K'lon took the sheet with a hand that shook only slightly less than the hand that offered it. He bowed to hide his face, but when he looked up, he saw that Alessan was gazing out the window, his expression unreadable.

"Follen told me that scenes like this are repeated throughout the continent,"

"Not like this," K'lon said, his voice cracking.

"Follen didn't go into detail-how badly are the Weyrs affected?"

"Well, we have had our casualties, it's true, but dragonriders have met every Fall."

Alessan gave him a long puzzled look, then he turned away again to gaze out the window. "Yes, I suppose they would, if they could. You're from Fort Weyr?"

As K'lon knew that Alessan was aware of his affiliation, he sensed that the man was trying to discover something else. Then he remembered what Nesso had said, about Moreta dancing in a scandalous monopoly of the young Lord.

"Lady Moreta is recovering and so is the Weyrleader. We have had only one death at Fort, an elderly brown rider and his dragon, Koth. The toll was fifteen at Igen, eight at Telgar, and two at Ista but, because of the vaccine, we are hopeful."

"Yes, there is hope."

Why Alessan should glance from the fields to the mountains, K'lon did not know, but the action seemed to hearten the man.

"Did you know that we had over a hundred and twenty of the best western racers here a few short days ago, and seven hundred Gatherers to enjoy the dancing, the wine, the feast, the plague . . ."

"Lord Alessan, do not distress yourself so needlessly! If you had not held the Gather festivities here, the entire Hold could have been destroyed. You were able to prevent the plague's spread. All Ruathan drumholds have reported in. There are a few deaths reported and some cases of the plague, but you did what had to be done, and did it well!"

Alessan turned abruptly from the window. "You must bear to Lord Tolocamp my most profound condolences for the loss of Lady Pendra and her daughters. They nursed the sick until they were themselves overcome. They were valiant." Alessan's message was no less sincere for the abruptness of its tone.

K'lon acknowledged the message with a sharp inclination of his head. He was not the only one who would forever fault Lord Tolocamp for running from Ruatha. There were those who held the opinion that Tolocamp had been eminently correct to put the welfare of his Hold above that of his Lady and his daughters. Lord Tolocamp had remained secure in his apartment at Fort Hold while Ruatha suffered and died. Tolocamp would be spared the disease since he had vehemently insisted on being vaccinated despite the priorities set by the Weyrwomen and Master Capiam.

"I will convey your condolences. All the supplies we brought," K'lon found himself explaining, "came from Benden or Nerat Holds."

Alessan's eyes sparkled briefly, and he looked at K'lon as if he were seeing the blue rider for the first time.

"Good of you to tell me that. My profound gratitude for the generosity of Lord Shadder and Lord Gram." The view from his window again drew Alessan's glance. His obsession was beginning to perturb K'lon.

"I must go." the blue rider said. "There is so much to be done."

"There is! Thank you for answering the drums . . . and for your reassurances, K'lon. My duty to Rogeth who brought you." Alessan held out his hand.

K'lon crossed the room to take it in both of his. He was almost afraid to return the pressure on the strengthless fingers but he smiled as warmly as he could, thinking that if Ruatha was proud of dragonrider bloodties, he was as proud to be part of it. Perhaps some of his blood had been in that serum batch. K'lon fervently hoped so.

He quit the apartment as fast as was polite, for he did not wish to give way to the emotions that possessed him. K'lon hurried down the dark corridor-they must put up glowbaskets-into the Main Hall, where two Benden volunteers were cleaning up. Their homey noises were a welcome relief from the preternatural stillness that had shrouded the Hall on their arrival. He told them about the need for glowbaskets and asked them to remove the Gather banners as soon as possible. He could hear Rogeth bellowing outside. This place is most distressing, the blue dragon said piteously. It is the most distressing place we have been. How much longer must we stay?

K'lon gave the Bendenites warm thanks and then rushed out to the forecourt. Rogeth half ran, half flew up the ramp to meet K'lon, his eyes wheeling in distress.

This place distresses you, too. Can we not see Granth and A'murry now? The "now" was accompanied by an unhappy snort.

"We can leave now." K'lon swung up to Rogeth's back, his gaze inadvertently falling on the dreadful field with its ruined shelters, the race flats, and the burial mounds. Were they what drew Lord Alessan's eyes? Or the handful of runnerbeasts grazing in the far field? The rumble of the dead cart, a recalcitrant pair of herdbeasts between the shafts, startled K'lon.

"Get us out of here," he told Rogeth, sick to the soul of plague and death and desolation. "I must spend some time with A'murry. Then I'll be able to face this sort of thing."

K'lon was overwhelmed with longing for his gentle friend, for the respite of companionship. He should go right back to the Healer Hall. There was so much to be done. Instead he projected for Rogeth the sun-dappled heights of Igen Weyr, the bright sparkle of the Weyr lake. Rogeth leaped gladly from the ramp into the air and took him between.

"Shards!" Jallora cried. "He's fainted!"

Kadith, in the outer chamber of the weyr, bellowed, and Moreta jumped up from the chair to reassure the startled dragon as the journeywoman healer examined her reluctant donor.

What has happened? Orlith asked in concern from her weyr.

"Sh'gall had a bad reaction," Moreta replied, knowing perfectly well that Leri would be instantly informed by Holth and know what had really happened. "Calm Kadith down!"

"It's generally the big strong ones who faint," Jallora was saying as Moreta resumed her place. "He's in no danger. Badly as we need the blood for serum, I wouldn't risk him."

"I didn't think for a moment that you would, Jallora," Moreta replied with a slight laugh.

The journeywoman had interrupted an interview between Moreta and Sh'gall in which he had been determined to find fault with every provision made in the Weyr since the onset of his illness. He utterly discounted the fact that Moreta had not made any of the decisions or that she herself had only just recovered.

"His sort don't generally make good patients, either," Jallora went on conversationally, though her attention was on the blood dripping into a glass container.

"Will his go to Ruatha?"

"Most of it, once the rest of your riders are vaccinated." When Moreta gestured warningly at Sh'gall, she added diplomatically, "I perfectly understand, I assure you. He's still out of it. There! That's all I'll take but he could donate more and never miss it." Deftly she pressed a small pad over the needlethorn, extracted it, and motioned for Moreta to continue the pressure as she dealt with the apparatus. "He'll regain consciousness in just a few minutes." Jallora began packing her tray, carefully covering the container. "F'duril told me that you did the reconstruction on Dilenth's wing. Fine work."

"The wing is healing well, isn't it?" Recognition of her achievement by another healer was gratifying to Moreta.

"Fortunately, so is F'duril and that nice young A'dan. I've never visited a Weyr before. And-you know something else? It never occurred to me that dragons suffered so from Thread. They're so impressive– "

"Unfortunately not invulnerable."