No One's Chosen (73 page)

The inside of the room did not look as though it had
been touched since last she was there. Aile moved to the wall and
knocked at it to confirm she was where she meant to be. The hollow
was there and she worked the mechanism to open it, hoping for a bit
of luck. When the column in the hollow spun, she smiled wide.
Whatever rat of Spárálaí's that was responsible for keeping a tally
of things had clearly forgotten to come and retrieve his masters
coin. Or perhaps the sour elf was a man of his word.

She picked up the bags. It was lighter than she'd
have liked, but there was no arguing with gold coins. She pulled
open the bag and made an accounting of them. Fifty all told in two
pouches. It was more than her stipend had been. She struggled to
remember if she had been paid the other half for the fat farm elf
and her daughter. She shrugged and tied the bags to her
leathers.

There was a letter that Aile could see under where
the coin pouches had been. She placed her hand on the folded
missive in the secret cache and her fingertips began to glow. The
paper turned brown and then took to flame. She smiled and dragged
her hand away lazily.

Outside, Aile kept to the side streets in the hopes
of avoiding any unnecessary fighting. A Drow was like to be
confused for being on both sides by the bloodthirsty morons that
saw fit to fight in open combat. It was not a discussion she wished
to have at all, let alone under the suspicious eye of armed elves.
She swept toward the inner wall and found that there was little to
see along the trip. There was a bit of looting, but not so much as
far from the main battle. Here, shopkeeps had not abandoned their
stores so readily. She followed the wall back around to the West
Road. The bulk of the forces had passed through and were likely
nearing the Bastion by now, but Aile paid little attention to it.
The gate was still crowded, but now with normal citizens making
their way to the Bastion in hopes of a celebration or a speech or
some other imagined feather for their invisible cap. Aile did not
see the appeal but it would not stop them. Some of those she passed
cheered at her and thanked her for her service to the Treorai. It
was almost enough to make her laugh but she was far too
uncomfortable for that.

The Outer Crescent had turned into a large party that
sprawled in the streets. Elves were cheering and passing around
mugs of ale and wine and all manner of drink and readily prepared
meats and so one. There was singing and dancing at every corner.
The noise was unbearable though it seemed to keep the elves from
noticing her as she made her way out of the city.

If the attention she was paid was any judge, she
would have no trouble now. The people Spárálaí had paid were either
dead or had turned their cloaks by now. It was best to do so as
quickly as you could manage when your employer died. If you were
quick enough and clever enough, you might be able to slide yourself
in among them without being noticed. It had never been an option
for Aile until this moment, really. It made her wonder what sort of
creatures the Treorai must have brought along to retake the
city.

Her walk was relatively unimpeded aside from the
revelers. She had been handed a pair of mugs along the way. It was
the wise thing to do to stop and have a drink with the people and
raise a toast to whatever it was they were on about, and so she
did. The first had been a large, sweating elf with a stupid look to
him and an open mouth. She drank the drought quickly and made her
way from the group. The second had been held out in front of her
much more personally by a thin elf girl. She gave the Drow a lusty
smile and Aile thought to linger a bit but relaxation could wait
well enough.

When she had made her way to the outer wall, there
was a large crowd gathered. She could hear the cheering from the
gathered elves well before she saw what was the cause. There were
songs being played and what looked to be men in the padding that
went under armor being tossed into the air. Aile walked toward the
crowd casually and began to work her way around the side toward
gate proper.

"Oy!" Someone shouted. "She's one of them. Them ones
what rode in with the Treorai."

The crowd turned to her and shouted, hoisting their
cups into the air. They dragged her toward the center of their
circle and lifted her up. There was a quick count of three and she
was tossed into the air. And again. She clutched tight against the
bags of coin she had tied to her belt. One of the elves on the
ground shouted up to her.

"What news of the Treorai?"

"Yeah!" "What news?" "Tell us!" The shouts came out
in clumps as the elves cheered and plied her for information in
turn. Finally someone shouted for the revelers to let her down so
she could speak.

When her feet had met solid ground again, Aile looked
around at the elves, her head spinning from the poor combination of
an empty stomach, thick drink, and being hurled into the air by
morons.

"The Treorai has retaken the Bastion." She said the
words with the best fake enthusiasm she could muster and then
smiled.

The cheer that went up round her was deafening and
she was hoisted again into the air. She was tossed a few times and
then one among the elves decided that a trip to the Bastion was in
order and so they began to file off. Aile turned to the gate. It
had been the slowest progress she'd made. A few dozen feet in the
span of fifteen minutes.

She passed under the wall, the gates still wide open.
Elves were making their way into the city from the outskirts to
take part in the reveling. She could hear cheers from outside as
well. It was unlikely she would be able to find much in the way of
peace until she had put Spéirbaile behind her. Blood dripped down
from the cracks in the wall as she passed under. It had formed a
few dozen small pools. The sight of it made her smile. For all his
scheming, her employer had been fool enough to try to take a city
that was not his from inside its walls. And he had stood there like
a fool, waiting to be killed by the woman he took it from. It was a
wonder the elves managed to get keeps and cities built to begin
with, she thought.

Out among the rim of the city, the mirth and drinking
had left a bit more room to move. Aile was thankful for that. She
met with one of the northbound streets and followed it along. There
was a single outbound road north of the Cnoclean high road and it
was less likely to be so jubilant. The walk was loud and she was
cheered and celebrated several times along the way though,
mercifully, she was not offered more drink.

She found the north road and looked up it. There were
only stables in close to the gate, which stood unguarded. She
decided that west was it then. She made her way down the street,
considering the shops at the side of the road. There were a few
inns she passed before she saw one which struck her fancy. It was a
small place, looked to be only a half dozen rooms from the outside
and a single storey. She did not need to worry so much about
killers in the night now and it would do.

There was a small board out in front of the place
that promised comfortable beds, hot food, and private baths. Aile
could not argue with such a promise and she brought herself up to
the door and pulled it open. The lobby was also a dining area, as
was so often the case. There were four tables and a fireplace for
keeping the dining area suitable for use in Bais.

An extremely old elf woman sat behind a small
counter. She looked to Aile and stood when the Drow entered the
small inn.

"Welcome, traveler. I have heard that the Treorai has
come to retake the city, isn't that just delightful?"

"It is a good thing, yes."

"Not often we get visitors from the Blackwood here.
Oh!" The old woman clapped her bony hands together. "Could you have
ridden with the Treorai and her convoy? My son, he runs an inn down
along the high road, he told me that she rode with many strange
folk."

"I assisted with her recapture of the Bastion."

"Oh my! You are quite the hero then. I'm quite
honored to have you, if my humble inn please you."

Aile approached the counter and put a gold coin down.
"It does if there are truly private baths."

"Ah, yes, one for each guest. In the rooms." She
smiled and looked down at the coin. Seeing it was a gold piece she
opened her mouth in surprised. "Dear, no. I… can't take any money
from a hero such as yourself." She slid the coin away.

Aile slid it back. "I must insist. Good work is worth
a price. And the price should be paid happily." She smiled at the
old woman. There was a smell of cooking sausage in the air and the
Drow's stomach gave a fierce growl.

"Goodness!" The woman hurried around the counter,
pulling Aile by the hand toward the dining area. She sat the Drow
down at one of the tables. "I'll get you some food right away. I'm
sure you've been too long without a meal. I hear the march was
clear from Daingean. What an awful distance, such a long way…" She
trailed off as she made for what must've been the kitchen.

Aile took in a deep breath and let it out slowly as
she sunk into the wooden chair. She closed her eyes a moment and
the feeling of relaxation spread through her body for the first
time in what seemed like forever. She put a hand on her stomach and
the crinkle of paper against the fabric reminded her that she had
brought more of Spárálaí's possessions away from the city than the
gold.

She undid a button at the side of her leathers and
reached into them, pulling free a stack of papers. She was not
finished with her work, not yet. There may be weeds left for
plucking. And one did not rush the tending of a garden. She would
have the soil cleaned of his every root in her own good time.

She had not stopped walking for days in as near a
straight line as she could manage. The Abhainnbaile province did
not lack for rivers and streams and they had sent Socair wide of
her intended path in search of bridges and low crossings. She did
not begrudge the rivers their existence, though. They provided her
with food and water in the early mornings.

The fish had to be taken raw if she meant to keep
pace. She doubted that the Binseman's allies would search for her
in the deep woods of central Abhainnbaile. There was little danger
in it. And as she walked now, her feet and the muscles in her legs
made it clear that they would prefer rest. But it was not a thought
Socair was willing to entertain. The sooner that her foes arrived
in the Bastion City the sooner they would have the ear of the
Treorai. Many of them would be trusted generals and the longer they
had to make some case against her, the less likely it was that she
would be heard out.

Socair had paid careful attention to the rivers she
passed as well as the sort of trees and, at night, the stars. She
knew the lay of Abhainnbaile as well as she knew her own body and
by her progress and surroundings, she knew that she would soon come
to the Rith. It was the largest river in the province and played
host to myriad towns along its banks. She was well known in the
area, but she could not say what sort of reception she would
receive. It was not as though she could swim the river. It was wide
and fast and was as like to pull her miles away as it was to pull
her under and turn her into a waterlogged corpse.

There were crossings on either side of the river. One
to the southwest of the city and another to the east. Abhainn's
Bastion sat on top of a dark grey cliff of hexagonal rock with
green all along its face. It overlooked the river and the dotted
towns that used the waters to sustain themselves. The southwest
crossing was farther afield than she had walked and would delay her
a bit. It also let into the city farther from the Bastion, but it
was less likely to be watched as closely.

Her walk had been a long one and over the course of
it, Socair had replayed all the things she'd heard of the Treorai
Deifir in her mind. The warrior had met hundreds of elves in her
time traveling with the province's forces and, try as she might,
she could not find one with an ill word to say about their ruler.
The closest she could recall was word that she was often too kind,
as though that were some manner of fault. It was a Treorai's job to
be kind and understanding, Socair thought. Those around her would
see to justice and mete out punishment as was needed.

It was afternoon when the trees spat the tall elf out
onto a quiet road. She looked up and down it. There were a few
carts being pulled along the road but the drivers did not pay her
any mind. Above the trees, she could just see the alabaster shine
of the Bastion. It was a curious place, as were the other Bastions.
She had once heard that Fásach willed the desert bastion up from
the sands. Spéir had wrought hers from the very stone of a
mountain. Socair had seen neither of the other Bastions, but she
could almost believe the story of Abhainn's Bastion. It was said
that the Sister used her magics to shift the waters of the river.
She used the waters to pull great columns of angled rock up from
under the ground. The alchemists said the rocks were from when the
Great Fires burned away and birthed the world. Abhainn had been
pleased with the shape of her work, but the deep grey displeased
her. It is said that she then gathered all the milky white chert of
the rivers of the province and used them to smooth the edges of the
outside.

The sun never so much glinted off of the Bastion as
it seemed to go into the milky fog of the building and get lost a
while before coming back out just a bit dimmer than it had gone in.
Socair had grown up at the far edge of the city. She loved to stare
at the great building on cloudy days, when it seemed to stand out
against the grey of the clouds in a stark sort of defiance and
there were many grey days in Abhainnbaile. Today she would not have
been upset at such a turn in the weather, but there was no such
luck for her. It was as bright and hot and wet as Saol could get. A
bright burn before the end of the season, as though the sun did not
want to retreat from its work for the rest of a year.