No One's Chosen (22 page)

When the last of the life had fled the Regent, Aile
rolled her head back and drew in a deep breath. She held it as
though it was the last she would ever take, eyes closed and fists
clenched. Finally, when she was at the edge of fainting she let it
go in a graceless gasp. Her chest heaved as she breathed heavy and
deep. She got down from the corpse and sheathed her daggers.

Outside, the air had become crisp underneath the
starry sky. The clouds had split and granted her brief leisure from
the drizzle. The clouds still threatened at the edges of the sky
all around her, but it seemed the Goddess saw fit to favor her
hunt. The moons shone bright onto the long grass walk between the
inn and the edge of the forest. A pale purple light filled the
walk. It was rare that the world filled with such a color as the
smaller red moon, called Tine's Eye, was so often outshone by her
larger sister. It was a night just for Aile.

Or so she thought.

She was in the midst of the tall grass when she heard
a thud against the ground and the scrape of horn against a tree.
The moons were too bright and she couldn't make out a solid
silhouette, but someone was there. Aile sped to a sprint toward the
woods. She could not afford a witness, not now. It wasn't likely
that anyone could trace her presence there back to her employer,
neither did she particularly worry about that. It was the idea of
that employer wishing her caught that sent her after the shadow in
the trees.

Aile made the edge of the woods before the shadow had
made it too far. Whatever the make of the elf she was chasing, they
were not bright enough to have made for the town proper. It would
likely not have ended well for them in that event either, but a
scream could have at least made more witnesses. Maybe the Goddess
was favoring her after all. She passed the corpse of a deer that
had drawn her attention and sealed the elf's fate.

The shadow flitted through the light, revealing a
young, platinum-haired boy with long ears. He had been hunting late
in the day, or perhaps he had been far off on his own and barely
able to lug the deer's carcass back to the village. Either way,
there was nothing to be done about it. He had seen her and though
there was neither sport nor profit in it, she could not afford word
returning to Spéirbaile that a Drow had been responsible. Surely if
that happened, the elf that sent her here would be forced to act.
She couldn't have that.

The boy did not make it very far. Maybe a hundred
yards and she was on him. She jammed a knife into the base of his
skull as she tackled him to the ground. The movement was imprecise
but it would do the job. She fell on top of him and scrambled up to
her knees. She pulled the dagger and forced it a second time into
his brain. The boy did not so much as twitch with the second
thrust.

Aile stood from the body and heaved a sigh. She had
hoped to hold fast to the feeling she had had in the Regent's room
for at least the night and now it was forgotten. Replaced by some
hollow thing. Some blank canvas that had forced its way over a
masterwork. She cursed the corpse of the boy and kicked it. It
shifted limply in the dirt and came back to rest in the pose it had
been before the kick. She retrieved her dagger and wiped the blood
on the dirt stained clothes of the dead boy.

The walk back to her encampment was a sullen one to
say the least. Every so often her mind would retrace the events
with the Regent and her fingers would tingle ever so lightly. Aile
could not decide if the flashes were a welcome touch of something
wonderful she had held in her hands or if they were some sort of
taunting. The jeering of her jealous Goddess. It did not matter, in
truth. She simply had to do what was asked of her and collect her
gold. There would be more bodies and they might excite her. And if
they did not, then time would wash away the feeling and replace it
with whatever life held for her.

The tent was as she had left it. She broke it down
and gathered her packs. She pulled a piece of dried meat out and
tore a chunk free with her teeth. It was salty and cold and tasted
of work. She was done with her work. In truth, she had been done
for a day and more. She tossed the remainder of the meat to the
ground and made off in the direction opposite the mining village.
She had been here too long as it stood. She would welcome the
return to her secluded little inn in the secluded little corner of
the big, bustling town. There would be gold waiting and hot food
and shelter from the interminable rain that had crept back into the
forest. She would take her time in returning, she decided. There
was no rush to be flung back into the troublesome employ of some
Binseman and his political quarrels. She would stop somewhere and
have herself a nice, long bath. She would require a horse.

Socair had not slept well for any night since her
return from the massacre at Scáthloch. Neither had she spent any
considerable amount of time with her Attendants, though there was
time enough to do so. She had found that her utter lack of duties
outside of seeing to the whims of the Treorai was harder to adjust
to than she'd have imagined. The endless reports and calls to
muster for armor checks and the like had not been entirely
unwelcome distractions from the reality of what it was they were
doing. Socair knew well enough what the hippocamps did. She knew
that the cities she had lead the van into were not so short of
lives because they had been allowed to flee.

She was a Bearer now, though, and the gifts of
distraction had been stripped away. She spent more time than she
wished to admit to herself lying in bed sobbing, unable to force
the picture of the tremendous pile of dead from her mind. The smell
even came to her at times. She'd been so strong at the time and
it'd kept her friends alive but the memories lingered. The fetid
rot of a mountain of dead and all their fluids and leavings. She'd
vomited most meals back up. At least she now had the luxury of
taking the meals in her quarters where none could see the shape she
was in.

At times she had become enraged at herself for how
she was acting. It was selfish and weak and she should be more. She
had been trained to be more. The few times she had left her tent to
seek out some supply or other necessity that she had need of, she
was greeted with cheers. She had forced smiles onto her face and
raised a triumphant fist. She was a hero. Their leader, even though
she had since been replaced by a young officer whom she had
promoted to flank captain some months before. The girl was young
and smart and well liked besides.

She had seen Doiléir once, in passing. He looked as
lost for ideas on what had happened to them as she did. Silín
called most nights, but Socair had not wanted to see her either.
"It was only a few days," she told herself. "Surely I can afford
myself that much." It did little to assuage her feelings of guilt.
Doiléir needed her and she was ignoring Silín as well. She did not
even know how Doiléir's wound was healing. When she could bring
herself to face them, she would have to apologize.

On this night, Socair lay in her bed, staring at the
canvas roof of her tent wondering what time Silín would come to
call. Or if she would. They loved her deeply, she knew, as she
loved them. She let a smile slide across her face for the first
time in as many days and drifted off into thoughts of her
Attendants and the time they had spent together.

Socair was brought out of her pleasant memories as a
knock came at the post that split the flaps of her tent. She had
been so lost in thought that she barely realized what she'd said
when she called "Come in."

The flaps parted and Socair realized what she'd done.
She sat up on her elbows, trying her best to straighten out her
face.

Silín sheepishly stepped through the curtains,
frowning.

"Silín, I…"

Before Socair could manage to say whatever it was she
meant to, Silín had run to the bed and leapt on her. Socair sat up
properly and pulled her away.

"Has something happened?"

"No," Silín said, her voice unsure. "I was just so
worried. Doiléir has hardly spoken a word since we returned. He
insists he is fine but he goes for walks for hours every day and
forbids me from joining him. He says he must heal quickly and—"

Socair placed a hand on Silín's head which quieted
her.

"I apologize, Silín. I have been less than I ought to
have. To both of you… and to my duties as a Bearer of the Will. I
have been selfish at the worst of times and for that I
apologize."

"You need not apologize, Socair. It was horrible,
what we saw."

"It was," Socair cut in, "but that is no excuse. This
will not end if I simply wallow in despair. I want to. Sisters, do
I want to. It is all I want. To cry and to mourn. But you are here,
and I cannot simply look at your face and continue down such a dim
path."

Socair put her arms around Silín and squeezed, a few
tears ran down her cheeks but she smiled. She pulled back and wiped
them away. "Really, Silín. What have I been doing?"

Silín smiled kindly, love in her eyes. Socair stood
and looked to the tent flaps. She looked back down at Silín. "Thank
you." Socair grabbed the fair girl's hand and pulled her up. "Where
is Doiléir?"

"He ought to be on one of his walks," Silín said.
"Somewhere around the camp."

Socair pulled Silín up and made for the door. Silín
followed without hesitation.

Outside the camp was busy either preparing for their
evening meal or packing for the morning's march. They did not
notice the Bearer and her Attendant exit the tent, for which Socair
was thankful. A company from the northern part of the province was
to swing south and take up the job of dealing with Scáthloch.
Socair wondered whether she ought to leave with the First Company
or strike off on her own. Could she do that? Certainly there was no
field manual for being a bearer of the will, but Socair lacked
supplies and resources that could be easily had in the company. And
the Treorai had not told her to be any place in particular. Her
orders would take her where they would, she figured. Still, the
casual manner of the Binseman had given her a queer feeling. It was
odd of him to be so utterly uncaring. Perhaps she had been
untoward, but that did not change the reality of what had happened
and what he had sent her into. There was no arguing his logic, she
knew, but it had nagged at her near as much as the bodies in the
past few days. He was meant to be the foremost mind on the
hippocamps. He was not a great fighter but his strategy and
knowledge of hippocamp military history was unparalleled in the
three provinces.

Now was not the time to deal with the Binseman or her
suspicions, she needed to speak with Doiléir and ensure that he was
fit for whatever they might face next. Not only that, but to
reassure him so much as she could.

They walked the camp for nearly twenty minutes before
they spotted him, returning from the area where the horses were
kept penned. The tan elf had a noticeable limp still, and he kept
his eyes on the ground while he walked. It made Socair sad to see
him. He was usually vibrant, cheering her up or insisting that she
be more excited over promotions or victories or a well prepared
meal. It took very little for Doiléir to call for celebration. She
must do the same for him, though she had no clue of where to
start.

Socair stomped up to her limping Attendant.
"Doiléir!" He must have heard her, but he kept his head down. At
the very least he stopped walking. "Doiléir, let us… dinner."
Socair put on a brave smile. "We shall have dinner. The three of
us."

Doiléir sighed and looked up to Socair. "For
what?"

"Are we not your lovers? We care for you, you must
know that."

"Then you should let me heal in my own time."

"And you would just shut us out until you have worked
through your cowardice?" Socair had started the sentence softly
enough but by the end of it she had been near yelling.

Doiléir narrowed his eyes at her. "I would not be
judged by you. You sit in your quarters and weep until it suits you
then appear to tell me that my grief ought to be on some manner of
schedule?!" He was yelling as well.

A crowd had started to gather. Socair knew that was
not good, but when she looked back to Doiléir's angry face she
could not help but want to yell at him to stop being a fool as she
had done.

"Do you think I saw some other thing, some other
horror? I was a fool to lock myself away and I'll not leave you to
yourself to let it fester."

The crowd grew by the second and Doiléir was paying
them no mind. "That's the truth of it isn't it? Your bed had grown
to cold and you would have the pleasure of my cock again, isn't
that right?"

Silín screamed his name in hopes in hopes of stopping
him there, but it was too late.

Socair's face flushed red with rage. Doiléir was
boisterous, to be sure, but he knew that she had always valued
privacy and propriety. Socair drew back her fist and swung faster
than she ought to have.

Doiléir dodged the blow, but just, falling onto his
arse. He staggered to his feet, wobbling as he rose. Socair
realized then that he was drunk. It did not matter. The crowd had
gathered and he had challenged her honor. She wheeled a kick at the
dark-haired elf. He took the bulk of the force with his shoulder
but it sent him flying to the ground. Doiléir was tall for an elf,
but Socair still had almost the whole of a foot on him and
certainly matched him for weight. She was leaner than he was, but
she had honed her body as much as she could. Even in her
depression, she kept her body sharp in the tent.