“They’ll die without treatment.” I pointed out.

“So?” Iften looked at me, honest surprise on his face. “This is our way, Warprize.”

“Then our dead will dribble behind us, as water from a leaking skin.” A voice spoke from the tent entrance and we all looked to see Isdra standing there, with Gils behind her holding the babe’s basket in one hand, satchel of healing supplies on his hip.

From the look on Gils’s face, he hadn’t known of the meeting. To his credit, he didn’t pause for long. He stepped past Isdra and walked through their midst to stand by my side. The babe was kicking at her blankets, waving her arms around happily.

What astonished me was the reaction of the warlead-ers. Even Iften’s face seemed to soften at the sight of the child, kicking and cooing. “Is that the only survivor?” Tsor asked softly, craning his neck to get a better look.

“Yes.” Keir smiled at the basket as Gils set it down next to me. “The babe and Isdra did not sicken. The Warprize became ill, but she survived.”

Isdra had followed Gils, to stand next to me. Without their speaking, I could see the various warleaders considering her with long looks. Was it because she lived? Or because of Epor’s war club, still strapped to her back.

Iften’s eyes narrowed. “Why have you not joined your bonded, Isdra of the Fox?”

Isdra’s eyes were dark and cold and something in my stomach clenched. But she merely stood straight and still, tilting her head up a bit to look Iften in the eye, and responded in low tones. “Be wary, Warleader. For you do not hold my token, and I might take offense.”

Marcus chose that moment to emerge from the sleeping area, his arms full of weapons and armor. He moved next to Iften, and dumped it at his feet. Before the blond could react, Marcus had ducked back under the tent flap. Iften had a snarl on his face, and took a step as if to con-front Marcus, but Keir stopped him. “There is no time for this.” Keir’s voice cut through us all. “This is no senel, and no truths will be addressed. The old ways of dealing with,” he hesitated slightly, “of dealing with the sick will not work, for all of us have been exposed to the enemy. Alone, we will all die. Together, we will defeat this enemy. This is battle and I will be obeyed.”

That was that for most of the warleaders, although Iften scowled and a few others looked uncertain. But all focused on Keir’s commands.

“All who are ill are to be brought here, to the shore. The lake will be used to cool the fevers.”

“Ortis, pull the scouts in. Set a guard within the camp, with no warrior alone. The rest of the scouts, send to the Warprize, to learn the signs and treatment of this illness. They will spread the word in the camp so that all learn the enemy.”

“Food, Warlord.” Sal spoke up, grim and anxious. “How can I send out hunting parties if they may die at any moment?”

Isdra spoke up. “The village had animals. We released those we found outside the walls. And there were herds beyond the walls, to the south. Cows, sheep and goats.”

“There’d be pigs in the woods as well.” I added.

“That will work well.” Sal relaxed slightly. “But I’ll save a milk goat for the babe, eh?”

There were a few brief smiles at that statement. But the smiles faded and faces grew grim when Isdra spoke, her voice flat and hollow. “Some must gather wood. There will be a need for pyres.” No one drew a breath in the silence after her words. Isdra continued, relentless in her honesty. “The village still smolders. We can burn the dead there.”

“That is as may be.” Keir looked at her with understanding, not offended by her comment. “We will start by teaching everyone what Gils and the Warprize have learned about this illness. Set up the Warprize’s stilltent as quickly as possible. Until then, use this area. Fill the tent with messengers to learn from them and spread the word.” Keir continued speaking, issuing orders to all, but I was already considering what had to be done. It was only when he took my cold hands into his that I realized he was kneeling before me, and the tent had cleared of all but us and Marcus.

His eyes were clear and grave, the blue of the early morning sky. “I must go, Lara. There will be trouble over this, and I must be seen and heard to counter the rumors that will be spread.”

“See to the army.” Marcus placed a hand on my shoulder. “We will see to her.”

Keir cupped my face in his warm hand, letting his thumb stroke my cheek, feather-soft and gentle. With a swirl of his cloak, he was up and gone.

Within moments of Keir’s exit, warriors crammed into the command tent to listen as Gils and I explained how to treat the ill, what to watch for, and what to expect. We sent them out all over the camp to repeat our words. Thank the Goddess for their memories. That, and then-strict obedience to Keir’s authority.

As the messengers left, more warriors filled the tent. Gils and I started them on the hunt for willow bark, as much as they could gather. Luckily, the army had cut down a number of willows to make their camp. I sent warriors off to strip bark from all the firewood and tem-porary tables and chairs. A small army of warriors would stir pots and pots of the stuff, boiling it down for fever’s foe. We’d need every jar we could fill.

Again the tent filled. I sipped some kavage that Marcus forced on me, then Gils and I started the herb lessons. I already knew that the supply of lotus wouldn’t be big enough to serve the entire camp. We needed alternatives, such as sleepease, tree butter, or comfrey. So these warriors became the gatherers. We held up the herbs we were seeking, and gave examples to them so that they knew what to look for. Rahel may have had a healing garden outside the walls, so I set them to searching for whatever they could find.

When gathering herbs the general rule is that you never strip an area of all of the plants that you are gathering. You try to leave enough that the spring will bring new growth and renew the area. But I didn’t have the luxury of leaving anything behind. I told them to bring me everything they could find. Should I pass this way again, I’d re-seed the area myself, to make up for the damage. But we needed those herbs and we needed them now.

Within hours we had a hundred sick. By the end of the day the number tripled. Men and women fell dead as the wheat falls before the scythe. It struck with the sweat, the headache, and the stench as it had in the village.

The fever was the worst. Using the cold waters of the stream or the lake only seemed to work if the fever had built to its highest point. Too soon, and the fever returned, prolonging the illness and exhausting the patient. Gils ran himself ragged, helping to make the decision of when a patient was ready to be immersed. He gained far too much skill over a very short period of time.

Outside, the shores of the lake filled with people using its cold waters to bring down the raging heat of fever. And the sick kept coming as more and more fell victim. I could see no reason to its effects, either. One would be sick for days or hours, each with as likely a chance of dying as the other. But we learned, Gils and I, that if the person made it through the initial fever, his chances of survival were much higher. Once past the coughing stage, the individual recovered strength fairly quickly.

I’d enough strength to manage supplies, and train warriors to tend the sick. So I commanded from the stilltent, checking the quality of the fever’s foe and using the gathered herbs to make an alternative to the lotus. One of the draughts, the one based on sleepease, was milder than the lotus, and seemed to work better, so I concentrated on making that mixture. The familiar scents and surroundings of my stilltent were a comfort in those dark hours.

Poor Gils was the one to actually tend the sick, wearing himself to the bone with the patients, making sure that the right doses were given, that the fevers were brought down, that the drumming on their backs was done on a regular basis. His was the hardest task, for since he was out and about, everyone turned to him for advice, or when a patient took a turn for the worst. He’d return to my stilltent frequently, to ask questions, and restock his satchel, and then he’d be off again.