"Desdra, Moreta is coming with us to Ruatha," Capiam was saying. "It would seem that Lord Alessan has anticipated the matter of runner vaccine."

Desdra inclined her head courteously to the Weyrwoman, her large gray eyes calmly taking Moreta's measure.

"Don't let Desdra make you uncomfortable, Moreta," Capiam said. "She takes no one at face value; claims detachment is required of a healer."

"Jallora had told me of the superb reconstruction work you do on Threadscored dragon wing," Desdra replied in a low unhurried voice, her eyes flicking a glance to Moreta's hands as she put on her gloves.

"When there is time again, please return and examine Dilenth. The Istan Weyr Healer, Ind, taught me the technique. I've had opportunity to perfect it."

"I'd forgot about Fall today, Moreta," Capiam was saying uncertainly, as he looked about and saw the unmistakable preparations.

"I must be back for the end of Fall, certainly," Moreta replied, now perversely compelled to go to Ruatha. "As it happens, the wings have taken fewer injuries since the plague. It might just be that flying against other Weyrs has improved performances."

"Really? How interesting." Capiam's surprise was genuine.

Then M'barak courteously gestured for Moreta to mount Arith first. She did so, settling herself at the back and assisting Desdra. Although Desdra made no comment and appeared perfectly composed, Moreta decided that the healer had not often ridden adragonback.

Capiam was clearly delighted, twisting about to grin past Desdra at Moreta then checking discreetly that Desdra was comfortable. "Four riders are not excessive weight for your Arith, M'barak?" he asked as the blue rider swung into his forward position.

"Not my Arith," the boy replied stoutly, "or I'd've mentioned it."

As if to prove his ability, Arith leaped from the ground so enthusiastically that his passengers were abruptly pressed backward. Moreta instinctively locked her legs and grabbed the ridge behind her to balance Desdra, who was pushed back by Capiam's weight. Arith made a quick adjustment as M'barak rapped his neck. Conscious of his Weyrwoman's presence, M'barak made a ceremony of taking leave of the watchrider, accepting and returning salutes as Arith winged to a respectable altitude. M'barak looked back at Moreta with a warning nod of his head before he gave Arith directions.

"Black, blacker, blackest-"

Moreta's litany broke as they appeared in the sky again above Ruatha. She caught her breath, closing her eyes against the sickening view of the violated field, the rutted racing flat, the great fire circles, and the appalling burial mounds. She knew that her grip on Desdra's waist had locked and she was aware, too, of warm hands that lay gently on hers in shared sympathy and dismay.

All too clearly, Moreta could recall her compliments to Alessan on Ruatha's Gather gaiety, a bitter memory now that she was faced with the grim reality of the Gather's aftermath. Arith glided across the racing flats, directly at the Hold. Moreta could see the starting poles forlornly tumbled about where the spectacular dead heat of the last race had been run. Moreta forced herself to look at the raw earth of the burial mounds and accept the fact of so many casualties from that carefree throng of visitors in their Gather finery. And to accept as well the cremation fires that had consumed dead animals, winners and losers both, of the ten races that had drawn them to Ruatha on that fatal occasion. For a callous moment she thought that Alessan could have found the time to clear the pathetic debris of travel wagons, trunks, and Gather stands from the roadway and the fields. She marked where campfires had blackened the stubble field from which she and the young Lord Holder had so blithely watched the racing. Where banners had brightly flown, the upper tiers of Ruatha Hold were shuttered, unneeded, reminders that Ruatha had withstood a siege more savage than any Threadfall.

Yet, even as her heart contracted at the disheveled look of the proud Hold, her eyes went to the fields and the runners grazing there– not the large, solid beasts that Alessan had bred on Lord Leef's instructions but the wiry, thin-boned runners of Squealer's ilk. The irony helped restore her composure. Her tears would not comfort Alessan now.

Arith was not going to land at the forecourt, for which mercy Moreta was extremely grateful. His line was taking them along the roadway to the beasthold where considerable activity was evident. Three runners were being disengaged from plows, saddles lay on the ground, and a small cart had been pulled from storage. People were rushing up the road, carrying baskets with careful haste. The basic vitality of Ruatha appeared resurgent.

"M'barak says that he has seen Alessan at the beasthold," Desdra said to Moreta, projecting her voice sufficiently to counter the glide breeze. Nothing in her expression indicated that she was aware of Moreta's painful first reaction to the plague-scarred Hold.

Those at the beasthold had become aware of the dragon's approach and, just as Arith landed neatly on the far side of the roadway, two men emerged. Both were tall and their faces in shadow but Moreta identified Alessan on the right. That he recognized her was apparent by his sudden start before he strode to meet his visitors as fast as a Lord's dignity would allow. And he walked like the Lord of Ruatha again, Moreta was relieved to see-confident and proud.

"Sorry to arrive at an awkward moment, Lord Alessan," Capiam called as he dismounted.

"Your arrival could never be awkward, your appearance is always welcome," Alessan replied, but his eyes held Moreta's for a long instant before he courteously handed Capiam to the ground. "Tuero and I"-he indicated the tall harper who had followed him-"were composing a message to you." Then Alessan abandoned his formal manner and grinned broadly up at Moreta. "Dag saved Squealer! We've foals, too. Three fine males!" He shouted the last sentence, giving vent to a joy he could no longer contain.

"Oh, how marvelous, Alessan!" Moreta swung her right leg over and behind her and dropped down Arith's side. Fortunately, for Arith was rather higher than she had thought, Alessan caught her about the waist and eased her to the ground. She turned in his arms, very much aware of his hold on her, his light-green eyes bright with elation and, she hoped, her unexpected visit. "And to think it's Squealer's breed that survived! And foals! Oh, how relieved you must be!"

"I'm only just back from the nursery meadows," he told her as he led her away from Arith, his hands moving along her arm, anxious to remain in contact with her and happy at a civil excuse to do so. "I didn't have enough vaccine with me. I never counted on foals. And Dag's got a broken leg so we have to send the cart. There'll be Fall here in six days! But Dag saved bloodstock for us. He saved enough and he's saved Ruatha!"

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. . . ."