"Drop your weapons," the taller slaver shouted. "At this distance, we can't possibly miss. I assure you, you are worth more to us alive than dead."
Feeling sick, Tris dropped what was left of his sword, hearing Carroway's weapon thud to the ground an instant later. Four of the slavers ran forward and forced Tris and Carroway to their knees, roughly removing the remainder of their weapons. Tris exchanged a solemn glance with his friend, whose pale expression mirrored his own dim appraisal of their situation. Within moments, the battle was over and the. slavers began gathering their captives in what remained of the camp's main area. Still struggling, Carina was dragged beside Tris, then dropped unceremoniously to the ground. With a muffled curse, the healer managed to score a sharp kick to her captor's ankles. The man gave a cry and wheeled as if to strike her, but a tall slaver barked a reproof.
"No one damages the captives before the captain gets here," the tall slaver snapped. Carina's would-be attacker stopped, and with a growl and a look that promised trouble, limped away.
"Sir," a runner panted, stumbling to a stop an arm's length from the tall slaver. "We have a report from the Pass. The other group has been secured."
The tall slaver smiled coldly and nodded. "Good," he said with satisfaction. "Very good. Kaine has earned his payment," he remarked. "Have them meet us here. We'll take the cargo to the buyers together."
"As you wish." The runner headed for the perimeter, and the tall slaver surveyed his captives.
"I think we're in trouble," Carroway whispered to Tris.
"Looks like it's going to take a while longer to get to Principality."
"You there," the tall slaver barked at Tris. "Quiet."
The slavers secured the camp with professional speed. Tris's spirits sank as he looked over the bound and chained captives. Of the fifty who had stayed with Linton, only two score now remained. The others, Tris presumed, were more likely to have fallen defending the camp than to have fled the attackers. To his bitter disappointment, Cam, Soterius, Harrtuck and Vahanian were among the missing.
"That's all of them, at least, all that's still breathing," a short, pox-faced slaver reported.
"What about the caravan master?" the tall slaver asked.
The pox-faced man shook his head. "Didn't have the heart for it," he said, clucking his tongue. "Found him dead in his bed."
"The men are getting heavy handed," the tall slaver said reproachfully, looking over the wreckage of the camp. "They killed too many this time. Cuts into profits. Next raid, every dead captive is a cut in their ale ration."
"Aye, Tarren," the pox-faced man replied. "That'll get their attention."
Tarren surveyed the captives once more. Smoke lingered over the camp in a dark, noxious cloud.
Behind the wagons, frightened screams mingled with the guards' boorish laughter to reveal the location of the female caravan survivors. Tris clenched his jaw and strained against the ropes that bound his wrists, but even a momentary struggle confirmed that his captors had secured him against any easy escape.
"What have we here?" Tarren said, walking over to where Carina sat, just an arm's length from Tris. The healer's robe was soot-streaked and torn, testimony to her spirited struggle, and her dark hair was tangled. She had not looked up since the guards had dragged her to her spot, and Tris suspected that it was the disappearance of her brother that left Carina bereft of hope, even more than their own dire situation. "Speak, wench. Are you a healer?"
Carina looked up with a glare. "I am," she said tonelessly.
"I wonder," Tarren said, looking at her disheveled appearance. "Healers bring a fine price. Perhaps that's just a healer's belt you've stolen. I must be sure," he said, his eyes narrowing. "If not, I'm sure you have other... talents... we can use," he said, and as if on cue, another terrified scream pierced the night from behind the wagons.
"Tarren, we found him," a slaver hailed, approaching the circle of firelight. As the slaver drew closer, Tris could see that he carried a limp form in his arms.
"Alive?" Tarren asked, frowning.
"Barely," the newcomer replied. "Found him out on the edge of camp. And a dozen of our men, with bolts in their backs, to prove it," he added, joining Tarren in the firelight. With a shrug as if he were unloading a sack of flour, the slaver dropped the body at Tarren's feet.
Tris caught his breath. Vahanian lay pale and still on the ground.
Tarren looked from Vahanian's silent form to Carina and back again. "The bounty's good with him dead, but it's higher if he lives long enough to... question him," Tarren said. "Healer," he said roughly. "A deal. Prove your talent to me with this smuggler, and you remain under my protection." He grinned wolfishly. "Fail, and I place you under the careful eye of my trusted guards."
Tris felt his heart pound. Vahanian was far paler than usual, and a faint blue already tinged his lips. The smuggler's breath was shallow and rapid, and a nasty crimson stain below his ribs soaked his tunic. Tarren stepped forward, drawing a dagger, and Carina shrank back instinctively. The slaver reached down and sliced through her bonds.
"All right," Tarren said, crossing his arms. "He lives and so do you. If he dies... there are plenty of brothels that would be glad for you."
Tris managed as reassuring a glance as he could muster. Carina knelt beside Vahanian and let her right hand glide down the length of the smuggler's body. She moved slowly, beginning with his head, and as her hand moved across his features, the superficial marks of battle—a split lip, a purple bruise on his cheek, a surface cut along his jaw, faded. Tarren watched intently, noting the changes with raised eyebrow.
Tris slowed his breathing and let himself slip into a trance. As if suspended between two realms, he was dimly aware of the slavers' camp, but he also saw the spirit plains, and sensed Carina's healing on a different, life-force level. It was possible to share limited communication, Tris and Carina had found, here in the trance.
Tris, help me! Carina called to him.
Tris breathed deeply and focused his senses on the life force that was Carina, channeling his own energy to her as he had done before in the healer's hut. As he brushed her spirit, he could sense the toll the healing was already taking on her strength.
Carina's hands reached Vahanian's abdomen and she blanched, tearing at the fighter's shirt with both hands to expose a deep belly wound. Tris let the scene in front of him recede further, trying to blunt his own emotions and channel more energy to Carina. He felt a wave of panic in return.
He's dying, Tris! I don't think I can heal this in time.
Tris stretched his mage senses further. He licked his lips with concentration, willing himself deeper still, until he could not smell the smoke or hear the cries of the prisoners, until nothing existed at all except the darkness behind his closed eyes.
And then, he glimpsed it, a thin, evanescent strand of light, so dim that it barely shone above the darkness. It flickered and instinctively Tris dove for it, stretching out with all his will until he reached the glowing strand. He looked back, and saw himself as a second, more brightly glowing strand, as if all the vital strength of his life force could be captured in a single, shining thread. On instinct, he reinforced Vahanian's flickering strand with his own, picturing himself hanging on to the end of a slipping cord with all his strength, hoping that he could lend his strength for long enough for Carina to work her healing.
Unbidden, Alyzza's warning in the glade returned to mind. Never, never can you bind a soul that does not wish to stay, the old witch had warned. Tris held on to the flickering strand with all his might, sensing no desire for the spirit to depart.
He waited forever in the darkness, suspended in unending night. The strand that was Vahanian's fragile life still flickered, but to Tris's relief, did not fade further. Nor did Tris feel the wrenching separation he had experienced at Kait's death, when it was not her life but her spirit he had caused to remain. Perhaps, he hoped, that meant that he was doing what Carina needed him to do, sustaining Vahanian while she worked, and lending his strength to support both the healer and her patient.