No One's Chosen (37 page)

"Doiléir, those two… the ones complaining of
ambushes. Did you speak with them at all?"

"Who?" It took him a moment to even remember that
they had meant to talk to anyone the day before. "Oh, them. No,
never. I came looking for you just after I'd heard they exist. And
that was after the chief scout refused to see me." He took a bite
of sausage. "Said he was too busy."

Socair stood. "Go and find them."

"The transfers?"

She ignored him. "Silín, go with him. Be as thorough
as you can without delaying our departure."

Silín nodded and Socair stepped away from the table.
She made her way out of the mess and to the section of the camp
where the scouting legion was quartered. A single, tired looking
guard stood in front of the chief scout's tent. He let out a yawn
that was cut short when he saw Socair approaching. He opened his
mouth, but no sound came out and as Socair reached the tent he
simply stepped to the side.

Inside of the tent was simple and modest. The chief
scout, Sonraí, sat at a small chair eating a piece of toasted bread
with butter and thumbing through papers. He was a smallish elf with
a round face and narrow eyes. His nose was thin and hooked somewhat
unpleasantly making him look as though it had been smashed right on
the tip. He leaned in too close to the papers as though the letters
would flee at some greater distance. He looked up at the sound of
the flap rustling back into place.

"Ah, Bearer," Sonraí said flatly. "Your Attendant
sought me out yesterday. I apologize I was unable to take the time
to meet with him." He put down the papers and stood. "I fear we
have not been properly introduced. I am Sonraí, chief scout of the
First Company in service to Abhainnbaile and all her subjects."

"Well met. I am Socair, Bearer of the Will." She kept
her voice plain. She was here for information, not to accuse. "I
have concerns which I am hoping you will allay."

"I shall assist as best I can. Any information of
mine is information of yours." He returned to his seat and his
bread.

"Your men scouted Scáthloch ahead of my business
there, is that correct?"

"It is. Two of my best outriders."

"And they found no sign of hippocamps in the city
proper?"

Sonraí looked at her curiously. "No. No, quite the
opposite." He placed the buttered toast aside and stood. "My riders
found…" He moved to a stack of papers at the end of his bed and
flipped through, pulling one free and holding it close to his eyes.
"Yes, here. My outriders found fresh centaur leavings around prime
entry points in the area suggesting a recent presence." He walked
to Socair and handed her the paper as he continued. "There was no
sign of the beasts, but the tracks and droppings were less than a
day old. And there were also signs of hasty cleaning of various
areas in the city proper." He went back to his chair and sat,
looking concerned. "Our official suspicion was of a potential
ambush. Similar to the one at…" he paused, looking over at her. "At
Glassruth."

"It was quite different," Socair replied gravely. She
finished scanning the report. "This report, was it delivered
directly to Crosta's hands?"

"Sisters be… you went in there?" Sonraí touched his
forehead in disbelief. "You were not warned?"

"Did Crosta receive this directly?"

"What?" He looked up, remembering himself. "No, no.
His… he has stewards. There are at least half a dozen of them and
always changing. All save maybe two who have been with him for as
long as I know."

Socair twisted her mouth in thought. She would be
leaving within the hour, what could she do? "How thorough are your
archives?"

"Not thorough at all." Sonraí frowned and looked
around his tent at the papers. "We keep local copies for only half
a season. The originals are sent to the Keeper of Records at the
Bastion in Abhainnbaile for archiving."

"By you?"

He shook his head. "By the Binseman."

"Or one of his stewards."

"Yes, it's likely. The Binseman is extremely busy.
Bearer, I…" He stopped a moment to consider his words. "I take deep
pride in my work and the work of those I send to the field. Our
brothers and sisters live and die by the knowledge we provide. If
there is someone—"

"We do not know enough," she said, wishing
desperately it weren't the case. "I do not know enough." She
sighed. "As Bearer, I must insist you speak of this to no one. Not
until there is more. And try nothing on your own."

Sonraí considered that a moment and nodded. "Of
course," he said, "were any suspicion to be noticed, any involved
would have time to go to ground."

"You understand, that is a relief."

"It is my job to understand, Bearer." His words were
confident but there was no pride or boast in them.

"I would have you do something." She did not wait for
his acknowledgment. "I must know what you know. Any reports
involving hippocamp movement, I should like to see them. My
Attendants and I depart for Dulsiar today. There will likely be
regular couriers sent to this camp with our reports. I will insure
they see fit to pay you a visit before returning."

"I understand. I will scribe the copies myself."

Socair grimaced. "Do not sign them. Nor mark the
parcel you give the courier in any identifiable way. And obscure
your hand if you are able."

"It will be done, Bearer."

"Good." She turned to leave but stopped and said
without turning again to face him. "Thank you, Sonraí. Be
vigilant."

With that she walked from his tent and briskly toward
the stables. Silín would have kept Doiléir brief in his visit to
the transferred soldiers. She hoped they would be there and
waiting. The mobile camp which had given her such comfort now felt
alien and suspect and dangerous. It was turning to a fort city and
the promise of walls made her feel as if she were in the Binseman's
cage.

But did he know? Could his stewards have been the
ones who changed the information? Perhaps it was his refusal to
acknowledge the occasional tactical fortitude of the hippocamps. It
could be any of the three. The stubborn nature of highborn elves
was well known to her. It had gotten thousands killed before she
saw the horrors at Scáthloch and it would kill thousands more if
something was not done. It was hard for her to hope for simple
stubborn ignorance, but the alternatives were far graver.

She saw Silín and Doiléir waiting by the stables as
she approached. The horses had been readied and loaded and Doiléir
appeared to be in the middle of teasing Práta. When Silín spotted
her she walked up.

"Is everything prepared?" Socair's voice was more
serious than she had meant it to be.

Silín only eyed her and nodded. Doiléir had been too
busy prodding at Práta to notice. Socair mounted her horse first.
It was the brown and white courser from earlier in the day. That
calmed her for some reason.

"Well, I reckon it's time we left, then." Doiléir's
voice feigned dejection.

He mounted next and then Silín and Práta. Socair led
them out of the camp at a strong trot. The sun had burned away the
haze and the day was reaching toward uncomfortable heat once
again.

When they were away from the camp, Socair fell back
to ride beside Práta. Doiléir and Silín had been talking amongst
themselves since the camp. Casual things and discussions of the
sort of foods they might find in Dulsiar. It was close enough to
the sea, they reasoned there might be fresh fish and spiny
lobsters.

"Have you ridden much?" Socair asked.

Práta did not look uncomfortable on the horse, but
neither was she entirely steady. She gripped the reins a bit too
eagerly and watched the ground with great caution. "Not so much as
I should like," she said, forcing a smile. "My father said every
elf must know how to ride. If an elf could not sit a horse, the
hippocamps never learn their place. He'd always said that."

Socair could think of no reply for such a thing. The
idea was common enough among the more fervent hippocamp detractors.
There were few reasons to like the hoofed races, but few spoke
outright in favor of their utter subjugation or destruction. She
looked over Práta's packed goods. There was a covered box on the
top of the mount's back. A marmar cage, most like. She had noticed
it but somehow it had not occurred to her to ask.

"A marmar?" Socair asked.

Práta looked up from the road for the first time
Socair had seen. She glanced over her shoulder at the cage. "Ah.
Uh, yes."

"Where is it bound? Abhainnbaile? The Bastion?"

"No." She smiled, as though the next words were a
point of pride. "It is one of only three marmar the trainers have
bound to the encampment. Though… I suppose I should call it the
fort now. Many of the foundations have been dug."

This was no good. But it did not matter. There would
be couriers in Dulsiar. It was clear Crosta meant to keep things in
his hands. It was not as though such a thing was outside of his
rights as a Binseman but it nagged at her. She knew this was what
the girl had been sent for, after all. It still was not clear to
Socair whether or not Práta knew it herself. If her naivete was an
act, it was utterly complete. Even now she had put her eyes back on
the road beneath her. The girl had not shown the slightest hint of
malice. But she had kept herself away from them. Again, suspicions
and vague concerns without any strength.

Socair pulled back ahead of the group. The air was
warm and wet but the road was smooth. At least there would be
comfort in the ride itself. The courser she had been given
complained less than it had in the morning.

"It wanted to leave near as much as me," she
thought.

Silín and Doiléir finished a conversation about how
best to stew fish and the girl elf rode up to keep stride with
Socair and her mount.

"The transfers had little of use." Silín was upbeat
in spite of the news. She did not yet know what Socair did. Socair
wondered if she should even burden them. She would, she knew, but
she wondered if she should.

Silín continued. "They had not been ambushed
themselves, though that is what their story had been."

"Doiléir?"

"He threatened to have their heads for treason if
they lied. I could scarce understand one of them through the
sobbing. The truth of it was they'd been cooks. Terrible cooks.
They didn't request the transfers and, near as I can tell, the both
of them were cravens."

"So there were no ambushes?"

"Hard to say." Silín looked up toward the horizon,
thinking. "They swore they'd heard of the vanguard running into
ambushes one after another. They were stationed with Third Company,
to the northeast, near the border with Fásachbaile."

"That far north? Are the desert elves doing nothing?"
She didn't need answers to that question. The desert elves were
worse than the mountain elves. At least the northerners would
defend their own lands. Fásachbaile never seemed to move unless the
Bastion City was threatened. "What of their numbers?"

"It's hard to say. Not a full horde. Or even a half,
I'd wager. The cooks insisted the van was routed before the column
could make any headway. To hear them tell it, Third Company was
like to start pulling troops from rear column positions to bolster
the van. That was the whole of what they knew. Not surprising it's
so light on detail, though, with them in a mess the whole
time."

Socair sighed. "It's not enough."

"It isn't worth the fretting. Not yet, anyway."

That was true enough. They had a long ride ahead of
them. A relaxing one, if Socair could manage it. The sun crawled
across the sky slowly as they made their way to the west. She
calmed somewhat, coming to accept that she would act when she
could. Before then, Silín had the right of it. Worry would do
nothing for her. It would do nothing for the people she was being
sent to help.

The sun dipped and Socair called a halt to their
small procession. The tents were erected and the beds were laid
out. Práta had packed some fresh meats for the ride and they cooked
them over a small fire with salt and crushed peppercorns. There
were potatoes as well. Doiléir buried them in some embers from the
fire to cook them. The meal was mirthful. Práta even spoke some,
but she mostly spent her time blushing and trying her best to keep
Doiléir from noticing her. The dinner lifted the weight from her
mind. She was thankful for her Attendants, her friends. She was
even thankful for Práta. The girl made the lot of them livelier.
She would open up with time, Socair told herself. She could not be
the Binseman's creature. Socair refused to believe it.

The meat was long gone, the stars shone bright, and
the fire was snuffed. The laughter died slowly and turned to soft
snores.

Socair allowed herself a smile as sleep found her.
She was a Bearer of the Will and, tomorrow, there would be wrongs
to set right. Tomorrow, they would reach Dulsiar.

Teas had gone home after seeing them back to the den.
The innocent girl had seemed so pleased with the waistcoats that
Óraithe could not help but smile. This was how it ought to be. Teas
had even suggested they celebrate the following evening, promising
to take some flour and vegetables from her father's pantry to make
a stew.

Óraithe did not know how long the sun had been up,
but she had slept well enough. She still felt ache in her muscles
from the night before though she had done little that could be
called strenuous. Perhaps killing that man had taken the will to
move from her. She glanced lazily down at her arm lying on the
bedroll. She could see a dried crust of dirt flecked with the dark
brown of dried blood. She'd done her best to wash the mess off the
night before but it had not all come away so cleanly. Her kirtle
laid in the corner in a musty pile. It was still damp though the
edges had dried well enough. It made little difference, the thing
could not be worn again, nor did she wish to.