Linton's face darkened, and he turned away. "Kaine. Devil Bitch take him! Signed on a week ago, and it's been the longest week I can remember."

"So get rid of him."

Linton began to pace. "Goddess knows, I would like to. But he's the best rigger we have, and my old rigger fell and broke his back. Might be able to sign on another one in Dhasson, but we won't find one out here," he said with a sweep of his arm, "in the middle of nowhere."

Vahanian frowned. "Pretty convenient timing, wouldn't you say, Maynard?"

The weathered caravan master looked up, and shook his head. "You've always been cautious to a fault, Jonmarc and, the Lady and Childe knows, it's kept you alive. But sometimes, bad luck is just bad luck."

Just then, the tent flap whisked back. "Maynard, are you here?" A dark-haired woman strode into the room, stopping toe to toe with the stocky caravan master.

"What can I do for you, Carina?" Linton asked, unperturbed by the woman's abrupt entrance. She wore healer's robes that hung loosely on her thin frame, and was no taller than the squat caravan master. Short, dark hair framed a pretty face with a determined expression. She had the pale skin of the clans near the Northern Sea. Her green eyes glinted with fire and intelligence, and the set of her jaw made it clear that she would not be ignored. While it was equally clear that Carina had not noticed their presence, Tris could tell that Vahanian certainly noticed hers.

"Taking on clerics, Maynard?" Vahanian quipped.

"You've got to do something about Kaine," Carina demanded, ignoring Vahanian's comment.

"What now?"

"He's got the riggers in an uproar," Carina continued. "When he isn't filling them full of ghost stories, he's got them convinced that we'll be snowed under on the northern route long before we get to Dhasson. He's even got half of them believing that there are monsters waiting to eat them once we cross the border." She sighed in complete exasperation. "Both my assistants quit this morning, just walked away muttering about monsters. They're not the only ones you'll lose unless you shut Kaine up."

"Maybe I can help," Vahanian interposed, stepping forward.

Carina appraised him coolly. "How?"

Vahanian managed his most charming smile. "I've run into Kaine's type before. I can take him aside, talk some sense into him."

By the expression on Carina's face, the healer had no doubt as to just how that conversation would occur. "No thanks. Whatever bones you break, I just have to fix, and I've got more than enough work to do already." She turned pointedly back to Linton. "If there's something between ignoring Kaine and having him mashed to a pulp, I'd advise you to do it soon."

Linton clucked appeasingly. "I'm sure Jonmarc had something less unfriendly in mind," he said with a warning glance at Vahanian, who shrugged. "I'll talk with Kaine. It's just that he's the only rigger we have."

Soterius spoke up. "I'm from the mountains," he said, conveniently omitting just which mountains. "Everybody up there climbs. I don't know much about tents, but there's no problem getting to the top of one."

"You're just full of surprises," Vahanian murmured under his breath to Tris.

"That could be useful," Linton said, brightening. He put an arm around Carina's shoulders as he walked the healer out. "I promise you," he said to her, "I'll take care of it." With a look that said she was not completely convinced, Carina nodded and went her way. Linton turned back to Tris and his friends. "Go see the caravan for yourself," Linton offered. "It may not be the biggest in the Winter Kingdoms, but you won't go away disappointed." He paused. "And don't mind Carina. She's a spitfire, but she's the best damn healer I've ever had. Lucky to have her. Just happened to be heading north, like you," he added.

"Where do we go for a tent and some provisions?" Vahanian asked. "There wasn't time to pack for the road."

Linton gave him a skeptical look. "That bad, huh? Go see my provisioner. Tell him I sent you to him and he'll see to your needs."

"Thanks, Maynard," Vahanian said as they moved toward the tent flap.

"It'll be thanks enough if you don't get me run out of town this time, Jonmarc."

"I promise," Vahanian replied with a roguish grin. "Uh huh," Linton muttered skeptically. "We'll see."

They filed out of the tent and into the bright mid-morning sun. The air was crisp. Heading north would bring winter sooner, Tris thought as they joined the bustle of the caravan. Tris could see the traders setting up dozens of brightly tinted booths with gaily colored flags picturing their wares. The babble of voices carried in the clear air as work teams raised the large tents. Already, the air carried the smell of roasting meat and cooking vegetables, and Tris realized how hungry he was. "We've got a lot to do before there's time for food," Vahanian said.

On one side of the caravan grounds were the animal handlers, with their collection of exotic beasts. There was a great leathery stawar from the southern jungles, swishing its huge tail in boredom. In their cages, two adult maccons padded from side to side, their exquisite coats rippling and their dark eyes disquietingly intelligent. Beasts of every kind populated the cages, along with hundreds of squawking birds with brilliant plumages. Even at this distance, the smell was overpowering.

To the other side were the traders, setting out their wares: spices from Trevath, beautifully wrought jewelry and gems from the mines of Margolan, exquisite fabrics from the east, trinkets and pottery and hundreds of other desirables from the Winter Kingdoms. One merchant snapped out a small Noorish carpet from its packing, draping it on his booth with others in a casual display of wealth. Even the small rugs were far too expensive for any but the lesser nobility, Tris knew, although many such tapestries hung at Shekerishet. That had never seemed remarkable, but now Tris realized just how fabulously expensive even one such carpet must be.

The glint of gemstones came from another booth as a leathery old man bent over his tables. Whether they were real or just clever fakes, Tris did not know, but the stones glittered with fire in the bright sun. The next booth offered the buttery leather of the western plains, tanned and worked by skilled artisans. Boots and sheaths, saddles and packs, or well-worked leather armor all hung from the display. The merchant looked as preserved as his wares, his dark, dry brown skin tight over hawk-like bones. He regarded the four newcomers for a moment, then looked back to his work.

"Not a bad place if you've got money to spend," Harrtuck observed, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Well, well, there's our 'friend,'" Soterius said, as Tris followed his stare. At a cooking pit not far ahead of them, Carina the healer talked with an old woman who was turning a spitted roast. "You know, Carina's not bad looking, if you don't mind a little temper."

"She's a healer, Ban," Tris replied dryly. "I doubt she's been waiting for you to liven up her life."

Soterius grinned. "You never know. Practicing the healing arts could be a lonely business."

Just then a huge, dark-haired man came from between the tents and sauntered over to the cooking pit. Although he did not touch Carina, his stance and his proximity made it clear that they were a pair. He stood taller than Vahanian and was twice his bulk, with large hands and thick arms. A cloud of wild, dark curls framed his face, shadowing green eyes. He looked as if he could raise one of the largest caravan tents by himself, Tris thought. Carina spoke gently to him, and the giant smiled. There's something odd about those two, Tris decided. Something that doesn't fit here any better than we do. His speculations were interrupted as Vahanian called to them to follow.