No One's Chosen (32 page)

He leapt again, not wanting Aile to have time to
steady herself. She retreated again but he pulled the dirt under
her feet and she shifted to the side. He was on her before she
could do much more than roll. The point of his rapier pierced her
leathers and dug into the meat of her arm mid-roll. The force of
her roll pulled the sword free but opened the wound wide. Blood
poured down from her arm. He swung again, a messy downward slash
that Aile parried easily, putting the tip of the sword into the
soft dirt. She got some small distance between them and stood.

The slim elf let go a cocky laugh. He pulled the
sword from the dirt and motioned to the deep red blood coming from
her arm. "I'd always heard you bled black."

Aile said nothing but stood ready. The elf was happy
to make the first move. He ran at her, flipping his sword to make
an upward slash at her, she thought. She saw the hand just in time,
but making the same shape. Aile ducked just as two hammers of dirt
collided in the air where her head had just been. The elf slashed
upward as he jumped over her, hitting only air. The Drow swung her
dagger up, hoping to catch the meat of his leg, at least. His
cuirass sounded the shining bite of metal on metal.

She cursed under her breath. The wound at her arm
began to throb horribly. A continued fight would not do unless she
meant to bleed out. It had to be now. She whirled and rose to a
crouch as the male elf turned and readied himself. He flipped the
sword upright, returning to proper form.

"Few have ever dodged that," he said, sounding sure
of himself. "I am impressed. It makes sense you were worth so
much."

Her silence seemed to annoy him. The lithe elf
clicked his tongue and started at her again, this time faster than
before. Aile leaned back, leading with her hands, as if to jump and
the elf whipped his hand to the side. Rather than a leap as he had
expected, the Drow pulled her hands forward sharply, canceling the
momentum, and fell flat onto her back. Her hands did not stop as
her back had, however. They flew upward carrying a pair of long,
needle sharp daggers. Her forehand was the injured one, slow and
not pulled as tight as she'd wanted. The blade ricocheted off his
gorget harmlessly. The other arm aimed true, however. The blade met
his eye with a soundless force and slid deep into his skull with
the slightest noise.

The spry elf landed half on top of her, his legs a
lifeless mass. When Aile moved to shove the dead man's legs off of
her chest, her arm protested. The pain was searing now. It would
stop bleeding soon enough, but she needed to see to it as quickly
as she could. She walked to the corpse she had just made and rolled
him to retrieve her dagger. She wiped it clean and put it back in
its place. She did the same with the others that had not been
lodged in the novice earth mage. She sighed, looking around to
decide which direction was the road. The sound of the river was
behind her.

"Ahead, then" she thought and she took a step.

As her foot landed, she felt a blazing pain rake
through the flesh of her calf. She looked down to find an arrow
where the pain had been and that was when she remembered.

There were three.

The sky filled once more with the purples and oranges
that had begun Socair's day as they rode into the camp. They left
the horses at the stables and made for the mess hall. They had made
it five steps before Doiléir came bounding up.

"Socair! Finally. I ran from the rear guard camp when
I heard." He bent over in front of her, breathing heavy.

"Is there news?" Socair was eager, she did not mean
to hide her curiosity.

Doiléir shook his head and forced a, "No." He
breathed deep and continued. "Not from the scouting legion."

"Then there is nothing?"

"I had thought so. Just before you arrived a man of
the rear guard told me that there were two recent transfers that
had been telling stories of ambushes. That is all I know."

"Do you know where they are?"

"I expect they are in the southern mess taking their
meal."

Socair did not speak another word, only started off
in the direction of the transferred soldiers. They might not know
much, but anything they had seen or heard would be of value. If
this sort of thing was happening to other companies, then there
were dangerous implications. Multiple leaks, possibly. Or perhaps
the hippocamps had truly changed their tactics after so long. The
prospect sent shivers down her spine. The elven superiors were slow
to take such lessons and many innocents would lose their lives
while they decided things might do with a change. It felt almost
perverse to hope that there were traitors inside the military. What
did that make her, to think of it? But it was a more easily
rectified problem and one that did not mean learning to fight the
enemy all over again.

She walked with purpose down the main thoroughfare of
the camp. Most of the soldiers were either at the mess or waiting
their turn in camps, so the traffic through the place was fairly
light. A Binseman rounded a corner onto the main passage toward the
south side of the camp. Socair had thought nothing of him until he
stopped in front of her, staring gormlessly. She approached him and
stopped.

"Bearer," he was some other of the Binseman's troupe
that she had never seen before, "I am sorry to trouble you, but the
Binseman needs you urgently."

Socair ground her teeth but forced a polite reply.
"If you would," she said. She could not imagine a living creature
she'd rather see less at the moment than Crosta. What could she
tell him about their mission? Why was he so keen to hear about it
straight away? She knew he would feel nothing, especially not for a
satyr. She still hardly understood the knot in her stomach that had
just started to fade as they had returned to the camp.

As they made for Crosta's marquee once again, Socair
noted that the telltale signs of a fort city were starting to
appear. Rectangles of earth had been dug free to lay foundations
and timbers were beginning to pile around the fringes of the
various encampments. Crosta's marquee came into view and beyond it
there were signs of construction. No doubt he would have his
offices raised first.

The Binseman's helper bowed and excused himself.
Outside Crosta's tent was Práta. She could not have looked softer
or less accustomed to standing a guard. The girl had never seen a
day's work from the look of her, to say nothing of a day's battle.
Socair smiled genuinely as she passed the freckled elf. Socair
would like to have spoken with her but there was no time. Into the
tent they went, Silín unable to resist the urge to brush her hand
across Práta's cheek as she went. Socair could hear the girl
straighten herself after they had passed through the canvas
flaps.

Crosta sat as his desk, waiting for them. When Socair
had stopped in front of his desk he began.

"Though I recommended against such a course of
action, the Treorai has handed me down instruction about what is to
be done with you." His words gave no hint of how he felt about the
action. As ever, he was difficult to understand.

Crosta did not speak for a moment after the initial
sentence, as if he were waiting for the words to unsay themselves.
They did not and with a click of his tongue he continued. "I will
be blunt. I do not think you are useful as much but a hound for
playing fetch. You are a soldier. A young soldier. You do not know
the way of the world or the value of the Treorai or indeed of
people like myself. You are hotheaded and you think more than you
ought."

Socair bit hard into the back of her lip. He was not
her superior, she knew, but what was her value against a Binseman
if she struck out at him, even with words?

"But my counsel is apparently of little concern."
There was the slightest hint of anger in his voice. "Deifir has
seen fit to set you to a less structured task." He went silent
again. After a time, he sighed and stood. "She wishes for you to go
west. There has been unrest among the citizens there brought on by
raiders and rumors of hippocamps in the swamps."

An image of the satyr families flashed through her
mind. There were hippocamps in the swamp, but they posed no threat.
At least not the ones she had seen. There could be others looking
for the deserters, she reasoned.

Crosta opened a drawer on his desk and pulled two
small purses from it. He held his arm out over the desk and let
them drop onto Socair's side of the desk. He waved his hands at the
bags dismissively. Socair stepped forward to grab them as he
continued.

"I am sending Práta with you. She will perform menial
tasks that you need not see to yourself."

"Menial tasks?" Socair did not know the girl well and
neither did she know why she might need someone to perform tasks
for her. Crosta had never much liked her, she knew that much, but
all of this was a bit much. She had heard Doiléir shift behind her
more than once as the coarse words had filled the tent.

"She will handle your reports to couriers and see to
your meals and so on." He paused, looking Socair in the eye for the
first time since she had entered. "She is the daughter of a very
dear friend. I expect you will treat her accordingly. I will not
have her come to any harm." He looked at Doiléir. "Especially not
her honor."

Doiléir bristled again, but held his tongue. It took
Socair somewhat by surprise, however. Had that really been the size
of it, she wondered? Was he simply troubled by how Práta might be
handled? Crosta might have been a surprisingly delicate man, after
all.

"That is all. Práta will explain in greater detail."
Crosta got up from his seat and disappeared behind a curtain.

Socair walked out of the marquee with Silín and
Doiléir in tow. The sun had fallen for the most part, though a bow
of orange stretched up from the western distance. Práta didn't seem
to notice them standing beside her at first. She was picking at her
fingernails, mumbling something too low for Socair to hear. Socair
cleared her throat hoping to get Práta's attention.

Práta looked up. "Oh. Oh no. Please say you've only
just exited the marquee."

Silín laughed. "Well, at least it's only the menial
tasks she's meant to look after."

Práta blushed a deep read and frowned a weak,
concerned frown.

"She will do fine, I'm sure." Socair said, motioning
ahead.

Práta took the cue and walked out ahead of them. She
began to explain without looking behind. "There is a town in the
west, not far from the coast. It is a smaller town, but important
as it acts as a trade hub for the region."

"Dulsiar?"

"Ah," Práta looked over her shoulder, "I'm sorry. You
must know more about this than me."

"It's fine. What do they need of us?"

"Cros-, er, the Binseman has informed me that the
Treorai wishes us to see to the troubles there, whatever they might
be."

"Us?" Doiléir said from the back. It would seem his
need to tease the poor girl had made him forget his frustrations
with the Binseman.

Práta turned and stopped. "I mean… you… three. The…
the Bearer and her Attendants."

Silín planted an elbow in Doiléir's side. He let out
an awkward quack and grabbed at the spot. Socair laughed.

"Práta. There is no need to tiptoe around ceremony or
proper titles and… whatever else noble sorts go in for. I am Socair
to my friends. And you are most welcome to call me by my name."

"Then… Socair." Práta nodded, trying the name on for
size. She seemed relieved when speaking it did not cause her to
burst into flames.

Socair started walking and turned Práta around to be
beside her as they made for her tent.

Doiléir spoke from behind them. "Crosta says you are
the the daughter of a friend of his. Who is your father?"

Práta half frowned. "He was the Regent of Glassruth.
They had been friends as children."

Socair knew the story of Glassruth well. It had
become a part of her own story for her actions there. The
hippocamps had hit Glassruth in force. It fell within a week and
the bodies of the Regent and his family had been hung from the
walls of the keep.

Silín's voice was soft with concern. "You
weren't…"

"No…" Práta had not told the story often, her
hesitance made that much clear. "I was sent to study in
Abhainnbaile. Crosta insisted that I be sent to his service as soon
as the temple would release me."

"Then you have studied magic?" Socair questioned.

"I have, but I am no Údar. I studied for only five
years. And the temples in Abhainnbaile struggle to maintain a
teaching staff. Especially with the promises of the temples in
Spéirbaile."

"What was your focus?"

"Abhainn's gift."

"The divine waters, eh?" Doiléir chimed in.

"Yes. I one day wish to be a healer. But… as I said,
I did not complete my works. I would return someday, if I am
able."

"It's admirable," Socair said. "None of us has the
patience for books and the lessons. Not the aptitude, I'd
wager."

Doiléir spoke up at this. "Those lessons. FEH! Some
crone slapping my wrists because I couldn't manage some shapes. I'd
be like to stab one of them inside a week."

They continued along, discussing the merits of magic
and of having Práta along for their travels. The time seemed to
slip and they stood in front of Socair's tent before they realized.
Doiléir and Silín went inside, leaving Socair and Práta at the
flaps. Socair held them aside for the girl.

"I shouldn't." Práta said, hesitating. "I have much I
need to prepare. There are the horses and my clothes and papers
and… and… I shouldn't"