"To your sorrow, you will find that the healers' past objections have validity!" Capiam vented his pent-up anxieties and fears by shouting down Ratoshigan's objections. "You will isolate the sick and care for them, which is your duty as Lord Holder! Or come the end of the Pass, you'll find you hold nothing!"

The passion with which Capiam spoke reduced Lord Ratoshigan to silence. Then Capiam turned on Sh'gall.

"Weyrleader, convey me to Fort Hold. It is imperative that I return to my Hall as quickly as possible. You will wish to waste no time alerting your Weyr."

Sh'gall hesitated, but it was not to speak to his dragon.

"Weyrleader!"

Sh'gall swallowed. "Did you touch that animal?"

"No, I did not. Talpan warned me." Out of the comer of his eye, Capiam saw Ratoshigan recoil.

"You cannot leave here, Master Capiam," Ratoshigan cried, skittering fearfully to grab his hand. "I touched that animal. I might die, too."

"So you might. You went to Ista Gather to poke and prod a caged creature that has exacted an unexpected revenge for cruelty."

Sh'gall and Ratoshigan stared at the usually tactful Masterhealer.

"Come, Sh'gall, no time is to be wasted. You'll want to isolate those riders who attended Ista Gather, especially those who might have been close to the beast."

"But what shall I do, Master Capiam, what shall I do?"

"What I told you to do. You'll know in two or three days if you've caught the sickness. So I recommend that you order your Hold as quickly as possible."

Capiam gestured Sh'gall to lead the way to the courtyard where the bronze dragon was waiting. The great glowing eyes of Kadith guided the two men to his side in the predawn darkness.

"Dragons!" Sh'gall halted abruptly. "Do dragons get it?"

"Talpan said not. Believe me, Weyrleader, it was his primary concern. "

"You're positive?"

"Talpan was. No whers, watchwhers, or wherries have been affected though individuals of all those species had contact with the feline at Igen Sea Hold or Keroon Beasthold. Runners are seriously affected but not herdbeasts or the indigenous whers and wherries. Since dragons are related . . ."

"Not to wherries!"

Capiam did not bother to disagree, though in his Craft the kinship was tacitly acknowledged.

"The dragon that took the feline from Igen to Keroon has not become ill, and he conveyed it over ten days ago."

Sh'gall looked dubious but he gestured for them to proceed to Kadith.

The bronze dragon had lowered his forequarters for his rider and the healer to mount. Riding dragonback was one of the most enjoyable prerogatives of Capiam's Mastery, though he tried not to presume on that privilege. Gratefully he settled himself behind Sh'gall. He had no compunctions about drafting Sh'gall and Kadith to convey him to his Hall in this extreme emergency. The Weyrleader was strong and healthy and might survive any contagion Capiam carried.

Capiam's mind was too busy with all he must accomplish in the next few hours to enjoy the dragon's launching into air. Talpan had promised to initiate quarantine at Ista, to warn the east, and to isolate any who might have had contact with the beast. He would try to trace all runners leaving Keroon Beasthold in the past eighteen days. Capiam would alert the west and intensify the search of Records. The Fort drums would be hot tomorrow with all the messages he must send. The first priority would be Ruatha Hold. Dragonriders had attended Ista Gather and then flown in for a few more hours of dancing and wine at Ruatha. If only Capiam had not succumbed to fatigue. He had already lost valuable time in which the disease would be innocently spread.

Sh'gall's low warning gave Capiam time to take a good hold of the fighting straps. As they went between, he did wonder if the awful cold might kill off any trace of the disease.

They were abruptly above Fort Hold fire-heights and gliding in for a fast landing in the field before the Hall. Sh'gall was not going to stay in the company of the Masterhealer any longer than he had to. He waited until Capiam dismounted and then asked the healer to repeat his instructions.

"Tell Berchar and Moreta to treat the symptoms empirically. I'll inform you of any effective treatment immediately. The plague incubates in two to four days. There have been survivors. Try to establish where your riders and weyrfolk have been." The freedom to travel as they pleased had worked to the disadvantage of the Weyrs. "Don't congregate . . ."

"There's Fall!" "The Weyrs do have their duty to the people ... but try to limit contact with ground crews." Capiam gave Kadith's shoulder a grateful thump. Kadith turned his gleaming eyes toward the Masterhealer and then, walking forward a few paces, sprang into the air.

Capiam watched until the pair went between against the lightening eastern sky, the journey of a breath to the mountains beyond Fort Hold. Then he stumbled up the gentle slope toward the Hall and the bed he was going to welcome. But first he had to compose the drum messages that must go out to Ruatha.

The early-morning air held a bit of dampness that suggested fog was on its way. No glowbaskets were set in the forecourt of Fort Hold and only the one in the entryway of the Harper Hall. Capiam was surprised to see how much progress had been made on the annex of the Hall in the two days. Then the watchwher came snorting up to him, recognizing his smell and gurgling its greeting. Capiam slapped affectionately at Burr's ugly head, digging his fingers into its skull ridges and smiling at the happy alteration of its noise. Watchwhers had their uses, to be sure, but due to the freak of breeding that had perpetuated them, the creatures were so ugly that they revolted those who saw their debased resemblance to the graceful dragons. Yet the watchwher was as loyal and faithful as any dragon and could be trained to recognize those who were allowed to come and go with impunity. Legends said that watchwhers had been used in the earliest holds as the last-ditch defense against Thread. Though how, since watchwhers were nocturnal creatures that could not tolerate sunlight, Capiam didn't know.

Burr was quite young, only a few Turns old, and Capiam had cultivated an association with it since it had been hatched. He and Tirone had made it strictly understood that they would not tolerate apprentice abuse of the creature. When Thread fell on Fort, Capiam or Tirone, whichever of the two Masters was present, would take the watchwher into the main entrance of the Hall to remind the young men and women that the watchwher could provide an important function in that perilous period.

If Burr's ecstatic welcome nearly knocked him off his feet, at least the greeting was sincere, and Capiam was oddly touched by it. Burr humbled along beside him, his chain rattling on the flagstone. He gave Burr a last drubbing across the scalp and then ran up the stairs to open the heavy door of the Hall.

One dim glow illuminated the inner hall. Capiam closed the door and moved quickly, so near his bed and much needed rest. He went to the left in the main hall, through the doorway that led to the Archives.

Discordant snores surprised him, and he peered into' the vaulted library room. Two apprentices, one with head pillowed on the Records he had been examining, the other propped more comfortably against the wall, were vying unmusically. Annoyance warred with tolerance in Capiam's mind. Dawn was near and would bring Master Fortine to prod them to their labors and scold them for weakness. They'd be the better readers for his rebuke and the rest. Suddenly Capiam was too tired to answer the questions they would certainly tax him with if he did wake them.

Quietly then, he took a sheet of well-scraped hide and composed a terse message for the drummaster to broadcast to the Weyrs and the major Holds, to be relayed to lesser holds and halls. He put the message on Master Fortine's writing desk right on the page the Archivist was using. Fortine would see it as soon as he finished his breakfast, which was usually early, so the news of the epidemic would be spread before noon.