Tom roamed the woods for a while, scouting in all directions, so he wouldn't hear Diavla with Varga. I agreed to share her with Varga. He shook his head, unclear on his feelings, or rather, trying to keep them in a box for the moment.

  He reflected on his strange love life. Elves are weird. He certainly wasn't complaining, but it was definitely...an adjustment.

  I didn't expect that I would want sex all the time once I had it, he mused. Just once a day doesn't feel like enough. If I wanted to, we could waste a whole day just so I could spend it in bed with Diavla, but that would be irresponsible. We are racing time. As soon as we're done here and out of Baria, we can take some time for pleasure. But right now, we're too busy.

  The sounds of the women settled down eventually. Tom started circling closer to the campfire, and noticed Eubexa standing next to the wagon she rode in. She probably needs help. He walked over to her and whispered very quietly, “Do you want me to lift you?”

  “No, I am fine, I—” Eubexa's instincts were flying in the face of reality. Tom shook his head.

  “Let me say it differently—may I lift you back up?”

  Eubexa was stymied. In her mind, she couldn't refuse a request from her Master. “Of course, Master.”

  Tom set her gently on her blanket in the wagon bed, and asked her if there was anything else she needed. She denied it, of course. Tom repressed a sigh. On the bright side, she was noticeably heavier—not much of a challenge, granted, but for such a tiny woman, it was a lot.

  We should rig something so she can get up by herself if she wants. A ladder? Steps? I should have asked Mark Carver while we were there. Hm, maybe I should have bought a wagon with wooden walls and roof. It would have been a few more gold, but worth it, perhaps.

  And maybe it would muffle the sound a little.

  Tom resolutely drove thoughts of Diavla and Varga out of his head and resumed patrolling. For a few minutes, he reflected on the level of trust the elves had given him. All of them were asleep, and they knew he would protect them. Well, maybe Eubexa still needs convincing.

  Tom shivered as he recalled putting on the slave collar, and how it felt. It was very hard for him to do that, but he was asking the same of them every day, and Tom believed in the value of fairness. Life is only fair when someone makes it fair.

  Reflecting on their journey, Tom couldn't help but think, if it weren't for the demons out there, life would be absolutely fantastic for me these days.

  He had gone from a simple Jack-of-all-trades who had thriftily saved up two gold coins in four years, to managing a small fortune of over a hundred gold—not even counting the value of the elves themselves as slaves, which was greater still. Of course, he would never sell any of them, but the existence of such wealth was still amazing.

  Certainly, everyone he met was going to be convinced that he was very rich, to have five slaves—and later nine, hopefully. Fortunately, he knew he had a commanding presence and could be intimidating. Also, the elves were all armed, essentially making them a small guard company. And of course, most of the bandits in the area had been slaughtered two weeks back by Tom and his friends, at the cost of their lives and nearly his own.

  We probably won't have any bandit troubles from here to Oak Mill. It's the beasts and the magical dangers we have to worry about. Tom thought about Eubexa a moment. She's still very sick, but I really need to know what's in Sir Kurt's book. She told me a little, but she's been too exhausted to read much more yet.

  Well, we won't run into many people at all as we travel until we get close to Middleton and turn onto the Mill Road. And beasts are beasts. The elves are quick, and did most of the killing of the wolf that attacked us.

  Oh, right, I should remember to ask Diavla what that was all about, being scared of the wolf's blood and it making a sickness. Sometime when Eubexa is awake, of course. And there was something else...something about Diavla and wolves? Something Varga said. I'll have to ask them. It's hard to remember everything. The remembering part of my soul is full of Elvish words.

  The rain grew a bit heavier, and Tom pulled the waterproof cloak tighter. They only had the one, to be worn by whoever was on guard duty. Tom knew how miserable standing in the rain could be. He would gladly have bought several such cloaks, but there simply weren't any more waterproof ones ready to purchase in the Rivermarch shops.

  Nobody is going to be out in this, but that makes it the perfect time for a surprise attack. There's a reason I'm on guard. The memory of the bandit attack that had killed his friends was still very fresh in his soul, so he was absolute in his determination to watch for danger. Too, there could be another wolf acting strangely aggressive. You never know.

  Tom counted the days in his soul. If I remember right, tomorrow night we'll be at the place where the other four elves left the caravan. I'll talk with the others about what to do then. I should ask how likely they think it is to pick up their trail after weeks and multiple rainstorms. If it is possible, who would be best to do it? Some of us have to stay with the wagons on the roads, and it will be another...eight days to Oak Mill after tomorrow's travel.

  It should be one or two of the elves. I'm not hopeless in the woods, but they are the experts. I can't go with them anyway, because I have to be with the wagons when we arrive in town. I wonder who will volunteer? They'll be going deep into the woods where demons were sighted, with no human to vouch for them.

  At least one person who goes should have some Western. I can't go. Eubexa can't go. That leaves Kervan and...Diavla.

  Tom found himself hoping mightily that Kervan would volunteer. He hated the thought of Diavla wandering the demon-infested woods. He imagined the dangers of a random encounter with people.

  And he really, really didn't want to be separated from Diavla when they had just started sleeping together. He wouldn't make a decision based on that, but he couldn't pretend he didn't have a very strong preference.

  Why did I suggest to Lord Rivermarch that we do this crazy thing, again? Tom sighed. To keep from getting thrown in a dungeon, to find the other elves...and to clean up after myself.

  Tom felt responsible for the demons getting loose. One part of his soul knew he was blameless, and had done everything reasonable. Another part accepted no excuses. Demons escaped on his watch. The victims would not care that Tom had no reason to suspect—all that would matter to them was that he failed in his duty.

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  He knew that he was headed for a moral conflict eventually. He could not both hunt the demons and protect the elves, because once he had gathered them all, protecting them meant escorting them somewhere very far away from the demons. That was a problem for another day, though, hopefully one when he was better informed.

  That's the rub. Almost every decision we make is a guess. We never know all we need to know. If I had it over again, I'd have left the crystals wagon where the bandits put it, and sent word to guards and Mages in Middleton about it. Tom sighed. As long as I'm wishing for the impossible, I would warn Sir Kurt about the bandit attack, the crystals would never have broken, and all my new friends would still be alive.

  Leaving the elves enslaved, though. Fate gives us good and bad on every path. Tom hated the idea of a world where he didn't know Diavla, and worse, that she suffered some horrible fate as a slave.

  Sometimes, there's no easy answer, son. Tom remembered his father's words. The man did not speak much, but when he did, it was always worth hearing. For a while he wondered about his family, how they were doing.

  He'd sent them a letter once, about a year after he left home, just to let them know how much better he was doing, and to pay back a silver for the ten copper his family had given him when he left home. It had cost another two silver just to get the letter written and sent, and he had been lucky in the price, at that. He wondered what the family thought of him, if they did. Some of his siblings would be too young to remember him.

  Maybe I should write them another letter...but not until I'm many, many miles farther south and closer to home. Tom had generally been walking northward almost the whole time he had been traveling. I wonder how close we will pass by home on our way to the sea?

  ° ? ? ? °

  Unsurprisingly, absolutely nothing of note happened during first watch. Tom waited until he was good and tired before gently waking Orvan. On a rainy night it was hard to tell time—Tom had probably stayed on guard longer that he was supposed to, but he was young and Orvan was old—it just made sense. Tom handed over the cloak before Orvan stepped out of his tent, then quickly made his way to the tent he shared with Diavla and ducked inside.

  It was very dark. Tom pulled the magic wand out of his 'pocket'—a little sewn-on pouch Mrs. Whistler had put in his shirt. He'd never seen that tailoring trick before, but it was quite handy. Now the wand glowed faintly, claiming that Tom was somehow a little bit magical, and incidentally giving him just enough light to see by.

  Diavla and Varga were curled up together under the blankets, fast asleep.

  Tom looked longingly at Diavla's raven-colored hair, almost the only part of her he could see at the moment. He had been looking forward to curling up with his lover. He paused, and a wild, fantastical thought occurred to him. I could lie down with both of them.

  He wouldn't do it, of course. But the thought of doing it, and what might happen when they all woke, itched at his soul and heated his blood. It would certainly reveal the truth once and for all as to whether Varga was teasing him or actually wanted him.

  I actually could do it...no. There aren't enough blankets.

  I could grab the other blanket from Varga's tent.

  No. Stop thinking about it.

  If I lay down with Diavla in the middle, and just closed my eyes, I could pretend that I didn't even know Varga was there.

  Of course, I won't do that one.

  I could just fucking wake them up and ask them, the greedy part of his soul pointed out in desperation.

  Definitely no. Rude to interrupt their sleep, ruder still to ask emotional questions when they are barely awake.

  The elves don't think anything of nudity, though. They don't connect it to sex. I remember when I had to stop Diavla and Varga from blundering into the men's area at the bathhouse. Plus those times washing at a creek...

  But if I lay down with them both, I most definitely would be connecting it to sex, at least in my soul. So it would be sort of dishonest.

  He hesitated for a long time, at war with himself, but finally remembered something that decided him. I can't. I have power over them. I've tried very hard not to pressure them or order them around, to be only a leader, not a Master. I can't betray their trust like this.

  Tom stepped back out into the rain and trotted over to Varga's tent, which was empty, as expected. He settled himself as best he could with Varga's bedroll and blanket. He had to push aside all sorts of distracting thoughts and cool his blood before he could finally sleep.

  ° ? ? ? °

  Tom woke in the night when the tent flap opened briefly to admit Diavla. After a few moments of rustling, the blankets lifted, and she cuddled up to him, facing away. He could feel the goosebumps all over her skin and pulled her in close to warm her up, tucking the blankets tight around them both. He thought about starting something, but knew he could wait until morning, and he did need some rest. He kept his hands away from her pleasure places, and sleep quickly reclaimed him.

  ° ? ? ? °

  It was getting light out when Tom woke again. Diavla's hair was in his face, and he opened his eyes, trying to blow the red strands away from his mouth.

  What.

  Tom's hand moved on instinct, feeling the narrow hips, the very firm bottom. He fought down a moment of panic when he confirmed that he was cuddled up very cozily with a naked Varga, not Diavla. Her arms were wrapped possessively around his, and she gripped him harder as she began to stir.

  You minx. Tom fumed for a moment, then lay his head back down with an evil smile. He hummed a moment, feeling her up, then called out loudly, “Kervan? Is that you?”

  Laughter exploded from multiple people just outside the tent. Varga went rigid with shock for a moment, then slammed her elbow into his gut hard, knocking the wind out of him. It made it hard to laugh, but Tom managed it, rolling onto his back while Varga turned and glared at him, her face reddening.

  A torrent of Elvish liberally laced with profanities poured out of Varga's mouth and she punched him in the chest repeatedly. He barely felt it, so he let her blow off steam. She gestured at her naked body and mentioned Kervan's name in her tirade.

  Tom kept his gaze on her emerald eyes—mostly. He couldn't help but note that while Varga's womanly curves were gentle, they were definitely not absent. Her athletic arms and willowy frame were very appealing, and Tom found his body starting to react to hers. Varga didn't notice, fortunately. She stood and stormed out of the tent, still naked and ranting.

  Two heartbeats later she stomped back in, pointed at the ground, then her chest, then Tom, and finally jerked a thumb over her shoulder. He didn't need the Elvish translated to get the message, especially with the renewed laughter outside. Still grinning, he grabbed his things and exited Varga's tent. Then, he found one more surprise.

  Orvan was laughing.

  In fact, he was red in the face, tears in his eyes, slowly bending his knees and landing on his rump, continuing to roar with laughter. Diavla was laughing too, but her eyes filled with tears even as she stopped, watching Orvan with a tender, sorrowful smile. The old elf didn't notice, his eyes closed as he rolled on the ground.

  Then he stopped and opened his eyes wide for a moment. “Kervan?” Orvan mimicked Tom, and collapsed in laughter again. The man was struggling to breathe, now. Kervan himself had scrunched lips but the corners of his mouth were turned up.

  Diavla caught her breath, turned to Tom, and put a hand flat on his chest. “Tom, you say very good, but now you go say you are sorry.”

  “I am not sorry.”

  Diavla stopped smiling. “Tom. You see Varga, you like. I know. Now, you go see Varga, say you like. Varga pain.”

  “I don't need (something something)!” Varga shouted from inside her tent.

  “Do you want to (something) Tom or not?” Diavla shot back. Ignoring Varga's yell in response, she told Tom gently, “Go,” giving his chest a push and pointing at the redhead's tent. When he hesitated, she kissed him. “You and I are good. You and Varga are good. Go.”

  Tom went.

  Inside the tent, Varga kept yelling at him, scowling, her eyes wet. He walked up to her and stopped. “Go to Diavla! She (something something) you want! You—!”

  Tom grabbed the redhead, swept her legs out from under her, landed her on her back, knelt over her, and silenced her with a kiss.

  He proceeded to prove to Varga, thoroughly and beyond all doubt, that he found her desirable.