“Here comes your healer, Alessan,” said Tolocamp.
The two Lords Holder moved to intercept Master Scand before he reached the forecourt. The man’s usually placid round face was nearly purple with his exertions, his mouth thinned by annoyance. He was sweating copiously and blotting his face and neck with a none-too-clean cloth. Alessan had always thought Scand merely an adequate healer, suitable to attend, the Hold’s large number of pregnancies and treat occasional accidents, but not up to a major emergency.
“Lord Alessan, Lord Tolocamp,” Scand panted, his chest heaving,
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“I came as soon as I received your summons. Did I not hear drums? Did I not recognize the healer code? Is something the matter?”
“What ails Vander?”
The sharpness of Alessan’s question put Scand on his guard. He cleared his throat and mopped his face, reluctant to commit himself. “Well, now, as to that I am perplexed for he has not responded to the draught of sweatroot which I prepared for him last night. A dose, I might add, that would have made a dragon perspire. It was ineffectual.” Scand blotted his face again. “The man complains of terrible heart palpitations and of a headache that has nothing to do with wine because I was assured that he didn’t indulgehe felt unwell yesterday even before the races.”
“And the other two men? His handlers?”
“They, too, are legitimately ill.” Scand’s pompous speech had al-ways irritated Alessan. Today he brandished his sweaty cloth in his affected pauses. “Legitimately ill, I fear, with severe headaches that render them unable to rise from their pallets, as well as the palpitations of which Holder Vander complains. Indeed, I am inclined to treat them for those two symptoms, rather than sweat them, although that is the specific treatment for unidentified sudden fevers. Now, may I inquire if that message from the Healer Hall in any way concerns me?” Scand cocked his head inquisitively.
“Master Capiam has called a quarantine.”
“Quarantine? For three men?”
“Lord Alessan,” said a tall lean man, wearing harper blue. He had grizzled hair and a nose that had suffered from many an unexpected adjustment to its direction. His glance was direct and his manner quietly capable. “I’m Tuero, journeyman harper. I can give Master Scand the full text so that you can get on.” Tuero jerked his head to the people milling excitedly in the forecourt.
Just then Ruatha’s drummer began to relay the news onward to the large northerly and western holds, the instruments’ deep reverberations adding to the general atmosphere of apprehension. Lady Oma emerged from the Hall with Lady Pendra and her daughters. Lady Oma listened intently to the drum then gave Alessan one long steady look. She and the Fort Hold women converged on Harper Tuero and the healer, who was now dithering, his face cloth hanging from his limp hand.
For the first time in his life, Alessan had cause to be grateful for
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the unquestioning support of his bloodkin and even for the officious-ness of Lord Tolocamp. A rider galloped back to request aid in bringing in one of the more aggressive holders with whom Alessan had already had trouble. Then Makfar’s family wagon thundered in, scattering folk in the roadway. Alessan put him in charge of impro-vising shelters from Gather stalls and travel wagons. It was one thing to doss down in a corridor for a night or grab a few hours’ sleep in the Hall, but quite another matter to be so cramped for four nights. Tolocamp was not the only one who failed to see the irony of that as he countered Makfar’s suggestions with some of his own. Alessan left the two to solve the housing problem so that he could accompany Norman to the race flats and survey the sick runners. People were already making small camps in the first of the fields.
Despite his errand, it was a relief to Alessan to get away from the turmoil about the forecourt.
“Never saw anything bring down so many so fast, Lord Alessan.” Norman had almost to run to keep up with Alessan’s long-legged stride. “And I can’t think what to do for ‘em. If there is anything. Healer’s message didn’t say much about animals, did it?” His voice was bleak. “A runner can’t tell you if it ails.”