"Wben I call for you the next time, I'll kill you." Dorran said from outside the stockade. "You can't know how much I enjoyed this afternoon. You truly are the best fighter I've ever seen. Pity. I've had the healers patch you up to keep it from being too easy. I do enjoy a challenge. Sleep well, Jonmarc. Perhaps tomorrow, if you beg, I might cut my pleasure short."

"Go to the demon," Vahanian managed, tasting dirt in his mouth.

"Not this time. You'll see Her first."

The only way out of this one is in the arms of the Dark Lady, Vahanian thought. Thanks to the healers his mind was clear, although his body barely moved at his command. By their work, the priests denied him the respite only shock and unconsciousness could bring.

The camp was silent when Vahanian heard the call. It roused him from a distressed sleep, barely audible over the snoring of his guards. A child's voice, calling his name. Sure he was hallucinating from the pain, Vahanian raised his head. The camp lay in a heavy shroud of fog, so thick that he could not see the banked fires across the practice area. As he watched, the door to his prison swung open. In the doorway stood the transparent image of a young girl, beckoning him to come.

"Come, Jonmarc," the apparition said. "It is time."

Vahanian had passed the point of fear. Already resigned to death, the vision made him catch his breath. "Are you the Childe?" he rasped, his swollen lips barely able to form the question.

"Come," the vision repeated impatiently. "It is time."

Vahanian crawled toward the open door, stopping part way to glance back, expecting to see his own crumpled form behind him. "It's time to go," the ghostly child urged, standing with an outstretched hand just beyond the stockade. In the distance, Vahanian could hear the thunder of a horse riding at full gallop, and heard the guards rouse. But he dragged himself to stand, clinging for support to the posts of the stockade. He was unprepared for the sight that burst through the fog. A

cloaked rider on a white horse, riding at demon speed. Beneath the heavy cowl, eyes burned like fire.

"The Dark Lady!" Vahanian whispered, sure now that he was dead.

The Nargi soldiers pointed at the specter in terror. Half of the them fell to their knees, prostrating themselves before the rider with a babble of desperate prayer as the priests begged the apparition for mercy. The other soldiers, frightened but dubious, held their ground, freeing a hail of arrows at the rider that bounced harmlessly off its cloak. With strangled cries, the archers dropped their weapons and fled.

Heedless of the confusion, rider and horse bore down directly on Vahanian, never breaking speed. The cloaked figure reached down, grasping Vahanian's arm and tossing him like a broken doll across its lap.

Borne into the fog, Vahanian lost consciousness.

When the rear door opened at Jolie's place, the room erupted into chaos. Nyall took the body of the unconscious fighter from the arms of the cloaked figure and carried him to a cot. Sakwi looked up from stirring a cauldron of healing herbs. Carroway and Carina rushed forward to help Nyall.

The cloaked figure shrugged back the cowl to reveal Tris's face. The illusion of the Dark Lady blinked out of sight, leaving only the theater makeup Carroway had improvised. Kiara handed Tris a moist towel to wipe away the last vestiges of the night's work.

"You found him," she exulted, helping Tris out of the heavy cloak, exposing a breastplate of leather and ring mail.

"Thank you for insisting on the armor. Nargi are quick archers." Tris released the buckles on the armor, and set it aside. "And thank you for the cloak." He handed her the magic-shielding cloak from the Sisterhood. "I felt a little less like a beacon for Arontala, even though it didn't require much actual magic."

"The river ghost, did she come?"

Tris chuckled. "She thought it was a great game. I hate to imagine what Jonmarc made of it."

"When he finds out he's still alive, he may forgive you." Kiara planted a quick kiss on his cheek. She took his hand and they approached the cot where Carina worked.

"Sweet Chenne," Carina swore under her breath, surveying the damage. Vahanian's face was purpled and swollen almost past recognition, and the gashes and deep bruises on his chest and arms bore mute witness to his ordeal. "Let's see what we're dealing with on the back," Carina replied, her growing anger clear in her clipped instructions. Carroway complied, gentling Vahanian onto his side.

Carina blanched. Welts criss-crossed Vahanian's back, evidence of a thorough lashing. Red and angry, they already bore signs of infection. Reflexively, Carina laid her hands over them. Some of the marks immediately began to fade, losing their color and puffiness. She signaled Carroway to ease Vahanian back down.

"How bad is it?" Tris asked. Jolie stood behind him, her expression making it clear that she would have no difficulty taking the lives of those responsible for Vahanian's injuries.

"He's been healed several times—deep healing. Damn them!"

"I don't understand," Kiara said.

"They didn't heal to end the pain, they healed to prolong it. They fixed just enough so that he didn't die too quickly and spoil their game."

"Can you help him?" Jolie asked.

Carina nodded. "Whoever healed him before knew what they were doing. What's here is bad, but not life-threatening. Some broken bones, a lot of deep bruises, some torn muscles and tendons, deep cuts—his back is a mess," she listed dispassionately, attempting to distance herself enough to work her gift. "They must have been striking to maim, not kill, because they obviously had the opportunity to do otherwise."

Tris moved to stand beside her. "Draw energy from me, if it will help."

"Can you do that without alerting Arontala?"

Tris shrugged. "I've never sensed him when I've helped you heal—I'm not sure it's enough power for him to read. And you've pulled from both Cam and Carroway for energy, and they aren't mages. It's a chance I'm willing to take."

Sakwi appeared at Carina's side with the cauldron of steaming herbs and a fresh cloth. For the next two candlemarks Carina worked in silence, easing her way down Vahanian's body, first healing as best her strength would allow, and then applying Sakwi's poultices and binding the wounds that remained. Any materials the healer required needed only Jolie's terse word to the guards outside the door, who returned with the desired articles in minutes.

Nyall hunched near the fire, clearly overwhelmed by the company in which he found himself. The others stood ready to respond to Carina's increasingly ill-humored commands, as the fatigue of healing coupled with her anger. Jolie stood silent sentry near the foot of the cot, her hard eyes unreadable. Carina worked for more than three candlemarks, until she was pale with the exertion and both she and Tris wavered from the strain.

Finally, Sakwi intervened, taking Carina's shaking hands in his own. "You're exhausted. There's nothing more you can do tonight."

Carina shrugged free with a glare. "There's always more to do."

"I'm still too spent from the spells I wove to help you." Sakwi laid a hand on her arm. "But I can feel what you've done. He's in no danger now, and he rests as comfortably as is possible. Now, you must rest."

Unwillingly, Carina let herself be led away from the cot. Kiara gave Tris's shoulder a squeeze in farewell, and sprang up to slip an arm around her cousin. "I'll take her back to our room," Kiara said, frowning at Carina when the other began a faint protest. Carroway, too, looked ready to drop from his ordeal, and made his way to a chair by the fire.

"Astir," Jolie summoned the vayash moru from where he stood silently by the door. "Take Jonmarc to the room I've readied for him upstairs. Anjela will show you. He can rest undisturbed there."