No One's Chosen (33 page)

"I understand. There will be more than enough time
for us to socialize soon enough."

Práta smiled. "Yes." It was all she said before she
bounded off into the night.

Socair walked into the tent to find Doiléir pacing
and Silín seated, comfortable, trying to ignore him. She had
grabbed a cloth to wipe her sweat. He looked up to see Socair had
come in.

"The gall of that muleborn bastard," he shouted and
motioned to Crosta's end of the camp. "And the girl? She must be a
spy."

Silín leaned back in her chair. "Spy? The girl looked
like to cry just walking with us."

"A sign of guilt, surely."

"You are a dim man, Doiléir."

"Well?" He scoffed and looked to Socair as she passed
to her bed, tossing the coin sacks ahead of her.

"I've never known you to be exceedingly bright, if
truth be told." Socair sat on the bed and began working the buttons
on her brigandine. "But Práta is with us for some work of Crosta's.
She will tell him where we are and what we mean to do."

"To what end?" Silín asked.

"To satisfy his ego. You heard how he spoke to
Socair. He expects her to fail and he wishes to be the first to
hear about it."

Socair shrugged. It was as close to true as she could
guess. As captain of the van, she had not needed to spend so much
time around the man but she had heard the stories. He was a control
freak, ignoring the counsel of even the most senior among the First
Company. She had found silence got her through the strategy
meetings he called before a major campaign. It was easier to listen
first and ignore when on the field of battle. Her promotion to
Bearer had given her more contact with the caustic Binseman than
she could stomach for a lifetime.

"Whatever the cause," she said, "I am glad to be rid
of him for so long as this lasts."

"We'll have to thank the Treorai when we next visit
Abhainnbaile." Silín rolled her head back over the top of the
chair.

"I'll have to get her some exotic desert wine. Might
be she'll take such a liking to it she'll name me a Binseman."

"To your wine or your cock?" Silín joked.

Socair laughed and added, "She's only like to find
the bottle."

"Well it's good to know you two mean to make the
voyage a pleasant one for all involved." Doiléir dropped into a
chair.

Silín looked to Socair. "What about the girl
though?"

Socair raised an eyebrow as she pulled off her boots.
"How do you mean?"

"What do you think of her?"

"She's pretty. And honest."

"Too honest," Doiléir said.

"Might be," Socair replied. "But I don't dislike
her."

"You mean to say you like her." Silín spoke this
time.

Socair blushed lightly.

"Oh Fires take you," Doiléir said. "I saw her
first."

"And what would that matter?" Silín threw the
sweat-stained cloth at him.

The length of the day laid a sudden weight on Socair
as the tent fell silent. She had risen early and the ride had been
long and hard. She'd almost have fallen asleep sitting up if
Doiléir had not jumped up and shouted.

"Food!"

Silín sat up in her chair and looked at him. "What of
it?"

"You've not had any since breakfast." He rushed out
of the tent.

Silín looked to Socair who was laughing. "Just when I
think I might learn to hate him, he does something thoughtful."

"He's a complicated lover."

"An oaf, you mean."

Socair shrugged a noncommittal response. She made to
lean back on the bed, but her hand brushed the purses. She lifted
one up.

Silín sat forward in her chair, motioning at the
pouches with her head. "Couple dozen coppers, you think?"

"If that." She pulled open the pouch and dumped it
onto her hand. The coins were a dull yellow, definitely not copper.
It was gold, at least twenty. Her eyes widened. She held the hand
up to show Silín. The smaller elf stood, shaking her head in
disbelief.

"No." She looked away from the coins and back. "How
long does he mean for us to be gone?"

Socair upended the bag, spilling the full amount onto
the bed beside her. There was a note.

"The Treorai has alloted these purses for use of the
Bearer and her Attendants in service to the Will. Please notify
Práta should you have need of more."

There was no mistake. Socair grabbed the other bag
and opened it to inspect the contents. Two dozen silver coins and
some coppers.

"I insist we stay at inns instead of camping" Silín
was grinning wildly.

"I… I am inclined to agree."

Doiléir came back in with a pair of plates covered
with food. He was complaining loudly about the camp cooks when he
noticed the coin on the bed. "Sisters! Is…" He lowered his voice.
"Is it stolen?"

Silín snatched her plate from the desert elf. "If you
weren't fed turned milk as a baby, I'll be amazed."

"What? Where would she get so much?"

"The muleborn bastard."

"No." He looked to Socair. "Truly?"

Doiléir laid the plate on the bed next to Socair as
she gathered the coins. "I doubt he was happy about it. I suspect
the Treorai set the amount."

"Well…" Doiléir sat back in his chair. "I suppose
I'll have to marry her then."

Óraithe turned the cheap copy of the warehouse key
over in her hands. Outside the den the sun was dipping low in the
sky, filling the room with orange light. An old drunkard that had
been a smith in a long forgotten life had made the key for them. It
was a poor copy but the man had sworn it would work. They had paid
with stolen dresses so there was little Óraithe could bring herself
to complain about. The key was cut from black iron and was rough to
the touch. Teas had made a sketch of the key and it was not a
complex thing so it may work yet anyway. If not, they could simply
try to break the lock. That had been Scaa's suggestion when the
subject of the key was brought up to begin with. She would just
kick the door in, she'd insisted. It would be faster. But louder,
Óraithe had reminded her. They would need as much time as they
could afford themselves to choose what they would take for
themselves.

The short elf girl let the key drop to the table. It
rang briefly before clacking flat onto the wooden surface. The book
was at the end of the table, the one on the Treorai that the shop
owner had owned. She ran her fingers over the book slowly, feeling
the softness of the leather binding. Scaa had been so annoyed that
Óraithe felt some measure of guilt over what they meant to do but
finally calmed. When she did, she explained that the High District
elves had a thing called insurance. Her father had explained it to
her. Some system the northern elves had developed after a fire had
destroyed nearly half the Outer Crescent of the Bastion City. The
companies would collect money from people and pay it out if
something should happen. The Low District elves did not have access
to the these companies. Scaa said the insurers insisted the area
was too prone to dangerous sorts and frauds.

The book on the Treorai had mentioned the fires.
Óraithe had not been able to read the whole of it yet, but she
liked what she had read. A noble who seemed to truly care for her
people. Óraithe scarcely thought it possible. The book regularly
gave credit to her Binse for the resolution of many of the more
major problems but they had all been put into place by the Treorai
for just that reason. She did not keep a harem around her to see to
her whims and crush her people underfoot. Not like in Fásachbaile.
She liked to imagine that if she ran the province she would do it
much like the Treorai of Spéirbaile.

"Óraithe." Teas called from across the room where she
sat braiding Bonn's hair. "Can you check the pot?" She motioned
toward the kettle that contained their food for the night.

It was a thin broth with some discarded vegetables
Óraithe had managed to steal from behind a shop. Óraithe stood and
walked past Scaa toward the pot. She had been scowling at Teas and
Bonn nearly the entire time.

"If you want your hair braided so bad, just ask her."
Óraithe jested as she passed. Scaa chuffed her dismissal of the
idea and looked away.

Óraithe pulled the lid from the pot. The smell was
enough to set her mouth watering. She had eaten less since taking
to the den. Cosain had always made sure she was well fed and
Óraithe missed the taste of meat. Vegetables were thrown out often
enough but the most you could get for meat was a carcass here and
there. And often the dogs and cats found them first. There was the
skeleton of a chicken in the pot, but they had picked it clean some
night ago before using the bones to make stock.

The dinner was much as Óraithe expected it to be.
Scaa sat silently and ate. Óraithe did the same. Was Scaa as
nervous as she was? She must be. What they meant to do… it meant a
noose no matter how much they might plead or cry or beg. Teas and
Bonn carried on throughout the entire meal as though there wasn't a
care in the world. Óraithe envied her friend's flippant demeanor.
Even as they prepared after dinner, Teas kept near Bonn, telling
him jokes and stories.

A cool wind was blowing across the city when they
left for their work. Scaa and Bonn walked out in front of Óraithe,
Teas hung back with her friend.

"Rare of you to not stick beside the boy," Óraithe
said, trying to lighten her own mood.

Teas grabbed her sleeve. "I know that you are doing
this for us. For all of us." Her words stopped there as they
walked, her hand still on Óraithe's sleeve. "Please do not let them
take you."

Óraithe put her hand over Teas's. Her friend had been
brave, certainly. Bonn must have been a way to keep her mind off of
the danger and the worry. Óraithe could only manage a smile by way
of a reply. Her gut was a knot of terror and anticipation and she
could not bring herself to promise Teas that it would all be fine.
She had seen too many necks put through a loop of rope to be so
optimistic.

Óraithe looked ahead at Scaa and Bonn. The boy
smiled, asking Scaa an infinite line of questions about what they
would do and whether they could have meat again after they took
things from the highborn. Óraithe could just make out the bulge of
the cheap knife Scaa had used to kill the dress shop's owner
underneath her shift. She hoped they would not need it tonight but
they could not risk entering without it.

The trip to the palisade was dotted with the
occasional drunkard stumbling home. None of them seemed interested
in the four young elves even if they had noticed them. On the other
side of the great fence it was even quieter. The High District
tended to sleep early. Even their alehouses closed early. Though
any time would seem reasonable compared to the alehouses in the Low
District which never shut. She had heard tales of young highborn
who enjoyed the life of an alehouse enough to sneak into the Low
District. Most such stories ended with them sold to raiders or
slavers.

When at last they stood before the warehouse, it was
dark and silent. Quieter than Óraithe wanted, in truth. There was
comfort in ambient noise that took no interest in what an
individual was doing. It was one of the things that had always
comforted her about the slums. There was also a far off mix of
singing and shouting and life that formed a hum. It felt safe
knowing that others were preoccupied with a life that took no
interest in her.

"The door is around the side, yeah?"

Teas answered before Óraithe could. "Yes. The last
worker should have left through there some hours ago and locked it
as he went."

The alleyway that ran beside the shop was spacious.
More than the width of some of what passed for streets in the Low
District. It took some work to get the poorly made key into its
home, but finally Óraithe managed to push it into the keyhole and
give it a strong twist. The lock groaned and the metal complained
but it fell loose and the key had done its work. Óraithe doubted
any of them could have turned the thing back to retrieve the key,
but it had only needed to work once.

The inside of the warehouse was pitch black. Scaa had
brought a flint to start the fire they would use to raze the
warehouse when they were down taking what they wanted. She pulled
the flint and her knife and took to lighting the lantern nearest
the door. It took more than a dozen strokes of the flint but
finally a spark caught the oil-soaked wick and light spilled into
the warehouse. Another lantern on the other side of the door joined
the first in providing them light.

"Should we not all have one?" Teas asked.

"No, too bright," Scaa replied, motioning at the
windows that dotted the top of the warehouse walls.

Óraithe and Scaa were entrusted with the lanterns.
The dead quiet of the warehouse still weighed heavy on Óraithe. She
could see the others feeling it as well, making sure of their
footsteps and keeping clear of any obstacles. All except Bonn, who
could not have seemed less burdened by the situation. He bounded
around, skipping and looking at all the finery.

His eye caught something that he fancied and he spun,
chirping. "Scaa, Scaa!"

Before he could sound another letter, Scaa slapped
him hard across the face. The dull boy grabbed his cheek, looking
surprised and hurt. She did not speak, only held a finger to her
lips. Bonn frowned and looked down, nodding.

They would not be able to take much. Only what they
could carry. Óraithe had been in the place before and wondered what
she ought to take. If not for the glass on the front of the
building, she'd love to go and steal away with some of those old
tomes. No doubt they held amazing stories and valuable teachings.
She had not always cared about such things, but it had become her
escape. Even if she spent the rest of her life unable to free
herself from the Low District slums, she would have the stories and
the knowledge of the books she'd read. They couldn't take it from
her no matter how much they tried, it was a part of her. She wanted
to nurture that part. Make it grow. There was power in knowledge,
she felt, though she could not prove it.