Malth says Berchar is very weak and S'gor is very worried, Orlith told her in a gentle, drowsy voice. We have decided that the woman has carried a male, Orlith continued. Moreta was astonished. Since Orlith very rarely used the plural pronoun, she must be referring to other dragons.

How kind you are, my golden love! Moreta shielded her face with her hands so that no one in the cavern would see the tears in her eyes for her dragon's unexpected kindly distraction, and her everlasting joy that, of all the girls standing on Ista's Hatching Ground that day Turns ago, Orlith had chosen the late arrival for her rider.

"Moreta?"

Startled, Moreta looked up to see Curmir, K'lon, and F'neldril standing politely before her table.

"It was I who insisted on conveying Lord Tolocamp," K'lon said firmly, chin up, eyes shining. "You could say that I hadn't actually heard the Weyrleader's order of quarantine since Rogeth and I were asleep in a lower weyr." Outrageously K'lon winked at Moreta. An older, weyr-bred rider, he had not been best pleased when Sh'gall's Kadith had flown Orlith, making the much younger bronze rider Weyrleader in L'mal's stead. K'lon's discontent with the change in leadership had been aggravated by Sh'gall's overt disapproval of K'lon's association with the Igen green rider A'murry.

Moreta tried to assume a neutral expression but knew from Curmir's expression that she failed.

"You did as custom dictates!" Moreta would allow that much latitude. "The Fort Holder must be conveyed by this Weyr. You brought his family back?"

"Indeed not, though I did offer. Rogeth would not have objected but Lady Pendra decided that she and her daughters could not break the quarantine."

Moreta caught Curmir's gaze again and knew that the harper was as aware as everyone else in the west as to why Lady Pendra would not break the quarantine. Moreta had great sympathy for Alessan's predicament. Not only was he still saddled with the Fort girls, but all the other hopefuls of the Gather were still at Ruatha.

"Lady Pendra said that she would wait out the four days."

"Four days, four Turns," F'neldril said with a snort, "and it wouldn't change their faces or improve their chances with Alessan."

"Did you see Master Capiam, K'lon?"

K'lon's expression changed, reflecting annoyance and remembered offense. "No, Moreta. Lord Tolocamp required me to set him down in the Hold forecourt, so I did. But immediately Lord Campen and Master Fortine and some other men whose names I can't recall bore him off to a meeting. I wasn't admitted to the Hall-to protect me, they said, from contagion, and they wouldn't listen when I explained that I'd had the plague and recovered."

Before she could speak, the watchrider's dragon bugled loudly. Sh'gall and his wing had returned at last. As Moreta rose hastily from the table, she could see the dust roiled up by the dragons' landing.

All are well, Orlith reassured her. Kadith says the Fall ended well but he is furious that there were few ground crews.

"No ground crews," she told the three men by way of warning.

Sh'gall came striding through the second dust cloud created as the dragons jumped to the weyrs. The riders of Sh'gall's wing followed a discreet distance behind their Weyrleader. Sh'gall made directly for Moreta, his manner so threatening that K'lon, Curmir, and F'neldril tactfully stepped to one side.

"Crom sent out no ground crews," Sh'gall shouted, slamming gloves, helmet, and goggles down on the table with a force that sent the gear skidding across the surface and onto the floor. "Nabol mustered two after Leri threatened them! There was no illness at Crom or Nabol. Lazy, ignorant, stupid mountaineers! They've used this plague of Capiam's as an excuse to avoid their obligations to me! If this Weyr can fly, they can bloody well do their part! And I'll have a word with Master Capiam about those drum messages of his, panicking the holders."

"There's been another drum message," Moreta began, unable to soften her news. "Ista, Igen, and Telgar have sick riders. The Weyrs may find it hard to discharge their obligation."

"This Weyr will always discharge its duty while I'm Leader!" Sh'gall glared at her as if she had disputed him. Then he whirled and faced those lingering at the dining tables of the cavern. "Have I made myself plain to you all? Fort Weyr will do its duty!"

His declaration was punctuated by the sound that every rider dreaded, the nerve-abrading shrill high shriek of dragons announcing the death of one of their kind.

Ch'mon, bronze rider of Igen, died of fever, and his dragon, Helith, promptly went between. He was the first of two from that Weyr. During the evening five more died at Telgar. Fort Weyr was in shock.

Sh'gall was livid as he hauled Curmir with him to send a doubleurgent message to the Healer Hall, demanding to know the state of the continent, what was being done to curb the spread, and what remedies effected a cure. He was even more upset when Fortine replied that the disease was now considered pandemic. The response repeated that there had been recoveries: Isolation was imperative. Suggested treatment was febrifuge rather than a diaporetic, judicious use of aconite for palpitations, willowsalic or fellis juice for headache, comfrey, tussilago, or preferred local cough remedy. Sh'gall made Curmir inquire double-urgent for a reply from Master Capiam. The Healer Hall acknowledged the inquiry but sent no explanation.

"Does anyone know," he demanded at the top of his voice as he rampaged back into the Lower Caverns, "if this is what K'lon had?" He glared at the stunned blue rider, his eyes brilliant with an intensity that was beyond mere fury. "What has Berchar been dosing himself with? Do you know?" Now he almost pounced on Moreta where she sat.

"S'gor tells me he has been using what Master Fortine suggests. K'lon has recovered."

"But Ch'mon has died!"

His statement became an accusation, and she was at fault.

"The illness is among us, Sh'gall," Moreta said, gathering strength from an inner source whose name was Orlith. "Nothing we can do or say now alters that. No one forced us to attend the Gathers, you know." Her wayward humor brought grim smiles to several of the faces about her. "And most of us enjoyed ourselves." "And look what happened!" Sh'gall's body vibrated with his fury.

"We can't reverse the happening, Sh'gall. K'lon survived the plague as we have survived Thread today and every Fall the past forty-three Turns, as we have survived all the other natural disasters that have visited us since the Crossing." She smiled wearily. "We must be good at surviving to have lived so long on this planet."

The weyrfolk and the riders began to take heart at Moreta's words, but Sh'gall gave her another long stare of outraged disgust and stalked out of the Lower Caverns.

The confrontation had shaken Moreta. She was drained of all energy, even Orlith's, and it had become an effort to keep upright. She gripped the edge of her chair, trembling. It wasn't just Sh'gall's rage but the unpalatable, unavoidable knowledge that she was very likely the next victim of the plague in the Weyr. Her head was beginning to ache and it was not the kind that succeeded tension or the stress and concentration of repairing dragon injuries.

You are not well, Orlith said, confirming her self-diagnosis.

I have probably not been well since I went to that runner's rescue, Moreta replied. L'mal always said that runners would be my downfall.

You have not fallen down. You have fallen ill, Orlith corrected her, dryly humorous in turn. Come now to the weyr and rest.

"Curmir." Moreta beckoned the harper forward. "In view of Berchar's illness, I think we must demand another healer from the Hall. A Masterhealer and at least another journeyman."