No One's Chosen (52 page)

Silín sighed and walked off toward the connecting
room. Socair approached Práta. When she neared, Práta held out the
letter. Socair took it in her hands and sat on the couch where
Práta had been. The girl lingered a moment as if unsure of what to
do with herself. For half a second, she seemed as if she might sit
beside Socair but instead she shuffled off to busy herself with
other things around the room.

The letter bore the seal of the First Company rather
than the Binseman. The chief scout, perhaps? She broke the wax and
rolled the missive.

"Bearer,

"It is my sincere hope that this letter finds you in
good health and fair spirit. Progress on the fort is steady and it
is like to be fully operational well before the chill of Bais falls
over the province. To more pressing matters, there is little news
of movement from the hippocamps at all. A few mentions among the
scouts in the White Wastes and one entirely queer report of small
ships off the coast of The Mire. I have sent a request for
clarification to the detachment which reported the ships, but they
are slow in replying. Personally, I cannot put much stake in the
notion of hippocamps taking to the sea. They have not done so in
the fifteen thousand years of the war and there is no need to think
they would begin now.

"I apologize that there is not more worth reporting.
Perhaps the future will be more fruitful to your service of the
realm.

"Sonraí, Chief Scout of the First Company of
Defenders in Service to Abhahinnbaile"

Socair put the paper on the couch beside her and
leaned forward in silent thought. It was not possible to hear so
often of ships and have them be figments of some collective
imagination, she thought.

"Silín, Doiléir. I need you both," she called.

Silín arrived in the room first with Doiléir not far
behind, pulling a shift over his bare upper half. Silín joined
Socair on the couch.

"What is it? Good news, I hope." Doiléir lowered
himself into the chair across from the couch.

"We are to make for Drocham. Before sundown if at all
possible."

"You believe the old man?" Silín's question was
fair.

Socair pushed that paper toward her on the couch and
replied. "I am not sure. But I mistrust coincidence."

Silín picked up the paper suspiciously and read it.
"Sisters be good."

"Will you two stop speaking as though everyone went
with you on the morning?"

"The hippocamps have taken to ships," Silín said
plainly, pushing the paper through the air in Doiléir's direction.
It fell to the floor short of him and he watched it fall.

"No," he said in disbelief. "How?"

Silín shrugged.

"It does not matter," remarked Socair. "We need to
prepare. I wish to move soon. There is an outpost staffed with
soldiers some miles south. We should make it before sundown if we
hurry."

Doiléir stood, shaking away the sleep. He walked off
to the other room without a word and Silín followed him away,
closing the door as she left. Práta was still circling the room,
touching things and moving them around for no particular
reason.

"Práta."

"Yes?" The girl chirped and turned quickly.

"Come and sit, please."

Práta moved to the chair Doiléir had occupied and
sat.

"I would have the truth from you." The girl seemed to
shrink at Socair's words. "The letters you sent. Tell me of
them."

"I sealed your report to the Treorai and my own to
Crosta. He requested I inform him of where we were and general
goings on. It was much less thorough than your missive to the
Treorai, but he told me only to give brief updates. For peace of
mind, he said." She seemed nervous, as though there was a trick to
the question that she did not yet see.

"And the reports. Where did you send them?"

Práta looked up as though she understood. "To… to
Crosta. He told me that was the proper procedure. That he would see
them delivered and that the actions of the Bearer fell under his
oversight. Was… was it wrong? Have I done something wrong?" The
girl's expression was pained and innocent. She looked apt to
cry.

Socair saw no choice in the matter. She told Práta
everything she had come to suspect about the Binseman, or at least
his people. Of the ambushes and the strange nature of the attacks
at Scáthloch and Glassruth. Práta sat quietly through the entire
explanation. She asked no questions and offered no explanations,
even for her own actions. When Socair had finished, Práta kept her
eyes on the ground for a time. Silence filled the room.

"I have helped him, haven't I?" Her voice was shaking
and low.

"Possibly, yes."

"I have." She said, shaking her head. "It isn't fair.
It isn't right." She stood and Socair looked up at her from the
couch. "The elves who let my father's corpse be nailed to a wall.
And I've…"

Práta suddenly dashed for the far side of the room
and Socair stood to follow. She did not go for the door, as Socair
had expected. She hardly knew what to do when Práta grabbed the
hilt of her bastard sword. The pale girl yanked it half from the
scabbard and put her wrist under the blade. Before she could slash,
Socair yanked her away and the sword clattered to the ground.

Práta cried and swung and Socair let her down. She
turned and beat helpless on the tall elf's chest, cursing. Socair
put her arms around Práta and held her tight. She could feel the
small elf's jerking sobs against her.

After a moment, Práta pushed away and wiped her face
clean. "I am sorry." Her voice was hoarse and rough. "It was… it
was immature. I am no good, after all." She laughed a pathetic
laugh at herself.

Socair put an arm on Práta's shoulder and led her to
the couch. When she was there, the two sat. Práta clung to Socair's
arm. Socair could not find the right words, though she searched for
them. Five minutes passed and then ten and fifteen. The only sound
was an occasional sniff from Práta.

Socair looked straight out across the room when she
finally spoke. "You mustn't kill yourself." The words were clunky
and awkward and too straight forward. They had been so unexpected
that Práta laughed.

"I mustn't?" she repeated.

"I…" Socair blushed and looked away. "I am no good
with words. I was taught to act and not to speak. It makes me feel
half a fool sometimes, but it is what I am. You… you are like
Silín. And Doiléir. They are… I value them deeply. I know those
aren't the words that I am meant to use. I know a bard or a poet
would laugh to hear me speak my feelings, but they are truly inside
me. And I value you as I value Silín and Doiléir. You are honest
and true and good. I cannot bear the thought of such a person
leaving this world. Of you leaving this world."

Práta looked down at the floor. "I do not deserve
such value."

Socair moved her arm to grab the girl's hand. "This
world has never seemed to care what was deserved. We must be the
ones to see to that. We must give agency to the idea of justice."
The tall elf stood and looked down at Práta. "I would ask that you
join me in it. As an Attendant. Properly so, not just at nobleman's
parties."

"But I have betrayed you to Crosta."

"And would you again?"

"Never." She said the word almost before Socair had
uttered the question.

"The promise is enough for me. Do you accept?"

Práta put her hands together and looked at her
fingers as she tented them over and over. "Of course," she said. A
smile spread across Práta's red, tear streaked face. She looked up
suddenly, concerned. "I must pack!"

Socair put a hand on her shoulder as she stood. "No."
Práta looked confused but Socair continued. "There will be nothing
decent where we are bound and you are no fighter. I would have you
here. There is much that needs doing. Firstly, you should leave
this inn. If Crosta knows of it, I fear he may have it
watched."

"Yes. I still… he… my father and he were such close
friends." Práta frowned.

"If he is truly responsible, your father will have
justice. It is little consolation, I know. The Treorai must know of
this. Of everything I have told you. Scáthloch and the rest. Write
all of it and have it sent by marmar. It will be quickest."

"I will. It will fly tonight if I am able to write
quickly enough. My hands betray me at times." Práta frowned.

Socair put a hand on the girl's cheek. "There is no
need to be more than you are. I believe in you." She leaned down
and kissed Práta on the forehead. A knock came at the door and
Silín opened it immediately thereafter.

"Things are prepared." Silín said calmly as she
walked toward them.

Doiléir followed her in. "Práta, you've been crying?"
he said no sooner than he had seen her face.

The girl looked down at her feet and tried to cover
her face.

"You should respect her, Doiléir. She is an Attendant
now." Socair said smiling.

Silín rushed over to the girl and hugged her tightly.
"Wonderful! Another for the unending struggle to teach Doiléir
class and tact." She kissed Práta on the lips and put her back
down. Práta blushed deeply but said nothing in return.

"Are the mounts prepared?" Socair questioned.

"They are," Doiléir said casually. "Fed and watered
and likely pleased as can be to be out of the company of that
crotchety old man."

"He spit on Doiléir's shoe," Silín added.

"Go and be ready. I will join you shortly." The pair
left and Socair turned to Práta. "We should not be long in the
south. Three days, perhaps a week at the most. If we do not return
by the passing of a week, you must not remain here. Flee to
Abhainnbaile. Seek the Treorai personally." Socair brushed the hair
from Práta's cheek, smiled, and turned to go.

Práta spoke with the strongest voice she could manage
as Socair approached the door. "I will never betray you again."

"There was no betrayal, Práta." Socair looked over
her shoulder and smiled. "Not by you."

Though the night air was warm, Óraithe felt a chill
she could not shake. Teas had never changed her plans without
bothering to send some sort of word. Her father, Óraithe had
thought. Maybe him. She sent Bonn to the scrivening shop. It was
safe enough there for him to go alone. Óraithe had sent Scaa ahead
to the southern market. It was all she could think to do. Perhaps
Scaa would find her.

The path to Cosain's shop was as familiar as it had
ever been but the run had never felt so slow. Óraithe could hardly
stand it. The alleys passed one after another and with each step
she wanted to do nothing more than to close her eyes and pray to
the Sisters that she would arrive to find Scaa standing beside
Teas. Teas smiling apologetically for the worry. Even the picture
of Scaa's aloof, disinterested face seemed welcome.

Cosain's shop was just ahead, up the narrow path with
its cloth entryway as it had ever been. She burst through the
curtain and Cosain had started to say something but the words did
not make it to her. Óraithe plunged into the back room of the place
and began ripping open the drawers of Cosain's desks. He entered
the room in a fury.

"What is the meaning of this foolishness, girl?" His
voice boomed. Óraithe ignored him as he repeated her name, louder
each time. "Óraithe. Óraithe!" He screamed it and finally she
turned.

"It's Teas!" she screamed back. Her face must have
shown her concern as Cosain pressed no further. "The south markets…
she… I don't know." Óraithe's breathing was heavy and
desperate.

Cosain closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. When
he let it go, he opened his eyes and again and walked without a
word to his writing desk. The old man pulled a key from his robe
and bent to unlock the bottom drawer. He lifted a small,
rectangular wood box from the opened drawer and laid it on the flat
of the desk. He opened it carefully revealing a thin stoppered vial
containing a purple liquid.

He pulled the vial from the box and Óraithe eyed it
closely as he turned back to her. His voice was soft and sad. He
held the vial aloft. "This is a very dangerous thing. Its effects
are immediate and wholly unpleasant. If someone has done that girl
ill, it will dispatch them." Óraithe stepped toward him and he
pulled the vial back. "Understand me. I would not give you this for
any reason but to keep Teas from harm. She is a good child who has
done too much for the sake of someone she loves."

Óraithe gritted her teeth but held her tongue and
waited for Cosain to finally offer her the vial. When he did, she
grabbed the thing without a word and rushed from his shop. The old
man's lecturing had cost her time she could not afford, time Teas
could likely not afford. The streets to the south markets passed in
a blur. She hit the main street and plunged down it without a
thought to what attention her rushing might attract. She had
clipped and man and nearly tackled and old woman by the time she
made it to where she expected Scaa to be but the girl was not along
the main drag.

The area toward the gates of the city were dirtier
and poorer than even the places that Óraithe had come up. She did
not venture here often, especially after the sun had set. As
Óraithe moved into the alleys of the south markets, she could
immediately feel the eyes of people following her closely. She was
especially small and there were plenty enough people around that
would pay a high price for young elves. Boys tended to fetch better
prices but girls were just as welcome. Óraithe pushed the thoughts
from her mind. They would find Teas and the girl would be fine, she
told herself. She had to tell herself.

A few connecting alleys passed her by and then a
larger street. At the street, Óraithe stopped and looked up and
down the length. She spotted Scaa in the road with a woman dressed
in, to state it plainly, very little. The woman was tall and
dark-haired. Her skin was tanned deeply and looked rough to the
touch. For clothes she wore a torn roughspun shift that exposed her
short midriff and what looked to be the bottom of the shift tied
loosely around her waist. She shifted as Óraithe approached and the
slightest glimpse of a tuft of hair between her legs suggested that
was all she wore.