The cold was further compounded by three blizzards, following one after the other.No one moved about the Hold or attempted to take the ships out for fish.Lord Melongel was a good provider and, while the weather remained so bitter, opened his stores to those who were short of food.It was essential to keep everyone healthy in this awful weather.
A feverish cough developed and spread from the schoolroom to the old aunties and uncles.Clostan asked for assistance in his nursing duties and both Robinton and Kasia volunteered, since many of the patients were their students.
Then, one night, Robinton was awakened by Kasia's thrashing.
Moaning and mumbling, throwing her arms and legs about, she was burning up with fever.Robinton charged down to the infirmary, where the assistant healer on night duty gave him the powdered herb which would reduce the fever, and the salve to rub on her throat, chest and back.Robinton detoured to the kitchen and got himself klah and a pitcher of the flavoured water that was being used for invalids.
Kasia had managed to throw off the furs and was lying uncovered in the cold room.He quickly covered her and then applied the salve, its pungent smell seeping into his nose and lungs.Then he roused her to take a few sips of the herb drink.He dozed now and then, between forcing her to drink.By morning she was delirious, and he was becoming more and more worried.The herb had seemed effective with everyone else he nursed, but her coughing fits were getting harder and longer.
He almost cried out with relief when Clostan, red-eyed and weary, came in.Kasia chose that moment to indulge in one of her coughing spasms, and Clostan came swiftly to the bedside.
"That doesn't sound good," he said, feeling her forehead and cheeks."You've the salve on?Use more, and repeat it every three hours.Here, let's give her my special remedy."
He mixed the draught himself and made her drink it.
"She obeys you more than she does me," Robinton remarked peevishly.
"You're her spouse," Clostan said with a weary grin."Mind you, most of your patients have recovered, so I'm sure she will."
There was, however, a note in Clostan's voice that caught Robinton's ear.
"You are?"
"Of course I am.She's young and…well, she's far less vulnerable than those down the hall." His face fell into sad lines.
"More deaths?" Robinton asked, and Clostan nodded.
"The very old have no stamina.And we've got their quarters as warm as an oven."
He left then, but Juvana arrived shortly afterwards and together they moved Kasia down to a guest room, where a fire roared on the hearth.
Together Juvana and Robinton nursed Kasia.Clostan came in several times that day, and yet her fever persisted.To Robinton, it seemed that she was hotter every time he felt her forehead.He knew this wasn't the course the illness usually took and remembered what Clostan had said about the elderlies' lack of stamina.
Did Kasia have enough, having so recently recovered from the ordeal of the storm?He didn't even dare ask Juvana her opinion; her presence verified his fears.
He never left the bedside, except for essential trips.Juvana ordered a pallet for herself to sleep on.Melongel looked in; so did Minnarden, offering to cover for Robinton so that he could get some sleep.
Robinton refused.He had promised to care for Kasia, and he would.She had to get well.She had to.
But she did not.Just before dawn on the fifth day of her burning fever and hacking cough, when Melongel and Clostan had joined the vigil, she opened her eyes, smiled at Robinton leaning over her and, with a sigh, closed them.And was still.
"No, no.No.No.Kasia.You can't leave me alone."
He was shaking her, trying to rouse her, when he felt Juvana's hands pulling him away.He clutched Kasia to him, stroking her hair, her cheeks, trying to coax life back into her body.
It took Melongel and Clostan to pull him away from her, while Juvana arranged her on the bed.And Clostan forced a potion down his throat.
"We did all we could, Rob, all we could.It's just sometimes not enough." And Robinton heard the pain of the healer as plainly as he felt his own.
Captain Gostol sailed the Northern Maid with just Vesna and two others to man her, his crew was also decimated by the fever.
It was Merelan who sang the final farewell, for Robinton couldn't speak.But he did play the harp he had so lovingly made his spouse.And when Merelan held the last note until it died away,as his hope had, he flung the harp to join the body of his beloved as it slipped into the sea.The harp gave one last dissonant chord as the wind of its descent strummed the strings.Then all was silent.
Even the wind died down in respect for his loss.
He moved his things back into his bachelor room.Ifor and Mumolon did all they could to bear him company, see that he ate, make him lie down in his bed, for he could seem to do nothing at all."Got in, get out…" The refrain haunted him, but he had not the energy to make notations.He felt he could never sing, or compose, again.He tried to rouse himself from this immolation in grief, his terrible loss, but all he seemed to do was sink deeper.
Days later, he was sprawled in front of the fire, Ifor and Mumolon having gone elsewhere, either because they had duties or because they could no longer stand to be with him and his grief.
The door swung open and F'lon stood there, staring at him.
Robinton looked up incuriously, noted that the dragonrider was here, and then stared back at the fire.
"I only just heard," said F'lon, striding into the room and slamming the door behind him.He picked up what was left of the bottle of wine and poured it into a glass, tossing it back.Id’ve come earlier if I'd known."
Robinton nodded.F'lon peered more closely into his face.
"Say, you really are in a terrible state, aren't you?"
Robinton didn't dignify the question with an answer, waving a hand to send F'lon on his way.He appreciated the dragonrider coming, but F'lon only reminded him of the last time he had seen him: on his espousal day.
"That bad, huh?" F'lon looked around him for more wine.
"Drunk it all up?"
"Drinking doesn't help."
"No.It doesn't."
Something in F'lon's tone roused Robinton briefly."What do you mean?"
"Isn't there any more wine up here?Do I have to go back downstairs to get some?"
F'lon was angry, which annoyed Robinton, so he pointed to the cupboard."There should be one more there," he said.
"You've been counting?"
Robinton shrugged and sighed.He watched indifferently as F'lon found the skin, made a disgusted noise as he read the label, but pulled the bung and poured a glass for himself.Then he splashed more into Robinton's cup.
"You're not the only one grieving, but at least you're entitled," he said after taking half the glass.
"Oh?"
"L'tol, or should I now call him Lytol, lost Larth.Just about the time Kasia…" And even brash F'lon could not continue.He downed the rest of that glass and poured another, right to the brim.
"L'tol?Lost Larth?" That much penetrated.
"Yes, and he shouldn't have." F'lon slammed the glass down on the table so hard that it broke at the stem.He cursed as the glass cut into the web of finger and thumb, and sucked it.
"How?" Robinton asked.Dragons seldom died in an Interval.
"C'vrel decided we should straighten up and get in some firestone practice," F'lon said in a sarcastic tone."We'd fly wing against wing.M'ridin's Spakinth came out of between flaming and caught Larth all along his side.There were enough of us in the air to cushion Larth back to earth, screaming his head off." F'lon gave himself a sudden shake as if the memory of that agony was etched in his mind."L'tol fell off and the weyrfolk grabbed him, but Larth was too badly burned.He went between right there on the ground."