Take the Road

Sera closed both hands around Toman’s trembling fingers.

“So,” she said, “our wise reeve has decided to cast out the two foreigners who stood up for Mosstone when it needed them.”

Maeril had been trying not to call it that.

Beyond Mosstone’s last houses, the departure ground had been churned into mud and deep wheel ruts. A porter leaned his weight into a rope stretched over a canvas load. Two carts farther down, a mule stamped in its harness.

At the head of the caravan, the reeve stood speaking with a dark-haired elf.

Rishi watched the line itself: covered wagons, open carts, pack mules in the gaps, and people checking wheels and traces without waiting for anyone to finish talking.

“We have been given passage toward Myth Rhynn,” he said. “Few outsiders are granted it.”

Maeril looked at him.

His staff rested in one hand. A small, grateful smile touched his mouth as he watched the caravan.

“That is a remarkably optimistic way to say we have been politically evicted.”

“Politically banished,” Rishi corrected.

She nudged him with her elbow. “I was trying to be delicate.”

“Were you?”

Sera nearly laughed. Her grip on Toman’s hand did not ease.

The reeve caught Rishi’s eye and beckoned them closer.

They went. Rishi shortened his stride to Toman’s. When Toman slowed at a rut, all of them slowed with him.

As they approached, the reeve bent nearer to the elf. Their words disappeared beneath the creak of harness and the snap of canvas.

“Subtle,” Maeril murmured. “I am sure he is describing our best qualities.”

Sera leaned toward her. “He has always been famous for seeing the best in people.”

The elf turned at the sound of their footsteps.

Silver rings bound his dark hair away from his face. His travel clothes left nothing loose for branch or hand to catch. Both hands remained visible and still at his sides.

The reeve faced them. “This is Vaelos Sylrien. Vaelos—Rishishura of Lantern Hall, Maeril Greenward, and Toman Haerrel. They have been permitted to join the expedition. Sera has come to see her husband off.”

Rishi bowed. The others answered with smaller inclinations of their heads.

Vaelos regarded them in turn, neither hurrying nor lingering. “I have heard of your work.”

“They stayed when they could have moved on,” the reeve said. “The sick speak well of them. Their work now points beyond Mosstone.”

“Does it?” Vaelos asked. His gaze moved between Rishi and Maeril.

Maeril opened her mouth, but the reeve spoke first.

“Those two mean well, but—”

“Those two are standing here,” Maeril said.

The reeve let out a tired breath. “So they are. When another person is suffering, they have been known to place that person’s well-being before boundaries.”

Maeril folded her arms. “You say that as if the order were wrong.”

The reeve tipped his head toward Vaelos.

“I say it because Ambassador Sylrien is responsible for those boundaries.”

Vaelos looked from her to Rishi. His expression did not change.

The reeve offered him a small bow. “I leave their passage to your wisdom and authority. May Tymora smile upon you.”

Vaelos kept his attention on Rishi and Maeril. “You seem to expect that wisdom and authority will not be enough.”

The reeve almost smiled. “I do.”

Then he turned and walked back toward Mosstone.

Vaelos watched him go until a woman’s voice cut across the creak of harness.

“Move that chest ahead of the axle. Check the left trace again. Leave the bay mule where he is.”

She crossed behind the first wagon, pressed one hand beneath a sagging canvas tie, and pointed to the knot. A porter retied it before she reached the next wheel. There she crouched, ran two fingers over the linchpin, and sent a waiting boy for grease with a turn of her wrist.

No one asked her to repeat herself. She never raised her voice.

Vaelos waited until she looked his way, then beckoned her over. “Our caravan master, Lysa Harrad.”

Lysa approached through the ruts and offered Rishi her hand, then Maeril hers. Her grip was brief and firm.

“Those two need no introduction,” she said. “They are the talk of the town.”

Maeril looked toward the nearest houses. “We are? Who is talking about us?”

“My mother, actually. She told me all about you when I arrived yesterday. She was in the square when Toman fell. She watched you come through the crowd and take charge.”

“Did she say anything else?” Maeril asked.

“She believes the two of you will find the cure for the weakness.”

Maeril smiled at once. “Ah. A wise woman. I like her already.”

Lysa smiled.

“Please introduce us when we come back,” Maeril said.

“I will.” Lysa turned to Toman. “There is room in the passenger wagon. It will run second in the line.” Then she looked at Rishi. “Will you stay with him and watch his health?”

“I will.”

Lysa set off toward the second wagon. Rishi moved with Toman, but Sera still held his hand.

He stopped.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “It is a long journey. If you get worse, the boys and I will not be there.”

“I am all right, Sera.”

She looked down at his shaking hand between hers.

Toman followed her gaze. The tremor tapped his knuckles against her palm.

He let out a breath. “I would rather the boys did not see me get worse. I cannot stand being this weak in front of them.”

“They still love you.”

His jaw tightened once. Then he looked toward Rishi and Maeril.

“I want to be of use to those two. To Mosstone. I want to be strong for all of us.”

Sera nodded. She put both arms around him, held him close, then kissed him.

“Then go be strong,” she said. “Be strong enough to come back, okay?”

He held her for one more breath. Then she let him go.

Toman turned toward the wagon.

The tremor in his hand changed.

His fingers jerked apart. His wrist shook so hard he could not close his hand again. His knee jerked once. Then his leg folded beneath him.

Rishi caught him under the arms before he struck the ground. He bent with Toman, planted both feet in the mud, and held him upright against his chest.

“Do not fight it,” Rishi said. “Breathe.”

Sera dropped beside them, one hand on Toman’s shoulder.

A woman left an open herb chest beside the passenger wagon and knelt where she could see Toman’s hand and the leg that would not hold him.

“I am Marda,” she said. Her attention stayed on Toman. “Deepwood betony, dried. The pale inner bark of young elder, steeped until it goes bitter. It will not cure the weakness, but it may quiet the trembling for a while.”

Maeril stared at her. “How do you know that?”

Marda rested two fingers against the inside of Toman’s wrist. The shaking worked against her touch.

“Why did nobody tell us before?” Maeril asked.

“Because neither plant grows within Mosstone’s reach,” Marda said. “They grow deeper in the Wealdath. Only a few of us have leave to gather there, and I am not allowed to bring back what I gather.”

Rishi waited until Toman could straighten his leg again. Then he and Marda brought him to the passenger wagon one careful step at a time. Sera stayed at his side until they settled him on the low step.

His hand had quieted to its old tremor. Sera closed hers around it once, then let go when he nodded.

Before Rishi could help Toman farther inside, the nearby voices stopped.

The Suldusk huntress was walking openly from Mosstone.

People turned as she passed the last houses. A porter stopped with rope drawn through both hands. One of the drovers lowered the hoof he had been cleaning and stood. No one fled or reached for a weapon, but the last small conversations died.

Vaelos gave her his full attention.

The huntress came on without hurry. Her green hood lay back from her face, and the bow across her shoulders did not move with her stride. She let the gathering watch her and offered nothing to ease it.

She stopped close enough to Maeril that stepping back would have been easier than holding her ground.

Maeril held it.

The huntress studied her with the same severe judgment she had carried through the market. Maeril’s throat tightened. The soles of her feet prickled inside her boots. Her body remembered the chase before her mind did: the certainty of pursuit at her back and nowhere safe to stop.

The huntress looked briefly at Toman, still seated on the wagon step.

Then her attention settled on Rishi.

Her face remained controlled. Her breathing slowed. She drew herself a little taller, her shoulders opening by a fraction.

Rishi answered with the smallest inclination of his head.

Vaelos came to stand beside them. He greeted the huntress in Elvish, formal and quiet. She answered in the same language. Neither Rishi nor Maeril understood what they said.

They walked a short distance from the wagons. Their exchange lasted only a few sentences. The huntress listened without looking away from Vaelos, replied once, then turned toward the forest road.

She did not address the travelers.

Maeril waited until she had crossed most of the departure ground. “Are we in trouble?”

Vaelos continued watching the huntress.

At last, he turned. “No. Not yet, I believe.”

Maeril’s shoulders did not loosen.

“She told me to keep a close eye on you,” he added.

“Us?”

“No. You, specifically.”

A short breath escaped Maeril before she could contain it. “How reassuring. I do hate being overlooked.”

Vaelos did not answer the joke. He turned openly toward her and Rishi.

“It is rumored that you helped a young Elmanesse woman escape the huntress. One of our people, in fact.”

Maeril closed her eyes and let her chin fall for half a breath. “Why does everything I do in this town travel so rapidly?”

Rishi nodded. “Yes. We did.”

Vaelos sighed.

“She asked for our help,” Rishi said. “She asked not to be turned over.”

“That would be her,” Vaelos said.

Maeril narrowed her eyes. “You know her?”

“Aestra is known among the Elmanesse. She lives apart, at the margins of our people.” Vaelos paused. “She is… unique.”

He looked toward Mosstone, where the reeve had disappeared among the houses. “The reeve asked me to take responsibility for you because tension in the town is rising. Moving you beyond its streets may keep that tension from becoming something worse.”

Maeril folded her arms.

“That is not his only reason,” Vaelos continued. “You have shown yourselves devoted to Mosstone’s people. Anything you discover about the weakness may benefit all of us. That makes you useful enough to take along.”

“No pressure, then,” Maeril said.

Vaelos’s gaze moved past her to the dark line of trees.

“You will be walking in Suldusk territory. Passage does not erase what came before. Older human incursions brought violence into the Wealdath. Some Suldusk answered by defending the forest against human presence. Some went too far.”

He let the words rest before continuing.

“Humans may consider that history distant. To elves, it remains close. It leaves a mark on the heart. Treat the boundaries you meet there as more than lines on a path.”

Rishi set the end of his staff in the mud and bowed formally.

“We will use our hands with care.”

Lysa arrived at the edge of their silence. “Ready, if you will join us.”

Maeril went straight to Marda, who had returned to her herb chest. “How long before we reach the restoration camp near Myth Rhynn?”

“Five days.”

“Plenty of time to become very annoying with far too many questions.”

Marda closed the lid of her chest. “Be my guest.”

Rishi walked back to the passenger wagon. Toman had settled onto the bench beneath the canvas, one hand braced on his knee.

Rishi took his place beside the wagon.

Their eyes met. Toman gave one small nod. Rishi returned it.

At the head of the line, Lysa raised her hand. The first driver called to the mules. Harness tightened, the lead wagon climbed out of its rut, and the pull passed down the caravan.

The passenger wagon lurched forward. Rishi matched its pace.

Sera remained between the wheel ruts until it had passed her.

The last roofs of Mosstone slipped behind the trees. Rishi kept walking beside Toman’s wagon, his staff meeting the road one quiet step at a time.