Alessan made his way back to the hold on the roadway, passing dark lumps of people rolled in sleeping furs. It had been a good Gather and the weather had held. A slight dampness in the dawn air heralded fog or mist. But the weather wouldn’t be the only thing foggy that day.
The Hall, too, was crowded with sleepers, and he walked carefully so as not to disturb anyone. Even the wide corridor outside his apartment accommodated Gatherers on straw pallets. He considered himself fortunate that his mother had not insisted he share his quarters. But then, perhaps she had hoped that he would! He smiled as he closed the door behind him and began to strip off his finery. It was only then he remembered that Moreta had not retrieved her Gather gown. No matter. That gave him an excuse to talk to her at the next Fall. He stretched out on his bed, pulled the furs over him, and was asleep in moments.
In what seemed like no time he was being so vigorously shaken that, for one disoriented moment, he thought he was a boy again, being attacked by his brothers.
“Alessan!” Lady Oma’s indignant exclamation brought him to complete awareness. “Holder Vander is extremely ill and Mas-terhealter Scand insists that it is not from overindulgence. Two of the men who accompanied Vander are also feverish. Your race-course manager informs me also that four animals are dead and more ap-pear to be sickening.”
“Whose animals?” Alessan wondered if Dag had known more than he’d admitted.
“How should I know, Alessan?” Lady Oma had no interest at all in the runnerbeasts that were Ruatha’s principal industry. “Lord Tolocamp is discussing it with”
“Lord Tolocamp presumes!” Alessan rolled out of the bed,
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reached for his trousers in a fluid movement, stuffed his feet into the legs and pulled them up as he rose. He dragged a tunic over his head, slammed his feet into boots, kicking aside his discarded Gather finery. He forgot about the sleepers in the hallway and nearly trod on an arm before he checked his haste. Most of those who had slept in the Hall were awake and there was a clear path to the door. Cursing Tolocamp under his breath, Alessan managed a smile for those who
noticed his passing.
Tolocamp was in the forecourt, an arm across his chest, propping the elbow of the other arm as he rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Norman was with him, shifting anxiously from foot to foot, his face gaunt from a sleepless night. As Alessan strode out, Norman’s face brightened, and he turned eagerly toward his own Lord Holder.
“Good day to you, Tolocamp,” Alessan said with scant courtesy, controlling the anger he felt at the older man’s interference, however
well intentioned. “Yes, Norman?” He tried to draw the manager to one side but Tolocamp was not so
easily evaded. “This could be a very serious matter, Alessan,” Tolocamp said, his
heavy features set in a frown of portentous concern.
“I’ll decide that, thank you.” Alessan spoke so curtly that Tolocamp regarded him with astonishment. Alessan took the opportunity
to move aside with Norman.
“Four ofVander’s runners are dead,” Norman said in a low voice, “and the other is dying. Nineteen beasts near them have broken out in sweats and coughing something pathetic.”
“Have you isolated them from the healthy?”
“I’ve had men working on that since first light, Lord Alessan.”
“Lady Oma said that Vander’s ill as are two of his men?”
“Yes, sir. I called Masterhealer Scand to attend them last night. At first I thought that Vander was upset from losing his runner, but his two men are fevered. Now Helly’s complaining of a terrible headache. As Helly don’t drink, it can’t be from last night.”
“Vander had a headache yesterday, didn’t he?”
“I don’t rightly remember. Lord Alessan.” Norman released a heavy sigh, pulling his hand across .his forehead.
“Yes, of course, you did have rather a lot to manage, and the races went off very well indeed.” Alessan grinned, reminding Norman of the times when he had been his assistant.
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