Gail Martin - The summoner

Vahanian chuckled. "I'm sure your people kept them well supplied."

"Nothing but the best," Linton boasted. He turned his attention to Tris and the others. "But you've never been the caravan type, Jonmarc."

"We're looking to sign on, at least until you reach Dhasson."

Linton's eyes narrowed as he appraised the rest of the group, stopped at Tris, then looked back skeptically at the fighter. "I don't suppose you'd tell me why?"

Vahanian shrugged. "Things change. Now it's a good time to head north."

"So you want somewhere to hide?"

Vahanian smiled. "Uh huh."

"Who's looking for you?"

"No one important. Jared of Margolan."

Linton stepped forward, stopping in front of Tris. "These three look too saddle sore to be real hired swords," the caravan master said.

Vahanian raised an eyebrow, waiting for the rest of Linton's postulation.

"Their hands aren't rough enough to have done much real work."

Beside him, Tris could feel Soterius start to bristle. Carroway looked tense, his gaze flickering around the room. Harrtuck seemed unruffled. Tris began to wonder if Vahanian's idea was a good one. If we stand out so obviously…

"Let's just say one goal is to remedy both those problems as quickly as possible," Vahanian said blandly. "Calluses come fast on the road. You'll get your money's worth out of them setting up camp, even if we don't see any bandits."

Linton looked at Vahanian once more, as if weighing the danger against their friendship. Then, with a shrug, the trader broke into a broad smile. "You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like, Jonmarc," Linton offered, heading back to his counting table. "If word from the road is true, a few more hired swords-even marginal ones- may be very welcome."

Vahanian crossed his arms. "What did you hear, Maynard?"

The fat caravan master shrugged. "Wild stories that get bigger with each retelling," he replied. "I've heard that some of the boarder clans may be restless, out on Dhasson's outer fringes. And if that's true," he said, grinning, "then the good people of Dhasson may need some entertainment to ease their minds."

"Is that all they're saying?"

Linton frowned and looked down. "No, it's not," he said finally. "There's talk of dark magic. Monsters. You know the country folk, Jonmarc," Linton said. "They blame magic for a cloudy

day."

Vahanian smiled. "Or a poor hand of cards," he agreed. "Me, personally, I blame it for flat ale." He paused and cleared his throat. "Maynard, we couldn't help overhearing your last, um, guest…"

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.