Tom walked to the wagons and found Varga leaning against the one full of supplies, watching him approach. “Hello, Varga. You are good?”

In answer, Varga patted her mouth with a very exaggerated yawn.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you go in, back, up, front.” He pointed in sequence. “I stay wagons.”

Varga smirked at him, then walked off, headed around to the front of the inn. Tom tied the backs of the wagons shut. I ought to rig something to make noise when these are opened, he mused. It won't be a problem most of the time, but—

“TOM!”

That's Kervan. Alarmed, Tom stepped away from the wagon to get a better view. Kervan was running out of the back door of the inn, headed his way.

“TOM, VARGA HELP!”

Demon shit. Tom started charging for the door Kervan had just come out of. I leave her alone for ten heartbeats and some drunken jackass starts something? Gods! As he ran, Tom hoped that there was no one in his way, because he wasn't planning on slowing down.

For his part, Kervan turned around as soon as he saw Tom coming, grabbed the door and pulled it back open. Smart man.That gave Tom a view into the kitchen, and more importantly, gave the cook a view of Tom running straight at her.

“Move!”

The cook dodged, and Tom dashed straight through the length of the kitchen and slammed open the door to the main room. Before he even finished skidding to a halt, he was taking in the scene. A man had one hand in Varga's hair and the other at her throat. Two others stood behind him.

“HALT!” Tom bellowed in his best guardsman voice. “Unhand that woman!” When the man didn't instantly obey, Tom snapped, “NOW!”

He'd managed to slow to a fast walk, but he'd be on the man in another heartbeat. Fortunately the attacker yielded, letting go of Varga a moment before Tom would have grabbed him.

“She attacked me!” the man claimed in a voice of whiny outrage. Tom raised an eyebrow skeptically. “She hit me! Everybody saw it!” Tom glanced at the crowd and a few were nodding. He looked back at Varga's attacker.

“And what did you do to provoke that?”

The man gaped at him. “Provoke? She's a fucking slave! She doesn't get to be 'provoked.'”

“All right, let me put this a different way,” Tom said carefully. “What...did you do...to my property?”

“I didn't do anything to her! I was just... inspecting the merchandise.”

Tom leaned closer, glad he was taller than the other man. He put more menace into his tone. “You don't get to touch unless you ask me first.” Tom looked at Varga and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. She retreated behind him, and he returned his glare to the attacker. “And the answer is no.”

“That little bitch slapped me!”

“Sounds like you had it coming.”

“I'm not taking that from a fucking elf!”

“You already did. Cut your losses.”

The man's eyes lit up suddenly, as if he had gotten an idea he thought was clever. “That's your slave! You're responsible for me getting attacked!”

Tom eyed him. “You're right.” Keep digging, pal...

“You owe me! Her hitting me is just as guilty as... like you doing it yourself!”

Tom nodded. “You're correct. I guess I'm guilty of assaulting you, then?” He turned to survey the crowd, and saw a couple of nods. “Well, in that case...”

Tom's fist smashed the man's nose.

The people gave a collective gasp as the bastard dropped like a sack of grain, cold-cocked. A couple of other men took a step closer, but Tom looked at them and around the room, offering a challenge. “Does anyone else think I owe them something?”

“No fighting in my inn!” Miss Penn ordered.

Tom nodded to her politely. “Just so, ma'am. If an actual fight happens, I'll be happy to take it outside. Shall I drag this sad sack away for you? Or, do some of you want to take care of him?” he asked the men. The two standing swallowed and each grabbed an arm, then dragged their unconscious acquaintance towards the front door, away from Tom.

Tom took a breath through his nose and thought about how nobles acted, then addressed the room. “Do note that I was merciful here. I could easily have him arrested for damaging my goods. Lord Rivermarch and Simon Law would be happy to do me the favor. It just isn't worth the effort to me at the moment, frankly. People would do well not to change my mind. Good evening.”

Tom turned around. Varga was a few steps away from him. Kervan was by the door to the kitchen, and Diavla was on the stairs. Tom gestured peremptorily at them to go up. They all hurried to obey. Tom pulled out a couple of silver and offered them to Miss Penn on his way by. She accepted them automatically. He went upstairs without looking back.

Once he was out of sight, he took a brief moment to double over and breathe. The fight was easy. Making threats, acting like a noble, those were harder. He gave himself a few moments to feel it while no one was watching. Then, shuddering once to shake it off, he straightened up and walked back to their rooms.

He got the full story from Varga. She'd tried to walk through the common area. The guy had gotten in her way. She smiled at him and tried to go around, but he shoved her chest and ended up groping one of her breasts—that was when she slapped him. Then, she apparently tried to jump clear over the guy, but he caught her ankle and she landed badly. He grabbed her before the world stopped spinning.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Jump clear over him? Tom had to ask for clarification. Apparently, Varga had stepped onto a chair, then a table, jumped and kicked off the wall. She had almost made it, too. Still, she was berating herself for clumsiness. Tom tried not to let his jaw fall open at the prospect. I guess I really haven't seen her going all out, physically. Who knows what these elves are capable of?

He sighed. “Well, I'm mad at the fool human, but I'm glad you're all right, Varga. Now, though, I have even more reason to guard the wagons. I may have to sleep out there tonight. I'm not sure one elf would be enough deterrent if they try something, but they'll think twice before testing fists with me.” Diavla made a disappointed face. “Sorry.”

Eubexa translated all that, then the elves had a discussion. When they finished, she turned to Tom. “Master, Kervan and Orvan are suggesting that they team up to watch for the second half of the night. Two male elves will be more intimidating than one, and it would be better if you didn't have to go completely without good sleep.”

Just then, a serving girl arrived with their soup. Tom thanked her and everyone dug in. Tom ate quickly, determined to get back out to the wagons before much time passed. He sighed with satisfaction when he finished his second bowl. “That's a bit better. I'll snack on some of the bread while I'm out there. Does anyone need anything before I go?”

“Yes.” Diavla stood and beckoned. Smiling, Tom followed her into their room and shut the door.

Diavla grabbed him, and Tom was eager for the kiss they shared. Tom's blood heated at once, as he remembered their time together the previous night. Diavla was enthusiastic, wrapping her arms around him as he pressed her against the wall. She gave a moan of pleasure and her hands began to wander.

Tom reluctantly broke the kiss. “I need to go.”

“No now. Soon.” Diavla pulled herself forward into another kiss.

One kiss turned into three...then five.

Taking a ragged breath, Diavla pulled back. “You go.”

Tom panted a moment, trying to cool his heat. “Yes.” He leaned in for one more kiss.

Five minutes later, their hair and clothes were getting mussed, and both of them were sweating, groaning with suppressed need. “I should go,” Tom told her.

“One more,” Diavla pleaded, and Tom gave her one full of his attraction, caring, and pleasure. When he ended it, his self-control was crumbling some more and he leaned in again, but Diavla put her hand in the path of his lips. “No, Tom. They get wagon.” Tom kissed her neck and she gasped. “Tom,” she said weakly, “Go. They get two wagon.” He slid his hands over her wonderful curves and she whimpered in frustration. “Tom, they get wagon. They get tavern!”

At that, they both had to stop and laugh, breaking the spell. They could steal the entire inn from around us and we would be oblivious, she means. With a supreme effort, Tom pulled back and Diavla let him go. “I go—”

“Go. Now! Go!” Diavla demanded, laughing.

I think I love her, Tom thought as he fumbled the door open. Diavla laughed harder when it took him three tries. He made himself leave, and she closed the door behind him. A couple of moments later, he heard the bar drop heavily into place on the door. She doesn't trust me not to go back in. Or she doesn't trust herself not to come out after me!

Tom had to hide his huge grin and cool his blood before he went downstairs. It took him a good while.

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

He got the innkeeper's attention, and with her help, he slipped out the back with none but the staff any the wiser. He didn't want to advertise that he was worried and standing watch over his wagons—it didn't fit with the rich merchant image he had projected at the people visiting the inn.

Copper Road was not a large town, and there were few people around to observe him. He scrutinized his surroundings, getting familiar with everything and trying to spot anyone acting like a lookout. Then, he climbed inside the salt wagon.

He set up some metal with string to make a noise if someone opened the back of the salt wagon, then did the same to the front. He climbed in the back of the supply wagon, checking that nothing appeared to be missing. With a sigh, he settled himself with a bedroll, out of sight, and prepared to stay alert for suspicious sounds until Kervan and Orvan chose to relieve him.

It was going to be a long night. Tom alleviated the boredom by puttering a bit with their supplies. There were a few items he didn't remember buying, but he didn't pry. The elves were free to spend their money as they saw fit. Although, the wine cask almost certainly belonged to Varga. Troublemaker.

He fished out the wand he had bought in the Rivermarch Temple. It began to glow faintly as soon as he picked it up. That was all it did—it was a wand solely for detecting magic and magical ability. He stared at the faint glow, turning the wand over in his hands a few times.

“Liar,” he told the stick quietly, with some amusement. Nothing magical about me. Just a weird dream now and then. I can't cast lightning or call upon the gods of healing. The idea is absurd—I can't even read! Anyway, everybody dreams about talking to dead people. The stupid stick is broken.

The thought was half-hearted, as he recalled that Winfried Goodman's wand had glowed in Tom's hand as well. It was still ridiculous. Tom didn't know the first thing about magic. The only magic he'd ever seen first hand was healing magic, and a few other things in the past few days, like Eubexa's collar.

And all the other collars, Tom reminded himself. They've got that control magic to stop slaves from taking them off. That stuff is creepy. Tom remembered several days earlier, when the elves had asked him to wear a slave collar briefly as a sign of trust, so that he would know what it felt like. Creepy as a demon, is how it felt. Every one of those elves is very brave for putting those cursed things on again every time we have to go somewhere people might see them...

Demon shit. I forgot to take their collars off for the night.

Tom debated going back inside to fix that, but decided against it. They know I'm happy to take the collars off every night. And they might have to interact with staff, without me there to cover for them. Tom still felt guilty, but reminded himself that if they really wanted the collars off badly enough, they could send someone out to tell him.

Tom peered out each end of the wagon every so often without revealing himself. From the back, there was little to see except the front of the salt wagon. The front gave a good view of the back of the inn.

Tom silently practiced his Elvish, mentally making a list of words he'd forgotten the meanings of. He would ask Eubexa about them in the morning. He did a few small stretches and arm exercises. It will be good to be on the road again and have room to train in the mornings. He knew he had some muscle to regain after his injury, his weakness made worse by spending days in a city with too much to do.

I'll never be weak again, he swore. It had only been four years since he had felt healthy for the first time in his life. Every so often, he took an extra deep breath just to savor the ability to do so.

The wind was picking up, and had a real bite to it, which made Tom grateful that he was sheltered inside the wagon. Maybe the weather will help deter would-be thieves. A moment later he dismissed the notion. Maybe it would stop elven would-be thieves. It's not that cold.

Eventually, there was no one left outside nearby. It was late enough that most people had turned in. Tom suppressed another yawn and kept up his guard. He wasn't sure how many hours he had stood watch before Orvan and Kervan showed up, each of them bundled in two cloaks. He nodded his thanks, and headed inside.

Upstairs, he found the door to his room unbarred. He slipped inside, undressed, and joined Diavla in bed, trying not to wake her. She stirred, then exclaimed something in Elvish when she touched his cold skin, startling awake.

“Tom. You are (something)!” She kept her voice to a loud whisper.

“I am what?”

“Very cold.” Tom realized the word was Elvish for 'freezing' or 'frozen'.

“I am good.”

“No, Tom. You are freezing. I give you (something)...saa...like fire.” She explained without being prompted, realizing that he probably didn't know the word. It was either warmth or heat, Tom figured. Diavla molded her body against his, and soon she was shivering and Tom was feeling warmer.

Now, that's generous. Tom did his best to help Diavla warm up again. It took a while, but the shivering finally stopped. “Thank you, Diavla.”

He gave her a good night kiss, intending to go right to sleep. Diavla had other plans, however. He was up for a little while longer, and his mood was much improved when he finally fell asleep.