look for some means to stop the epidemic.
The other men seemed to accept that, too. They stirred and nodded among themselves, the immobility of shock wearing off as they realized there was a war to be fought. Terod backed away from Athlone and stamped to the entrance of the tent.
"Clan Amnok will stay,” he said, his words harsh, "But I am posting guards around my camp. No one goes in or out without my permission." He turned on his heel and left.
"Actually that's not a bad idea," Koshyn said, moving to help the fallen Morbiar.
"We should postpone the rest of the gathering activities and limit movement of our people until we see how far this disease is going to spread."
His suggestion was immediately accepted, and within the hour, the vast, busy gathering began to take on the appearance of a besieged encampment. The council tent had been cleared of the rugs, cushions, and trappings of a meeting place to make way for the sick. The race grounds, the shallows where the women gathered to chat and wash laundry, and the meadows where the children liked to play were all empty.
Armed men guarded the camps' perimeters and patrolled the virtually empty bazaar.
Only the outriders who rode guard on the herds grazing in scattered pastures along the valley were allowed to leave the area. The women and children stayed close to their tents. The priests of Surgart and Sorh and the priestesses of Amara gathered on the sacred island of the Tir Samod to pray for aid from the deities. That day, and through the coming days, their fires burned within the temple of standing stones, and their voices were heard in an unending chant of supplication.
By nightfall, eight more people had been brought to the council tent.
Sayyed was helping several other men haul water to a large barrel for use by the healers when he heard a small, feminine voice calling his name. He hesitated, peering into the thick twilight. The unfamiliar voice spoke in his mind in the manner of the Hunnuli.
Then he heard a yowling noise. Sayyed! He saw a flash of white, and a small creature charged from the grass to his boots. It meowed sharply. Come! Come! the voice cried in his thoughts. She needs you.
In a flash of dread he recognized Tam's cat. His bucket dropped to the ground, and he raced after the dimly seen form running ahead of him. Rafnir! his heart cried.
Not his son, please! They reached the Khulinin camp, charged past the guards without stopping, and ran for his tent.
The dogs were cowering by the entrance when he arrived; even the goats were quiet, huddled in a wide-eyed group.
Sayyed was so upset, he paid little attention to them or to the two Hunnuli standing by the tent. Tam's black horse was perfectly still, his head held high in distress. Afer, Sayyed's stallion, neighed urgently for him to hurry.
Sayyed dashed after the cat into the tent, expecting to see his son, and stopped dead in his tracks. His soul was struck with a numbing despair. All the time he had worried about Rafnir, he had never imagined his wife could get sick.
Yet there she lay on their pallet, her face scarlet with the heat of her body, tears welling from her eyes. When she saw Sayyed, she tried to rise in a vain attempt to keep away from him. "No, no, my love," she whispered hoarsely when he knelt by her side. "Do not come near me.
He ignored her pleas and gently pushed her back onto their bed. Using a handy cloth, he began to wipe the perspiration from her face. The little white cat crouched by Tam's head, her golden eyes enormous. She was purring frantically as if trying to reassure her mistress.
"Maybe it's something else," Sayyed said desperately. "A cold, bad food, or an insect bite. Spider bites always make you sick."
"It's not spiders and you know it," she replied with a flash of her old spirit.
Sayyed did know it. He could see the track of the disease in the heat of her skin and in the swellings under her jaw. "Then you know what I have to do," he said, his voice
The other men seemed to accept that, too. They stirred and nodded among themselves, the immobility of shock wearing off as they realized there was a war to be fought. Terod backed away from Athlone and stamped to the entrance of the tent.
"Clan Amnok will stay,” he said, his words harsh, "But I am posting guards around my camp. No one goes in or out without my permission." He turned on his heel and left.
"Actually that's not a bad idea," Koshyn said, moving to help the fallen Morbiar.
"We should postpone the rest of the gathering activities and limit movement of our people until we see how far this disease is going to spread."
His suggestion was immediately accepted, and within the hour, the vast, busy gathering began to take on the appearance of a besieged encampment. The council tent had been cleared of the rugs, cushions, and trappings of a meeting place to make way for the sick. The race grounds, the shallows where the women gathered to chat and wash laundry, and the meadows where the children liked to play were all empty.
Armed men guarded the camps' perimeters and patrolled the virtually empty bazaar.
Only the outriders who rode guard on the herds grazing in scattered pastures along the valley were allowed to leave the area. The women and children stayed close to their tents. The priests of Surgart and Sorh and the priestesses of Amara gathered on the sacred island of the Tir Samod to pray for aid from the deities. That day, and through the coming days, their fires burned within the temple of standing stones, and their voices were heard in an unending chant of supplication.
By nightfall, eight more people had been brought to the council tent.
Sayyed was helping several other men haul water to a large barrel for use by the healers when he heard a small, feminine voice calling his name. He hesitated, peering into the thick twilight. The unfamiliar voice spoke in his mind in the manner of the Hunnuli.
Then he heard a yowling noise. Sayyed! He saw a flash of white, and a small creature charged from the grass to his boots. It meowed sharply. Come! Come! the voice cried in his thoughts. She needs you.
In a flash of dread he recognized Tam's cat. His bucket dropped to the ground, and he raced after the dimly seen form running ahead of him. Rafnir! his heart cried.
Not his son, please! They reached the Khulinin camp, charged past the guards without stopping, and ran for his tent.
The dogs were cowering by the entrance when he arrived; even the goats were quiet, huddled in a wide-eyed group.
Sayyed was so upset, he paid little attention to them or to the two Hunnuli standing by the tent. Tam's black horse was perfectly still, his head held high in distress. Afer, Sayyed's stallion, neighed urgently for him to hurry.
Sayyed dashed after the cat into the tent, expecting to see his son, and stopped dead in his tracks. His soul was struck with a numbing despair. All the time he had worried about Rafnir, he had never imagined his wife could get sick.
Yet there she lay on their pallet, her face scarlet with the heat of her body, tears welling from her eyes. When she saw Sayyed, she tried to rise in a vain attempt to keep away from him. "No, no, my love," she whispered hoarsely when he knelt by her side. "Do not come near me.
He ignored her pleas and gently pushed her back onto their bed. Using a handy cloth, he began to wipe the perspiration from her face. The little white cat crouched by Tam's head, her golden eyes enormous. She was purring frantically as if trying to reassure her mistress.
"Maybe it's something else," Sayyed said desperately. "A cold, bad food, or an insect bite. Spider bites always make you sick."
"It's not spiders and you know it," she replied with a flash of her old spirit.
Sayyed did know it. He could see the track of the disease in the heat of her skin and in the swellings under her jaw. "Then you know what I have to do," he said, his voice
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