The smells of dinner reached them on the crisp night air as Tris and Vahanian ended another round. Tris dragged a sleeve across his face and wiped back his hair from his forehead. More than a candlemark of hard practice worked up a sweat, even in the cool fall air. He was just about to suggest that they head for dinner when a man ran up from the camp.

"Cam! Come quickly!" the runner shouted while he was still a distance away. "You're needed!"

Without a word the giant sheathed his sword and with a nod toward the group, started out at a run for the camp.

"That's it for tonight, anyhow," Vahanian said, putting up his own weapon. "Let's see what all the excitement is about."

It was not hard to keep Cam in view, even when following at a more leisurely pace. The burly fighter stood a head taller than many in the camp, and was twice the bulk of all but a few. Cam slowed to a jog as he reached the more crowded section of the caravan's midway, then took off again at a run as the messenger pointed to the left. Sure enough, there was trouble, Tris noted. But not the sort for which he imagined Cam would be summoned. He had expected a brawl or a thief. One of the large tents where the caravan performers held shows in the evening collapsed. A crowd of caravaners gathered, and Tris and the others worked their way toward the front.

"What happened?" Tris asked one of the men who was nearest the front.

"Damn pole snapped clean in two," the man replied. "Kraveck was setting the last of the rigging when it went down, and so did he."

Carina knelt beside the fallen rigger. As Cam approached, she stretched out her hand to the big man, who took it, paused for a moment as they spoke in low tones, and then settled into place on the other side of the man. Cam raised his massive hand for quiet, and the crowd hushed immediately, stepping back a few paces.

Carina reached out once more for Cam with her left hand, and placed her right hand gently on Kraveck. She shut her eyes and let her hand begin to slide gently down the length of his body, slowly, hovering just above his skin. As Tris watched, her face twitched with pain, and her eyes pinched shut with the suffering she shared.

When she had followed the full course of his form once, she shifted toward his head, and gently laid her hand on his forehead, retaining her contact with Cam with her other hand. Cam looked as if he were in a trance, his eyes shut and his face slack, completely open to Carina's working.

She's drawing strength from him for her healing, Tris realised. Kraveck must be in bad shape.

Carina's hand remained over Kraveck's forehead for a quarter of a candlemark. Then, slowly, she began to move once more, slowing this time over his chest. Her face contorted and it seemed to Tris that Kraveck breathed more easily.

Just below Kraveck's ribcage, Carina stopped. She swallowed hard and leaned forward, and it seemed to Tris that the thin healer was willing every ounce of her strength into her effort. For nearly half a candlemark, she labored, her lips moving in concentration, her body tight with effort. Then suddenly she slumped and would have collapsed but for Cam's quick reflexes, as he caught Carina and tenderly lifted her into his arms. She raised her head and lifted one hand, giving direction that only Cam could hear. "You there," Cam hailed one of the riggers standing near. "She's done all she can for him, and she wants to get him to the building where he'll be easier to watch. She says to slip a board under his back so you don't undo what she's done, and take him there directly. She'll be there as soon as she's rested."

Two of the riggers sprang to do as Cam ordered, and Tris noticed that the big man looked drained and tired himself. Cam waited, Carina cradled in his arms, until the riggers did as he asked. Satisfied that Carina's wishes were carried out,' Cam turned toward the healer's tent, followed by the crowd as if he were a prophet.

"I've seen healers before," Vahanian said. "But not like her. Curious why a healer with that kind of talent is here, wouldn't you say?"

"Maybe they were dismissed from a noble house."

Vahanian shook his head, still staring after them. "I doubt it. That kind of talent is too rare."

"Easy on the eyes, too, if you ask me," Soterius offered from behind them.

Vahanian shrugged. "Friends and lovers are just hostages to fate, waiting to be- taken," he replied. "When you're out on the road long enough, you learn that," he said, and turned away, walking back toward the fallen tent where workers were already swarming to ready the area for the night's crowds.

"Leave it to our friend to have a sour comment on everything," Soterius said darkly, watching Vahanian leave. "I've never spent much time with a mercenary before. Guess I haven't missed much, if they're all like him."

"Only the ones who stay alive very long, m'boy," Harrtuck commented, joining them from behind. "When you've survived as many tight spots as Jonmarc has, you'll have rough edges of your own, I wager." .

"We can't reach Dhasson soon enough for me," Soterius returned.

That night, the dreams came. Tris heard Kait calling his name so plainly that he expected to see her standing in his tent. She called again, more distant now, so plaintively that it made his heart ache.

"Kait, are you here?" he asked quietly, unsure whether he was awake or asleep.

"Help me, Tris," Kait's voice called, muffled and far away. Tris concentrated, allowing himself to fall into a light trance. Kait's spirit remained distant.

"Kait, where are you?" he called after her. She gave no sign of hearing him. Her voice grew more desperate, her pleas more anguished, but try as he might, Tris could neither bring her spirit to him, nor let his spirit be drawn to hers. It was as if a thick window separated them, on the edge of a gulf, so that he could see her, but nothing he could do could break the transparent prison, or bridge the gap.

"Help me, Tris. Help me."

Tris woke shaking, covered in sweat. His heart raced and as he lifted a hand to wipe a sodden lock of hair from his eyes, he saw that his fingers shook. I'm going mad, he thought. He forced himself to breathe deeply, willing the shaking to stop, and attempted the centering exercises his grandmother had taught him. He failed miserably.

Tris covered his face with his hands, as close to weeping as he had been since the night of the murders. I'm coming for you, Kait, he vowed. Living or dead, I'm coming for you. I'll get you out, I swear!

"Are you all right?" a voice sounded outside the tent. Soterius popped his head through the flap.

"Just a bad dream," Tris said, hoping his voice sounded stronger than he felt.

"I guess you're entitled to a few of those," Soterius allowed. "Me, I just keep dreaming about all those pretty wenches back home. Stood one up, you know, the night we left."

Tris looked up, barely able to make out his friend's face in the moonlight. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I've ruined everything for all of you."

Soterius managed a tired grin. "It's a little late for second thoughts," he quipped. "And you didn't ask us to come, we came on our own." He shrugged. "I didn't leave anyone special behind, just a string of broken hearts." He grinned. "Harrtuck never said anything about a family. I think the barracks was home to him. Carroway had his eye on that pretty flute player, but I don't think she knew it," he added, "so don't lose sleep on our account. I look at it as a chance to see the world."

Tris stretched an aching muscle in his back. "Move the world, you mean," he said. "I'm so sore from setting up tents I probably couldn't sleep anyway."

"I know what you mean," Soterius replied. "And what doesn't hurt from rigging tents hurts from Vahanian's damn training. I wasn't this sore when I first joined the guards!" He paused. "Are you going to be all right?"