"I'll tell her-after you get some sleep."
Tris meant to say something in return, but the potions did their work and sleep took him.
Tris's dreams were restless. Old dreams returned, of Kait trapped in the Soulcatcher orb. The battle with Arontala, the final confrontation with the Obsidian King, when Kiara lay dying in his arms and all seemed lost. Then, new images, just as terrifying. Tris sensed Kiara's presence on the Plains of Spirit and felt a terror intent on consuming both her life force and the spark that was the child she carried. As if he watched from behind a pane of glass, Tris could see everything but was powerless to help. In his dream, the darkness overtook Kiara, and he heard her cry out as it leeched away her soul and the soul of their child.
Tris awoke, shaking and sweating. Esme was next to him.
"Dreams again?"
"Old ones-and something new. Kiara was in danger. Something from the nether plain wanted her-and the baby. It overtook her-"
Esme laid a hand on his arm. "It's just a dream, Tris," she said. Her blue eyes were worried. "Most fathers-to-be get bad dreams. Even the ones who aren't Summoners."
Tris used the techniques Taru had taught him to distance himself from the dream, but it remained on the edge of his thoughts. "I'm afraid for her, Esme."
"Kiara's the most resourceful woman I've ever met. She has Mikhail and Harrtuck and
all the others watching over her. You're going to have to trust them to take care of her."
Soterius poked his head into the wagon. "I don't know what you're doing in there, but you've called every ghost within a league. Half of them want to come with us to fight, and the other half are annoyed that you disturbed them."
Tris sighed. "We're going to need all the help we can get. Accept the ghosts who want to fight, and send the others back with my apologies."
Esme looked at him sternly. "It'll be daylight in just a few hours. You have to ride. And you're going to have to look ready to fight, even if you aren't. Enough talk. Back to sleep with you."
Tris had no desire to argue. He lay down on the cot and pulled his cloak around him, praying that this time, his sleep would be dreamless.
After six days' ride through snow and wind and sleet, the Margolan army reached the Southern Plains. Lochlanimar loomed against the foothills of the Tabinar Mountains, high on a hill. The oldest parts of the fortress were more than a thousand years old. Its foundation was even older, built atop ruins. A thick wall encircled the main house and dependencies, as well as the oldest part of the town. Made of the same gray stone as the exposed cliffside of the mountains, it had withstood raids from the wild fighters of the Southlands and the nomadic tribes from the West. Lochlanimar would not be easy to defeat. All their planning would be sorely tested.