Tom added another log to the campfire and returned to the tree stump he was using for a seat. Also gathered around the fire were all the men he had ever killed. The violent drunk in Silverlake. The thief outside the tavern in Valler's Pass. The second bandit who attacked him at the caravan ambush, nothing but a blur sitting on a small boulder. Davis the Knife. The other three bandits he had murdered in their bedrolls. Seven men in all.

The drunk, the thief, and Davis the Knife were the only ones whose voices Tom had ever heard clearly.

“You killed me,” the drunk whined, the way he always did.

“You tried to kill the young lady,” Tom reminded him, as usual.

“But I died.”

“We all died,” the thief snapped. “You don't hear me whining about it. I was trying to kill him for his sword and his coin, and he fought better than me. Fair is fair. I never expected to grow old, anyway. Oh, hey, thanks for the drink, sellsword.” He lifted the mug in his hand in salute, and Tom nodded. The thief took a swig and frowned. “What the demon is this stuff?”

“Northern Ale,” Tom told him, a bit stiffly.

“It's disgusting. Think I'll have some more.” The thief took another swallow, then looked around the fire. “The rest of you are new. Sellsword's been busy.”

Davis scowled. “I was a terror across the country. My name was whispered in fear.”

“Oooh, your name was whispered in fear,” the thief mocked. “Fat lot of good it did you in the end.”

“I knew I'd get killed someday. I knew it was risky to try organizing incompetents, but I got bored and overconfident. Even with fucking Sir Kurt of fucking Briarwood showing up, I still won! And then, I get taken out by a simple soldier too stupid to know he should be dead.” Davis glared at Tom, but there was grudging respect in the look, as well. “Good job sneaking up. Are you a thief?”

“No. Just stubborn…and maybe not too stupid, after all,” Tom replied.

“Most people don't have the patience to sneak properly.”

“You killed my friends. I didn't have anything better to do with my evening.”

Davis snorted a laugh, and the thief joined in. “Well, at least I wasn't killed by an idiot.” He looked at the silent men around the fire and glowered. “It took a whole pack of idiots.”

The others just sat and stared at Tom; he had never heard their voices clearly. They wore their dying expressions: frightened, accusing, bitter. They probably had just been farmers with a bad harvest or bad luck. They were actually the hardest ones to face. Nothing to reason with, nothing to talk with or find peace with, just selfish pain and anger.

Tom knew he would get used to them in time. And he knew that he didn't have a choice in the matter. Whenever his soul decided to come back to this fire, those faces would still be there, petty and pitiful, until their souls finally fell apart or Tom died.

Silence fell, if you didn't count the drunk's blubbering into his ale instead of drinking it like a sensible soul. The thief and Davis seemed content to sit and drink for a bit.

Then Davis sniffed. “Hey, sellsword.”

“Yeah?”

“What happened to my ring?”

Tom gave him a small smile. “I sold it for three gold.”

“Three?” Davis raised an eyebrow. “That's a weird number.”

“Too high or too low?”

“Yes.” Davis looked like he wanted to say more, but waved a hand in surrender and kept quiet. You know the rules, Kurt's voice echoed in Tom's soul. Then Davis looked past Tom and stiffened in surprise. “Sellsword, you killed one of those elves?”

Tom's eyes widened. “What?” He turned and looked behind him.

Diavla was standing in the mist, looking around as if she were lost. Tom stood.

“Looks like your soul is needed elsewhere. Until next time, killer,” the thief called cheerfully as he and the rest of Tom's dead foes faded away.

Tom walked over to Diavla. “Diavla, what are you doing here?”

“You were having a nightmare, so I tried to help you. But something went wrong.”

“Diavla, you aren't dead, are you?” Tom asked in rising alarm.

“No! No, I'm not. I'm in bed with you. Do you want to wake up?”

“I guess I'm about to,” Tom observed as the campfire faded into mist. Then he raised his eyebrows. “Wait, Diavla, how are you speaking perfect Western?”

Diavla stared at him. “I'm not. Somehow you're speaking fluent Elvish.” Her mouth made an O and then she smiled hugely. “Oh, we have got to come back here sometime. This is amazing. Say something else!”

Tom smiled and shook his head in disbelief. “You are the most beautiful woman I've ever met.”

“I don't think that's what beautiful is supposed to mean, but I like it.”

“Huh?”

“You said—Spirits, never mind. Somehow, I know you meant smart and fun and witty and sexy and pretty and…somehow you packed all that into beautiful and I don't think it's supposed to fit in there.” She gave him an impish smile. “I guess you are a magician. Thank you.”

Tom blushed. “Just pointing out the obvious.”

“Tom, I think you're amazing. I am so, so grateful for your kindness and generosity to us all.” Tom shrugged. “No, I mean it,” Diavla persisted. “Very few men would be so kind. I feel like the luckiest elf in the world.”

Tom felt something unclench in his chest that he hadn't known was tight. “And I'm the luckiest man in the world.”

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“Tom Walker, I think I am fall—”

There was a loud bang, and Tom's eyes flew open. Beside him, Diavla jerked her head back, opened her eyes and stared at him. Another bang sounded like it was coming from the room Diavla and Varga shared.

“I think I (something something) kill her (something) time,” Diavla growled in a disbelieving tone. “VARGA!” she yelled. Tom's soul felt as if it were riding a panicked horse.

“SOR—sorry!” Varga started shouting, and changed to a whisper Tom could barely hear. She probably has a hangover, he guessed.

Diavla was looking at him as if asking him to agree with her exasperation. “Can you (something) her?”

“Varga is Varga.” Tom squeezed Diavla against him in a one-armed hug. He hadn't thought it through; the act pressed her firm, bare breasts against his skin, and his breath caught. His body reacted instantly.

Diavla ran her hand over his chest, and she could probably feel how hard his heart was pounding. She shifted to bring their faces closer together, and rested one leg on him. She froze, her leg pressing against him, feeling his hardened reaction to her body.

Tom was torn between fierce desire, worry, and embarrassment. He desperately wished he could see her expression. He wanted to seize her, he wanted to run, he wanted to talk with her…

Diavla kissed him. Tom was on the verge of exploding already and fought with his body for control. He also didn't want to disgust Diavla by slobbering on her. The humiliation of kissing Lily Rose badly was still very fresh in his mind. He flinched away from Diavla's kiss.

Diavla stilled, then pulled away and he let her go. For a moment, she said nothing, and Tom waited nervously. Finally, she muttered, “I am sorry,” got up and hurried out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Tom hit the bed with his fist in frustration, grinding his teeth. He was pretty sure his soul had fallen off the panicking horse and was tumbling through a ditch…or a gutter. It was a long while before he pulled himself together enough to get up and dress, and even longer before he was willing to face the others.

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

Breakfast was a fairly quiet affair as everyone ate their porridge. Tom was embarrassed, Kervan was sullen, Varga was hung over, Orvan was as taciturn as usual, and Diavla was avoiding talking to Tom. She did speak up at the end of the meal, to request they buy a couple of servings of meat sticks for Eubexa as well as porridge, since she needed extra food to help with the magical healing. Tom thanked her and did as she suggested. Then, he led them back to their rooms to discuss plans for the day, since they hadn't done so before breakfast.

Eubexa gratefully started in on the generous helpings Tom had secured for her, once he basically ordered her to do so. It still felt strange to speak in plain Western to the elves. Memories of the shared dream with Diavla threatened to distract him. But Eubexa was happy to translate in between bites.

“All right, everyone. Thank you for agreeing to come along with me to Oak Mill. I want us to get on the road as soon as possible, but we probably can't leave town before tomorrow at the earliest; we still have a lot to do.

“The first thing I want to happen is get all of you fitted with armor and the weapons of your choice. Gold doesn't do us any good if we're dead. Are people all right with spending some of their shares on this?” There was a pause as Eubexa translated his statements, and gathered the responses for him that everyone was comfortable with the expense.

“Great. I want to head right out and do that, because they might not have everything we need. Eubexa, I am assuming that you didn't want armor? Or am I mistaken?”

“I cannot wear armor, Master. Even with the collar muting the pain, it would harm me to wear it.”

Tom nodded. “My apologies. Thank you for explaining. Do you want a dagger or anything?”

“A dagger would be good, please. Also…caltrops are useful for retreat. I can throw those if needed, at least.”

Tom was impressed. “Good thinking. I'll get some for you. Anything else?”

“That's all that occurs to me, Master.”

“Thank you. Are you all right with staying here alone for a few hours?”

“Of course, Master. I'll keep reading the book.”

“Great.”

After a few minutes talking about what they might like so that Eubexa could translate, they headed out. Tom paid an urchin two copper to lead them to Barron Smith's Armory. As expected, the forge was hot and Barron was already at work along with two apprentices. Tom exchanged nods with the man, who needed a couple of minutes to extract himself from his work, telling the elder apprentice what to do while he was busy.

Finally, the man walked over with a smile. His hair was just as yellow and his grip as strong as they had been the night before at the Floating Duck. He showed no resentment over losing the arm-wrestling match, perhaps thanks to Tom's graciousness then, topped by a promise to buy from the smith. “Welcome, Tom. I see you are a man of your word.”

“I am. First question, do you have leather armor as well, or could you send me somewhere for that?”

“You want Dan's, over on Tanner's Row, just outside the city, north side. He'll do you right. How much metal do you want?”

“Just for myself, it turns out; I thought some of them would want mail at least, but…” Tom shrugged. “I'm looking for brigandine, a neck guard, mail shirt, gambeson, and new bracers.”

“No helm?”

Tom shook his head. “Much as I hate a crack on the skull, I need my eyes and ears.”

“The best armor is not being there when the blow lands,” Barron agreed. “The second best is coming to me,” he added with a smile. “Let me show you what I've got.”

Tom was well-pleased that a ready-made set was easily adjusted to fit him. Kitting him out did not take long, and Tom parted with four gold coins in all. It was worth it. Eubexa had impressed on him on behalf of everyone: if he died, all of their fates would suffer.

He led the group on a walk out the West Gate. Tanner's Row was easy to find by the smell. Leather Armor by Dan was one of the nicer establishments. There was a moment of tension as Dan looked over the elves with a frown, his eye twitching. Tom gently pointed out that he was buying four full sets of leathers, which helped the man's business sense overcome whatever grudge he held against elvenkind.

That wasn't the end of the discomfort, as all of the elves poked and prodded at Dan's wares with a highly critical eye. Over half his pieces apparently were not up to the elves' standards. Tom did his best to smooth ruffled feathers, hoping that they could get the gear they needed and satisfy everyone.

“Just think, you'll be able to brag that even the pickiest of elven wood scouts wear Leathers by Dan,” he murmured. “When they say your work is good, it's good.”

“That's true,” Dan conceded, reluctantly. “I'd give a lot to study under an elven master leatherworker.”

Tom considered whether to ask, but his curiosity got the better of him. He lowered his voice. “By the way…did you ever do a commission for Madam Louisa?”

The leatherworker got a smug expression. “I did, indeed.” He eyed Tom a moment. “Were you looking to buy something similar? For the black-haired one, perhaps?”

Dan gestured with his head, and led Tom into the back area of the shop, where Dan pulled out and showed off an exotic outfit all in black leather.

Tom's mouth got a bit dry. It will be too expensive. Besides, there's no way I could ever ask her to wear it. It's ridiculous even to consider.

“How much?” his traitor soul made him ask.

“A gold twenty.”

Tom sighed at that, and nodded in defeat.

The leatherworker added, “And it's fully adjustable, to any proportions, you see.” He gestured at buckles, straps and leather cords.

Tom found his voice with difficulty. “You are a gifted craftsman, and I wish I could part with the coin for it.”

“Feel free to come back when you do have the coin.”

Tom nodded and headed back out to the others. Varga gave him a questioning look, and Tom avoided her gaze. He suspected his face was a bit red.

Fortunately, the elves eventually found pieces they liked, and the haggling began. Tom was in a weak bargaining position because they needed to get traveling, but he did his best to hide that. Still, it was a full nine gold for the four sets—a fair price for the high quality, but a painful expense, nonetheless.

I'm losing track of our finances, Tom realized. We should really have a serious talk about money soon. But at the moment, we're preparing for a dangerous trip. We can't spend gold if we're dead. And we need to decide whether to tell Eubexa about the other four elves, so I can explain about splitting the money nine ways.

Hm, Eubexa doesn't have a share. She didn't help with the caravan. Also, gods above and below know we spent a lot of gold on her. I should give her a gold from my share, so she can have spending money of her own…assuming there's anything left of my share, at this point.

I'd better talk with Kervan. I get the distinct impression that man loves to count gold. He'll know how much we still have to work with.