On Fiveday, Tom woke up gasping from the latest of several nightmares. All through his restless sleep, he had watched people die: his new friends, Kurt, and Mr. Whistler, over and over. Sometimes he saw the faces of the bandits he killed, the terror in their eyes as their lives faded. This last one had been different; he had dreamt that Rillik had put a slave collar on him while he slept and the elves were torturing him until Rillik got impatient and killed him.

Heart pounding, he felt his neck, reassuring himself that he wasn't wearing a collar. We really should destroy those nasty things. He tried to get his breathing under control. Feeling eyes on him, he turned his head and saw Diavla lying beside him, a couple of feet between them, and watching him somberly with those amber eyes of hers.

“Good day, Tom.” Diavla tapped her temple. “You sleep. You see bad things?”

“Nightmare. I had a nightmare.” He glanced around to see that the sun was barely rising, so her saying ‘good day’ didn't mean that he had slept until midday. He cleared his throat. “You sleep?”

She sighed and waggled one hand. “I have three nightmare.” She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “Brrr.”

“Cold. You feel cold.” He learned the Elvish words hot, warm, cool and cold.

“You feel cold, Tom?”

“Eh. Not really. I'm used to it.” Diavla didn't follow the words but caught his tone and nodded.

Still waking up, Tom let his gaze wander the length of her body appreciatively. The blankets were unable to hide her gentle hourglass curves completely. Diavla was thin—a bit too thin for Tom's tastes, actually. He suspected that was lack of food, however. Her face already looked better than it had even a day earlier. He wondered how she would fill out once she had had enough to eat for a while.

Waking up more fully, he realized what he was doing and belatedly jerked his eyes back up to her face, to find that Diavla was looking over his body as well. Her gaze jumped up to meet his and she looked a bit embarrassed. Then she shrugged. “I want you body, Tom.” His eyes widened and then hers did, too. “No, no, no! I say bad! Um…want but no get…um…want see…no! No I say very bad! Um…what is word?”

“Like?”

“What is ‘like’?”

Tom took a deep breath and stared at nothing for a moment. “Um…Food.” He mimed eating and making happy noises. “I like this food.” He pointed at his imaginary meal, then at a different one, and pretended to eat from a different bowl. “Blech. I do not like this food. It is good food, not bad. I no like. Maybe you like. Do you understand?”

Diavla frowned in thought. “Maybe. Um…I like…apple. I no like…pepper. I like sun…” She gestured.

“Sunrise.”

“Yes. I like…how do you say hair?”

The word was obvious from her tugging at her own. “Hair,” he told her.

“Varga hair is red. I like red hair.”

“Red. Kervan's hair is blond.”

“Blond. Blond. Orvan hair is gray.”

“Gray. Gray. Varga's eyes are green. Like leaves on trees.”

“Green. Green. I like trees.”

Different kind of ‘like’, Tom thought, but decided to save the subtlety for later.

“Tom, you eyes are blue.”

They practiced the colors some more in both languages.

“You hair is black, me hair is black, me eye are amber, you eye are blue.” Diavla smiled. “I like you blue eye.”

She looked upwards and pointed at the sky. “No blue now,” she observed.

They went over clouds, rain, and wind. It did look to Tom as if it might rain, but not soon.

Sheema came over. “Hello, Tom.”

“Hello, Sheema. Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Sheema examined him with her eyes closed for a couple of minutes, then reported, “You gut is good. You head is good. I heal you arm now.”

“Thank you, Sheema. I eat today?”

“Yes.”

Tom sighed in relief. “Thank you. I am ravenous.” His stomach growled, making his meaning clear.

Diavla removed his bandages, then Sheema did her healing. As usual, he felt tired and drained after. He lay back for a minute while Sheema staggered away and Diavla bandaged his arm back up. This must have been ten golds' worth of healing she has given me in the past couple of days, Tom thought. I am so lucky. She is worth an absolute fortune if anyone finds out and gets their hands on her. I'd better help make sure that doesn't happen.

Tom went to the stream to wash up as best he could, doing his best to keep his bandaged arm dry. He inspected the skin over his old gut wound. Aside from looking a bit pink, there was no scar or sign he had ever been stabbed there. Amazing. Usually magic healers just did the minimum and moved on, so that they could help more people. They had limited power so it only made sense. Tom felt thoroughly spoiled and was very grateful. I'd have died for sure without this incredible stroke of luck.

Breakfast was simple but tasted absolutely wonderful to Tom, who held himself to one portion, for the moment. This time he was able to help a little, working one-handed, as the elves broke camp and loaded the wagons. He noticed Sheema keeping an eye on him and didn't push himself. I'll have to ease back into my exercises, I suppose. He was in for a tough couple of weeks to get back into fighting shape.

This time, when they headed out, Tom was able to sit on the wagon seat beside Diavla. It turned out that he was better with the reins than she was, and she gladly gave the job over to him. The new arrangement made it much easier for them to converse on the road and continue their language lessons.

During the morning, riders passed them in both directions, carrying news between nobles and cities and such. The elves kept their hoods up and their heads down each time it happened. They didn't encounter wagons headed south, and any headed north were probably days behind and would not be catching up to them. It meant that they had a lot of privacy.

“Diavla, where are you all from?” Diavla asked for clarification, and then with a lot of pauses for vocabulary, she explained.

“We are from Kilder Vald. Kilder Vald is small small town…near?” She gestured and Tom nodded. “Near sea. We get fish, we hunt. Empire fight us, take us, kill us. Kilder Vald get fire. Maybe Empire ship go bad, go bad here? They no want go Kilder Vald, they want go big town, but they go us. We fight. I get big big headache. Sheema heal me but hide? Hide heal?” Diavla lifted the hair away from her forehead, and Tom could see a fresh scar on her temple.

He whistled softly. That was a lot more than a headache. She probably almost died from that. Good thing Sheema can heal from the inside and leave the skin looking like the wound is still bad.

“I am…” Tom struggled for Elvish words. “I think very good you get heal.” He put his hand on her knee for a moment.

Then they went over words for feelings a bit. Tom enjoyed getting reactions from Diavla as he made exaggerated faces and overacted. She had a strange habit of smiling for a while, then wincing and rubbing her cheek.

They spent a lot of time reminding each other of words they had learned and forgotten. Their pidgin kept improving. Tom marveled at how much you could convey with only a few words, so long as you were willing to sound like a child or an idiot in order to get your point across. Do, see, give, get, ask, go, fight, eat, drink, sleep combined with gestures were enough to describe a lot of actions.

At Diavla's urging, Tom started telling her about himself in Western, stopping to translate or pantomime as needed.

“I was born in Flax Hill, a very small town. My father and mother have seven children—probably more now. I am the oldest.”

“Tom, stay. I maybe no get words. You say seven? Boys, girls? Seven? One father, one mother?”

“Yes. Maybe eight, nine, ten now.”

Diavla's eyes were wide and she seemed to be taking a moment to absorb that. Tom frowned, puzzled. “Diavla, elves no big family? No big number boys and girls?” The elf shook her head vigorously, and Tom was distracted by the way her black hair swayed with the motion.

Diavla took a few minutes to explain. If he understood her right, elves liked children very much, but baby elves were born much less often. I guess if you live a long time, you can afford to space them out, but this seems like something else. Apparently, large families were very rare among the elves. There was more to it, but Tom was having trouble following, so after a bit they dropped the subject and he returned to his story.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“My father is a farmer. I was sick. I…” Tom struggled to get it across. “I no breathe good. I no strong. Four years ago, bad harvest. No food. I am no good. I no do good. So, I go. One day food, ten copper, and one dagger. I go. I walk and walk and walk. So I am Tom Walker.”

Diavla made a little noise of understanding and her eyes flickered as she clearly thought about a few things quickly, making sense of something that had confused her before.

“It was…bad. Then it was small bad. Then it was good. I go far, I breathe good. I get strong. I work. I do things. I cut trees. I guard. I help farm. I carry. I make house. I make swords, small day. I walk and walk.” Tom did lots of pantomime of working as he talked. Diavla gave him a sympathetic look and murmured something. He paused. “What?”

Diavla made as if to answer, then paused. Obviously, she had a word in mind that she lacked in Western. “Now, Tom and I and Varga and elves. Tom was, no and.” She frowned and tried again. “Um…Tom was one.”

“Oh. Alone. Yes, I was alone a lot of the time, but I also met a lot of people, uh, humans.”

“You talk humans. Then you go. They no go. You go alone.” Diavla took a breath. “You feel alone and sad?”

Tom paused for a few moments, unsure what to say. Then he shrugged. “I guess…I was lonely, sometimes. Um…I was lonely, I was not lonely, I was lonely.”

Diavla nodded. “I am sad you are lonely. I am happy you are no lonely now.”

Tom sighed. “Sometimes, I go, they no go. Sometimes…they die, I no die.” He thought again about Julio and Vlad and Kurt and the rest, his mood turning gloomy. He hadn't known Julio long, but the man probably had had a lot of stories of women he had bedded or tried to.

Diavla rested a hand on his arm and spoke with firm cheerfulness. “Tom, what you like?”

He snorted. “Women,” he blurted out absently, still half thinking about Julio. She gave him a blank look. He felt a bit embarrassed and cleared his throat, then explained. “You and Varga and Sheema. Woman. Women.” He held up one and then three fingers.

Diavla's eyebrows went up. “You and women…sleep? Um, bed, happy?”

Tom opened his mouth and nothing came out for a moment. Tom, you idiot. He sighed and admitted, “Sex. No. I no have sex.” Not as if it matters, and they won't be telling anyone anyway.

“Yesterday yesterday, you and woman have sex, one? Two? Big?”

“No.”

The elf tilted her head at him. “You no want have sex?”

“No, no, no. I want women very much. I no have women.” Diavla said some sort of question in Elvish, sounding surprised. Tom shook his head. “What?”

“Tom, you are big. You are strong. You eyes are blue. You are good. You are smart. Human woman no like?”

For a long moment, they looked at each other. She thinks all that about me? Diavla blinked a couple of times and her face got a bit pink.

Tom returned his eyes to the road. “Thank you,” he muttered. He cleared his throat. “Women want. I say no.”

She tilted her head. “Yesterday yesterday you like woman, woman is bad? You have…lonely? Headache?”

“Heartache.” He tapped his chest. Gods, she picks up on the smallest hints.“ Yes. I am sad. I am mad. Women are bad.” Immediately, he corrected himself. “I know no, but I…feel yes. I am sorry.”

Diavla sighed. “Tom,” she said in a serious tone. She held out one hand, palm up. “Women are bad.” She held out the other hand. “Women are good.” She moved one hand. “Women are…eh.” She made an unimpressed noise.

“No very good, no very bad?”

“Yes.”

“Some women. Um…some, all, none.” Tom gestured until she nodded and gave him the equivalents in Elvish.

“Some women are good, Tom. Some women are bad. Some women are no very good, no very bad. And…some…you are good, she is good, you are no happy, she is no happy. Some…you are happy, she is no happy. She go. You are sad. Some.”

“Sometimes. Like some days.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes. Sometimes, you are good, woman is good, you and woman is no good.”

Tom nodded jerkily. “I know, I know. I just…”

“You are scary. No. You are scared.” She switched to Elvish for the last. Tom bristled, and Diavla backed off. He could see the calculation in her eyes as she lied, “I say bad. I am sorry. Nevahmine.”

Tom huffed for a few moments, then gave up. “All right, yes, I am scared.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “You're a bad liar.” She tilted her head at him. “You…say thing. Thing no. You no do good.”

“I no do big. I do big, I am good liar.”

Tom snorted in amusement. You weren't trying very hard, you mean. He made himself frown. “I am mad at you.”

“You're a bad liar, Tom.”

Tom burst out laughing. Even Diavla stifled a laugh, the first laugh he had heard from her. Tom felt inordinately pleased with that. He smirked at her. “I no do big… ‘I didn't try very hard.’ If I need to, I am a good liar, too.”

“What is ‘need to’?”

“Um…want, and no is bad. I want food. I no eat day, day, day, I need food.”

“Ah. In Elvish, want and need. Thank you.”

The conversation lapsed for a minute. Diavla pulled her cloak tighter against the cold breeze. Clouds were moving, but not too quickly; Tom resolved to keep a closer eye on the weather.

He was starting to think he had escaped, but then she circled back to her questioning.

“Tom. You no…have sex, go? Um, town, see women one night. Then you go town, town?”

Tom shook his head. “I no trust women.”

“What is ‘trust’?”

Tom heaved a great sigh. “That is a big question.” He took a few moments to think of an explanation. “You say, and I know you no lie. I trust you. You say you do a thing, I know you will do the thing.”

“Saa. Yesterday yesterday, you trust woman, woman say bad, do bad.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Yes.” There was a pause as Diavla formed her next question.

“You…give gold, get woman one night?”

Tom shook his head again. “I no like. Um…if woman no like me, I no like sex. And, I no want sick.” He had made a friend a couple of years back, and it turned out later that the poor man was suffering from a sickness in his crotch and couldn't afford a healer. His misery and his warnings had made an impression on Tom. He never wanted to end up like that.

“Hm.” Diavla fell silent for a minute. Tom thought that conversation was over, until she said, “You want sex. You no very want sex.”

“I very much want sex! I just…it's not worth it.” He sighed. “Um…sex is small good, big bad. No. Sex is big good, sex is very big bad.”

“I understand.” Diavla sighed. “You think no good now,” she told him in a critical tone.

Tom chewed that a moment. “I no understand.”

“You say… but is no. You no lie, but you say is no.”

“Wrong. You say, I am wrong,” Tom supplied.

“You are wrong. You are wrong.”

Tom thought with wry amusement. I'm gonna regret teaching her that one, aren't I?

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

It wasn't easy to have a conversation with anyone on the other wagons while they were moving. The day felt both long and short. The language lessons felt endless and both Tom and Diavla had soul fatigue by the time they stopped for the night.

Emotionally and in terms of planning, they were hanging in a sort of limbo. They desperately needed basic information about elves, slavery, and the law in the kingdom. They also needed to figure out how much gold they were going to get for the cargo. And of course, Diavla didn't fully trust Tom yet, which he totally understood.

I wouldn't trust me either; we've only known each other for a few days. Sure, I took off their collars, but that was basic human decency. I have only the vaguest idea what slaves cost, but I know that they think I am tempted by whatever pile of gold I could get by betraying and selling them off. I could be set for life, probably. I totally understand them not believing that I'm going to pass that up. It's offensive, but fair.

But, man…I have to be able to face myself every day. No amount of gold is worth that level of guilt and shame. Not everybody is like me, I know, but…that's just how I am.

That evening around the fire, Tom brought up the cargo. It took a while to explain that he wanted to give some of it to its rightful owners. The Parsons didn't have children, just hired hands, and as far as Tom knew there was no one to give the grain back to. Likewise, the Smiths had been just starting out and didn't have a family yet. It was possible that they had relatives back in…what was it, Southby? Tom couldn't remember. He hoped the pieces of paper in the wagons had writing that would explain a lot.

The booze Tom had no problem with selling and keeping the proceeds. A big business would not be ended by losing one wagonload. The drivers had been hard men and unfriendly; that probably influenced Tom's decision.

The fabric wagon, though…Tom felt strongly about that one. Mr. Whistler had been a good man, from all Tom could tell, and he had a wife at their destination. Tom felt guilty for not managing to save the merchant, and wanted to deliver the wagon to the widow without charging her anything.

He would definitely sell the grain and the booze, and definitely intended to give Mrs. Whistler her late husband's wagon at no charge. How to handle the ironwork would depend on what the papers said.

That just left the black cases. Those made Tom nervous. He had no idea what was in them. Curiosity made him want to peek, but caution won out. He would take the papers Mr. Sashen had carried and get someone in the city to read them to him. They might be worth a fortune, they might be junk, or they might be something very dangerous or illegal. Tom didn't even know what city Mr. Sashen had intended for a destination. He asked the elves what they thought.

The elves had a long discussion about it, and didn't come to any real conclusions. Some of them wanted to break one of the cases open to see what was inside. Others argued against it. In the end they decided not to poke the bear, at least for the moment.

Then they explained their intentions to Tom. In the morning, Brallik, Rillik, Sheema, Varga and Arven were going to leave them and head off to live in the deepest part of Great Oak Forest. That left Tom, Diavla, Kervan and Orvan to drive the wagons, leaving them short. They would have to leave two wagons behind. Obviously, the empty slave wagon would be one of them, and for the other, Tom decided to leave the black cases. He wanted to hide that wagon though, in case it was dangerous.

Tom suggested that those leaving take all the supplies they could carry, including most of the food. After all, his group would be in or near a city in less than a week. Tom asked them what they would need, in case he was able to come back and managed to find them again. It seemed unlikely, but Arven immediately asked for a bow. The other elves came up with a list including soap, rope, and various other sundries to help them survive in the wilds.

Since they would have to leave all the ale with the group going to Rivermarch, Varga took it upon herself to enjoy the alcohol as thoroughly as possible that night. It was unclear when she would get another chance, after all.

Tom sat back and watched, for the most part. Sheema put in another round of healing, working on his arm, and pronounced him healthy. With Diavla translating, she told him to resume normal exercise but to listen for any pain.

She even apologized that she could do nothing more with the head injury and Tom would simply have to live with his current level of intelligence. Tom grinned, pleased that she could joke with him. Although, after tonight, she doesn't expect ever to see me again, so she probably feels safer around me.

Tom volunteered to take first watch, and Arven offered to take the second. So Tom simply sat up on the seat of the fabric wagon and guarded the elves while they had their last night together. He watched as Sheema went to Diavla, Kervan and Orvan, checking them for any illness or injury.

Good gods, she is a busty beauty, he mused. Tom was appreciating the view while it lasted, but tried to restrict himself to short peeks when she wasn't looking.

Arven and Diavla had a long conversation, at the end of which they hugged and Diavla kissed Arven on the cheek. Arven looked awkward as she walked away. I guess those two have history.

There was a lot of Elvish singing, and they tried to teach Tom the words to a couple, but the main result was Varga falling over laughing hysterically at his mistakes. Tom thought that was a fine outcome. Varga's laughter and good cheer were infectious.

Tom even got over his reluctance and sang “Beyond the Mountains,” which he had learned in a tavern a while back. The elves listened politely, and by the second verse some of them were joining in—not with the words they obviously didn't know, but with vocal accompaniment. Brallik turned out to have a surprisingly deep voice and mostly sang the same two bass notes over and over, slowly like a drumbeat. Varga and Diavla actually harmonized with each other and him with their little trills. All of it meshed together, and Tom sang his best for them.

We're better when we cooperate. I'll miss the others when they are gone, and worry about them. But for right now, it is enough to enjoy what we can make when we work together.