Moreta Read Free Page A

in his Hold. Lord Leef had planned ahead for the end of the Pass as well as for an orderly succession. Moreta could not fault such provisions though Sh’gall, among other dragonriders, had become concerned over the creeping expansion of the hold populations. Six Weyrs, twenty-three hundred dragons, were hard-pressed to keep cultivated lands Threadfree in this Pass. There had been talk of founding another Weyr during the Interval. That would not be her problem, however.
    Moreta set the gold and green jeweled band at her neck and slipped on her heavy bracelets. The light-eyed man
must
be Alessan. She had often seen him at the end of Fall with the flamethrower gangs. Always correct in his manner, nevertheless Alessan’s presence was felt despite his reserve. For the life of her, Moreta couldn’t remember as distinctly any of the other nine sons though they all seemed to have inherited the strong craggy features of their sire rather than those of their various mothers.
    Today would be Alessan’s first Gather since the Conclave of Lord Holders had confirmed his accession to Ruathan honors at the beginning of the Turn. Rest days, Threadfree days, and clear weather combined infrequently.
    “Since there are the two Gathers, I shall attend Ista’s,” Sh’gall had told her that morning. “I told Alessan so yesterday, and it didn’t displease him.” Sh’gall gave a scornful snort. “He’s got every rag and tag at the race meeting of his so you should enjoy yourself.” Sh’gall did not approve of Moreta’s uninhibited enjoyment of racing and, on those few occasions when they had attended a Gather since Orlith’s mating flight with Kadith, he had put quite a damper on her pleasure in the sport. “I shall enjoy the sun and the seafood. Lord Fitatric always provides superb feasts. I can only hope you’ll do as well at Ruatha.”
    “I’ve never found fault with Ruathan hospitality.” Something in Sh’gall’s tone required her to defend the Hold. Sh’gall had been awed by Lord Leef, but not by the new young Lord. Moreta did not always agree with Sh’gall’s snap judgments so she would wait and form her own opinion of Alessan.
    “Besides, I’ve promised to convey Lord Ratoshigan to Ista. He does not care to attend Ruatha. He does wish to see the curious new animal to be displayed at Ista.”
    “Oh?”
    “Thought you might have heard.” Sh’gall’s tone implied she should have known what he was talking about. “Seamen from Igen Sea Hold found the beast adrift in the Great Current, clinging to a floating tree. They’d never seen its like and took it to the Master Herdsman in Keroon.”
    Ah, Moreta thought, that was why she should have known. Why Sh’gall assumed she knew everything that transpired in her native hold she did not know. She was firmly and totally committed to Fort Weyr, and had been for ten Turns.
    “It’s some species of feline, I hear,” Sh’gall added. “Probably something left behind on the Southern Continent. Quite a fierce beast. Wiser to leave that sort.”
    “With the way we’re being overrun by tunnel snakes, a fierce, hungry feline might be useful. The canines aren’t quick enough.” Her comment annoyed Sh’gall, who gave her one of his dark, ambiguous glares and stalked out of the weyr. His unexpected reaction irritated Moreta. Not for the first time, she heartily wished that Sh’gall’s Kadith had not flown Orlith a second time. Then she told herself firmly that old L’mal had considered Sh’gall one of the ablest wingleaders. Until the end of the Pass, Fort Weyr needed the ablest wingleader. Everyone had thought L’mal would last out the Pass, so his sudden illness and death had been a great loss. Moreta had always liked L’mal, and Leri spoke very highly of him as a weyrmate. Sh’gall was young, Moreta reminded herself; this was not an easy time to assume Weyrleadership, and Sh’gall suffered by comparison to the older, more experienced L’mal. Time would teach