"I've vaccinated the sister and the harper and did that other poor fellow as well. Lord Alessan says that more patients may be found along this corridor, but they did manage to clear the upper levels. I don't know how the man had managed. I'd no idea it would be so bad or I'd've insisted that Master Capiam give us more serum."

"There isn't that much to distribute, you know."

"Don't I just!"

Follen gave K'lon a thin smile. The previous evening the bluerider had conveyed the journeyman to South Boll Hold when the drums had reported survivors of the plague. As Capiam's timely visit to South Boll and his recommendations to its healers had in fact prevented the plague from spreading as insidiously as it had in midcontinent, it was only just that all the survivors donate blood for serum. Lord Ratoshigan had been a donor though the ever-irascible Lord Holder had been under the distinct impression-adroitly fostered by blue rider and journeyman-that the blood-taking was part of the prescribed treatment.

"Donations can be taken here," Follen went on, combing his hair with his fingers. "I'll give them some of Desdra's brew first, but judging from Lord Alessan's tally, the Hold will be able"-Follen gave a dour snort-"to supply those left here. Do ask Lord Shadder if he can find a few more volunteers. I'm sure we can save many of those with secondary infections if we just have enough nurses. We've got to try. This Hold has been devastated."

K'lon acknowledged that with a slow nod of his head. The desolation and ruin of Ruatha Hall had appalled the relief party. K'lon and three Benden green dragons had conveyed Follen, an apprentice healer, and six volunteers from Benden Hold. The spectacle that greeted the party emerging from between over the Hold was the worst K'lon had seen. The monstrous burial mounds in the river field, the wide circle of chamel fires near the race flats, the abandoned tents built on Gather-stall frames had indicated the magnitude of Ruatha's attempt to survive. The sad tatters of the gaudy Gather flags, hanging from the upper tiers of the closely shuttered windows, had struck K'lon as grotesque, a mockery of the gaiety that was Gathering in the midst of the tragedy that had befallen the Hold. Bits and pieces of trash skittered across the forlorn dancing square and the roadway while a kettle swung noisily on its tripod over a long-dead fire, its ladle banging in time to gusts of the bitter-cold wind.

"Lady Pendra?" K'lon began.

A quick shake of Follen's head made it unnecessary for K'lon to continue. "No, nor any of the daughters he brought to Ruatha Gather. At that, Lord Tolocamp comes out better than Lord Alessan. He's got but the one sister left."

"Of all Leef's get?"

"Lord Alessan frets about her. And his runners. More of them survived than guests, I think. You speak to him," Follen suggested, clapping the blue rider on the shoulder before making off up the dark corridor to the next room.

K'lon squared his shoulders. In the last few days, he had learned how to keep his face from showing his emotions, how to sound not exactly cheerful, which would have been offensive, but certainly positive and encouraging. After all, with the vaccine, there was the hope of mitigating the plague and preventing the disease in those not yet infected. He knocked politely at the heavy door but entered without waiting for an acknowledgment.

Lord Alessan was kneeling by a toss-mattress, bathing the face of the occupant. There was another makeshift bed along the wall leading into the sleeping quarters. K'lon suppressed an inadvertent exclamation at the change in the young Lord Holder. Alessan might regain lost weight and his skin its healthy color, but his face would always bear the prematurely deep lines and the resigned expression that he turned toward the blue rider.

"You are many times welcome, K'lon, rider of Rogeth." Alessan inclined his head in gratitude and then folded the dampened cloth before placing it on the forehead of the man he was tending. "You may tell Master Tirone that, without the invaluable assistance and ingenuity of his harpers, we would be worse off at Ruatha than we are. Tuero here was magnificent. The journeyman healer-what was his name?" Alessan drew a shaky hand across his forehead as if to coax the identity back.

"Follen."

"Strange, I can remember so many names . . ." Alessan broke off and stared out the window. K'lon knew the Lord Holder could see the burial mounds and wondered if the distraught man meant the names of those who lay beneath the tumbled soil of the mass graves. "It takes you that way, lying in bed, waiting to . . ." Alessan gave himself a shake and, gripping the top of the table, pulled himself slowly to his feet. "You have brought relief. Follen says that Tuero here, Deefer"-he gestured wearily toward the other bed-"and my sister will recover. He even apologized that he hadn't more . . • vaccine? Is that what it's called? Yes, well-"

"Sit down, Lord Alessan-"

"Before I fall down?" Alessan gave a slight smile with his bloodless lips, but he eased himself into the chair, sighing heavily from a weariness that went beyond any physical fatigue.

"They've stirred up the fires, and soon there'll be some restorative soup. Desdra concocted it. She tended Master Capiam, and he says the soup worked miracles for him."

"We shall hope it does for us as well." As they both heard the sound of coughing, Alessan turned his head sharply toward the door of his bedroom, inhaling apprehensively.

"Your sister? Well, you'll see," K'lon said with conviction. "The vaccine will effect a great improvement in her condition."

"I sincerely hope so. She's all the family I have left."

Though Alessan spoke in a light, almost diffident voice, K'lon felt his throat close tightly with compassion.

"Oh, that serum will moderate the effects of the virus for her, I assure you. I've seen amazing recoveries after its administration. In fact, the serum Follen gave her is probably derived from the blood I donated." K'lon rattled on mendaciously. Others had taken consolation from that fact so he held it out as comfort to this sadly bereaved man.

Alessan regarded him with a slightly surprised expression and his lips twitched in wry humor. "Ruatha has always been proud of its dragonrider bloodties though they've never been so direct."

K'lon responded to Alessan's retort with a thin laugh. "You haven't lost your wits."

"They're about all I have left."

"Indeed, Lord Alessan, you have much more," K'lon said stoutly. "And you shall have all the help Weyr, Hold, and Hall can supply."

"As long as what you have already brought is effective." Once more Alessan's head turned toward the room where his sister lay. "It is more than we had hoped for."

"I shall have a look at your stores and see what is most needful," K'lon began, vowing to himself that one of his first tasks would be to remove the Gather banners. If their presence had affronted him as a hideous reminder of that unfortunate occurrence, how cruelly would they affect Lord Alessan.

The Lord Holder stood far more quickly than he ought to have for he had to steady himself against the chair. "I know exactly what we need. . . ." He walked shakily to the desk at the window, absently stacking dirty dishes as he looked. He found the sheet of hide he wanted with a minimum of search. "Medicines, first of all. We have no aconite, not a gram of febrifuge left, only an ineffective syrup for that wretched cough, no thymus, hyssop, ezob, no flour, no salt.

Blackstone is almost depleted, and there have been no vegetables or meat for three days." He handed the sheet to K'lon, a wry smile on his lips. "See how timely your arrival is? Tuero sent the last drum message this morning before he collapsed. I doubt I should have had the strength to climb to the drum tower."