“Bring your worst,” she challenged.
She crossed the village commons, heading for her cottage. The Rins’ milk cow was there, head down, chewing the grass. A scrawny barn cat slinked through the underbrush, probably stalking a field mouse. The Idleday weather had kept everyone else inside, even the children. Two fishing boats tethered to posts at the edge of the pond bobbed in the chop.
Before she reached the cottage the rain lost its stink and reduced to a drizzle. With the weather cooperating and leftover stew already in the soup kettle, she decided she’d walk a bit more, maybe stroll the edge of the village and enjoy the elms.
Shutters opened as she walked and she exchanged greetings with her neighbors.
“The rain is soon to stop,” she called to Mora.
Mora looked up, nodded. “How’s the loaf?”
Elle put her hand on her belly. “Rising.”
“The gods keep it and you.”
“And you, Mora.”
Her feet carried her eventually to the two oldest elms in the village- the Gate Elms, everyone called them. The road from the plains went right between them and extended out into the darkness, a string that connected the village to the dangers of the plains. The road faded after only a short distance, devoured by Sembia’s perpetual gloom. She stared at it a long while, rubbing her stomach. Gerak was out there somewhere, alone in the dark. She stood there under the leaves, sheltered from the drizzle, and wondered where he was, how he fared.
“Your daddy’s out there,” she said to Hope. “He’ll be back soon.”
She turned to go, but a sound from out in the plains caught her attention. A man’s voice, she was sure, although she had not made out any words. Gerak returning? A lost traveler? She considered calling out but thought better of it. Gerak was not due to return and Fairelm had not seen a traveler in many months. She looked back at the village, the homes and barns and sheds within earshot were mere shadowy blobs in the gloom. Her fine mood evaporated as distant thunder rumbled anew, the sky having its vengeance for her taunt.
“Probably nothing,” she whispered.
Still, she sheltered near the bole of one of the elms, her hand on the bark, and listened. She put her other hand on the handle of the small eating knife she carried. It would make a poor weapon.
Long moments passed and she heard nothing more, so she allowed herself to exhale. Probably she’d imagined the sound, or transformed a distant animal’s howl into a man’s voice. The gloom sometimes fooled the senses. Turning, she started back toward the village.
The sound of rattling metal froze her, tightened her chest. A man’s voice sounded from out in the darkness.
“Don’t move,” he said, and she didn’t. Surprise shackled her feet to the ground, put a lump in her throat, sent her heart racing so hard she felt dizzy. Horrors lurked on the plains and some of them could speak like a man. She knew she should call out for aid, but her voice seemed to have died in the sudden dryness of her mouth.
She heard the slosh of something large in the mud of the road, drawing nearer, the jangle of chains. She imagined huge feet thumping in the earth, something snatching her from the darkness and stealing her away. Gerak and the neighbors would wonder what had happened to her, but no one would ever know. She’d become a warning tale for children.
Thunder boomed. She blanched at the sudden sound.
“There now,” said the voice again, in a more soothing tone. “Good.” Good?
She realized that the voice was not speaking to her, and the realization slowed her heart and freed her from her paralysis. Movement in the gloom drew her eyes. She could not make out details but it did not appear the shadowy giant of her imagination.
“Who is out there?” she called.
The sound stopped. “Who asks? I seek Fairelm. This. . is the road, isn’t it? By the gods, Gray, if you’ve walked astray they’ll be no barley for you for a tenday.”
Gray? Didn’t she know that name?
And all at once the voice and the sounds fell into place for Elle. Gray was a mule. The sound of jingling metal was the old mule’s bridle. And the voice. .
“Minser? Is that you?”
“Aye,” said the peddler, and Elle heard the smile in his tone. “Is this Fairelm?”
Elle laughed with relief, her legs weak with it. “It is! It is! Come on so I can see you.”
The slosh of Gray’s hooves in the road grew louder, the sound no longer ominous but jaunty. The dimness relented as they closed and the shapes took on details. Minser’s large covered cart containing pots, pans, cutlery, tools, jars, all manner of metal and clay goods, even a few items of glass. Minser sat hunched on the driver’s bench like a dragon on his hoard. Gray, the largest mule Elle had ever seen, sullenly pulled the wagon through the muck, his ears flat on his head. Elle stepped away from the elm and waved.
“Minser! It’s been so long! We thought something had befallen you.”
Minser leaned forward on his bench to see her better. When he did, his jolly, round face split into a smile under his thick, graying moustache. “No, fair lady. Gray and me know these roads better’n the shades themselves. We steer clear of trouble. And we know how to shoot it when it shows.” He held up the crossbow he kept beside him on the bench. “Besides, a creature’d hafta be senile to want to chew on these old bones.”
He clicked at Gray to halt him before Elle, then heaved himself down off the wagon’s bench. His belly bounced with every move he made. Elle rubbed Gray’s muzzle, and the gentle giant of a mule whinnied with pleasure.
“He remembers you, lady,” Minser said. “As do I.” The peddler removed his wide-brimmed hat and made a show of bowing. “I’m pleased to see you well, Lady Elle.”
“And I’m pleased to see you,” Elle said, with a mock curtsey. “As will everyone else. Come, you should announce yourself.”
“Of course,” Minser said. “Will you ride?”
“I think I will,” she said. Minser made a stirrup of his hands and assisted her up onto the driver’s bench.
“Ayep,” he said, and shook Gray’s reins. The mule pulled the wagon forward. “You know, in the Dales and Cormyr, a traveler don’t announce himself as they do here.”
“In the Dales and Cormyr everyone can see a traveler when he arrives in a village. Here, the gloom makes sight uncertain. Hearing is best, unless you want to risk a startled crossbowman putting a quarrel in your hind end.”
“You speak with truth,” Minser said, chuckling.
“You’ve been to Cormyr and the Dales recently, then?” Elle asked. “The sun shines there still?”
“Only Sembia is darkened by the Shadovar, lady. I was in Cormyr at the end of summer, and the sun shines brightly there. Things are dire in the Dales, I hear. Sembian soldiers occupy Archendale and the other Dales brace for further attack. I myself saw Sembian soldiers, hundreds of them, on the march north. Stories of war in the far Silver Marches have even carried to these ears.” He shook his head sadly. “All of Faerun seems at war, milady. There’s no place safe. I don’t know what will come of it all.”
“Well,” Elle said. “You’re safe here. And welcome.”
“Ah, even in the gloom you shine brightly, milady.”
Elle laughed. “You should have had a life at court, Minser. You’ve a flatterer’s tongue.”
Minser put a hand to his chest and feigned a wounded heart. “You hear that, Gray? A flatterer’s tongue, she said.”
Elle turned serious. “May I ask you a question? Why come back to Sembia? Gerak and I were considering leaving. The Rabbs left several days ago. I wonder if you saw them on the road?”
“I did not, alas. Although they might have been avoiding the roads for fear of the soldiers.”
“Well, if we left and saw the sun, I can’t imagine ever returning.”
Minser nodded as if he understood. “The road is in my bones, I’m afraid. Besides, even the darkest places need the light of Minser’s pans and urns and stories. But maybe you should leave, lady? A life in the sun would suit you.”