What a day. Tom plodded south on Forest Road, avoiding the worst of the puddles. He had spent a couple of hours recovering at the Copper Road Inn and eating a big hot meal before continuing his trek, since he had time to do that and still get back to the campsite by nightfall. It was a little hard to tell when the sun was setting from the gradually increasing gloom and the continuing heavy rain, though.
It will be good to get back to the elves. They won't be able to have a fire, but just drying off a bit and putting this pack down will be a big help. Glad I got the waterproof kind, even if it does make my back sweaty. At least, the goods I'm carrying won't be soaked.
His mind wandered over the different things he had to do. He thought about Diavla and smiled. She'll be glad to get the information. I like talking with her. She's so clever and inventive with the gestures.
Visibility was getting miserable enough that Tom pulled out the rock light he had bought as a precaution. The tricky part is going to be finding the hiding place again, especially in this weather. Tom had memorized some landmarks, but in the gloom he wasn't sure that would be enough.
He ended up walking past it twice before spotting it on the third pass. It's a good hiding spot, at least. There wasn't much point in worrying about leaving tracks in the downpour, so he only fretted about breaking branches as he pushed his way down the small slope. At long last, the wagons came into view.
“Hello!” Tom called in Elvish. “Diavla? Kervan?” There was no response, but it was possible that they just couldn't hear him over the rain. “Varga? Orvan? You are here?”
Tom stuck his head inside the grain wagon, and saw two bedrolls but no elves. The ironwork wagon didn't really have room, nor did the ale wagon, but he checked, anyway. Finally, he looked in the wagon with the cases bound for High Pass Temple. There were two more bedrolls there, but it was unoccupied as well.
Demon shit.
The elves are gone.
Tom felt rising panic. What happened? Where are they? Were they captured? Run off? He forced himself to calm down enough to act. He searched and made sure all the cargo was intact. The packs were gone, but not the bedrolls. The spears were gone. The spare ox was gone, oddly, but the others were huddled under the makeshift shelter they had improvised before he headed to Rivermarch. At least they were armed when they left.
So what happened?
∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘
It took Tom a while to decide that there was nothing useful he could do in his current state. He was tired, it was dark, and the rain was still pouring. He had no idea which way to go. He would have to wait for morning.
Even after making that decision, it didn't stop his soul from spiraling as he tried to guess what had happened. How long ago did they leave? He couldn't think of a good way to tell. It could have been minutes, or two days.
Think, Tom! Figure it out!
Why would they leave the wagons? Either they were forced to go, or they wanted to go.
If someone found them here in the wagons, why didn't they take the wagons? This cargo is worth tens of gold at least, it's a fortune. Of course, the elves alone are worth tens of gold, and maybe it was easier to make off with the elves first and come back for the rest later.
But how? How did someone find them, and what happened when they approached? If they took the elves at sword point, did they find the collars and put them back on?
That at least gave Tom something he could check. It was a few minutes of rummaging around, and stepping out into the rain briefly to switch wagons, but he eventually did find the bag Kervan had stuffed the collars in, and they were all still in there.
There's that, at least. All right, where would they go? The closest place of any size is Copper Road, and I just came from there. I should have passed them on the road, right? Unless they moved on before I came back. Did they switch at the crossroads, and go east or west?
Did they take the elves south instead?
Tom felt himself starting to panic again and took a breath. Don't overreact, Tom. Maybe they found a cave or something that was more comfortable, and moved there to wait out the rainstorm. It's not as if they could leave you a note. He hadn't found any such cave when they settled themselves in the little valley, but the elves had had days here to explore.
You can't do anything about anything tonight. Get some rest, and hopefully, things will look better in the morning. Even if someone is making off with the elves, they're probably hunkered down somewhere against the weather, too, so you're not losing any ground.
∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘
Tom fretted. It was hard not to, there wasn't anything else to do. Tom was tired, worried, and bored at the same time. After a while, his gaze fell on the damaged black case.
Hm.
No, I should leave it alone.
Some time passed.
I could just take a peek, see what's inside there. That one case is already broken, after all. The bandits already messed with it.
No. Leave it, Tom.
More time passed. Tom found himself imagining all sorts of terrible outcomes for the elves, and didn't have anything to distract himself from his worries.
Maybe I'll just look it over. He went to the damaged case and inspected it, using the rock light.
The case was about as long as his arm, and half that tall and wide. The wood wasn't painted, but it was so dark Tom wasn't even sure what kind of tree it came from. There was some decoration carved into the wood; from a distance, it looked like writing. He ran a hand along it, feeling the small grooves, and the broken corner where the bandits presumably had cracked the wood and splintered off a small piece. It had messed up part of the decoration, too.
The lid creaked but didn't give much when Tom pulled on it. It was locked, naturally. Tom went through the bags of personal items by feel, looking for keys, and found a couple. Neither one fit the crate's lock, though. The gods only knew where the correct key was.
Leave it alone, he told himself, and went back to practicing his Elvish. He was annoyed at how much he was forgetting. He had been told he had a good memory but didn't really believe it because he still forgot things, sometimes important things. The little words are the hardest for some reason. I mean, does ‘kel’ mean ‘from’, ‘of’, or ‘by’?
He lay down and tried to sleep, but it was too early for that, really. He also couldn't relax, because he was too worried about the elves. He had nothing much to look at except for the cases.
Oh, demons take it.
Tom got up, found the iron pry bar someone had left in the corner of the wagon, and set about breaking the damaged case open. It took much of his considerable strength and all of his dexterity to get it open without completely wrecking it. Finally, the wood around the lock gave way. Stupid of me, but I can always blame it on the bandits when I hand these things off to somebody. Taking a deep breath, Tom set aside the pry bar, gripped the lid and raised it.
The case smelled of dust. Very, very old dust. Tom coughed a couple of times and took some fresh breaths at the exit flap before returning, moving slowly so as not to stir things up. I guess I'm sleeping in the grain wagon after this.
There was some sort of inner lid or cover. Tom removed it cautiously, then picked up the rock light and stepped back so that he could see.
Huh.
The case was largely filled with some sort of dull gray padding material that probably used to be cloth, but was brittle and cracked with age. There were three indentations, and whatever was inside them sparkled a bit in the rock light. Tom moved back and forth, squinting, trying to get a good look.
The first hole was partly filled with what seemed to be tiny shards of black crystal. The shards crumbled further at a touch, leaving a dusty residue that made Tom's fingers itch. He took a moment to wash his hand off in the rain before continuing.
The second hole was likewise partly filled with shards of crystal; these were gray, and the shards were a bit larger than the black ones. They were fragile, but not quite as fragile as the first. Tom was able to pick one up and inspect it at arm's length for a few moments, turning it in his fingers until it snapped in half. He dropped the pieces back where they came from and rinsed off his hand again.
The third hole contained a big red crystal. Is this what those other two used to be? If so, they broke from age or mishandling at some point. Given the way the wagon bounces on the road, and how fragile these things are, it might have happened recently. Maybe even when the bandits damaged the case.
Tom reached in and picked up the red crystal, only to find that it was broken as well, just not as badly. It came apart in three large pieces, and he struggled to catch them in both hands before setting them down gingerly, back in the hole they came from. Just from doing that much, a small piece broke off, landing in the hole first. Tom's fingers didn't itch this time, but he washed his hands off again, anyway.
The crystals and their padding didn't seem like enough to fill the case, though. Tom looked around to see if there was anything else, and realized that the entire top half was a tray that could be removed. Proceeding gently, Tom lifted the tray up and out, setting it down slowly, then picked up the rock light and peered down into the deeper opening.
Three intact crystals lay nestled in more of the padding. Each was a different color: turquoise, bright green, and a dull, dirty yellow. Tom reached out to pick up the green one, and recoiled instinctively, not quite having touched it, snatching his hand back as if from a hot fire.
Nope.
Something told him that touching the crystal would be a very bad idea. I'm no mage, but if this is something nasty bottled up and it leaks…
He looked back at the upper tray, with its three broken crystals.
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This could be bad. Did this happen when the bandits messed with it, or before? Mr. Sashen slept in here, and he had been traveling with the caravan for weeks at least, so the intact cases can't be that dangerous, but what about this broken one? We've been jostling it on the road, and nothing bad has happened, but…
Tom thought about it, then took his dagger and started cutting up his bedroll to make padding. With great care, he added an extra level of protection as best he could, and repacked the case, almost holding his breath at times against the dust. He didn't relax until the case was closed again. Even then, he didn't want to spend the night in the same wagon. The crystals wagon, he dubbed it mentally.
He moved his things over to the grain wagon and stared out at the rain in the little valley, despairing of getting any sleep. He practiced his Elvish a little but his soul was just going in circles. He couldn't concentrate.
“Hello?”
GAH!
Tom jolted so hard he was grateful he wasn't still in the crystals wagon; he might have shattered another one.
It was a man's voice. Quickly, Tom moved to the other end of the wagon and peeked out.
A big man in a slicked cloak was approaching, holding a lantern. Tom made sure his weapons were at the ready, and looked into the gloom trying to spot any others.
“Who goes there?” he called.
“Mark Carver. I own this land. Are you Tom Walker?”
Tom felt a surge of both hope and worry. The elves were alive, or at the very least, they had been given a chance to speak. He took a second to gather his thoughts and clear his throat.
“I am. I apologize, I wasn't aware anyone owned this land.”
“Your, ah, companions said you might be getting back tonight, but that you also might be another day or two. I was going to leave a note for you. Would you like to come to my house and talk? It's not far, and the …others are already there. You can spend the night, of course—let's just get out of this miserable rain, eh?”
Tom hesitated for a moment, his soul whirling, then nodded. “Yes, thank you. One moment.” Quickly, he gathered his things, donned his cloak and hefted his pack, then stepped out. Mark Carver was inspecting the makeshift shelter the elves had created for the oxen. It seemed to be holding up.
“They're not happy, but they'll survive to morning. That wheel doesn't look good, by the way.” Mark pointed at the wheel that had broken on the road and Tom had “fixed” as well as he could.
“I know. I did my best. So long as it lasts to Rivermarch, that's all I ask of it.”
“Maybe I can help you with it after the rain ends. Come on.”
Tom followed the man, who did appear to be alone, as he led the way back to the road, north a bit, and then down a mostly concealed trail, which led after a couple of turns to a large two-story house in the middle of the forest. He blinked in surprise, and glanced at the stable to one side before following the man up to the main building.
Carver pounded on the front door.
“Hello?” A woman's voice called.
“Ever sweet,” Carver replied, and a moment later Tom could hear a bar being lifted and the door opened. Bright firelight spilled out into the night, getting swallowed up within a few feet. The men both entered the house, and Carver shut and barred the door.
“You found him!” The redheaded woman who had gotten the door looked very pleased. Tom immediately peered past her and glanced around the large room. There was a big, long table and a huge fireplace. The place looked like an inn.
Far more importantly, the elves were sitting on benches around the fire, along with a very large woman with yellow hair. Tom felt a huge wave of relief wash over him. Diavla was already up and moving, grinning at him. He sighed happily. “Diavla! You're all right!”
“Tom!”
He shed his pack and cloak quickly so that he could grab her in a hug when she moved up to him. He crushed her to him just for a moment, careful of his strength, as always. She felt good in his arms, and warm, as she hugged him back tightly. He pulled his head away, trying to see her more clearly, and realized that this was the first time he had ever hugged her, yet it had felt completely natural to him. He felt himself smiling, and she was smiling back. But then she looked embarrassed as she let go, making Tom feel a touch awkward.
He drew upon his meager Elvish. “Are you good? I am scared tonight.”
“I am sorry, Tom. We four are good. You are here. I am happy.”
Tom looked around the room. The redhead at the door picked his cloak up off the floor and hung it on a peg. “Welcome, Tom,” she called. “I'm Joan Carver. That's Winnie.” She pointed at the large woman sitting at the elves. “Go grab a towel and warm yourself by the fire.”
“Thank you, ma'am. Can you tell me what happened, how you met?” Tom moved over to the fire and started warming and drying himself.
“Well, we saw the smoke from their campfire the past couple of evenings. Once would probably be someone passing through. Twice in a row, and we knew someone was camping on our land. Not knowing what to expect, Mark and I went over there this morning. We met the elves and invited them here to wait out the rainstorm. Ah…the elves bribed us with your spare ox, in exchange for keeping quiet about them. I hope that's all right.”
That's a lot of money for keeping a secret. But it's a really important secret. Tom considered a moment, then nodded. “That's fine. If I'm going to be responsible for them, I have to accept deals they made.”
“So you're claiming them as your property?” Mark asked.
Tom hesitated, and his mouth puckered as if he had bitten into something sour. “For legal purposes…yes. I talked to a lawyer. They're legitimate salvage,” he added defensively.
“What do you intend to do with them?” The large woman asked, frowning.
Tom shrugged. “Help them. I feel responsible for them, since I was guarding the caravan they were in. So I'm going to do my best to leave the big decisions up to them.”
“Really?” Joan Carver sounded skeptical.
Tom held up his hands and shrugged. “I can't tell them what to do. I mean, I won't, even though I could. I mean…” He gestured vaguely for a moment as he hunted for words. “If I tell them to do something, they are going to feel pressured to do it to keep me happy, right? Even if I don't make it an order.”
“So you're just going to do whatever they tell you to?”
Tom fought down his annoyance with the suggestion. “I certainly want to take charge. I'm comfortable leading a group, I know Western, I know what humans are like, and the elves don't. But…I'm really trying hard not to lead them without being asked.
“If I make a suggestion, then the next time I might make it more firmly, and then I start giving little orders, and then big ones…I'm worried that I would turn into…someone I don't want to be. It's incredibly frustrating. I want to take charge, but I can't.”
Joan blinked and stared at him oddly. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen, why?” Tom guessed that Joan was in her mid-twenties, herself.
She opened and closed her mouth a moment, then shook her head and said, “I'm just impressed, is all. That's very mature of you. Most men your age would already be ordering the women to lie with them.”
“Well, then I'd have to live with myself afterward.” Tom glanced over at Diavla to find her watching him intently. “Sorry, Diavla.” It felt like an ugly topic and Tom felt bad even discussing it in front of the elves. The pretty elf waved a hand dismissively. She didn't look upset, she looked…very interested. I wonder how much of that she caught?
Joan was looking at him curiously after his response. “Well, maybe you're strong enough to resist the temptation, then. Your concern speaks well of you. Trustworthy people should trust themselves.”
Tom blinked. Am I being too cautious? The idea of relaxing his vigilance alarmed him, so Tom cleared his throat and changed the subject. “May I ask about all of you, and this place?”
Mark, Joan and Winnie all looked at each other for a couple of moments. Interesting. Do these people have some secrets too?
“Well…I built this place to be an inn, and put up travelers on the Forest Road,” Mark Carver began. “I may have gotten a bit ambitious, and I had a lot of help early on.”
“It looks like one. I see all the pegs for lots of cloaks, and this big common room, and a second story and a big stable. But you're set pretty far back from the road, aren't you?”
Mark rolled his eyes, and Tom realized that the man was probably tired of people pointing that out. “Yeah, I know. At first, this was just going to be a temporary structure, and the real building was going to be right up on the road, fairly near the Nook, actually—that's what we call the little valley you stashed your wagons in.”
“Oh, I see. You start a project, and one thing leads to another and suddenly the plan is all different. I've been in that situation myself,” Tom reassured him.
“What do you do for a living, Tom Walker? You're a guard?”
“I've been a lot of different things: smith, miner, lumberjack, town guard… I left home four years ago and have been traveling ever since, and I tried out a bunch of jobs,” Tom explained. “The world is big and I want to see more of it and have more experiences before I get stuck in one place doing one job for the rest of my life.” He caught himself and cleared his throat nervously. “Sorry, didn't mean to ramble. You were telling me about the plans for this to be an inn.”
“Well, there's not much more to tell. I had a great time designing and building all this, and while I was working on it, I started selling some of my carvings, and that turned into a solid job. And we talked it over and, well, I decided I'd rather be a carver than an innkeeper.”
“How did you get the land?”
“I bought the rights to it, and I kept buying more for a while, just so nobody could build something obnoxious right next to us. I've stopped adding land because to retain title of it I have to patrol it and keep it free of hazards, and that already takes as much time as I'm willing to give it.”
So he's fairly rich, if this huge house were not hint enough.
Mark continued, “That's why I was so surprised that the elves said they faced off against a wolf pack last night.”
“Wolves?” Tom turned to Diavla who nodded.
“Eight wolves, Tom. We are good. They did are scared, they did go.”
“Did you kill some of them? Ah…wolves die?”
She shook her head.
Varga leaned forward and called cheerfully in Elvish, “Diavla scare the wolves (something). They (something something)—”
“Varga! Tom (something) know (something) words.” Diavla looked as if she urgently wanted Varga to shut up.
“You (something) very good (something), Dee.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. Hm. I'll try to get that story later.
The conversation jumped around. The Carvers were all very interested to hear the story of the bandit attack. Tom avoided certain topics, and said that a passing healer had found them, and had agreed to stay quiet about the elves.
He noticed that Mark, Joan or Winnie changed the subject sometimes when their personal lives came up. Tom was more than happy to let them keep their secrets. He was just grateful that the elves weren't prisoners.
“So what have you all been doing all day?” he asked.
“Orvan has been helping with the cooking, and Kervan has been doing some sewing for me that I hadn't gotten around to. Diavla has been teaching me Elvish. I say small Elvish. See?” Tom nodded politely. “I've also been teaching Diavla and Kervan some more Western words.” That got Tom's attention.
“Great! I'm happy for all the help I can get there. What did you learn, Diavla? Ah…” Tom was about to simplify, but Diavla grinned and waved a hand in dismissal.
“I did learn say ‘did.’ ‘did am’ is ‘was’, ‘did are’ is ‘were’. I did learn. I was happy. Joan did help me.”
“That…actually helps, a lot. Thank you,” Tom told Joan.
“Tom? What you did learn? In Rivermarch?” Diavla asked.
It took a long while, but Tom eventually managed to convey everything Simon Law had told him. At least, he hoped he got it all got across. It turned out that the Carvers had known some of that already and had told the elves, which made things easier. Finally, Tom got up to the present.
“So…you choose what we will do tomorrow,” he told the elves. “Tomorrow, you say, we do.” They proceeded to argue in Elvish for a while. It was too fast for Tom to follow the discussion.
“Wagons go fast, good. We will take four wagons, no one wagon,” Kervan said finally. “Three elves will go wagons, one elf will stay here.” Tom noticed that Kervan was talking about the future without difficulty. I suppose ‘did’ and ‘will’ are enough for a lot.
Tom nodded. It made sense; he didn't expect the elves to all be willing to put the slave collars back on, since if that happened they would have to trust him to remove them again. That was a lot to ask of them, since they had just gotten free of the cursed things after months under their control. One elf free could, in theory, rescue the rest.
“Who will stay?”
“I will stay.”
“Is that all right?” Tom asked the Carvers.
“The ox pays for a fair bit of lodging. If Kervan is all right with staying here a week or two until you all get back, we'll be happy to host him,” Mark replied.
“Thank you. I really appreciate your help here.”
“If anyone comes and finds Kervan, I'm telling them he's your slave and you left him with us temporarily to pay for some lodging,” Mark told him. “He'll need a slave collar for that.”
A brief silence fell.
Joan spoke up. “He wouldn't have to wear the collar unless someone showed up! He can keep it and sleep with it under his pillow or wherever. Just somewhere he can get at it quickly if he needs to play the role.”
Tom quickly translated that as best he could. Kervan sighed heavily, and after several moments, nodded. “We will argue.”
The elves had another discussion. Tom caught his name, and the word trust several times. The humans waited quietly. The discussion got involved, and Winnie put out fresh tea for everyone. Finally, Kervan addressed the humans again.
“We four and Tom go Rivermarch. Thank you,” he told the Carvers. “I go. We elves stay…” Kervan brought his hands together.
“Together.”
Tom and Kervan recited the word in both languages.
“Together,” Diavla chimed in. “It is good word, I think.”
Tom wanted to feel flattered, but he knew it was because the Carvers were even more strangers to them than Tom was. Better the demon you know. He thought about how to reassure them.
“Night, you no get collars. Day, you get collars. We hide, you no get collars.”
The elves nodded, and their tension seemed to ease a little bit.
This is a hard road for the elves, no matter what they do, Tom mused. All I can do is smooth the way as much as possible, and try to always act in a way that is clearly trustworthy.
Act…
Tom felt the beginnings of a plan forming in his soul. I'll have to talk this through with them very carefully, and make it very clear that they don't have to do it. But depending on the attitudes we find once we are walking down the street, it might be the best move.
Sometimes, a careful lie can do a lot of good.