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dancing square for an evening she would never forget. The pent-up
frustrations, angers, suppressed griefs, the mandatory absences from Orlith
that she thought of as betrayals of Impression, the whole accumulation burst
the barrier of self-control and she buried her face in the dress, weeping
uncontrollably.
As Orlith crooned supportively, Moreta was taken into Alessan's embrace.
The touch of his arms, fierce in their hold, the mixed odors of human and
animal sweat, of damp earth, combined to free her tears. Abruptly she felt the
heave and swell of his body as his grief found expression at last. Together
they comforted and were comforted by each other's release.
"You needed this," Orlith said to Moreta but she knew that the dragon included
Alessan in her compassion.
It was Moreta who recovered from the catharsis first. She continued to hold
Alessan tightly, to ease his shuddering body, as she murmured reassurances and
encouragements, repeating all the praise for his indomitable spirit and
fortitude that had come to her through K'lon. Trying to make her voice and
hands convey her own respect, admiration, and empathy. She felt the shuddering
subside and then, with one final deep sigh, Alessan was purged of the
aggregation of sorrow, remorse, and frustration. She relaxed her grip and his
arms became less fierce and clinging. Slowly they leaned apart so that they
could look into each other's eyes. The lines of pain and worry had not
diminished but the strain had eased about his mouth and brow. Alessan raised
his hand and with gentle fingers smoothed the tears from her cheeks. His hands
tightened and he pulled her toward him again, bending his head to one side so
that she could evade him if she chose. Moreta tilted her head and accepted his
kiss, thinking to put the seal of comfort to their shared sorrow with that
age-old benison. Neither expected their emotions to flare to passion, Moreta
because she had stopped thinking of relationships outside the Weyr, Alessan
because he had thought himself spent from his losses at Ruatha.
Orlith crooned serenely, almost unheard by Moreta, who was caught up by the
surge of emotion, the flow of sensuality so remarkably aroused by
Alessan's touch, the hard strength of his thighs against hers, the sensation
of being vital again. Not even her girlhood love for Talpan had waked such an
uninhibited response, and she clung to Alessan, willing the moment to endure.
Slowly, reluctantly, Alessan raised his mouth from hers, looking down at her
with incredulous intensity. Then he, too, became aware of the dragon's
crooning and looked, startled, in the queen's direction.
"She doesn't object!" That amazed him further, and he was sensible of the risk
he had taken.
"If she did, you'd know about it." Moreta laughed. His expression of dismay
swiftly altering to delight was marvelous. Joy welled up from a long-untapped
source in her body.
Oriith's croon changed to as near a trill as the dragon larynx could manage.
With great reluctance, Moreta stepped back from Alessan, her smile expressing
that regret.
"They'll hear it?" he asked, smiling back at her ruefully, his hands clinging
as he released her.
"It may be chalked up to the joys of clutching."
"Your gown!" He grasped at the excuse of retrieving the crumpled folds where
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the dress had fallen unremarked to the stone at their feet. He was passing it
to her when M'barak and Tuero entered the Hatching Ground, Tuero with a keen
sparkle in his expressive eyes.
"With so much on your mind, Alessan," Moreta said, amazed at her
self-possession, "it is very good of you to have remembered."
"If the simple courtesy of returning what had been misplaced is always
rewarded with such generosity, leave more with me!" Alessan's eyes burned with
amusement at his turn of phrase but it was Tuero's full pack that he
indicated.
Moreta could not but laugh. M'barak was looking from her to Oriith, Tuero was
aware that something had occurred but he couldn't identify it.
"I didn't take all we needed," the harper said as he looked from
Weyrwoman to Lord Holder with a bemused smile. "That would have stripped your
stores completely."
"I shall be able to get replacements more easily than you, I think. As I
was telling Alessan," Moreta felt the need to dissemble, "I think there are
old Records about this sort of animal vaccination, though I cannot remember
the details. I would try the serum on a worthless beast, "
"Just now there are no worthless beasts at Ruatha," Alessan said quickly, a
slight edge to his voice. "I have no choice but to proceed and hope the animal
vaccine is as efficacious as the human."
"Did you inquire of Master Capiam?" Moreta asked, wishing that Alessan had not
distanced himself from her quite so soon though she could appreciate the
necessity.
"You know runners, not Master Capiam. Why rouse them if the notion was not
feasible?"
"I think it is feasible." Moreta put her hand urgently on Alessan's arm,
yearning to recapture some trace of their encounter. "I think you should
inform the Healer Hall immediately. And keep me informed."
Alessan smiled with polite acknowledgment and, under the pretense of a
courteous pressure on her hand, his fingers caressed hers.
"You may be sure of that."
"I know Oklina lives." The words came in a rush from her lips as Alessan
turned to leave. "Did Dag ... and Squealer?"
"Why do you think I want so desperately to vaccinate the runners?
Squealer may be the only full male I have left." Alessan left, pausing briefly
at the entrance to bow toward Orlith.
With a startled expression, Tuero hastened after him, and M'barak hurried
after his two passengers.
Orlith crooned again, her many-faceted eyes whirling with flashes of red amid
the predominant blue. Feeling rather limp after the spate of emotions and
resurgent desire, Moreta sank to the stone seat, clasping her trembling hands
together. She wondered if there was any chance that Holth and Leri had missed
that tumultuous interview.
CHAPTER XIV
Healer Hall, Ruatha Hold, Fort Weyr, Ista Hold, Present Pass, 3.20.43
"Look at the situation as a challenge!" Capiam suggested to Master
Tirone.
The harper slammed the door behind him, an uncharacteristic action that
startled Desdra and sent Master Fortine into a spasm of nervous coughing.
"A challenge? Haven't we had enough of those in the past ten days?"
Tirone demanded indignantly. "Half the continent sick, the other half scared
sick, everyone suspicious of a cough or a sneeze, the dragonriders barely able
to meet Thread. We've lost irreplaceable Masters and promising journeymen in
every Craft. And you advise me to look on this news as a challenge?" Tirone
jammed his fists against his belt and glared at the Masterhealer. He had
fallen into the pose that Capiam irreverently called the 'harper attitude'.
Capiam dared not glance at Desdra to whom he had confided the observation for
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it was not a moment for levity. Or perhaps that was all that was keeping his
mind from buckling under the new 'challenge'.
"Did you not tell me yourself earlier this morning," Tirone continued, his
bass voice resonant with vexation, 'harper enunciator', Capiam's graceless
mind decided, "that there had been no new cases of the plague reported
anywhere on the continent?"
"I did. I'll be happier when the lapse is four days long. But that only means
that this wave of the viral influence is passing. The 'flu' as the
Ancients nicknamed it, can recur. It's the next wave that worries me
dreadfully."
"Next one?" Tirone stared blankly at Capiam, as if wishing he had misheard.
Capiam sighed. He was not at all happy with a discussion that he had hoped to
put off until he had completed a plan of action. People were less apt to panic
if they were presented with a course of action. He had nearly completed his [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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