By the time the night was well spent, Tris decided that an impromptu healer's lot was nearly as exhausting as a fighter's. Carroway stepped assuredly into the chaos, carrying the wounded, directing others who brought their comrades for healing, splitting wood for splints and crutches and ripping large pieces of cloth into bandages. In the center of the tent, a fire gave Carina the boiling water she required for potions and poultices. Tris followed Carroway's lead, trying not to focus on his own throbbing head, or, in the moments when his head did not ache, on the questions that his battlefield vision raised.

As the first light of dawn streaked above the hills, Carina reached the last of her patients. Her face was drawn with exhaustion and dark circles rimmed her eyes. Tris surmised she was moving on sheer willpower, and his opinion of the healer doubled. Gently, Carina placed a hand over her patient's wound and closed her eyes, leaning against Cam for support. In a few moments, the patient smiled in astonishment as Carina lifted her hand to reveal a wound that was well on its way to healing, normally the work of several weeks. As the man expressed his gratitude, the healer sagged against Cam, utterly exhausted.

A few stragglers pressed forward with minor injuries. "Come back tomorrow," Cam barked, folding Carina in his arms protectively. "She's done everything she can tonight." With a whispered word to Carina and an answering nod, the fighter lifted the healer like a child and with a grim expression that dared anyone to attempt to stop him, strode from the tent.

Maynard Linton followed Cam and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Will she be all right?" Cam nodded, gently rocking the healer in his arms like a tired child. "Almost good as new. Can't say the same for all of them," he said with a jerk of his head toward the tent.

Linton stretched out a hand and gently brushed back the dark hair from the healer's eyes. "Thank her for me when she wakes up, please," he said quietly.

Cam nodded. "That I will," he promised, then shouldered his way through the crowd to the tent opening and disappeared.

Harrtuck and Soterius found Tris and Carroway a few moments later. Soterius offered them both trenchers laden with food. "Here. Eat. No matter how interesting it's been, it doesn't justify missing a meal," Soterius said. For a moment, they were silent as they wolfed down the food.

"Linton always hires on the best cooks he can afford," Harrtuck said, his words slurred by a full mouth. "Looks like it might be the only good thing about this trip," he said, cleaning up the last of his food with a thick slice of bread.

"He must be doing very well to have a first-class healer travel with them," Tris mused. He looked around. "Where's Vahanian?"

Harrtuck shrugged. "Last I saw he was helping burn the bodies. Wouldn't be surprised to find him drinking with Linton in his tent when this is all over."

Tris looked down the caravan midway toward the far end of the fields, where a pyre burned. The dangers of the road were becoming painfully clear. It would take more than a little luck for them to reach Dhasson alive.

Alone in his tent, exhausted and sore, Tris was too tired to sleep. He watched the flickering candle flame. The visions that came over him on the battlefield were disquieting and clear. By the Lady, he thought, if I can't do better than that, I'm no use to anyone. I won't live to get to Dhasson, let alone take back Margolan if I see every ghost on the battlefield! His stomach churned as he thought about his failure. He froze, making himself an easy target. Worse, he was barely useful defending the camp. His mage power seemed more dangerous than defensive.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Tris," came a voice, and Tris startled, looking around the small tent. Flickering and barely visible, was the image of Bava K'aa. "My time is short," she warned. "I failed to prepare you for the time the power would come upon you. I should have expected... circumstances like these... might have triggered the power. Forgive me."

Tris held out his hand to the apparition, who glided closer and reached out for him. Tris felt a tingle as her insubstantial hand brushed past his outstretched fingers, and he closed his eyes, squeezing back tears. He felt the tingle through his whole body, and the overwhelming sense of his grandmother's presence, as if, for an instant, she shared his mind. He opened his eyes and stared questioningly at the ghost, who smiled sadly.

"I cannot stay," the spirit said regretfully. "Even now, dark power searches for you. Listen well, Tris. You have the power to become a great Summoner, more powerful even than I. But you must learn control." She hesitated, and the image flickered and dimmed. "Already, Jared seeks a way to banish my spirit forever; else, I would train you myself. Go to the Library at Westmarch. There, you will find a teacher for your training." '

"But the Library at Westmarch was destroyed in the Mage Wars," he protested. "It doesn't exist anymore."

"So we permitted people to believe," Bava K'aa said with a knowing smile. "For those whom the Sisterhood vouchsafes, the Library will yield its secrets."

"Show me how to control what I see," Tris begged, his fears rising in his throat. "I'm no use to my friends if I can't protect them."

"I must go," the spirit said. "I do not know if I can come again. At Westmarch, you will find a beginning to all that you seek. Ride with the blessing of the Lady," she said, raising a hand in farewell.

"Please, wait," Tris called.

But by then, the ghost had faded to mist and then to nothing at all. Tris stared at the air where the spirit had been for a long time, until the guttering candle reminded him of the hour and he sought fitful sleep as the dawn began to light the sky.

IT took two days after the bandit attack for Tris to find the opportunity to speak with Carina alone. He tried to arrange his tasks so that he could keep the healer's tent in sight, but she did not leave the tent by herself for an exasperating length of time.

When Tris finally saw his chance, Carina was heading toward her tent, coming from the far side of the caravan camp. It was the last day before they moved on, and the crews were already starting to break down tents and booths. Setup and teardown were the times when the most accidents occurred, and when Carina was the busiest. No surprise then, Tris thought, that she was difficult to find.

"I wanted to thank you for what you did," Tris said, catching up with her and touching the gash on his forehead that was well on its way to healing. Carina looked at him tiredly, and frowned slightly as if trying to place him.

"You're one of the hired guards, aren't you?" she asked. "You helped me get the patients out, when the building was on fire." Tris nodded. She looked at him a moment longer, as if trying to put something into words, then looked away.

"My friends call me Tris," he said. There was no hiding his Margolan accent, he knew, but at least the name was common. His mother, Queen Serae, had quickly gained the affection of the people of Margolan, making her name and the names of her children embarrassingly fashionable when he was a boy. No one, it seemed, fancied Eldra or Jared enough to use their names, and that had been one more thing Jared held against Tris and Kait. Now Tris was grateful that it was not remarkable that a laborer might share the same name with a prince.

The healer smiled tentatively. "You saved my life in that building. Thank you."

Tris dismissed the words, embarrassed. "I'd like to talk to you." He paused, then forged on. "I'd like to talk to you... about how you do what you do."

Carina stopped and met his eyes. "That's an unusual request from a swordsman," she said neutrally. "I don't bless swords or curse enemies, and I wouldn't show you how if I could."