forced to exclude some people—”

“How? Who? When?” Capiam’s terse questions to Moreta were hoarse whispers but so intense was his voice that it caused a hush and Desdra whirled to face him.

Shrugging off discretion with a nervous laugh, Moreta answered him.
“How
is walking down the roadway.
Who
is us, for I can count on your silence and
that
is as essential as needlethorn, and
when
has to be now, before I have time to reconsider this aberration.” She grinned in reckless glee. Knowing it was a dramatic gesture, but unable to resist, she pointed to the entrance just as B’lerion and Oklina entered. “Are you badly injured, B’lerion?” she said, hailing the bronze rider cheerfully and, in a lower voice to Capiam, “He can’t be that bad or he wouldn’t have risked
between.
”

“No, my shoulder was only dislocated,” the bronze rider replied diffidently, “but I can’t stand seeing the wings form without me. Pressen needed someone to bring Ruatha what we can spare from our stores, so I volunteered.” B’lerion did not look at Oklina, who was standing breathlessly beside him, but bowed with tacit sympathy to Alessan. “I have wanted to express—“ He broke off, sensing Alessan’s distress.

“There is something you can do to help, now that you’re handy,” Moreta said, and B’lerion gave her a startled look. She drew him to one side and explained the situation and made her audacious request.

“I concede,” he said, darting quick glances at Capiam and Alessan, “that the matter is urgent, even overwhelmingly so”—he spread the fingers of his uninjured hand in appeal—“but it is quite one thing, Moreta, to add a few more hours to a day, and a completely different matter to flit across months. You know very well that it’s damn dangerous!” He kept his reply low while trying to argue sense into her. Though B’lerion might often behave with apparent disregard for proprieties, he was far from careless and irresponsible.

“B’lerion, I know where we need to go, in both Ista and Nerat. I know when needlethorn is ripe to be harvested. The
ging
tree is always in bloom. I have seen the rainforest resemble a green face with a thousand dark-rimmed eyes—”

“Highly poetic, Moreta, but not exactly the guide I’d need.”

“But it is a
when.
And to get the proper coordinates we’ve only to check the autumnal position of the Red Star. Alessan would have the charts. It’s rising farther and farther west. One only has to calculate the autumnal degree.” She could see that that argument did much to reassure B’lerion.

“I had not really expected to spend my free afternoon harvesting needlethorn . . .” His protest was halfhearted as he came to a conclusion that Moreta hastily reinforced.

“We can spend as much time as we need there, B’lerion, and still harvest what is so desperately needed now. But we must go
now.
I have to be back at the Weyr for the end of Fall. Nabeth is equal to the feat.”

“Of course he is. But
they’d
know”—he jerked his thumb at the waiting group—“that we had traveled forward in time, Moreta.”

“Capiam and Desdra already know it’s possible.” She grinned at the expression on his face. “After all, the Healer Hall bred dragons.”

“So they did.” B’lerion recovered from his astonishment.

“We will also have to use the ability on the day the vaccine is distributed.”

B’lerion blinked wildly, glancing about him, but his gaze fell more regularly on Oklina’s figure and Moreta began to relax. “I could, actually, see the Weyrs condoning
that
application, Moreta.”

“They do not need to know we have taken time today. Who knows you’ve been here?”

“Pressen and that lad out there.”

“I’ll send M’barak off on an errand. Surely we can expect silence from Oklina, so that gives us a working party of six. We must make the time, and take it, B’lerion. Weyr, hold, and hall cannot sustain a second epidemic.”

“I have to concede that, Moreta.” B’lerion looked out over the debris strewn in the roadway and fields. “The change here is staggering.” He grasped her hands tightly, his grin giving her the assent she required. “I’ll have Nabeth speak to Orlith. If she agrees, what difference would a few moments make among friends?”

“Tell Orlith it’s for the runners. They deserve our help.”

“You and your runners!”

When Moreta outlined her plan to Capiam, Desdra, and Alessan, she received startled demurrals from each one that they didn’t have the time to join the expedition.

“Master Capiam, it
takes
no time from now, today, this hour, to do what I have in mind,” she replied to their protests with vexed severity. “Alessan, you can surely arrange matters in your Hold for an hour’s absence. It will take longer than that for the cart to collect Dag and the men to herd the mares and foals down. What will you do? Watch bottles spin? The risk I fear is a breach of discretion about the entire project. Capiam and Desdra already know about the dragons’ ability, and they earnestly require the needlethorn. I know I can count on Ruathan honor to respect dragonrider privacy. B’lerion is fortuitously here, willing and able. Nabeth is well able to carry six of us and, in a day’s hard harvesting, we will accomplish what is necessary to insure the plague does not spread across the continent again. No one else will be the wiser. And that is also essential!”