"You had no problem with my abominated hands when you wanted something to stop the itching," Keita said as she pulled the woman out of the group. "And from the look of it now I'd say you didn't even use the salve. Well, I hope you itch forever!" She released her and the woman sidled hastily back to her companions.

"Keita," Oldive asked, "can you remember exactly when she was here? If she gave a name or any details?"

Keita nodded and dashed up the stairs to the Hall.

"No doubt she had a good look round the Hall, as well," Sebell said.

Nothing more significant was discovered on the vandals' persons. Groghe ended the search and the prisoners adjusted their rumpled clothing.

Sebell spoke up. "The clothes and boots they're wearing will tell us where they were made, and we've weavers and tanners enough at the Gather to make such identification."

Then Sharra gave a bark of laughter, pointing to travel stains and scurf on the worn boots. "They're not dressed for the Gather, are they? In fact, they've done some hard riding. Could they possibly have stabled their runners in the Hall's beasthold for a quick escape? And left interesting items in their saddlebags?"

She saw several of the vandals flinch and laughed again as Groghe roared for Haligon to check. The Hall's stabling was to the west of the main entrance. A half-dozen holders accompanied Haligon on the search.

"Stuffed in here, Father!" Haligon shouted back. "Still saddled. Eating their heads off."

"A gallop to the harbor and a ship to sail away in?" N'ton asked.

"It's been done before," Sebell said, his eyes narrowing with anger, his expression grimmer than ever.

"Would you be kind enough to check Fort Harbor, Weyr-leader?" Groghe asked N'ton.

"My pleasure, Lord Holder." Pivoting, N'ton singled out four riders, standing by their dragons. As soon as the dragons were aloft, fire-lizards appeared, shrieking glad cries and following them in graceful fairs.

"Rather stupid, really," Groghe said, easing himself in his saddle and staring down at his prisoners. "Never considered the possibility of discovery, did you? Thought you'd do the dirty and get away without being seen?"

The leader looked arrogantly in another direction, but the rough body searches had considerably subdued the others; most of the bluster was drained out of them. Two looked dismayed as Haligon and the others led the mounts out for inspection. Willing hands emptied the saddlebags onto the ground, spilling out the usual camping gear.

"Fifteen of them, aren't there?" N'ton said, rubbing his jaw. "One of my sweepriders saw such a group camping in the Trader clearing by Ruatha River a few days back."

"He didn't report it?" Groghe demanded, offended.

"To me. Lord Holder, as he reported all those heading toward all the Turnover celebrations," N'ton replied with a diffident shrug. "He mentioned them wearing Healer green."

Groghe harrumphed at that detail. Who'd know these were not legitimate folk, braving the discomfort of winter travel for the magnificence of Turnover feasting and dancing? Who'd have thought the Healer Hall would be attacked?

Sharra, standing close to Oldive, could feel the man beginning to shake. The cold was penetrating her boots, and he was only wearing soft leather shoes.

"You must go in, Master. This has been a terrible shock to you," Sharra murmured and began to withdraw him from the scene.

"No, I must stay. It is my Hall they have defiled." He hunched into the wrap, pulling it tighter against him.

Sebell stepped close, offering Oldive a small flask.

"It's some of that fortified wine of yours," the Master-harper murmured. Oldive gratefully took a hefty swig.

"Father!" Haligon's cry was triumphant as he held up a thin wallet. He hastened to put it in Groghe's hands.

As the crowd watched in anticipation, the Lord Holder made an exaggerated inspection of the wallet's contents.

Groghe held up a piece of paper by an edge. "What? You make use of abominations?" he cried, eyes glinting with malice as he turned to the leader. "No less than a map printed by Master Tagetarl's abominable press.Useful things, abominations!"

Sharra tried not to grin at Groghe's style; he'd always appeared so pragmatic. Mockery was unusual for him, but today the gatherers loved it. Dancing and singing was all very well, but this was the most unusual diversion! They must remember every detail to tell missing friends and kin in hold and hall.

"B?" Groghe read by dropping the single sheet to eye level. "That's you?" He fixed the leader with an inquiring look.

"One of 'em comes from Crom, Lord Groghe," shouted a holder busy examining a runnerbeast. "Brand on this one's rump. Under the mud!" He shot a disdainful glare at the prisoners for such shoddy animal care.

"This one's Crom, too," a harper reported.

"They could have been stolen," N'ton remarked. "But even that's significant enough to start a search there for stolen runnerbeasts."

"B?"

"Father," Horon began, "if there's a B, could there also be an A and C, and Abominators raiding other healer halls today, when they're apt to be empty?"

The sound of distant drumming echoed down the canyon, startling everyone. As one, heads were turned toward the Harper Hall Drum Heights.

"I'm sorry you're right, son," Groghe said with a weary sigh as he, and the others familiar with the drum messages, identified the source-Boll-and the message: vandalism.

Sharra became rigid with renewed anger as the message provided crisp details. "Janissian sending. Healer hall destroyed. Two journeymen and one apprentice injured!"

"Don't hold with hurting healers!" Groghe cried and his mount danced as he tightened his legs in angry reaction and barely missed knocking into the intruders. The Lord Holder began to give crisp orders.

"Use the cart. Take 'em to the Hold. Horon, put them in one of those rooms on the lower level." His expression was malicious. "One without abominable lights. No contact with anyone for any reason. Give 'em only water. Bottled water!"

The onlookers cheered.

"Him!" And Groghe's finger jabbed at the leader. "Take B to the small room. N'ton, Sebell, we'll question him there. Will you attend, Master Oldive?"

"I must oversee…" The Healer waved vaguely at the Hall. Sharra moved to support him.

"Yes, yes, of course, you've better things to do with your time, Master," Groghe agreed, circling his mount while he decided what else needed organizing.

"But she's unconscious," cried the woman with the rash, pointing to the wounded one who was still in a heap on the ground.

"Then she can't object to being handled by abominable hands," Groghe said dismissively, motioning to the nearest men to put her in the cart that had been backed up to receive its load of prisoners. There were certainly enough hands and clubs to ensure that the prisoners quickly obeyed.

"Take all that gear up to the Hold, lads," Groghe told the men still inspecting the saddled runners. "Bring me that bony-backed Crom nag. Haligon, throw B over the beast and tie his hands. I'm not about to stay here in the cold any longer. I've other duties today." He made his mount pivot on its hindquarters, for a final survey of the scene. He kneed it to the stairs as Master Oldive, with Sharra and Sebell beside him, started to ascend.

"Dreadful display of ignorance. Dreadful," Groghe said bending from the saddle to sympathize with the Healer. "You took no hurt, Master Oldive? I shall deal with that rabble to the full extent of my power as Lord Holder. They expected to wreak their worst and disappear to the pits they came from. Ha!" The runnerbeast sidled, sensitive to his rider's anger. "Abomination! I'll show them abomination! I will find and punish all who perpetrated these outrages."

Oldive shook his head sadly. "I doubt they will be the last."