28 #3

Eight hundred and four people answered the count. There were burns, cuts, and two broken legs. No family had entered the wagons bound for C-0.

Kaoran met Isolde in an abandoned sawmill. He saw Tavra’s crossbow on the table and understood.

“How?” he asked.

“Leth shot her while she held the quarry.”

“Did the last ones get out?”

“All of them.”

Kaoran touched the weapon’s wood.

“What did she ask for?”

“For the legend to learn routes.”

Ena had gathered the representatives in the sawmill. They brought food tallies for two days and a map showing three villages that could house them.

Isolde laid her burned cloak beside Tavra’s crossbow.

“Cevran will search those villages,” she said.

“Families of ours are being hunted there too,” Ena replied. “We’ll have to warn them.”

For an hour, they compared shelters, injuries, and carts.

Kaoran asked about bridges; the guides ruled out two roads on learning that the elderly would have to travel them on foot.

Each district chose two destinations and a relay that could receive people needing treatment.

The families decided together where they would enter the map.

The river representative asked Isolde to accompany them.

“I can go to the first crossroads,” she said. “Then I continue toward Cendral. The patrol will follow me.”

“We’ll need fire again.”

Ena pointed to the tunnel her grandchildren had used.

“Today we had to open it with shovels. Let’s find out who can carry them.”

The man wrote down two names. The gardens set aside seeds for the next planting. The northern district offered six nights’ lodging and asked for a flour check on the third. The boats would accept whatever loads their owners agreed to when they reached the river.

A boy was looking at the cloak on the table.

“Will you come if we put ash at another door?”

Isolde crouched to his height.

“I’ll come if I get the message and can reach you.”

“Then we’ll put up a bell. They hear that sooner.”

Ena gave him a piece of charcoal to draw where.

Beren stayed away from the table. He cleaned Tavra’s crossbow with a cloth. Blood had dried beside the trigger.

Isolde went to him.

“Leth will follow Cevran toward C-0.”

“We can catch him before the Three Needles.”

“We can.”

“Tavra died from his bolt.”

“I saw.”

“I want to kill him.”

“You have the right to want that.”

Beren raised the weapon.

“And to do it?”

“You’ll decide when he’s in front of you. Today, eight hundred and four people know your face and need to get off his map.”

“There’s always someone who needs to get out.”

“Yes.”

“That’s how Cevran escaped. That’s how Darian lived.”

Isolde took in the words.

“That’s also how Nara got out. Your sister hugged you again. Luma is still with her family.”

“Tavra would be here if you’d burned Leth in the square.”

“She might be. Others might have been trapped inside.”

Beren clenched his jaw.

“I hate the tallies that come after a name.”

“So do I.”

“How can you keep going?”

Isolde sat on the floor beside the bench where he cleaned the crossbow.

“She gave me soup for my birthday,” she said. “She asked if I wanted anything else. I’m thinking of that table and how long we’ll have to walk without her sitting there again.”

Beren set down the cloth. For a while, only the sawmill’s voices could be heard.

“She missed thirteen names,” he said.

“You reached the end.”

“I was waiting for her to correct one.”

Isolde rested her hand on the bench near his. Beren closed his eyes and let his crying bend his shoulders. She stayed beside him until he could draw breath.

When he rose, he reached for the weapon again.

“I’ll take it to C-0. Today I’ll help Ena with the guides.”

Isolde gave him the clean cloth she kept in her bag.

“Tavra would tell you to finish that before touching her strings.”

Beren looked at the stain still on his hand.

“For hours.”

News from Neraval arrived at dawn.

Varek had sent a report to every station. The anonymous warrior had attacked an evacuation, burned property, and abducted the population. The commission offered amnesty to anyone who returned and provided information about her.

Cevran placed patrols on the roads to three predictable shelters.

The routes the districts had chosen passed far from all three.

“The story will arrive before us,” Ena said.

“We’ll send witnesses,” Isolde replied.

Each group chose two people to tell what had happened. One carried Varek’s order. The other carried names, times, and damage reports. Their accounts would travel separately and be compared at the destination.

The Halver register allowed them to add C-0’s codes.

“Do we say we saw your face?” a scribe asked.

“You can tell what happened,” Isolde said.

“Do we write a description?”

“That will make the hunt easier.”

Ena intervened.

“We’ll write what she did. The face belongs to those who were there.”

The scribe agreed.

Anonymity protected the route to Cendral. It also let Varek fill the missing name with any accusation. Neraval would answer with verifiable facts.

Before they left, Ena asked them to take Tavra to the junction of the six roads.

They had laid her body on a door from the sawmill. A wool blanket covered the wound. Beren carried the crossbow. Two women from the gardens district carried the front of the door; Oren and a carpenter held the back.

Those still in the shelters formed an uneven line among the pines. Some were finishing the carts’ preparations. Others had already left for intermediate stops and had left a representative behind. Each district came with a stone, a tool, and someone who could remember the way back.

The junction lay on a low hill. From there, they could see the six paths chosen during the night. Rain had filled the wheel ruts and left dark bands across the earth.

“A patrol could find her here,” the river representative said.

“So could any of our groups,” Ena replied.

“The commission will tear away her name.”

Beren set the crossbow on the blanket.

“We’ll write it in more places.”

Ena looked at Isolde.

“What did you do with the dead at home?”

The question came without a title. Isolde was grateful for that.

“In Caleryon, I’ve seen stone urns. The family gathered to hear the name and tell something about the person.”

“Tavra would laugh at an urn,” Beren said.

“She laughed at anything that needed two servants to move it,” Ena added.

Several people smiled. Pain shifted its posture within the group.

Roots and stones bound the soil of the hill. The carpenters brought wedges and mallets. They opened a hollow between the roots while the districts placed stones around it. They worked in shifts. No one waited for an order from Isolde.

An old man from the north asked who would speak.

“Anyone with something that can be verified,” Ena said.

The first was a girl from the tunnel.

“Tavra counted me twice even though I said I was already out.”

A boatman raised his hand.

“She broke an oar over my head when I tried to charge a family to get them out of Luzmer.”

“Then she paid you for the oar,” someone said.