the chamber. A bowl of fresh fruit and a small wine jar had been placed on his bedside table, and his bed fur turned back invitingly. Desdra! He was once more grateful for her thoughtfulness. Tossing his pack to the corner, he sat on the bed, the effort of pulling off his boots almost beyond his remaining physical strength. He loosened his belt, then decided not to remove his tunic and pants—too much effort required. He rolled onto the mattress and in the same movement jerked the fur over his shoulder. The pillow was remarkably welcoming to his tired aching head.
He groaned. He had left the drum messages. Fortine would know that he had returned, but not at what hour. He had to have sleep! He had been across Pern and up and down it. If he wasn’t extra careful of his own health, he’d be a victim of the plague before he found out what it was.
He staggered from his bed to his table. “Disturb me not!” he printed boldly and, hanging onto the door to keep himself erect for that one last task, he pinned the note where it could not be missed.
Then when he sank into the comfort of his bed, he could relax into sleep.
CHAPTER V
Fort Weyr, Present Pass, 3.11.43
M ORETA WAS CERTAIN that she had only been asleep a few minutes when Orlith woke her.
Two hours you have slept but Kadith is in a frenzy.
“Why?” Moreta found it very difficult to lift her head from the pillow. It didn’t ache, but her legs did. Whether from the dancing or from the wine, Moreta didn’t know and probably would not have time to discover if Sh’gall was in one of his moods.
A sickness in the land,
Orlith replied, sounding puzzled.
Sh’gall went first to see K’lon and woke him.
“Woke K’lon?” Moreta was disgusted as she pulled on the first tunic she could reach. The clothing was slightly damp and her sleeping quarters were clammy. The weather must have changed.
There is a fine mist over the Weyr,
Orlith obligingly reported.
Moreta shivered as she dressed. “Why on earth should he wake K’lon? The man’s been ill and needs his rest.”
He is convinced that K’lon has brought the illness here.
Orlith sounded truly perplexed.
K’lon was in Igen.
“K’lon is often in Igen. His friend is a green rider there.”
Moreta splashed water into her face then rubbed the mint stick over her teeth, but it did little to improve the taste in her mouth. She ran her fingers through her short hair with one hand as she fumbled for a goru pear from the dish in her room. The tart fruit might neutralize the aftereffects of all that Benden wine.
“Moreta!” Sh’gall’s summons resounded from the entrance to her weyr.
Moreta had time to give Orlith’s muzzle a swift caress before Sh’gall burst into the chamber. The queen blinked her eyes shut, feigning sleep. Sh’gall charged ten paces into the weyr and stopped, holding his hand up as if fending off an approach.
“A sickness is all over Pern. Men are dying and nothing can be done. Runners are dying, too. No one must leave the Weyr.”
Sh’gall’s eyes were wide with a genuine fear, and Moreta stared at him in surprise for a moment.
“Thread falls tomorrow, Sh’gall. The dragonriders must leave the Weyr.”
“Don’t come close to me. I may have been infected, too.”
Moreta hadn’t moved. “Suppose you give me some details,” she said, speaking calmly.
“That animal they showed off at Ista—it was infected with a deadly disease. It’s spread from Igen to Keroon Beasthold to Telgar. It’s even in Southern Boll! Men are
dead
of it in Lord Ratoshigan’s Hold. And he’s been quarantined by Master Capiam. So are we!”
“Runners, you said?” Moreta’s breath caught in her throat and she turned fearfully toward her dragon. “Dragons?” She’d touched that runner and if she’d contaminated Orlith . . .
“No, no, not dragons! Capiam said Talpan agreed they weren’t affected. They had the beast killed. It hadn’t looked sick to me!”
“Tell me
He groaned. He had left the drum messages. Fortine would know that he had returned, but not at what hour. He had to have sleep! He had been across Pern and up and down it. If he wasn’t extra careful of his own health, he’d be a victim of the plague before he found out what it was.
He staggered from his bed to his table. “Disturb me not!” he printed boldly and, hanging onto the door to keep himself erect for that one last task, he pinned the note where it could not be missed.
Then when he sank into the comfort of his bed, he could relax into sleep.
CHAPTER V
Fort Weyr, Present Pass, 3.11.43
M ORETA WAS CERTAIN that she had only been asleep a few minutes when Orlith woke her.
Two hours you have slept but Kadith is in a frenzy.
“Why?” Moreta found it very difficult to lift her head from the pillow. It didn’t ache, but her legs did. Whether from the dancing or from the wine, Moreta didn’t know and probably would not have time to discover if Sh’gall was in one of his moods.
A sickness in the land,
Orlith replied, sounding puzzled.
Sh’gall went first to see K’lon and woke him.
“Woke K’lon?” Moreta was disgusted as she pulled on the first tunic she could reach. The clothing was slightly damp and her sleeping quarters were clammy. The weather must have changed.
There is a fine mist over the Weyr,
Orlith obligingly reported.
Moreta shivered as she dressed. “Why on earth should he wake K’lon? The man’s been ill and needs his rest.”
He is convinced that K’lon has brought the illness here.
Orlith sounded truly perplexed.
K’lon was in Igen.
“K’lon is often in Igen. His friend is a green rider there.”
Moreta splashed water into her face then rubbed the mint stick over her teeth, but it did little to improve the taste in her mouth. She ran her fingers through her short hair with one hand as she fumbled for a goru pear from the dish in her room. The tart fruit might neutralize the aftereffects of all that Benden wine.
“Moreta!” Sh’gall’s summons resounded from the entrance to her weyr.
Moreta had time to give Orlith’s muzzle a swift caress before Sh’gall burst into the chamber. The queen blinked her eyes shut, feigning sleep. Sh’gall charged ten paces into the weyr and stopped, holding his hand up as if fending off an approach.
“A sickness is all over Pern. Men are dying and nothing can be done. Runners are dying, too. No one must leave the Weyr.”
Sh’gall’s eyes were wide with a genuine fear, and Moreta stared at him in surprise for a moment.
“Thread falls tomorrow, Sh’gall. The dragonriders must leave the Weyr.”
“Don’t come close to me. I may have been infected, too.”
Moreta hadn’t moved. “Suppose you give me some details,” she said, speaking calmly.
“That animal they showed off at Ista—it was infected with a deadly disease. It’s spread from Igen to Keroon Beasthold to Telgar. It’s even in Southern Boll! Men are
dead
of it in Lord Ratoshigan’s Hold. And he’s been quarantined by Master Capiam. So are we!”
“Runners, you said?” Moreta’s breath caught in her throat and she turned fearfully toward her dragon. “Dragons?” She’d touched that runner and if she’d contaminated Orlith . . .
“No, no, not dragons! Capiam said Talpan agreed they weren’t affected. They had the beast killed. It hadn’t looked sick to me!”
“Tell me
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