Now if I were Arven, which way would I go from here?

  Varga leaped from branch to branch, working her way up a promising tree. She squinted, closely examining the top of each branch where it met the trunk, looking for blazes. Arven wouldn't leave any marks where they could be seen from ground level. Humans weren't as good at climbing trees, and so would be unlikely to find his blazes. They would need to know where elves put them, and have reason to think there were any to find.

  This tree didn't have any marks either. Varga looked it over once more to make sure she wasn't missing anything, then climbed back down, jumping the last several feet to the ground. “Nope, not there either. I'll try this one.” She headed for the other likely tree she had spotted. As she kicked off the trunk and leaped to the first branch, she heard Orvan muttering below.

  “Spirits, I get tired just watching you.”

  Varga was actually starting to get a bit winded, but wasn't about to admit it. A few days of climbing trees is just what I needed, she decided. She could feel her body getting stronger again. It felt far more natural to be traveling overland rather than on a road.

  On the fourth branch up, Varga found a blaze. “Got him!” She checked its orientation carefully, then climbed down. When she landed next to the older elf, she pointed, then closed her eyes. “Looks like he was following the south side of that stream.”

  “What stream?”

  Varga opened her eyes and looked at Orvan in surprise. “That one,” she said, still pointing through the hill.

  “I'm going a bit water-blind in my old age, it seems. Lead on, scout.”

  Varga waited until her back was to him before she frowned. Have I been missing the signs? Is Orvan's body really starting to weaken?

  Death was a part of life, but when elves lived so long, it was still jarring to think about one passing, especially someone she had known most of her life. When an old elf “weakened,” they usually deteriorated rapidly, and passed within two or three years. They were given the title of Elder, during their decline. Prolonged old age was not an elven trait.

  “Oh, I see it now,” Orvan commented when they were halfway up the hill. When they reached the top a minute later, Varga paused to look around. This strange forest was easy to get lost in, and she was constantly reorienting off of streams and ponds.

  Varga led the way, hunting for the kind of tree Arven would use for his next blaze. Confident of their direction for the moment, she shifted some of her attention to the wildlife.

  “So, the two or three bandits possessed by demons left from two days farther south, and at least one of them headed east. A demon might well spook some of the animals, if they can sense it. I wonder if Sheema can tell which animals are sensitive that way?”

  “Why do you bring that up?” Orvan asked.

  “Well...I'm not clever like Diavla, but I don't want to be an idiot if I can help it. I mean, sure, we've got protection from getting possessed, but the demons could still try to kill us if we run into them.”

  “It all depends on how far they wandered.”

  “Do you know anything about demons, Orvan?”

  “A little. I've never fought one, but I knew people who did, a long time ago.”

  “What can you tell me?” Varga asked, jumping over a set of rocks and then waiting for Orvan to pick his way past them.

  “You need a lot of spirit-touched, or a lot of dwarven weapons.” Orvan sighed. “Demons start out weak. They get strong by controlling more and more people, so they prefer cities. The challenge for them is to get powerful enough before people notice them. So demons tend to be sneaky right up until they announce their kingdom or what have you.”

  “So...shouldn't the rulers be warning everyone right away?”

  “They probably should. But, they very likely don't have what they need yet. If I understand right, Tom got these amulets we're wearing from the city guard, but they had to hunt for them in a dusty old box. And Diavla spent a few days filling the first few. It will take a while just to get enough spirit-touched making amulets and filling them. If you try to fight a demon without these, you probably just add yourself to the demon's army.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Some people are immune, though, right?”

  “Some elves are immune. Humans are not. Well...maybe a spirit-touched human could fight one off—a talented one.”

  “Well, that rots.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I was just wondering if I could use my sense of how the wildlife here behaves, to figure out if a demon was nearby, so that we could avoid it.”

  “If we were in a forest back home, I'd say you would have a fair chance. But some of these animals we don't even have in Salathin, like the woofs.”

  “Wolfs,” Varga corrected absently.

  They continued their hike. The elves went for long stretches without speaking, just Varga pointing and Orvan nodding. It was so peaceful, you could almost forget that there were demons on the loose somewhere nearby.

  ° ? ? ? °

  When evening came, they set up the tent next to a tight copse of trees that would serve as a wind break. Varga got a fire going, and heated rocks to use for warmth in the tent overnight. Orvan didn't have much to work with for dinner, but did better than Varga would, so she wasn't about to complain.

  Both were light sleepers, and they decided not to bother keeping watch all night. Tom and his compatriots had killed most of the bandits in the area, and Varga was confident that she could cope with any animal that stuck its nose in the tent. Sitting outside for hours, the greatest danger would be sickness from the cold air. Besides, none of Arven's blazes had the danger mark on them, so nothing obvious had come up when the four elves had passed through.

  The night passed uneventfully, and in the morning they packed up, agreeing that the tent was very useful and well-made.

  ° ? ? ? °

  The second day was much like the first, and the third day was the same except for a cold rain that began towards evening. Fortunately, it didn't persist, and the fourth day passed without incident. Varga watched for more signs of Orvan weakening, but didn't see anything new.

  On the fifth day, Varga unrolled the map Kervan had drawn for them again.

  “We're getting pretty close to Oak Mill. We're only a day and a half, maybe two days of travel from there.”

  “The questions are, did they spot the town, when, and which way did they go after that?” Orvan summarized.

  Varga frowned at the sketch. “He'd probably go either due north, or northeast.” She shrugged. “All we can do is keep following the trail. We've got to be at least halfway to them by now.”

  “Yes. They had limited food. Rillik was with them, which would slow them down some,” Orvan pointed out. “Also, they needed to forage while they traveled, so that would encourage them not to keep wandering too long. They need to stay in one place to start using snares and so forth.”

  “Yeah, good point.”

  When the sun was high, Varga climbed a particularly large tree to get a view past the canopy if she could. Sure enough, she could make out and open area well to the southeast that pretty much had to be Oak Mill. She was not surprised to see a blaze on that same tree, marking a turn to the northeast.

  They made good time for the rest of the day. In the evening, a bitter wind picked up. It got so bad, that Orvan worried about trying to start a fire.

  “We'll freeze tonight,” Varga warned as they climbed into the tent.

  “We'll have to huddle together.”

  From anyone else, I'd get ideas when I heard that, but Orvan is Orvan. “All right. Canoe or log?”

  “I'll be the log.” Orvan turned away, and Varga pressed herself against his back. The rocks they had hoped to heat, Varga used to weight the edges of the blanket. For a while, they lay there, listening to the wind howl.

  “Orvan?” she murmured after a while.

  :”Yes, I'm still awake.”

  “What do you think we'll find when we get there?”

  Orvan sighed. “Arven will be doing almost everything, though the others could surprise me.”

  “Rillik will try to be helpful. I did feel a little guilty for leaving everything on Arven's shoulders, though.”

  “Well, it was only a couple weeks, so I expect he'll forgive you. Also, a word of advice: be careful when talking about the relationship between Tom, Diavla, and you.”

  Varga grunted. “Yeah, Arven will be a bit annoyed.”

  “I was thinking about Sheema.”

  “What about her...?” Varga put it together. “Oh, she's going to think the worst of Tom, that he forced us both, or at least pressured us, instead of us basically having to net him and tackle him onto the bed.”

  “Yes, so you might want to be tactful, if possible.”

  “Hey, I can be tactful!”

  Orvan didn't dignify that with a response. All right, I had that one coming. “I'll try.”

  “Good.”

  Varga tried to sleep for a couple of minutes, and then asked, “hey, Orvan, what's the first thing you're going to do when we get off the boat at Salathin?”

  “Hit every bar in the port.”

  Varga's eyebrows went up. “Really?”

  “I'll tell my story to as many bards as I can find.”

  “Huh.” Varga thought about that. “I might do the same thing. I can probably get people to buy me a lot of drinks.”

  “How is will that be different from your last child hunt?”

  “The drinking, of course!”

  Orvan shook just a moment as he snorted.

  Varga's throat got tight for a moment, before she managed, “It's good to see you laughing again, Orvan.”

  “Thank you,” the older elf muttered. “I actually thought I'd never laugh again, after she...” He stopped talking, and Varga respected his silence. She did her best to avoid thinking about the destruction of Kilder Vald and the deaths of so many, but here in the dark, with Orvan obviously brooding, it was hard not to.

  We're building a new future, she reminded herself. We don't even know what country we'll make harbor in after the crossing. It's a fresh start, and as long as I have Diavla, I'll be all right.