To Moreta, of all the Gathers she'd ever attended, the Ruathan Gather at that moment of dusk evoked best what Gathers should by– folk from weyr, hold, and craft assembled to eat, drink, dance, and enjoy one another's company. The glowbaskets on their standards cast patches of golden light on the crowded tables, on the dancers, on the clusters of people standing about talking, and on the circles of men near the wine barrels. The darting figures of children wove in and out of the light patches, and occasionally their laughter and shouts cut across the music and the stamping of the dancers. The smell of roasted meats and warm evening air, of dust and pungent glows, and wine reinforced all prospect of entertainment.

Nine harpers graced the plattem and five more sat waiting their turns. Moreta couldn't pick out Tirone, but the Masterharper might be circulating among the tables. Alessan might not like the Masterharper, but Tirone would discharge his obligation to the new Lord Holder's first Gather.

Moreta and Oklina had reached the edge of the onlookers, who parted while respectfully murmuring greetings as the two moved closer to the dance square. Having guided Moreta to the head table, opposite the harpers' platform, Oklina would have left, but Moreta took the girl by the hand. When Alessan rose to his feet, gesturing for Moreta to sit beside him, she pulled Oklina down, too, ignoring the girl's protest.

"There's room enough, isn't there?" Moreta asked, giving Alessan a significant glare. "She was so good about waiting for me."

"Room enough, of course," Alessan replied graciously, motioning to the table's other occupants to adjust. As Moreta seated herself, Alessan peered at her, a frown beginning to pucker his brows. "Is that the best that could be supplied you?" He pinched at the sleeve with disapproval.

"This suits me very well. Much better for dancing than mine. Though I had many to choose from," she added hastily as the reason for his frown became clear to her. "I think I should make it a practice to bring two dresses to a Gather: one to see races in"-she grinned mischievously up at him-"and one to be seen in." She gave her chin an arrogant tilt and pretended hauteur.

Placated, Alessan smiled back at her and signaled for wine to be poured in her cup. "I've more of the Benden white for you." He raised his cup in a quick toast.

She had had not more than a sip when the harpers struck up a loud and lively dance tune.

"Will you honor me with a dance, Weyrwoman?" Alessan asked, jumping to his feet and extending his hand.

"Why else am I here?" She turned to Oklina with a smile. "Guard my place and my cup." Then she took Alessan's hand and allowed herself to be spun onto the square, finding the beat of the measure and stepping out into the pattern with a strong man's body against hers and firm hands guiding her.

She loved to dance and, though the Weyr had musicians and songs in the evening from time to time, dancing was generally reserved for Hatching festivities. Occasionally the blue and green riders indulged in wild acrobatics, usually when they were well into the wine after a bad Fall or the death of a dragon and rider, but Moreta dreaded those dances. Leri and L'mal had felt that such excesses purged the riders, but Moreta preferred to absent herself, taking flight on Orlith to be far from the maddening drum beat and the posturing dance.

But the Gather's music soon exorcised those memories and she was breathless by the time Alessan whirled her back to the table, both of them heartily applauding the harpers' music, the sweet, uncomplicated, merry, familiar tunes.

"I must dance now with Falga," Alessan said, seeing Moreta settled, "but save me another dance?"

"Did you enjoy dancing with Alessan?" Oklina asked in a shy wistful voice as she set the goblet of Benden wine before Moreta.

"Indeed I did. He's light on his feet and knows the dance well."

"Alessan taught me to dance. When there's music in the Hall, he always asks me at least once but I don't expect he'll be able to tonight with so many other girls."

"Then I shall find you another partner." Moreta turned to search out an idle dragonrider.

"Oh, I mustn't." Oklina looked scared and her eyes flitted nervously to the crowded square where a new dance was forming. "I'm expected to help with the guests."

"You are, by making sure of my comfort and guarding my Benden wine." Moreta smiled warmly at the child. "But you must dance tonight!"

"Moreta!" A firm hand clasped her on the shoulder, and she looked up at B'lerion, bronze Nabeth's rider from the High Reaches Weyr. "There's good music begging your step. And me!"

The bronze rider did not wait for her consent, but took her hand and pulled her into his arms, laughing down at her. "I knew you couldn't resist me." And he winked over Moreta's shoulder at the astonished Oklina as he spun the Weyrwoman off to the square.

Moreta did not miss the wistful, yearning expression on Oklina's face, but then B'lerion had that effect on many women. He was handsome and tall with a fine strong body, sparkling dark eyes, a mobile expression, a ready laugh. He always had a quick remark and a fund of light gossip. Moreta and he had enjoyed a brief association when she'd first come to Fort Weyr and she was certain that he was the father of her third child. She regretted that she had had to foster, but she had always been the healer and that duty had priority. Though B'lerion was not the same caliber wingleader as Sh'gall, Moreta had hoped that Nabeth would have flown her queen during that crucial mating flight. But then, the strongest, cleverest dragon flew the queen: That was the only way to improve the breed. Twice Sh'gall's Kadith had been strongest and fastest. Or so Moreta kept telling herself.

B'lerion was in a good mood, not yet deep in his wine for his words weren't slurred and his step was firm. He'd heard of her dousing, teased her about monopolizing the young Lord Holder, told her that her love of racing would be her undoing, and asked why Sh'gall was not there to protect his interests.

"I never understood why you let Kadith fly your queen when she could have done much better with Nabeth and I'd be Fort Weyrleader. I'm much more fun to be with than Sh'gall. Or so you used to tell me."

By the intense gleam in his eyes and the sharp hold he took of her waist for the last figure of the dance, B'lerion was half in earnest, Moreta realized. Moreta reminded herself that B'lerion was always in earnest for the duration of any given encounter. A charming opportunist who didn't limit his activities to any one Weyr or Hold.

"What? You be Fort Weyrleader? You don't like that much responsibility. "

"With you as Weyrwoman, I'd've improved beyond all knowing. And it's only eight more Turns and then we're all free to enjoy ourselves." He pulled her tighter still. "We did enjoy ourselves before, you know."

"When didn't you enjoy yourself, light wing?"

"True, and tonight is meant for enjoyment, isn't it."

She laughed and swung away from an embrace that had best be broken. B'lerion's attentions might be misconstrued by some. She owed Sh'gall her undiverted support at least until the Fall ended. As she made her way back to the table, B'lerion followed, smiling at Oklina in imperturbable good humor. Moreta wished he hadn't followed her, noting Oklina's breathless reaction as B'lerion smoothly set himself down beside the girl.

"May I have the next dance with you, Lady Oklina? Moreta will tell you I'm harmless. I'm also B'lerion, bronze Nabeth's rider from the High Reaches. May I have a sip of your wine?"

"Oh, that's Lady Moreta's wine," Oklina protested, trying to regain possession of the cup that B'lerion had seized.