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hands flew to her mouth and fat tears leaked from her clear, brown eyes. She stifled a sob, gulped, then whispered, “It’s my oldest boy, sir. I think he…he’s come down with the plague!”
    Raidan rose to his feet. “Take me to him,” he commanded. “Kasai, go fetch my bag.”
    “Straight away, my lord!” Kasai replied and rushed to obey. Without another word, the innkeeper led the way through the kitchen into the family’s living quarters, Raidan hard on her heels.
    The boy lay in a small darkened bedchamber, buried beneath a mound of blankets.
    “Mistress, please uncover a window. I need light to work,” Raidan ordered. The innkeeper opened a shutter to allow storm-gray light into the room. Raidan approached the bed, but he needed no visual confirmation to tell him what his nose had already made clear. With gentle hands, he peeled back the layers of blankets to reveal the sick child.
    “What is your son’s name, Mistress?” Raidan asked.
    “Tanshi, your Highness,” the innkeeper whispered.
    “Tanshi, can you hear me?”
    The boy moaned and his eyes rolled beneath closed lids.
    Kasai entered the room, carrying Raidan’s satchel. He handed over the bag without a word, and backed off to stand at the foot of the bed beside Tanshi’s mother.
    Raidan’s eyes traveled over the boy’s body. Tanshi had been a robust lad on the cusp of manhood. The prince noted the telltale signs of the plague, but as of yet, there appeared to be no hemorrhage. Raidan took this as a hopeful sign. Of the many plague victims he had seen over the last week, those that did not bleed went on to recover. Still, the boy was desperately ill and could fail at any moment.
    His exam complete, Raidan replaced the blankets, then turned to face the mother. “Tanshi does have the plague, Mistress, but there is cause for hope.” The innkeeper listened attentively while Raidan instructed her on her son’s care and the proper dosage of the medicines he planned to leave. “Above, all, you must wash your hands after you have finished with your son. It is very important.”
    The innkeeper looked dubious, but nodded her head. “I will, my lord,” she replied.
    Raidan handed her several vials, then repacked his bag.
    “You can wash in the kitchen, sir,” the innkeeper said, anticipating Raidan’s next request. As she led the way back into the kitchen, the woman turned and said over her shoulder, “It’s those dirty hikui, my lord. They’re the ones spreading this plague!”
    Raidan frowned. “We don’t know enough about this disease to blame its spread on any one thing, Mistress,” he replied.
    “Begging your pardon, Highness, but you’ll not convince me!” the woman huffed. “A hikui tinker came calling two weeks ago. My Tanshi spent a fair amount of time with the man’s daughter, against my wishes I might add! Now, he’s sick! No one else has fallen ill. Only my son.” She hovered while Raidan scrubbed his hands in the scullery basin. “I say all hikui should be made to leave Tono, my lord, and I’m not the only one!” Her eyes flashed defiance, as if daring Raidan to chastise her. The prince said nothing; he understood her attitude.
    Okui folk are scared and the hikui make convenient scapegoats , he thought.
    Kasai waited for him in the common room. “The blacksmith is here, Highness,” he said. “Your horse should be ready within the hour.”
    “Very good.” Raidan nodded to the innkeeper. “I’ll have that beer now, Mistress, if you please.”
    The prince sat sipping his beer, mulling over in his mind the report he would make to his brother, the king. His thoughts—dark, grim things—swirled about inside his head dressed in shreds of horror and blood.
    What bitter irony it would be if we manage to repel the Soldaran invasion, only to succumb to this human disease. Surely the Goddess would not allow such a fate for Her children!
    Kasai interrupted his master’s bleak reverie. “Your horse is ready, my lord