"It's the plague, Alessan," Tuero had said, for once unsmiling. "It was at its worst here in Ruatha. Until Master Capiam has sent the vaccine round to everyone, they won't come here. And even then they won't bring animals, I think, because so many died here."

Alessan had cursed futilely. "If they won't come, I'll have to go! I'll bring teams in myself! They can't deny their Lord Holder to his face!" While Alessan railed at his people, he understood their viewpoint– especially since he himself had not yet had the courage to send for Dag, Fergal, and the bloodstock. Follen had given him the most strict assurance that the plague was passed by coughing or sneezing-personal contact-and could not be in the soil of the race flats or the pickets where so many beasts had died, but Alessan would not risk the few priceless breeders that Dag had whisked away the morning after the accursed Gather.

After considerable discussion with Tuero, Deefer, and Oklina-his inner council-it had been decided that he couldn't leave the Hold proper, for there was no one else of sufficient rank to enforce his orders. He hadn't wanted Tuero to make the journey as the harper was only just out of bed. But Tuero had been a wily talker, which was why, Tuero had said at the conclusion of the council, he was a harper and why he was the best emissary to send. A few days or so in the fresh spring air on an untaxing mission would complete his recovery. After all, while a harper was generally able to turn his hand to most tasks, Tuero couldn't plow. Alessan hadn't believed a word of Tuero's cheery bluff but he had no one else to send.

Despite the awkward height of its rider, Tuero's lean mount moved easily, with a quick high step, head held high and eager once it knew itself to be home. Tuero's feet were level with the wiry beast's knees, and the harper's gaunt frame towered above its ears. Certainly not the mount that Alessan would have assigned Tuero by choice, but they seemed to have gotten along. They were riding at a right angle to Alessan's field, but he could not remove his hands from the plow to hail Tuero. He'd reached the downslope of the field and the team was fractious with the pole hitting against their hocks. The field was nearly done; he'd finish it! Once he had he could give all his attention to Tuero's news.

He would have wished to see Tuero returning with a sturdy team, but there did seem to be something in his pack. Two more furrows and the day's stint was done.

As he drove the weary team back to the beasthold, the sowers were still busy setting seed. They'd have some sort of a crop in spite of the bloody plague. That is, if the weather held, and some other disaster-like a Thread burrowing-did not overtake wretched Ruatha.

To Alessan's surprise, Tuero was waiting for him in the beasthold, sitting on an upturned pail, his saddlebags at his feet and a look of satisfaction on his long face. His mount was munching sweetgrass in its stall, all saddle marks rubbed from its back.

"I saw you at your labors, Lord Alessan," Tuero began, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes as he rose to take the bridles of the team. "Your furrows improve."

"They could stand to." Alessan began to unhook the harness.

"Your example inspires many. In fact, your industry and occupation are already legend in the Hold. Your participation does you no disservice."

"But brought me no team. Or is there more bad news?" Alessan paused before he removed the heavy collar from the off-sider.

"No more than you've probably figured out for yourself." Tuero nodded to the saddlebags and took the collar from the other runner. "I've some bits and stashes but I saw myself how bare the cupboards are of what is needed most. At least in the north."

"And?" Alessan liked all his bad news at once so he could absorb the different shocks according to their merits.

"Others have started working the land but in some of those holds"– Tuero gestured north with the twist of straw he made to rub the mount's sweat marks-"they had severe losses. Some Gatherers left before the quarantine and made it to their homes, bringing the virus with them. I've made a list of the deaths, a sad total it is, too, and no way I can ease the telling of it. They say misery loves company, and I suppose if you're of a dismal temperament, you get joy of it." Tuero quirked his eyebrows. "I've a list of needs and musts and worries. But I'd a thought on my way back which may sweeten all.

"I was right about people's being afraid to come here, to Ruatha Hold proper. I was right about their not wanting to send good stock to their deaths for all the marks you'd be willing to give. I had a time of it to get them to let Skinny there in their holds. They were afraid."

"Afraid?"

"Afraid it carries the plague."

"That runner survived it!"

"Precisely. It survived, you and I survived. I got over my bout faster because I had the serum. Wouldn't serum from recovered runners protect others the way it protects people?" He grinned at Alessan's reaction. "If that notion's valid, you got a field full of cures. And a good trade item."

Alessan stared at Tuero, condemning himself for not having thought of vaccinating runners. So many of his smallholders depended on their runner breeding that he could not, in conscience, have demanded his right to a portion of their labor in this emergency, recognizing their fear of bringing plague back to their holds.

"I'm disgusted I didn't think of it myself!" he said to the grinning harper. "Come on. Let's put these two away. I need a little chat with Healer Follen." He gave his beast an exultant swat on the rear to impel it into its stall. "How could I have been so dense?"

"You have had a few other problems on your mind, you know!"

"Man! You've revived me!" Alessan gave the lean harper a clout on the shoulder, grinning in the first respite from grim reality that he had enjoyed since Oklina had recovered. "And to think I hesitated about sending you."

"You may have, I didn't," Tuero said impudently, scooping up his saddlebags and following Alessan's quick lead to the Hold Hall.

They found Follen quickly enough, in the main Hall tending the sick. Alessan felt his nostrils pinch against the odors that the incense could not mask. He avoided the Hall whenever possible-the coughing, the rasping breaths, and the moans of the patients were a constant reminder of the sad hospitality he had offered. Follen's anxious expression cleared when Tuero raised the saddlebags. When the men had converged into the Hold office Follen now occupied, his hopefulness waned as he examined the bags and twists of herbs. Alessan had to repeat his question about vaccinating runners.

"The premise is sound enough, Lord Alessan, but I'm not conversant with animal medicines. The Masterherdsman . . . oh, yes, well, I forgot. But there must be someone at Keroon Beasthold who could give you a considered opinion."

Tuero sighed with disappointment. "It's too late now to drum across to Keroon. They wouldn't thank us for rousing them from their beds."

"There is someone else, much closer, who would know," Alessan said in a thoughtful voice. "And Follen, is there any human vaccine left? Enough for two people?"

"I can, of course, prepare some."

"Please do while Tuero and I drum up Fort Weyr. Moreta will know if we can vaccinate runners." Then he added to himself, I can bring Dag back and see what he managed to save.

Moreta was startled when the request came in to the Weyr drummer. The quarantine no longer applied. Alessan had specifically mentioned that he had been vaccinated and was healthy. She had no reason to deny a meeting and more than a few to grant it, curiosity about why the Lord Holder of Ruatha would urgently require a meeting being the least of them. Orlith was not a broody queen and quite happy to have people admire her clutch, particularly the queen egg, though she kept it always within reach of a forearm. Once she indulged in her postclutch feeding, she had piled the other eggs in a protective circle about the unique one.