Ordeal poison did make blood flow more freely, yes, and let wounds bleed more than was normal, yet even now, when its effects should be starting to wear off-- Hovan felt a stab of dismay. Humans bled so much more easily than Traiti did to begin with, and Steve had needed medical help after the blood exchange--had Channath allowed enough for human differences in calculating Steve's dosage? He glanced at the two physicians, and wasn't reassured by their evident concern. Not surprisingly, the human doctor looked angry as well as worried--but Channath was worried too, which wasn't normal for her. Hovan realized that she had allowed for human frailty . . . but not even she could allow for a possible over-reaction, as unpredictable as his earlier allergy to their liquor! Tarlac tossed his head, muscles no longer locked by agony though he still fought the pain assaulting his weakened system. He coughed, spitting out a last mouthful of the bitter froth, and took a deep, gasping breath as he collapsed to the dais. The inviting dark beckoned more seductively, its promise of an end to pain harder and harder to fight . . . No! He had to resist that pull! But his eyes were closing, his breath taking more effort . . . At least his mouth and throat were empty--no more foam--and the pain was subsiding to a more normal intensity. Yeah, sure, he thought in English, but the rest of the thought was in Language: the drug must be wearing off. He felt light, almost floating, as if he were in a low-grav field. Channath's sharp "Now!" as she and the human doctor moved toward the Ranger freed Hovan to kneel beside Steve and raise the man's head. "You made it, Cor'naya," he said quietly, with pride. "You succeeded, as I was sure you would." Tarlac forced unwilling eyes open, looking up into the familiar gray face he'd learned to respect, then to love. "I really made it?" he asked in a whisper. "You really made it," Hovan assured him. "Rest easy now. As soon as Channath and Dr. Jason stop the bleeding, they will give you something for your pain. And when you recover, what a party the clan will have!" "Clan party . . ." Tarlac managed a faint smile, his thoughts starting to drift. "Tha'd be nice . . ." "Later, Steve." Hovan smiled too, pushing sweat-damp hair away from the man's face. "Rest now, I said. It is over." "Yeah . . . guess so. Worth it, though . . . worth it all. 'M tired . . . so tired . . . gotta sleep . . ." Tarlac's eyes closed and he sighed, going utterly limp. "Steve?" There was no answer; Hovan had known there wouldn't be. He had seen too many people die to hold false hopes, and only concern for his ruhar's honor kept him from voicing his outrage to the Lords, his brief but bitter anger at the injustice of their letting Steve complete the Ordeal only to die in his arms.