Chapter 227: Beyond the Border

Elara was already waiting outside the academy gates when Arthur arrived on Sunday morning, reading a folded merchant notice.

"Look at that," Arthur said. "You’re early, and you didn’t even bring a bow to shoot me with."

Elara glanced up, slipping the paper into her satchel. "Good morning to you too. How’s your chest?"

"Perfectly fine."

"Really? That was a rather impressive chalk mark yesterday."

"Emily told you at breakfast that I blamed the bowstring, didn’t she?" Arthur asked as they fell into step down the avenue toward the carriage stand.

"She said you started complaining about the lower loop before you even sat down with your stew," Elara replied calmly. "Which was interesting, considering you didn’t fire a single arrow the entire round."

"Because I was respecting the faulty equipment," Arthur said. "Practically a safety hazard."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Elara’s mouth as they climbed onto an open city wagon heading toward the lower wards. The morning air was cool, carrying the smell of coal smoke and fresh bread from the bakeries along the street as weekend shopkeepers hauled the shutters off their storefronts.

"I realized this morning that I don’t actually know what you do at Obsidian Hand," Elara said, resting an arm on the wooden rail as the wagon rattled downhill. "Felix says you own half the guild, but you’re at the academy all week."

"Sylvia runs the ledgers, Tolan handles the alchemy bench, and Sophia keeps the hunters from losing their paperwork," Arthur said, resting his braced left wrist across his thigh. "Mostly I stay out of Sylvia’s way unless she needs something hit or someone recruited."

"Is she really as difficult as Felix claims?"

"Worse," Arthur said cheerfully. "Felix only sees her when she’s being polite to guests. When I walk in, she usually starts by asking how much silver I’ve cost her."

Elara laughed softly, tucking a windblown strand of silver-blond hair behind her ear. "You make guild ownership sound exhausting."

"It has its moments," Arthur said. "What are you going to do about the festival showcase if your new bow still hasn’t arrived? Use the backup?"

"For regular practice, yes," Elara said. "The grip on my backup bow is holding for now, but it’s too light for the long-distance demonstration. I was counting on those silver-yew billets to finish my heavier bow."

"Good," Arthur grinned. "Maybe I actually will sign up with Leon. Sounds like my best chance to beat you in front of a crowd."

"You’re still wearing a leather splint, Vance," Elara pointed out, glancing sideways at him. "By the time the festival comes around, you’ll just have a fresh excuse ready."

Ten minutes later, the wagon turned into the warehouse district. Warehouse Nine’s wide freight doors stood open to the morning sun. Inside, a four-man hunter crew was weighing a stack of boar hides near the front scale while two warehouse hands argued with a drayman over a load of iron bindings.

Sophia stood behind her high desk near the ledger racks, checking a stack of waybills through her spectacles. She looked up as they walked in, her gaze shifting from Arthur to Elara.

"Don’t tell me," Sophia said, setting her quill down. "You found another student to test Tolan’s scrap pile."

"Not today," Arthur said. "This is Elara. We need to talk to Sylvia about the northern merchant roads. Is she free?"

"She’s at the back table going over the weekly escort tallies," Sophia said, pulling a leather-bound folder from the shelf beside her elbow and tucking it under her arm. "Come on. I was just bringing her the northern cancellations anyway."

They followed Sophia down the central aisle to the rear table, where Sylvia sat with two open account books spread in front of her, her dark hair pinned up with an iron stylus.

"If you’re here for your share of the Oakhaven salvage, Vance, the buyer hasn’t paid yet," Sylvia said without looking up.

"Good morning to you too," Arthur said, pulling out a chair for Elara. "Sylvia, this is Elara from my combat cohort."

Sylvia blotted her pen and looked up, taking in Elara’s composure with a brisk nod. "Lady Elara. I heard the academy had an archer from the northern provinces this term."

"Just Elara while I’m in Lornfell, please," Elara said, taking the seat. "Thank you for seeing me on a Sunday, Guildmaster Sylvia."

"Arthur rarely brings anyone down here without a reason," Sylvia said. "Sophia said you were asking about the northern roads?"

"I ordered replacement bowyer materials from home a month ago through Maren’s factor office," Elara said, setting her merchant notice on the table. "They were supposed to arrive with the Highpass timber caravans ten days ago. On Thursday, Maren’s clerk told me every wagon coming south through the pass has been held up by secondary border inspections. Two smaller carriers told me the same thing, and the couriers have stopped taking private parcels across the line."

Sylvia glanced down at the slip of paper. "We’ve had two clients cancel their northern escorts this week."

"Because of the border?" Arthur asked.

"That’s what the merchants told us when they called off the guards," Sylvia said.

"Wait a second," Sophia said, flipping open the leather folder she had brought from the front desk. She ran her finger down a half-page voucher pinned inside. "Elara, you said your crate was coming down the Highpass timber road?"

"Yes."

"Then the border inspections might not be the real problem," Sophia said, turning the sheet around. "Voss brought his four-man escort crew back from the Highpass route on Thursday after the client paid a cancellation fee. Look at the note he logged."

Elara leaned forward over the table.

"Voss’s client never even got the wagons to the border," Sophia said, tapping the cramped handwriting at the bottom of the page. "They were held at the Red Pine staging station. According to the head driver, the station master wouldn’t let the timber carts leave the yard because the provincial release papers hadn’t been issued."

Elara went very still. "Red Pine is fifteen miles inside elven territory."

"So that shipment never even reached the kingdom’s customs officers," Arthur said.

"According to one driver," Sylvia cautioned. "I’d want someone to confirm it before putting money on that story. Freight gets held at staging yards for plenty of reasons—tax disputes, a magistrate sitting on seals, or a quarantine on timber. Market clerks here in the city just blame border inspections because it keeps buyers from demanding their deposits back."

"Three weeks is a long time for a tax dispute," Elara said quietly. "And my family’s letters over the past month only mentioned extra patrols along the frontier roads. Nothing about stopping commercial wagons inside our own province."

Arthur looked at her. "If the staging yard is holding the papers, can’t you ask the elven consulate here in the city to check on it?"

Elara shook her head. "If I ask through the consulate, word will reach my family before anyone gives me an answer. Right now, they’re keeping their letters vague because they want me focused on the academy. If I start making official inquiries about border stations, they won’t send me an explanation—they’ll just send an escort to bring me home."

She looked across the table at Sylvia. "I want to know what’s actually happening at Red Pine before I decide what to write back to them."

Sylvia tapped her stylus against the ledger cover, considering the map route.

"Harn’s escort crew is taking a wool caravan north toward the border relay right now," Sylvia said. "He’s our senior captain on that road, and he knows the yard masters on both sides of the pass. I can send a mounted rider up the road today with instructions for Harn to check the Red Pine station himself—assuming they’re still letting riders cross the line."

"How much for the rider and Captain Harn’s time?" Elara asked immediately, reaching into her satchel for her coin pouch.

Arthur snorted. "I bring you down here to help you out, and you’re already trying to pay my guildmaster?"

"Investigating trade routes is guild work, Arthur," Elara said, glancing up at him with a dry arch of her brow. "And you just told me on the wagon that you don’t know how the ledgers work."

Sylvia’s mouth twitched. "She’s smarter than you, Vance."

"Everyone keeps saying that this week," Arthur complained.

"I’ll charge standard rates for the courier," Sylvia told Elara, waving off the coins for now. "Since my own escort contracts are sitting idle until that timber road opens, having Harn check the yard serves Obsidian Hand’s business too. You can settle the rider’s fee with Sophia once we actually have an answer."

"If we catch Harn at the relay by Tuesday night, we might hear something before the weekend," Sophia said, jotting a note onto her pad. "Depends how far he has to ride, and how cooperative the station master is."

"Before the weekend is fine," Elara said, tucking her merchant slip back into her bag. "Thank you, Guildmaster."

A loud clatter of iron bands echoed from the loading ramp up front, followed by an angry shout from the drayman. Sylvia sighed and stood up. "Excuse me. Apparently my warehouse hands can’t unload hardware without starting an argument."

As Sylvia headed toward the front doors and Sophia took the dispatch note back to her desk, Arthur walked with Elara toward the quieter side aisle.

Elara stopped beside a row of cedar crates, looking toward the high sunlit windows at the front of the building.

"Red Pine is inside our territory," Elara said quietly. "If the station master is waiting on provincial orders, somebody back home knows what’s happening. And they didn’t put a word of it in my letters."

"Wait until Harn talks to the yard master," Arthur said, leaning his hip against the crate beside her. "Right now all we have is a driver’s complaint on a cancelled voucher."

"I know." Elara let out a slow breath and looked up at him. "Still. If I’d kept asking the market clerks, I’d still be waiting on customs notices that don’t exist. Thank you for bringing me down here, Arthur."

"How much is that gratitude worth?" Arthur grinned. "One rematch on the eastern tower with my real bow?"

"Whenever your wrist is ready to lose a second time," Elara said, a slight smile returning to her face.

They walked back out of Warehouse Nine into the late-morning sun. Rather than flagging another crowded wagon at the freight stand, they took the stone river steps up toward the bridge ward.

Elara was quiet for the first block, her boots clicking evenly against the cobbles as they climbed above the noise of the dray yards. Near the top of the bridge arch, the smell of roasted onions and flaky pastry drifted out from a corner bakehouse.

"Come on," Arthur said, steering her toward the counter window by the elbow. "Sylvia’s meetings always make me hungry."

He bought two hot beef pasties wrapped in waxed paper and handed one to her as they continued up the shaded avenue toward the academy plateau.

Elara unfolded the paper carefully, taking a bite before glancing sideways at him. "You didn’t have to buy lunch too."

"Consider it an advance on my inevitable loss on the eastern tower," Arthur said around a mouthful of crust.

Elara’s lips curved slightly. They walked another fifty paces beneath the overhang of the stone wall before she spoke again.

"It’s strange being this far south when things go quiet at home," she said, looking out over the parapet toward the northern hills hazy in the midday light. "At home, if the frontier wardens close a road, you know about it the same morning because half the garrison rides past the estate gates. Here, I just get polite letters telling me the weather is turning cold and asking about my coursework."

"Your mother’s trying to keep you from worrying," Arthur said.

"She’s treating me like I’m twelve," Elara corrected dryly. "Which only makes me worry more."

"Well, Sylvia doesn’t care how old you are as long as the courier fee clears," Arthur said, finishing the last of his pasty and crumpling the waxed paper into his pocket. "Once Harn rides up to Red Pine, you’ll know whatever the station master knows. And if the road’s still blocked when the report comes back, we’ll figure out the next move from there."

Elara stopped near the stone water fountain just outside the academy’s lower path, turning to face him. The breeze off the hill caught her hair again, and this time she didn’t bother tucking it back, her green eyes steady on his face.

"You really don’t mind getting dragged into this, do you?" she asked softly.

"Gives me an excuse to bother Sylvia on a Sunday," Arthur said easily. He reached out with his good hand and tapped the strap of her satchel. "Besides, if those silver-yew billets don’t arrive, you’ll have a built-in excuse when I beat you at the festival showcase."

Elara laughed—a genuine, unguarded sound that drew a curious glance from two second-years passing the fountain. She stepped closer for a second, her hand resting lightly against his good forearm.

"Try not to break your other wrist before our rematch, Arthur," she said warmly. "Let me know as soon as word comes from Warehouse Nine."

"Count on it," Arthur said.

Arthur watched her head toward the west dormitories before turning back toward the main quadrangle.