Chapter 06 - The Elf

He wiped the bacon grease off his fingers before helping to get the last items stowed. There were harnesses to buckle, boxes and barrels to strap down, and bags to secure onto saddles. His own gear was loaded with the rest.

As they were ready to move, two figures approached on horseback. One was a well-dressed lady. Her hair was done up under a white hat. Her dress was mostly pale blue with white stripes bordered with embroidered vines dotted with yellow flowers. The other was an elven woman in a simple white house dress. Both sat sideways on their saddle. There were no large bags on the lady's horse. The luggage was all piled high on the other horse, barely leaving the elven slave room to sit upon it.

"This is Lady Emarelle," Old Fredrickson said, introducing her. "She's a paying passenger, and as such you'll treat her accordingly." He introduced them to her as well.

"You don't have a horse?" Emarelle asked Matner, pointing out that he was the only one walking.

"The lad knows how ta march," Fredrickson replied. "He'll not slow us down." The dwarf turned and hobbled his way to his wagon. He climbed on up and they set off.

Without Frank, Trevon seemed to be the ranking guard, and he suggested that Emarelle ride between the first and second wagons, and the slave was told to ride further back, between the last two. Each took their spot and matched pace with the caravan as it worked its way down the southern road, away from the city.

The road itself seemed to wind back and forth between the farmland and the east bank of the river. It was well-traveled, and they saw many people going both directions over the well-packed dirt. The recent rain had reduced the amount of dust kicked up by the horses, but there were a few areas they had to make their way around carefully to avoid rolling a wagon through patches of mud.

He realized, as he marched alongside the wagon he'd been assigned to, that he hadn't said goodbye to Larissa. He felt a pang of guilt, but had a feeling that the young woman was used to such comings and goings by people in caravans. He did find himself wondering, however, if she'd come by to see him again. He spent some time trying to think of a clever way to ask one of the workers if she had, but couldn't come up with anything that wouldn't result in potential teasing from the others. He eventually gave up, and let his mind wander on to other things, mostly based on the scenery between the river and farmland.

Occasionally there were signs letting people know that farms had produce or goods available for purchase. Other signs directed people to small houses here and there along the river, where a few people made their living ferrying people across further out from the city. They stopped at one of the farms around lunchtime and Old Fredrickson did some trade with the farmer and his family while everyone ate. It wasn't until well into the evening, as Matner was beginning to wonder why they hadn't stopped yet, that they saw Frank ride up from the road ahead of them. He wasted no time in riding directly up to the Dwarf and they talked in hushed tones before Frank rode back the way he had come. Matner wasn't the only one who seemed to be wondering what was going on.

As they crested the next hill, Matner saw a small campfire off to one side of the road, and Frank waiting near it. Old Fredrickson began directing the drivers and they pulled the wagons off the road for the night. Matner was directed to help unhitch the horses from the wagons and then to get the tents set up. Once that was taken care of, he had a moment to look around. He noticed that there were two extra figures in the camp. Both wore hooded cloaks, so he could not see much about them except that one was smaller, and probably a child. They stood talking with Lady Emarelle, Old Fredrickson, Frank, and the elven slave girl. He watched as the elf knelt down and hugged the child to her. The other figure turned towards the campfire, and the light was just enough to see into the depths of the cloak's hood for a moment. He stopped short when he realized it was Larissa.

Her hood fell, and she looked badly bruised. Half of her face was dark with bruises. She turned and looked up at him, and the firelight lit her face more directly. With less shadows her face did not look as bad. It was still bruised, but he realized that the worst of what he had at first seen had just been shadows. Even having realized that, he blurted out "What happened?" before catching himself.

Evara came over quickly and took Larissa gently by the jaw, looking it over critically.

"Could have been much worse, it could have," she pronounced. "Looks like Frank's put something on it. Last night?"

"Yes," Frank said. "The usual stuff."

"It almost was much worse," Larissa said softly. "But as usual Frank's timing was...Well, I couldn't ask for a whole lot more."

Matner wondered for a moment if he should have been in town. If maybe he could have helped her if he hadn't been away when she had needed help. He would help some, and fail some others, the man had said. Maybe it was already starting to come true, he thought.

"I've got some ointment you should put on it," Evara said, gesturing for Larissa to follow her.

"It looks worse than it feels, really," Larissa protested, putting up a hand.

"Nonsense, young lady. The stuff Frank put on you will help with the pain and some of the swelling, yes. But what I want to put on you will make it heal faster as well as do more for the pain. We'll not be able to pass you off as one of us looking like that for long. Talk will travel back to the city."

"She's right, Larissa," Lady Emarelle agreed. "I've got some powder and colors in my bags. We'll see if we can't disguise them as well. But get some of that ointment first."

Larissa nodded, seeming to give in with a meekness that surprised Matner. She moved to follow Evara, and he thought she looked as if she was about to cry. He stood there, unsure of what to do. A part of him wanted to see if he could help her feel better in some way, the other part of him wanted to know what had happened. He looked back over at Lady Emarelle and the others, and found that Frank and Old Fredrickson were both looking at him, speaking in hushed voices. Frank nodded and headed over to Matner.

"Matner, a moment of your time please," he gestured off to one side of the camp, away from the others. Matner nodded and followed him.

Frank led him off to one side a little, away from the others and over by one of the wagons. He leaned casually against one of the big wagon wheels.

"You remember that story I mentioned back in camp about if there was a half-elf kid?"

"Yes," Matner said, already piecing it together but not understanding. "But it's supposed to be impossible."

"Well, t wasn't just a story. Very unlikely; not impossible. Now, there's a town that Old Fredrickson knows that we go to a couple times a year. We plan our route so we go through it twice. Before we get there, we take on a 'passenger.' Each of these passengers takes an elf with as their 'slave.' Those elves get left at that town where they disappear from human lands and start their own lives."

"So," Matner asked, "you buy slaves and transport them just to set them free?"

"They're often not bought. Every now and then the owner is wanting to let them go, but most of the ones we help out are ones being treated badly. We help them escape."

"Some would call that stealing," Matner pointed out.

"Yes, some would. But that only counts if you consider the ownership of another person legal. Is stealing something back from a thief really stealing? As just an example."

"Well, I'm sure the owners think of it as stealing."

"But trust me, the slaves never see it that way. We talk to them first, and make sure they want to go, but we rarely have one want to stay where they're at. They should have all been let free by now, Matner. They've repaid their debts. Some of them weren't even born yet at the end of the war, and they're still being sold around. And think about it, Matner. Do the slave owners really want it to ever change?"

Matner thought about that for a moment before replying. His father had always been proud of the fact that the family had two elven slaves. Only the wealthier families had them, and Raelwyn and Dynedren had been with the Tibrum household since well before Matner had been born. While he'd never seen anyone treat them badly in any way, he'd heard tales from other classmates about how some other slaves were treated. He'd never approved of that, but he had to admit that he'd never really thought of them as people before. He'd been raised to see them as being a step below the hired help. For the first time in his life, he looked over at the two elves in the camp and tried to imagine himself in their lives. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

"No, I don't suppose they do," he admitted. He knew his father thought owning two slaves was a badge of honor, a symbol of his placement in society. If others thought similarly, it was unlikely they were going to want to give up that show of wealth freely.

"The King's father, Gregor I, he made a deal with the elves, during the war. That much is public knowledge. Everyone knows how he swept in at the last minute and sent troops to turn back the giants. What most people don't know, however, is that the arrangement where the Elves gave us their lands and came to live under our rule was not meant to be as slaves. More as indentured servants, earning back their lands and freedom after a period of time. That period of time ended years ago, or at least that's what I've been told by folk like Old Fredrickson who were around during the war. They still remember what the rest of the world seems to have forgot. The Elves are a people too. And it's high time they be allowed to rebuild their lives as free men and women."

Matner was surprised at how emphatic Frank became as he spoke. He wondered what had made this a cause that Frank believed in so emphatically. Frank paused for a moment, as if realizing he'd gotten more emotional about it than he'd intended.

"Now you know what it is we've been keeping from you. The others know, and they've made their choice. It's time you make yours. If you agree with what we're doing, then we don't have a problem here. If you don't, then no one is going to stop you from going on your way, but we'd like to know. You're not so far from the city that you can't go back there and tell 'em what we're up to. But, in doing so, you might want to think about how many death warrants would be signed because of it. Stealing isn't an offense worthy of death, but helping slaves escape is. Somewhere along the lines the lawbooks were slowly changed to help keep the elves right where they are. So if you run back there and tell the Magistrate what we're doing, they'll send troops out after us. They'll likely kill every one of us in the end, if they can. It's your choice."

"No," Matner said. "I'm with you."

"Good. That does make things easier." With that said, Frank went back to the group and went right to helping with the last bits of camp setup. Matner followed suit.

There was sword practice that night after a quick dinner. Matner's shoulder felt up to it fully. While on one hand he wanted to spend the evening talking with Larissa, he felt the need to train and practice more so than he had before. He felt as though he had someone more specific to protect. He tried not to let them distract him, focusing instead on the practice. He did fairly well, and was spurred on by the cheers when he did well. All of them got cheered for a good move, and he complimented others as well.

He saw little of Larissa the next day, as she rode in a different part of the caravan than his walking post. It was that next night that she came down and sat next to him with dinner.

"I do find it interesting how you happened to run into me like you did," she said. "Of the different caravans, which one did I happen to bring someone home to dinner from? You know, I didn't even know the Old Dwarf was back in town yet when we met."

"We had only just arrived that afternoon," he mentioned.

"Yes, I know," she sighed. "My timing hasn't been so wonderful lately I guess."

She touched her arm, where Matner had seen more bruises. The ones on her face were either gone or invisible under the makeup Emarelle had applied, but he wasn't sure if the rest of them had healed yet. He'd seen Evara's face after she'd applied the ointment that night, and suspected that it was worse than Larissa had been letting on.

"I don't know what happened to you, exactly," he told her, "but I'm sorry I wasn't there to help." He felt silly saying it, but really didn't know what else to tell her. He did wish he'd been there to try and stop whomever had hurt her.

"I was found out, and by the wrong sort of people too," she said. "Thieves' guild. They threatened to turn me in if I didn't do what they wanted. I managed to dodge them for a while, but they set up an ambush for my outside of Tira's."

"Is Tira okay?" he asked, suddenly worried.

"Oh, they wouldn't dare touch her," she said, nodding. "Her father was Captain of the city guard for most of her life. Half the men patrolling the streets helped raise her after her mother died. She could tell any of them that she was being harassed and they'd take care of it. That was part of why it was so easy for her to let me stay there. As far as the guard is concerned, she's above reproach."

"Couldn't she have helped you then?" he wondered aloud.

"I didn't ask. I wouldn't put her in that kind of position after she did so much for me already."

"I see," Matner nodded. "So this ambush, what happened? How did you get away?"

"I have Frank to thank for that. Fortunately, his timing is better than mine. They had cornered me and were trying to 'convince' me that it was in my best interest to do what they wanted in exchange for their silence. Basically, they wanted Sharnellynn and Ahriender to steal things when they left the house they were escaping. They even had a list of the type of items to steal. But this was done under the guise of purchasing the elves, so there was no way that such a ploy wouldn't have ruined our cover. Since they didn't know which elves we were helping, they couldn't make their plan work without my cooperation. When I kept saying no, they decided to try and beat their names out of me."

"I managed to get away for a short time, but I needed to keep to the alleys myself to avoid questions. Fortunately, Frank had been coming to look for me, to make arrangements for the transport. I literally ran right into him as I turned a corner."

"So what happened?" he asked.

"Oh, you know Frank. He's got a way with words..."

Just then Frank came over and sat next to them. He had a mug of something, and he took a sip of it before toeing one of the logs on the fire.

"You need to remember," Frank explained, "whenever anyone even might be watching, to keep treating the elves as if they are slaves of a passenger. How did your father treat his elves?"

"Mostly pretty well, I think," Matner answered. "They have rooms with the rest of the staff, although maybe not furnished as well. They're never beaten or anything, but I think mostly they just never gave us a need to. What I saw of them they're decent, loyal, and good workers."

"I think you'll see the same in Sharnellynn, and even young Ahriender."

"You should try to get the know them a little, Matner," Larissa said.

"I try to get to know most of our elven passengers," Frank said. "More so than most of the human passengers. We sometimes transport regular paid passengers, but we're helping the elves we get involved with. And, honestly, there's some risk involved. I like to get to know the people I'm taking risks for. So far it's usually been worth it."

He looked over to where the two elves were helping clean up the dinner dishes. Sharnellynn washed each dish and then handed it over to Ahriender, who carefully dried it and placed it in a stack on a crate beside him. He noticed that both of them seemed to be very precise in how they did their tasks. They worked silently, neither looking up from what they were doing, as if the world around them almost didn't exist.

The boy hadn't removed the hooded cloak in the time that Matner had seen him. While his mother had taken hers off during the day when the sun was beating down on them, he had both kept his on and the hood raised over his head. When they had traveled the road, he had been inside one of the wagons, hidden from view. From what little Matner had been able to glimpse of him, his face seemed to look mostly elven, although did not resemble his mother much in appearance. Since Matner didn't know how old he was, he wasn't able to judge if Ahriender was tall for his age or not. He also wasn't sure how tall Elven boys would be as they grew. It occurred to him that he really didn't know much about elves at all. They had been part of the scenery in his household, not something for discussion.

"I'm not sure I know what to say to them," he admitted.

"Well, what would you say to any other person you'd just met?" Larissa asked, with a smile. "You didn't have any trouble talking to me."

"True, but you helped the conversation along considerably," he replied. "You asked me questions."

"You'll find that Ahriender has plenty of questions," Frank interjected with a chuckle. "He's read a lot, but hasn't been out in the world itself at all until now."

"How old is he?" Matner asked.

"Well, that's different for Elves," Larissa said. "In maturity, he's equivallent to a human age of about nine years old. Elves mature slower than we do though, so he's actually been alive for thirteen of our years."

"Oh, I see," he said. He thought about little Endrew back home. He tried to imagine what Endrew would be like traveling like this. Except Frank said this boy had not been out before. So he supposed for Ahriender everything was new. He wondered how much of it might be scary for the boy.

He watched the two as they finished the dishes and the rest of cleanup. They worked together without saying anything. He did not think he had ever seen Endrew go that long without talking.

"So who is the father? And I guess she had to keep the child a secret, right? I mean, people really would have talked about that, right?"

"Yes," Frank said, "they would have. She had made a friend with a shopkeeper. That shopkeeper is one of our contacts there--although not back then. We've only been involved like this for a few years now. But he was supportive and helped her keep the secret."

"She managed to keep the entire pregnancy from her 'owner,'" Larissa said. "He still doesn't know. But it has meant them being apart a lot. It's no way to live, and she just wasn't willing to do it any more."

"Eventually that shopkeeper told Old Fredrickson about her, and now here we are," Frank finished.

"So where is safe for them to go?"

"Eihrwayh is one of the cities that mark the edge of what used to be the Elven lands," Frank told him. "Those cities generally have people who are contacts for the Elven rebels. If we don't find one of Old Fredrickson's contacts there, we'd move north next, to the next one. Once we can contact one of them we will arrange a meeting outside the city limits, somewhere remote. A small party of rebels will meet with us and Sharnellynn and her son will go with them."

"Assuming they accept Ahriender," Larissa said. "There could be a problem there. Sharnellynn has admitted to me that she's not sure how the free Elves will react to a half-human child. It's rare enough that she'd never thought it was possible until she was pregnant. She's made inquiries with the older Elves enslaved in Tikor. Some told her stories about 'half-breed' babies that were killed at birth, or shunned once they became adults. Ahriender seems elven in most ways, but his ears and hair look more human. There's no telling how they will treat him."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Frank assured her. "For now, we concentrate on getting them safely away from here. Even if the rebels shun him, we can go farther west and find some farmer who will take them in. There's always someone. The further west we get, the more often we see communities where Elves and Humans live and work side by side instead of anyone trying to own anyone else. I suspect that Ahriender is not the only one of his kind at this point. You know the Old Dwarf will go the extra length if needed."

"I know," she nodded. "It's just that I promised her we'd find a place for them to live safely. She wants him to be able to run and play, not hide in corners anymore. I plan to stay with them until that promise is fullfilled."

"Then you'd better earn yer keep, girl!" Old Fredrickson announced in a loud voice, startling them all. He followed that with a rough laugh and grinned around the stem of the pipe he was smoking.

The next thing he knew Tam had started singing an old song. His voice sounded older than normal when he sang. It was not a song Matner knew, but obviously others did. It was not long before about half the group was singing along.

Sameth started another song after that one. It was one that Matner did know--a hunter's song. He found himself singing along with that one without even meaning to. He tapped a foot as Ennick tapped a pair of wooden spoons together quietly to the tune. A couple others whistled along, and about half the group had joined in towards the end.

Most of them laughed when it was over.

"Careful," Frank said, "if someone hands Old Fredrickson too much ale he'll be dancing. Now there's something you'd ne'er forget..."

As the sounds of happy conversation floated around the camp a new sound started. It was a soft and airy sound. Sharnellynn had a wooden flute and with it was producing the slow, sad, haunting tune. It carried over the other sounds of the camp, easily heard without drowning out any other sound. The camp grew quiet around it. It was absolutely the mopst beautiful thing he had ever heard.

He looked over at her and her son, sitting off away from everyone, on a blanket at the edge of camp. Ahriender was lying on the ground with his head in Sharnellynn's lap. It seemed odd to him, since it was never something he could remember he or his brothers doing with his mother. When the song finished, she set the flute to one side and looked down at her son, brushing his cheek gently with one hand and smiling at him.

"Best be gettin' ta bed," Old Fredrickson declared, breaking the silence. "We got ourselves an' early mornin' ahead."

The Dwarf hefted himself up off the log he'd been sitting on, leaning on his cane for leverage with a practiced motion. People shuffled around him, getting up and heading off to their tents. Matner went to stand up and then remembered that he and Sameth had the first shift that night. Instead, he grabbed another log off the stack and hefted it into the center of the fire. Tiny sparks flew up into the air around it as the wood cracked and protested under the weight of the fresh log. Then he brushed his hands off on his pants and started walking around the outskirts of camp, checking to see that all was in order.

As he was coming around to finishing the circle where he'd began it, he heard a rustle in the tall corn that stood in rows at one side of the camp. He couldn't be sure it was anything, with the breeze blowing the tall tops of the cornstalks back and forth, but he decided to investigate, to be sure. It sounded small enough that he didn't think he needed to alert Sameth. It's probably just a rabbit or something similar, he told himself. Nonetheless, he kept one hand loosely on the hilt of his sword as he stepped into the row of corn.

He stopped still for a moment. He did not want to risk drowning out some quiet movement with rustling noises of his own. He heard the corn swaying in the night breeze, and he heard crickets. Other than that there was nothing.

Then suddenly there was a noise. It stopped as abruptly as it started. It was a noise and then it was gone. But something had definitely disturbed the corn. He stood frozen, waiting in the dim night light.

The noise happened again, and a shape darted out from between stalks. It stopped, and glowing eyes looked up at him.

He looked down at it and chuckled, finding himself staring down a gopher. It twitched its nose at him and turned away before strutting off back through the corn.

He turned back towards the camp and pushed his way back between the stalks of corn. Sameth stood waiting with his sword drawn.

"Oh, just you," he said. "What are you doing?"

"I heard something," Matner explained. "Just a gopher."

"Ah. I heard something too. But never mind. I guess I know now. Just you." Sameth turned and walked back to camp, slamming his sword away in it's sheath.

"Well you're in a mood," Matner commented as he followed Sameth back to the fire. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothin'," Sameth replied, kicking at one of the logs to shove it further into the flames.

"Well, something must be getting at you. You seem to be itching for a fight."

"Assumin' I'm good enough fer that, anyway," Sameth said glumly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's that damn old man," Sameth blurted out unhappily. "He said I'm not gonna git ta marry Ella!"

"Oh," Matner said. "Did he tell you why?"

"No! He wouldn't tell me nothin' that were useful. Just answered my question's all. I said 'will I git ta marry Ella one day?' an' he just said 'no' plain as day. No reason why, nothin'. When I tried ta ask 'im why, he just tells me that I only git one question! Argh!" Sameth picked up a small bit of rock off the ground near his feet and flung it off at the corn before sitting down on a log next to the fire.

"Maybe you'll meet someone else," Matner offered, hoping to cheer him up. "Someone you'll want to marry even more."

"But I promised Ella," he insisted. "I told her I'd be back fer her once I made myself inta somethin' she'd be proud ta marry. Maybe I just won't be good enough fer her when I get back. Maybe she just won't want me. Or her father'll say she can't be mine. I promised her, Matner. An' I know she loves me, so's she's not gonna go off marryin' someone else. An I'm not gonna go breakin' my promises."

"Well, the stuff he told me was pretty vague. More like basic advice than any kind of real prophesy," Matner said, trying to make it sound even more like what he thought Sameth wanted to hear. "Maybe he was just making it up. Or," he thought suddenly, "maybe he knows you will, but that you'll have to do something great to impress her. Maybe he's just trying to trick you into proving him wrong."

"That's gotta be it," Sameh said. "And just you see, Matner. I'll prove to everyone that I can be worthy. I'll come home a hero and she'll see!"

Matner wished he believed it, but he supposed that for now if it cheered Sameth up then it would do for now. And he did suppose it was possible, even if he thought it actually pretty unlikely.

The rest of the watch went quietly. They did not talk more. Sameth worked through sword moves quietly by himself. Matner partly watched him and partly watched the night.

Mostly he listened. The world felt alive around him, in a reassuring way completely different from how a city sounded at night. He heard night birds he could not identify, along with the lonely and unanswered hoot of an owl. There were crickets and some other chirping and clicking night bugs, and of course the sounds of the fire. Eventually it was time for the next shift, and Matner fell asleep, confident that it did not sound like there was anything hostile creeping about in the night.

He wasn't sure what woke him from sleep that night, but when he did he sat straight upright in the tent, his heart pounding in his chest. He wished it would beat a little quieter, since it felt like it was too loud to hear anything beyond his heart and his own breathing.

It's too quiet, he realized as he tried to listen. There was no cricket song. No owls or other local wildlife. There was just the rustling of the wind in the nearby cornfield.

His hand felt for the scabbard of his sword as he held his breath to help him hear. He thought he still heard the fire going at the center of the camp, a slight crackling in the remains of the hot, burnt logs and ash. There was also the soft sound of one of the horses, snorting in it's sleep.

Footsteps!

He could hear boots. They sounded hurried. There was another sound, softer, heavier. And then one that sounded as if someone was trying to say something, but couldn't. He gave Sameth a shove to wake him, as he pulled his sword free and pushed his way out of the tent.

It was still dark outside. The moon was just a dull glow off to one side in the sky, mostly hidden behind clouds and not good for lighting. The fire had been allowed to die down some, mostly being maintained for use with breakfast, so everything cast long shadows in the flickering glow of it. There were eight people standing in camp, just next to the fire. One of them turned towards him as he stood up outside the tent. As he turned, Matner could see just beyond him, where Linden lay on the ground by the fire, a large bloody gash open across his throat. His eyes were open, but lifeless.

For a moment, Matner just stared at Linden in horror, his heart caught in his throat. Everything seemed to stop except for the blood that leaked onto the ground around the man's head. Then the world around him seemed to explode into action and noise, as he found his voice and yelled for the others.

Almost immediately there were two men coming at him with swords. One of them was a step ahead of the other, and he parried that man's swing first while trying to sidestep slightly away from the other. The camp was filled with chaos in no time.

"We're under attack!" he heard one of the others yell.

He could, from moment to moment and between their swings at him, see enough to know that fighting was going on throughout the camp. From the quick glances he got, he could readily identify the two sides. One group wore armor and dark clothes while the other was mostly dressed in white or light-colored sleeping clothes.

He was so far able to hold his own against the two, but was having no success hitting either one yet. He was fully awake now, and he could tell that these two had not had formal training. He noticed that they had let him get out from between them and his tent. Left there they could potentially have forced him between tents where he would risk tripping over hard to see tent ropes.

One of the two lunged too hard towards him, and he ducked down avoiding the man's swing. He took the opportunity to swing at a leg of the other. The swing did not have enough force to get through the man's chain mail armor. It did buckle the man's knee, which sent him falling backwards. For just a moment he had one off-balance foe and one on the ground. Now was his chance.

He repositioned his grip on the hilt as he brought the tip of it up hard under the off-balanced opponent. At first, he felt a measure of victory and exhilaration course through him as the blade suddenly pushed past the chain armor and moved up into the man's chest. The man screamed and lost balance completely, falling to the ground. The weight of him, however, tore the sword out of Matner's hands completely. For a brief second, he stood there, looking at the man writhing and dying at his feet, the tip of Matner's sword sticking out of his back. Then he flew into action again, as the remaining foe had stood up again and was coming forward to attack once more.

He dodged and spun, trying to look about him for something else he could use as a weapon. His eye caught first on the dwindling pile of firewood, and he grabbed up one of the mid-sized logs, bringing it up under the man's sword with both hands to block the blade. Despite a hope that the sword would lodge into the log and get stuck, it merely glanced off and jarred the log hard in Matner's hands, causing him to drop it. He cursed, looking for something else as he whirled out of reach of the man's next swing.

One of the tent stakes had been left lying next to the crate they were normally kept in, and he lunged for it, rolling back up to his feet again next to the crate. He hefted it in his hand, judging it's weight and balance as the man began to close the short distance Matner had managed to put between them. Matner pulled his arm back and yelled as he threw the stake, sending it flying forward like an overly-heavy knife. The weight of it was wrong, and it didn't hit the man point-forward as he had hoped. It hit in the face, however, and stopped the man in his tracks as he howled and clutched at his eyes with one hand. Matner spun and landed the heel of his foot squarely in the man's chest, sending him flying backwards. The sword fell out of his opponent's hands as he fell, and Matner was on it in an instant, grabbing it up and plunging it's blade deep into the man's abdomen. The man screamed in pain and Matner pulled the blade out, stepping back a moment, to survey the situation in camp.

All of the men he saw had swords. He estimated that about half of his group had made it out of tents so far and had joined in the fight. The attackers had them slightly outnumbered.

Another man came running towards him just as Sameth was coming out of the tent. The man brought his sword up to come crashing down on Sameth. Matner blocked it with an upswing of his own, but the jarring weight on the sword was too much of a shock for him to be able to immediately swing at the man.

Sameth dove out of the way. Matner turned to swing at the man, who had regained his balance and stance with enough time to parry Matner's first strike. The man tried to counter, but was mostly coming at him with fierceness, swinging too hard and relying on strength. Matner let training and speed work with him, and moved around so that the man was between himself and Sameth.

Sameth yelped, and Matner, having just repositioned, could see why. The man Matner had run through in the stomach was still moving on the ground, and had grabbed Sameth's arm.

"Let go of me!" Sameth squealed, rolling and bringing his sword down on the man. The sword hit the man in the face, ripping open his cheek and, from the looks of it, breaking the man's jaw. A gurgling scream came out of the man, who promptly let go of Sameth and stopped moving.

Matner focused on the one in still between them as the man came at him again, this time swinging low. He held the sword at an angle that suggested he was going to cut upwards at the last minute, so Matner stepped backwards and brought the sword in his own hands across in front of him to deflect the blade. The metal clashed together loudly, and his opponent grunted and changed his stance. Matner tried to estimate what the man's next move would be, and adjusted his own accordingly.

The man swung again, in a simple swing that kids used when first learning with sticks. Matner was almost amused by it, and brought his sword up to meet it easily, focusing on the counterattack he could make that would both disarm and injure him in the process. He deflected the blade and then twisted his wrist around, swinging the blade down and sharply around towards the man again.

His opponent seemed to know it was coming, however. The man stepped easily out of the way and brought his blade in just as quickly as Matner had, cutting across the side of Matner's leg at an angle. It happened so quickly he almost thought the man had missed, until the sharpness of pain coursed through his leg.

He quickly shifted as much of his weight as he could afford to onto the other leg, and brought his sword back to the ready. Another man had been coming towards him as well, but Sameth had gotten to his feet again and moved to meet him. Matner focused on his own opponent first, parrying the man's attacks as they came. Most of the time the man seemed to be trying to wear Matner down, putting his strength behind the blade when it hit. Matner changed his tactic, and ducked out from under the next attack. The man staggered forward, his sword not hitting anything, and Matner brought his blade around and stabbed it into the man's side with both hands on the hilt, putting all of his strength into the blow. The man cried out and fell heavily to the ground. Matner turned next to the one Sameth was trying to hold off.

Sameth seemed panicked, and was mostly just swinging at the other man's sword like a boy just starting to play at swords. He painfully stepped closer to intervene, just as Frank appeared. Frank wore just a pair of pants, and there was blood on him. It did not look to be his.

Frank brought his sword down suddenly and hard. It smashed through the man's arm, severing it mid-forearm with a crunching sound of the bone breaking. The man's sword and half his arm fell to the ground separately. The man absolutely shrieked in terrified pain. For a moment he just screamed, staring at the ugly stump of an arm, with blood leaking freely out, before he passed out and fell to the ground.

"Tie something tight around that arm to stop the bleeding," Frank commanded. "I think he was the last one. You two stay together--one of you stay on the lookout in case there's still any we haven't accounted for. I'm going to gather the rest and see what kind of shape we're in."

Frank strode off, calling out loudly for everyone to gather around the fire. Matner took the time to look down at his leg. "Can you see what you can do about that guy's arm?" He asked Sameth, shifting as much weight as he could to his good leg. He was bleeding but he could not tell how badly. He pressed his hand against it to try to stop it if he could, and that just made it hurt worse.

"I don't get it," Sameth complained, pulling a piece of rope out of a nearby crate and bending over the unconscious man. "Why don't we just kill him?"

"Why?" Matner asked, looking around for something clean he could tie over his own wound. "There's no real victory in killing a now defenseless, unconscious man."

"He'd kill us, sure as sky," Sameth grumbled, tying the rope around the man's stump and pulling it sharply tight.

"Maybe," Matner agreed. "But that just makes us the better men, now doesn't it."

"Better people," Larissa corrected, coming up to them. "Frank said you were wounded. Evara's busy, so I said I'd come take a look."

"It's not too bad," Matner said, gesturing at it. "It hurts quite a bit though."

"That's bleeding quite a bit," Larissa said, frowning at it. "Maybe you should sit down."

"Yeah, that might be a good idea," he nodded, realizing he was feeling a little light-headed. He did his best not to show it, however, as he took a seat on a nearby barrel. She moved a crate for him to put his foot up onto so she could get a better look, and he tried not to wince too much when he lifted it. Without wasting any time, Larissa pulled a water flask out of a bag she had slung over one shoulder and doused the wound with water from it. She then tore the fabric further apart before rinsing it again. Then she peered at it for a moment before pulling some items out of her bag.

"That's going to need stitches," she said, beginning to thread a needle.

It actually needed quite a few stitches, and each one hurt. He was glad he was sitting down, holding the barrel with a white-knuckled death grip. He gritted his teeth and was glad he managed to get through it without crying out once. He watched her face after deciding that watching what she was doing was not making it easier.

Frank came over as she was finishing. "How bad?" he asked.

"Oh, I’m thinking it'll be fine," Larissa answered, "but he'll need to be a little easy on it for a couple of days probably, while it closes up some."

"Well, for now we have two extra horses," Frank said grimly. "Matner, take Linden's horse. Sameth, you're alright?"

"Yep, never hit. I'm fine. How bad was it?"

"Linden's dead. Raleth might live, but right now it's not looking good for him. We're going to stay here a day and wait and see how he does. He'll be riding a wagon for a while if he comes out of it. A couple others hurt a little, about as bad as Matner here. Fortunately we got as much warning as we did. Good job on the alarm, Matner. You get paid extra for today."

As Frank walked off Matner felt a little proud for a moment. Looking at Frank's slouched shoulders Matner wished that a little extra pay had come with a lower price.

It took some time before things settled down again in camp, but eventually Matner found himself sent to bed after Evara came and checked on Larissa's stitching and bandaging. Sameth, however, did not return to the tent. Since he was unwounded, Sameth was one of the ones elected to keep watch for what was left of the night. Matner changed out of his torn, bloody pants and climbed into his bedroll feeling half guilty and half grateful that he was getting to go back to sleep.

His dreams were uneasy, and he found himself waking several times during the few remaining hours of sleep. In some dreams it was the campfire attacking the camp, rising up and engulfing Linden and others in flames. In others he saw Linden's body on the ground by the fire, in the puddle of blood, but he was staring at Matner and calling to him for help. In one dream he was fighting for his life and turned around to slash at an opponent behind him, only to find it was really Sameth, coming up to help only to have his stomach cut open by Matner's blade. In the last dream he had, a man he'd killed stood next to him, looking down at the dead body and asking "so that's the kind of man you are..." and shaking his head. Matner woke in a cold sweat and couldn't sleep again after that. His leg and head both seemed to be throbbing in a rhythm with each other.

He pulled some pants on carefully and limped his way out of the tent, looking for Evara. He was directed to the tent that Raleth and Linden had shared. He tapped on the tent pole and heard Evara from inside, saying he could come in. Matner ducked into the dim light of the tent, where Evara sat next the Raleth, with a lantern lit so she could see.

Raleth was covered with heavy blankets so that only his head showed above them. Evara was sitting on the ground next to him, gently dabbing at his face with what looked like a damp cloth while he turned and mumbled unhappily in his sleep. He looked terrible in the flickering light of the lantern, and Evara looked exhausted. He realized that she must have been awake all night, probably sitting where she was now. He suddenly felt guilty and didn't want to ask her to check on his leg for him.

"Sit down, how's the leg feeling?" she asked quietly, before he could say anything.

"Um... not too bad," he lied.

"Let me just check it anyway," she said, gesturing for him to sit next to her.

"I don't want to trouble you..." he began.

"It'll be more trouble later if it isn't alright," she pointed out, patting at the ground next to her again. "Just sit, Matner. I don't have the energy to argue about it. Sometimes you men are so stubborn."

He knew he looked guilty as he took a seat next to her, and mumbled an apology as he did. She moved the lantern closer to him so she could see better.

"You're going to have to take those off so I can get to the bandages," she pointed out, waving a finger at his pants.

"Are you going to just stand there looking stupid, or are you going to let me check those bandages?" she asked when he did not immediately start moving.

"Sorry," he mumbled. It was a little awkward taking his pants off in the low headroom of the tent. He had trouble using the hurt leg for balance, and ended up sitting down doing it. That made it much easier.

She unwrapped the bandages with much the same expression he remembered seeing on his mother's face while changing Isavelle's swaddling clothes. He supposed it was much the same unwrapping a wound. Either way it was probably something unpleasant.

She made a noncommittal grunt at the wound, checking it over skeptically. "It looks alright," she said eventually. "We really don't want it festering if it isn't clean enough. You don't want to lose the leg, do you?"

"No, definitely not," he answered.

"Good, then remember to be easy on it and let it heal."

He wondered what had gotten into her and lent her such an ill mood. Then he looked down at Raleth's too-pale face, and he supposed he understood.

"Do you want to be alone with him, or would you like company for a while?" he asked.

"I... I don't... you can stay if you like," she shrugged, looking flustered.

"Are you alright?" he asked, as he pulled his pants back on.

"I'm just tired," she said with a sigh. "I'm sorry Matner."

"I take it you've been up all night with him?"

She nodded and in the lamplight, he saw a tear roll down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand and sighed.

"I'm not sure he's going to survive this," she admitted. "Raleth's always been determined, which is why I think he's still alive right now. But they caught him with his guard down. Literally. It seems he was relieving himself when they came up on him. He took two knife wounds. One in the abdomen, one in the chest. He was lucky that the one in the chest didn't get far. Mostly glanced off his ribs. But the abdomenal wound... I had to cut him open more just to see what all was damaged and do what I could for him. He's lost so much blood..."

She shook her head before putting it in her hands. Matner put a hand on her shoulder to try and comfort her and he could feel that she was trembling.

"You should try and get a little sleep yourself. I could watch over him for a while," he offered.

"Have you had any experience patching up wounds?" she asked, somewhat pointedly.

"Some basic instruction on bandaging and stitching," he said. "Not much beyond that though."

She shook her head again, looking over at Raleth.

"I need to be here if anything changes," she said. "This is a little more complicated than simple stitches."

"Maybe you could just sleep here," he suggested. "I could wake you if anything seems different with him."

"No," she said. "If something changed, and you didn't notice because you didn't know what to look for, it could be something little. I know enough to know that if he died because I was sleeping I'd never forgive myself."

"But thank you, though," she added.

"Well, then how about I stay with you and at least keep you company," he offered. "You're probably not much good to him if you can't stay awake."

"That's sweet of you," she said. "I could use some company for a while."

He thought back to the couple of late night watch shifts during training exercises at the Academy. There had always been pairs, and he had found it easier to stay awake with someone to talk to. He tried to keep her involved in conversation to keep her mind going, even if her body was tiring out.

When he asked, she told about how she met Old Fredrickson, who she suggested has been called that forever, and she joked that Old was just a Dwarven surname that translated to something totally different.

She had been raised to be a seamstress by her mother, who had been raised the same way. They had a dress shop in one of the western small cities. It was a nice shop, with a constant supply of dresses, each one different from the next. The city was a crossroads stopping point, perfectly suited for travelers and passing caravans, so there was a constant stream of new and interesting materials and ideas to work with.

Several of their customers had been passing nobles and wealthy merchants. They wanted big city quality, but many of them wanted to show up at their destination with a style of dress that the local denizens would not immediately recognize.

And so their family had done well. Much of their business involved custom tailoring and alterations, and Evara was enlisted early. She started with measuring, then with some of the basic hems and seams. Eventually she was helping to do it all.

And then had come one horrible summer night. There had been a drought that year, and everything was dry and hot. Nobody ever knew how the fire started. By morning there was nothing still standing.

Evara cried describing the panic that swept the street faster even than the blaze. She described people being trampled and people being trapped in flaming buildings. Evara herself had been at a merchant's caravan, taking measurements for an alteration. She was never even able to make it to the house until morning. By then it was nothing more than a lonely black chimney rising up from a pile of smoking rubble. She saw a white skull, contrasting sharply to the black and gray surrounding it, and she bolted.

More than half the population of the city perished that night. She found herself meeting the caravan again later that day. The customer wanting the alterations had been a passenger traveling with Old Fredrickson. She had traveled with him ever since.

"Did you ever go back?" he asked her when she'd finished.

"Yes, we've passed through there. It was a long time before we first did though. I think Old Fredrickson was waiting to make sure I was ready before he went back. I did find a friend of my father's, a hatmaker that had owned a shop near ours. Otherwise, nearly everyone I had known growing up had died that night. Most of the city had been rebuilt, and new people had come and filled in the streets again. Everything looked different than I had remembered it though, it was as if it wasn't even the same place I had grown up in. The hatmaker had been able to rebuild. He'd assumed I'd died with my family."

She seemed to be looking off in the distance, as if remembering as she spoke. Then she inhaled sharply and seemed to shake herself out of the moment of thought.

"It's a good life, traveling with Old Fredrickson," she smiled. "This is my family now. And I don't like losing any of them."

She turned to look at Raleth as she spoke the last bit, and said it a little louder, as if hoping he'd hear her. As if to punctuate her words, Raleth began to cough in his sleep. Looking worried, Evara put her hands and then her ear to his chest, listening as the coughing died down. Then she sat back up again and put her hand to his brow.

"Could you get Larissa and Ennick for me? I need the two of them to cook up some herbs for me."

"Of course," Matner nodded, getting up.

On his way he passed the twins. They were carrying shovels. He gave them a curious look and they pointed out that the bodies of the dead had to be buried so they would not attract animals. They had been the last ones out of their tents, so it was up to them to do.

That reminded him of the man he had killed, and the one he had stabbed. It occurred to him that probably no one was hovering over him to make sure he lived through the night. But the fact remained that Matner had killed someone. He had avoided thinking about it until now.

But now, walking through the moonlit camp, passing the popping and cracking remnants of the fire, he wondered if he should pray for them. He supposed it was the right thing to do. On one hand, they had brought it on themselves by attacking. At the same time that did not really change anything.

He got to Larissa's tent and woke her up. He followed her to get Ennick, and for the moment he put the dead out of his mind, just like he put the throbbing in his leg out of his mind. There were still living people that needed his worry and his thoughts and prayers.

Ennick grumbled at being woken up, but crawled out and followed them back to Evara. "You know," he complained, "in just about an hour I'll need to start breakfast if people want to eat." Neither Larissa nor Matner responded to him.

He waited outside the tent while the other two went inside and got instructions from Evara. He could hear her telling Larissa which herbs needed to be used, and how much, followed by letting Ennick know how they needed to be cooked. There seemed to be four herbs involved, but one of them needed to be cooked in some water and boiled down to a mushy paste before being added slowly to the others. Meanwhile, the remaining three would be added to boiling water and then steeped like tea. Once the two were combined, it would be allowed to cool enough that she and Larissa would carefully spoon some of it into Raleth's mouth tiny bits at a time to get him to swallow it.

She also asked Ennick to start the coffee early and make it extra strong. Despite the man's complaints about getting up early, he seemed to forget his displeasure upon entering the tent, and afterwards he headed directly to the fire to add logs and stoke it into a blaze again. Larissa hurried over to one of the wagons and began opening baskets and boxes to find the herbs they needed. Matner popped his head back into the tent to check on Evara, but she waved him away.

"I'll manage, Matner, thank you," she said with a tired smile. "Once Ennick gets the coffee I'll be right as rain."

"Alright," he nodded. "But I'm not good for much else while trying to stay off this leg, so let me know if you need company or anything."

He headed to the latrine next, the throbbing in his leg overshadowed by the realization that he needed to relieve himself. He stopped short of the pit, however, seeing the blood on the ground. Someone had scattered loose dirt and grasses over most of, but here and there the ground was darker than it ought to be, and broken, dried bits of corn husks were stained red. For a moment, he was caught in the thought of what it must have been like for Raleth, standing there in the dark and suddenly attacked. He shivered, suddenly cold despite the warm summer morning, and it took a moment to shake it off before he could step forward to do what he'd come there for.

As he walked back to the camp afterwards, he wondered about the men who'd attacked them. It occurred to him that he didn't know what was happening to the ones who'd survived the fight. He decided to check with Frank and see what was going on.

He circled around the camp looking for him. It was not hard; he heard Frank's voice from a distance yelling at someone. He saw him at the far edge of camp, far from the firelight at the center.

It was mostly shadows there, although it was easy to pick out Frank's form from the two figures laid out on the ground. Frank kicked at one of them, and the man writhed but was unable to get away--obviously bound.

"Who sent you?" he heard Frank demand.

Matner paused, realizing what was going on. He knew he did not want to watch, yet at the same time he could not turn away.

Frank grabbed up the other one, by the tunic front from the looks of it. He could not hear what question Frank asked, but Frank must not have liked the answer. Frank threw the man to the ground as a frustrated porter might heave a sack of potatoes into a cart. The man hit the ground much the way a sack of potatoes might. Frank picked him up again, no less gentle.

This continued for longer than Matner thought he could stomach, and still he moved no closer and still he was unable to walk away. One man got kicked, the other picked up and thrown back down. Frank alternated back and forth a few times, until the man being kicked stopped moving.

Matner felt a little ill. He knew he should be going over there. He should be making Frank stop. Those men could not have deserved that. But he could not make himself move. Eventually Frank threw the second man for the last time and then stomped away.

He found himself moving forward, towards the two bound men. He didn't want to know what condition they were really in, but he couldn't help but look to see. One of them was unconscious, and Matner could see that most of his face was bruised. The other was no less beaten, but glared at Matner with a look so full of hatred that he found himself inadvertantly taking a step back.

Both men had been stripped of their armor and were wearing basic tunics and pants. Their hands were bound tightly behind their backs and their feet roped at the ankles. In case that wasn't enough, the ends of the ropes had been staked to the ground as well.

He found himself wondering if these were the only two left from the fight. It had seemed to him that there ought to be more who'd survived. He turned to follow Frank, and found Trevon taking a seat on a crate nearby. He decided it might be better to talk to Trevon first, based on the mood Frank had been in.

"Where are the others?" he asked, approaching Trevon.

"Dead," Trevon replied with a shrug. "The twins are burying them."

"How many were there?" Matner said, surprised.

"Nine, as far as we can tell."

"And only two are still alive?" Matner was astonished.

"Well there were more," Trevon admitted. "But the others that weren't dead by the end of the fight bled out too quick or died overnight. What with Evara watching over Raleth, she wasn't exactly available to do much for those what attacked us." He shrugged again. "They were too organized and well-equipped to be common brigands. They weren't after our food or anything, they came on straight to killing us. We need to find out why and what they were after."

"I don't know if beating it out of them is really the best way to find out though," Matner said. "It just doesn't seem right."

"No offense, Matner, but you've not been out on the road long. Sometimes politely asking just isn't going to get you what you want. Besides, as far as Frank's concerned, he lost a man last night and might still lose another. Frank thinks of us like we were his family. He doesn't like to lose members of his family, you know what I mean? Better he take his anger out on the ones who killed Linden than let it fester."

"Besides," Trevon continued, "if there are more of them that might come after us next, we'd really like to know why, right?"

"Yes," Matner agreed. "That would be good."

"And knowing why they're coming after us helps a lot," Trevon added.

Larissa came over with two cups of coffee. She handed one to each of them.

"Here," she said, "you'll need this. Raleth can't be moved yet, and Frank is not happy with staying here. He wants everyone as alert and ready as possible. Matner, you should probably stay off that leg as much as you can. Doesn't it hurt?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I've been trying to ignore it."

She pulled over another crate for him. "Well, at least sit down."

"Thank you," he said, and she held his coffee while he lowered himself to sitting.

"I wonder if Frank found out anything from them," Trevon said. "I haven't been able to tell based on his mood whether he did or not. He's kindof unreadable right now."

"I don't know that I've been around him long enough to read him," Matner admitted, taking his coffee back.

"In my experience he'll shake it off after a couple of days. It depends on how long we keep them around for," Trevon nodded off at the two bound men.

"What will we do with them?" Matner asked.

"That depends, most likely we'll kill them."

"What?!" Larissa exclaimed. "You can't do that!"

"Shouldn't we turn them in to someone or something?" Matner agreed.

"I said it depends," Trevon replied, raising an eyebrow. "Mostly on why they attacked us. I don't think they were common thieves. If they were here about our passenger situation, then we can't exactly let them go on their merry way."

"But we can't just kill them," Larissa protested. "That just isn't right!"

"They seemed more than happy to kill us last night," Trevon shrugged.

"He has a point," Matner admitted. "You've been through this before I take it?"

"I was a just as surprised as you when it first happened, to be honest," Trevon replied. "When I was a soldier I'd been posted on the border lands. There was always somewhere to take prisoners to for them to be put on trial at least. Sometimes we'd trade our prisoners for our own men who'd been caught scouting into the neighboring lands. But there were stories I heard from the old-timers. Once you're far enough out and have an army to feed you don't keep prisoners much. They slow you down, provide logistics issues. In this case, however, they could let someone in on what we're up to. We've got people to protect right now, more than just ourselves. Besides, they're guilty of trying to kill us, at the very least. Murder is punishable by death in most places I know of. Linden is dead. Maybe not by one of them specifically, we can't really know for sure since no one saw it actually happen. But they fought us with intent to kill. That's enough for me."

"Besides," Trevon added, looking directly at Larissa, "even if they did take any of us prisoner, I rather doubt you'd've been treated like a guest in their camp."

"You don't know they'd--"

"They attacked us in the night," Trevon interrupted. "They made no attempt at all at giving us a chance to surrender. No, they crept in and quietly butchered the first one they could. Ten'll get ya twenty they would have just killed us in our sleep if they'd had the chance."

"But--"

"It's not like they approached us in daylight with demands. They could have done that."

"I bet Old Fredrickson and his crossbow would have had something to say about that," Matner added.

"Yeah, there is that," Trevon agreed. "Also we would have outnumbered them at that point, so from their perspective they needed surprise on their side."

"I can't believe the two of you!" Larissa exploded. "Just look at them! They've already been defeated. They're bound and helpless, unable to hurt us, and yet you two are sitting there justifying how it would be alright to just slaughter them because it might be inconvenient to take them along and turn them over to the authorities! They are still people no matter what their crimes might be."

"Aye, lass," Old Fredrickson said, hobbling up to the three of them. "People who'd cut ar throats in ar sleep iffen ye gave 'em the chance. An' Frank says it be a good likelihood that they were here ta dish retribution an' take back yer elven friends. I don't suppose ye'd like ta let 'em have a go at confirmin' that the elves're with us an' which direction we be headin' then would ye?"

"But we can't just kill them..." Larissa's shoulders sagged. "We just can't. It's not right."

"No, it ain't," the dwarf agreed. "But in most places I've been the penalty fer killin' a folk is death, girl. They be guilty o' that. Killin' an' tryin' ta kill. I ain't feedin' someone who'd just as likely cut off me head, much less gettin' slowed down draggin' their sorry arse about neither. Lest they get willin' ta talk an' real cooperative-like I don't see as there be any choice about it. But even then there ain't so little trust in the world as I could muster for 'em. And I ain't gonna risk them undoin' all the hard work we already put to gittin' Sharnellynn an' her boy out. We're too far in ta let fools like them interfere."

"I..." Larissa looked defeated, and angry at the same time. She just finished by shaking her head and abruptly striding away from them. Matner rose to follow her, but Fredrickson put a hand on his arm.

"Let her go, lad." he said. "She knows it's what we gotta do, even though she don't like it. She needs time to chew it down is all. An' ye should be stayin' off that leg as it is. How's it feelin'?"

"It hurts," he said truthfully. "But that's to be expected. It would probably be feeling better if I'd remember better to go easy on it, but it's hard..."

"I know the feelin' lad. I've ne'er been good about sittin' back an' watchin'."

"Yes," Trevon said, grinning at Matner, "and when he says to stay off a leg he can mean it."

"So," Matner asked, "is it alright to ask what happened to it, or is that rude?"

"My folk an' your folk don' always see eye ta eye on what is or isn' rude, lad."

"Bitten off by a bear is my favorite story," Trevon said. "Although there are a number of stories."

"It's not really any of my business..." Matner said apologetically. He realized that maybe no one but Old Fredrickson himself knew the real story. "How many stories are there?"

"Oh, a good dozen or so, I'd say."

"Most o' 'em pretty far fetched, and not a one o' em right."

"So, are you going to tell them the truth this time?" Frank said, arriving with a bowl of small apples. He handed the bowl around, making sure everyone got one. "There's an orchard not far."

"You want the truth, Matner?" Frank asked. "The truth is he doesn't like to talk about it, mostly because of the fuss others make about it. The more wild and fanciful the stories have gotten over the years, the more he gets all humble about it. Oh, and bitten off by a giant during the Flesh Wars is my own personal favorite."

"Nah," Old Fredrickson said. "Nothin' that glam'rous."

"Another amusing story," Frank added, "was that one night he got drunk and got a gal's name tattooed on his ankle. They got into a fight, and he got so angry at her he grabbed a dinner knife and hacked it off."

"I think my favorite story," Trevon piped in, "I heard from one of the other merchants in Basket Keep. He'd heard that the leg was part of a deal made with a dragon. Old Fredrickson here had gone with a group of adventurers, as backup and in charge of the supplies the group needed. They went into an area that had warning signs posted all over, but they were arrogant, figuring that the warnings were meant for the average townsfolk, and not seasoned warriors such as themselves. Turned out they were in a dragon's claimed territory, and the beast took notice of them. Killed all but three of them quick as can be, but Old Fredrickson here stepped forward and offered to make a deal for the rest of their lives. The dragon says "what can you give me that would be of any value?" So Old Fredrickson jokes that he'd give his leg if it'd make any difference. The dragon thinks for a moment, and then says "done" and next thing you know he knocks our friend over and bites off the leg. But Fredrickson doesn't make a sound, you see. So the dragon was impressed and spat a ball of something firey back down to cauterize the wound. Then it lets them leave. The rumor goes that the dragon was so impressed by Old Fredrickson he didn't eat the leg, but sealed it in glass and has it stashed away in it's hoard."

Both Old Fredrickson and Frank burst out laughting, the dwarf nearly falling off the crate he'd been leaning against while he listened to the story. It took a minute or two before he'd caught his breath enough to respond.

"That be one o' the most far-fetched ones I've 'eard yet, Trevon!" he said, pulling his pipe from a pocket and popping the end of it in his mouth. "That be the first time that I heard o' dragons bein' involved." He shook his head in amusement as he packed a pinch of tobacco into the bowl. Frank had stepped over and lit the end of a stick in the fire and handed it over just as the dwarf was ready to light it.

"Thank ye, Frank," he lit the pipe and handed the stick back, puffing at the pipe as if he was contemplating the story he'd just heard.

"So, are you ever going to tell us what really happened?" Trevon asked.

"If I do that, ye'll stop makin' up these wond'rous stories," the Old Dwarf exclaimed. He chuckled before bringing the pipe back up to his mouth for a long pull.

"I keep tryin' to tell ye, 'tis not that int'restin' a story."

"There is a standing bet, Matner," Frank explained. "A hundred golds to whoever guesses right. But don't get your hopes up on it."

"Would you tell us if we guess right?" Matner asked the little caravan leader.

"In th' unlikely event, aye, lad, I would."

He saw Evara walking slowly towards them. She was looking down at the ground, her shoulders slumped. Her feet shuffled along beneath her. As she got closer, he could tell she had been crying.

"Frank," she said when she got there. "He's gone."

At first it looked as if Frank was going to explode. Matner noticed his hands clenching over and over again in tight fists. But instead, Frank stood up and moved to Evara and hugged her instead.

"You did everything you could," Matner heard Frank tell her.

"I'll be goin' ta pay me respects, if ye will all excuse me," Old Fredrickson said frowing. He hobbled off towards the tent Evara had just left, shaking his head and taking hard puffs on the gnarled, wooden pipe.

"Do we know what he asked?" Matner found himself wondering aloud. He couldn't help but think back on the trip Raleth had taken them on to see the strange prophet.

"What's that?" Frank asked.

"Of that man in the woods we went to see outside of Tikor. Do we know what his one question was?"

"No," Trevon replied sadly. "I don't think he told anyone Matner."

Somehow Matner found himself hung up on the realization that they had gone on the quest because Raleth had wanted them to, and nobody even knew what the man had asked of the prophet.

"Doesn't seem likely he got the answer he wanted though," Trevon added. "I don't think many of us really did. Maybe that's what we get for trying to tempt fate by knowing what's coming."

There was a quiet moment after that, before Frank gently took Evara over to her tent and waited until she'd gone inside. Then suddenly Matner realized Frank was striding angrily over towards the two prisoners with his sword drawn. He stood up, wanting to intervene, but realized Trevon had grabbed him by the arm.

"Don't. Leave it be."

Matner sat back down, feeling a little weak and sick as he once again couldn't take his eyes off of Frank. The man had stabbed his sword into the ground, through a prisoner's leg, and was down on one knee shaking the man and asking him questions. When the man didn't answer right away, Frank twisted the sword as he pulled it up and stabbed it down again through another part of the man's leg. It seemed to hit bone that time, as Frank seemed to have a difficult time getting it through the leg and into the ground. The man was screaming, obviously in terrible pain. The second prisoner had gone sheet white, watching what was happening to his comrade.

After that Frank pulled the sword back out with a sudden yank. At first the leg came with it, the sword stuck in bone, but the sword did come free. Frank took it next and pushed it very slowly into the man's abdomen. It moved slowly at first, and then faster once it eventually pierced the skin. The man screamed quite a bit more through the whole experience. After a second similar stab the man stopped moving.

Matner stared, worried about the rage in Frank. It still did not seem right.

"Close your mouth," Trevon advised.

Frank pulled the sword out and turned to the other man, who immediately started saying something. He could not tell what the man was saying, but he supposed the man was probably begging for his life, for mercy. Whatever it was, it seemed to be working for the moment. Frank did not immediately stab the man.

Matner's eyes were drawn back to the still man. There was no way to be sure from here, but he did not think the man was still breathing.

"They deserve to die," Trevon said.

"Like that?" Matner asked. Trevon did not reply. Frank beheaded the second man. Then wiped his sword on the man's shirt before turning and striding purposefully off toward the tent that Old Fredrickson was still in.

"Guess I don't need to keep an eye on 'em any more," Trevon said, standing up. "Why don't we move over by the fire. Bit cheerier there." He offered a hand to help Matner.

"Right," Matner replied, still frowning at the dead prisoners. Despite the burning in his leg that seemed to get a lot worse when he put a little weight on it, he only handed his mug over to Trevon instead of taking any help standing or walking. Trevon matched his pace as he limped his way over to the fire. The twins were there, along with Brint, Dir Ketten, Fat Ren, and Ennick. They were all talking as Ennick heated a pan on the fire and sliced bread off a loaf.

"Looks like you've got two more to bury," Trevon said to the twins as they arrived. Matner took a seat on one of the crates that had been placed around the fire, and was relieved to take the weight off the leg again.

"Already? Aww..." Nelser said.

"Told ya. Pay up," Kelver smirked, turning and smacking his brother in the arm.

"Damnit," Nelser said, digging in his pocket and tossing his brother a couple of coins. "I thought fer sure he'd wait till after lunch. C'mon Kel, let's git it done."

"Won't be long now," Ennick said, pulling out a brick of cheese and starting to slice that next.

"Got it," Nelser said as he and his brother headed off towards the bodies.

Matner found himself sitting quietly, listening to the conversation around him, and wondering about the men who'd attacked them, especially the two he'd just watched die. He realized he felt worse about them than he did the ones he'd killed himself, but mostly because they had been attacking him at the time. He hoped that Frank had found out something useful or conclusive, but thought that maybe the second prisoner would have told him anything he wanted to hear just to save his own life. There was a hard knot in Matner's stomach, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. He thought again about praying for those who'd died, although praying for Linden and Raleth seemed more of a priority to him than prayers for those who'd attacked them.

Finally Frank and Old Fredrickson came out of the tent. The dwarf hobbled straight off to one of the wagons. Frank came over to them. His face was determined-looking and all serious.

"Pack up fast, we're leaving," he announced.

"Kelver and Nelser just went to bury those two," Trevon pointed out.

"Leave them. They don't matter now. We can't spare the time. More will be coming. We move, and we move now. If it takes too long to load it gets left behind."

"I'll go tell them," Trevon said, standing up. Others rose as well, each knowing what to do. Matner hesitated, not so sure.

"Matner," Frank said, "come with me." Frank turned and strode toward the tent the elves were sharing. Matner lurched up and hobbled as fast as he could trying to catch up. He got to the tent just behind Frank.

Inside, the two elves were sitting around a tiny lamp. Sharnellynn was reading to the boy. The words were elven, and they had a beautiful elegant sound. She stopped at what sounded like the end of a sentence, and both elves looked up.

"Ahriender," Frank said, "we're packing everything up. Would you like to go help Shannah get the horses ready?"

"Alright," the boy said. Matner had not been the onl