"How do you know he was scouting us?" she argued. "I'm amazed you didn't just run him through and ask questions later."

A muscle in Vahanian's jaw twitched at his effort to remain civil. "I thought about it," he said evenly. "He's been sent here by someone, and I'd like to know why."

With a glare that clearly indicated that the quarrel was not resolved, Carina moved to examine the prisoner. Within moments, she shook her head. "You've broken his jaw," she said, looking up at Vahanian.

"I know that," Vahanian retorted. "Can you fix it?"

Carina looked to Linton. "I'm not going to heal this man just to have your hired muscle work him over again."

"You know we would never ask that of you, Carina," Linton said placatingly. "But it's important. Please, try," he beseeched.

"You understand, don't you, that I can't knit broken bone good as new just like that," she said, snapping her fingers. "I can hurry it along. But even after I'm through, he may not be able to talk for a while."

"Great," Vahanian muttered under his breath, and Carina glared at him.

"Look, if you wanted to talk to him, you should have hit him somewhere else." "Just try," Vahanian asked evenly. "Please." Carina looked at him, then glanced back at Linton. "All right," she said finally. "Give me a little room."

After nearly a candlemark, Carina stepped back tiredly from her patient and Linton pressed a hot cup of kerif into her hands, which she accepted gratefully. Their prisoner looked down at the floor, still silent. Tris noticed that in addition to whatever healing Carina had worked on the man's jaw, she had also managed to reduce the swelling over his blackened eye and heal his bruised cheek. Throughout the healing, Vahanian leaned on a tent post, arms folded, his face grim.

"That's the best I can do," Carina finally said.

"Can he talk?" Vahanian grated.

Carina shot the mercenary an angry glance. "You can try," she said.

"Thank you, Carina," Linton interposed, stepping between the two and taking Carina's arm. "Let me walk you back to your tent," he said, gently steering her toward the tent opening. "We are so fortunate to have a healer like you with us, and I apologize coming to you like that in the middle of the night—"

Unmoved by the flattery, Carina paused in the tent entrance to glance warningly back at Vahanian. "Leave him in one piece," she ordered. "I don't want to have to do this again."

"No promises," Vahanian replied evenly, with a measured glance toward the prisoner. "I'm watching out for the camp. Whatever it takes."

"Whatever it takes," Carina repeated, shaking her head. If she had a mind to add more she decided against it, turning instead to accept Linton's arm and head for her tent. Linton shot a look over his shoulder, which plainly cautioned Vahanian to be quiet, and then let the tent flap fall shut behind him, leaving Tris and Vahanian alone with the prisoner.

"Now," Vahanian said, stepping within arm's reach of the prisoner, "let's try the questions again," he said in a dangerous voice. "And you really ought to know," he said to the prisoner, "that I usually don't listen to the lady. So it might be healthy for you to tell me everything I want to know."

The prisoner gave up his story without forcing Vahanian to do more damage. He was looking for food and whatever loot he could carry. Tris could tell by Vahanian's manner that the mercenary suspected more but after a candlemark's questioning, Vahanian finally stepped back with a curse and shook his head.

"Satisfied, Jonmarc?" Linton asked from where the fat little man sat on a hassock, watching the proceedings with folded arms.

"No, but it's all I'm going to get," Vahanian replied tersely.

Just then, Cam stuck his head into the tent. "Excuse me, Maynard," the big man said, with a glance toward Tris and Vahanian, "but there are some people here to see you."

"This fellow was just leaving," Vahanian replied, pulling the prisoner to his feet and walking him to the door. "Would you mind seeing him to the edge of camp, Cam, and heading him away from wherever we're going?"

Cam nodded, taking the prisoner by the arm. "I can do that. I heard you had a restless night," he said non-committally, with a meaningful look at Vahanian.

"Can't imagine who told you that," Vahanian replied. He looked out beyond Cam to where three men on horseback waited, dressed in the robes of Mussa traders. Behind their horses trailed three pack mules, each with a waist-high basket strapped to either side and loaded down with bolts of silks wrapped in protective burlap.

Linton shouldered past Cam and Vahanian to meet the traders. "Greetings, friend traders," the caravan master bustled, managing not to look as if he had been up all night. "Welcome to our caravan. What may we do for you?"

"I don't know about you, but I could use some food and some sleep," Tris murmured under his breath. "Let's go."

Vahanian shook his head, not taking his eyes off the traders. "Not yet. I don't like this. Something's not right. I want to stick around."

The traders dismounted and gave the reins of their mounts to two of the riggers. They walked behind Linton into his tent, not glancing back as Tris and Vahanian followed them inside and took up unobtrusive spots along the tent wall.

Linton motioned the traders to sit and moved to pour them each a mugful of kerif from the pot that boiled on the fire. "So, my friends, what is your business?"

"We are silk traders from Mussa," the taller man replied. He was a strongly built man, with a beard and a tan that testified to a life on the road. "We are traveling toward the south, but we have been on the road for some time, and would appreciate the hospitality of a caravan for the night before we continue on our way."

"Tell me about the road north," Linton asked, drawing up a hassock and ignoring Tris and Vahanian. "We have heard many things."

The tall trader laughed. "I am sure of that. We found the road clear, the weather horrible as usual, and the women happy for new silks."

Linton frowned. "The road was clear?"

"Why yes," the tall trader replied. "As good as can be expected this time of year."

"You found nothing... unusual... on your journey?"

The tall trader shook his head. "No, why do you ask?"

Linton shrugged. "There have been rumors that 'strange things' have been seen on the road north."

The tall trader laughed, revealing a mouth dotted with gold teeth. "I have been on the road for many years, my friend, and seen many strange things. But I saw nothing remarkable on our journey here."

"You are welcome to stay the night here," Linton said, "but we will be on our way in the morning. We hope to reach Dhasson's border before the winter weather makes the road more difficult."

"A wise choice," agreed the tall trader. "We wintered once, not by choice mind you, near here because we lingered too long before the storms. It was not our most pleasant winter." He stood and his companions did the same. "If you will direct us to a place where we can rest, we will not trouble you any longer."

"I'll have someone show you to our trading tent," Linton replied. "We're packing the camp today, so it won't be in use. You can rest there, at least until the riggers take it down."

"You are most kind," the tall trader said with a bow. Tris waited until the men had left the tent and were out of earshot before he looked to Vahanian, but the mercenary was already at the tent flap, looking after the receding traders.

"I suppose I really should ask why you stayed for that, Jonmarc," Linton said tiredly. "Manners have never been your strong point, but you seem determined to be obnoxious."

"They were lying," Vahanian said with conviction. "If he's a Mussa trader, I'm a Nargi priest."

Linton looked at Vahanian for a moment before responding. "Why?"