No One's Chosen (51 page)

Just before dark he made for the far side of the
clearing and Aile considered moving to the camp then, but her
cautious nature held her behind the tree. It was for the best as
the elf returned quickly with a small armful of kindling and small
branches. The fire was well tended and when the sun had set it
still projected a warm orange sphere as the light of the world fell
away.

The elf brought out a chunk of dark meat and
constructed a rickety spit over the fire. He spent the bulk of his
time in the tent, even as the meat cooked. He came to turn it and
then returned. She could not make sense of it. Was there another in
there? She could hear the crack of the fire well enough from time
to time, but if he kept a quiet voice she would not have been able
to make it out. The smell of the meat wafted to her on occasion
when the Goddess chose to point the winds at her. Another taunt,
she thought.

If the moons were any indication, it was well before
midnight when the hunter dropped a few extra logs onto the fire and
retreated into the tent for the last time. She waited and waited
but he did not re-emerge.

She stood from her place behind the tree and brought
her trap up with her. The Drow moved slowly to the edge of the
clearing with as light a foot as she could manage. Forests were
always home to sounds in the night, but an errant snap of a twig so
close to the camp might be enough to bring the hunter out before
she had readied herself. She was in poor shape for a fight against
any odds. If this hunter were a proper killer then so much the
worse for her.

The camp inched closer slowly. The grass was damp
with dew and did not offer much more noise than a quiet rustle but
it may well be enough. It meant the steps were slow and considered.
It took nearly a half hour to move from the edge of the wood to the
tent but she had done so quietly enough that no creature could have
known she was there.

The bear trap was loose and tried its best to make
noise as she swung it parallel to the ground, but she held fast the
looser bits of metal. She placed it silently a few steps from the
tent's entrance and pushed down on the setting pedals. The trap had
been built for use by an elf and did not move easily. She pushed
harder, holding back the sounds of her struggle. She could feel the
scab on her arm twist and open. A warm trickle of blood ran down
into her leathers. The teeth of the trap split silently. Aile
leaned on the trap as heavily as she could and the trap finally set
with the slightest creak and a short click.

Aile stood, breathing heavily. There was no sound
from the tent. With the trap set, she was prepared. The Drow
reached to the ground and found a small rock. She inched herself
next to the tent and, when she was satisfied with her position,
whipped the rock at the horse tied up yards away.

The horse did as she had hoped it brayed and whinnied
and snorted and woke its master. She heard shuffling in the tent
and a casual curse.

"Bloody animal, can't…" The hunter's head poked past
the tent flap as he complained.

Aile's hands shot out from darkness and dug into the
hood with his hair below and pulled toward the trap. The
unsuspecting elf stumbled forward with a gruff grunt of
displeasure. Two steps onto the dirt and the third landed square in
the trap. The metal groaned and slapped shut with a sick thwack. A
snap was buried somewhere in the sound and the hunter went to the
ground, screaming thunderously.

Aile stood over him. "Why are you here, elf?"

He ignored her words and fumbled for something in his
belt. Aile put a stiff boot into his ribs with her good leg and the
man wrenched without thinking. The trap tore at his leg and he
forced a strained groan out into the clearing. He sat and grabbed
at it.

"Why are you here? Answer or I will kill you." She
repeated the question with no expression as he groaned in pain and
tried to work the heavy steel and failed.

Finally he gave up and sat back, breathing heavily.
"I'm a hunter." He forced the words through gritted teeth. "Fires
take you, agh."

"And what were you reaching for? On the belt."

"A knife."

"I would have it."

The man's motions were jerky and pained, but Aile
kept clear anyway. He pulled the knife free of its sheath and threw
it on the ground near her.

She moved to it and picked it up, wiping the dirt
from the blade and inspecting it. It was a short dagger and made
from cheap metals.

"What do you hunt?"

"Deer." He motioned his head toward the fire and a
dried hunk of the meat he had eaten earlier still sat above the
fire.

Aile moved to the food and took it from the spit. She
sat in the ground next to the fire and bit into it. It was charred
but the taste of the meat sent pleasure coursing through her brain.
It was exactly what she had needed. She ate the remainder of it
greedily, char and all. When she had finished she let out a sigh.
It had not been an unpleasant meal save for the groans of the
wounded hunter a few yards away.

She stood when she was satisfied with the meal in her
stomach and walked to the tent. She parted the flap and looked
inside.

"There's… nothing of value," the hunter offered with
great effort.

He had not lied. The tent had a bow and quiver and
there were a few furs but little of worth to her. She spotted a
wine skin and kicked it but it flopped over, empty. She could hear
the rattle of the trap behind her. She let the flap fall and turned
back to face the hunter.

"No water?"

He gave up on opening the thing to answer her. "I… I
get it in the… mornings."

"And a saddle? For the mount?"

"I leave her saddled… in case of raiders." The elf's
breathing had returned to a normal speed but was still deep.

Aile pulled a gold coin from one of the pockets on
her leathers and dropped it onto the man's lap. She walked past him
in the direction of his horse. "For the beast," she said.

The man snapped and wrenched around to face her back.
"IS THAT ALL?" He yelled. "YOU WOULD LEAVE ME DO DIE?"

The Drow stopped. She was entirely motionless for a
moment considering. She turned and walked back to him. He had
exhausted himself with the display and he was breathing quickly.
Sweat sat on his forehead as he looked up at the Drow in the orange
light of the fire.

Aile said nothing as she pushed a finger into a
pocket on her leathers and pulled free a small green crystal. She
held it out over him and the man held up a hand to receive it. She
dropped it and his hand closed around the small rock. She turned
and again began her walk to the animal.

The man called after her, his voice ragged and full
with concern. "What is it?"

"Poison." Aile said as she inspected the reins and
saddle of the horse.

The man looked down at the crystal in his hand a long
time. The Drow untied the mount from the stake and climbed into the
saddle. She trotted toward him and stopped next to him lying on the
ground. A small pool of blood had formed on the ground beneath his
leg. It was not a quick bleed but it would likely be the end of
him.

"Will…" He hesitated. "Will it hurt?"

"I do not know, elf," Aile said, plainly. "I have
never died."

Socair had never been one to question the decisions
she made in life, but as the sagging testicles of the fleeing old
man flapped under his torso, she could not help but wonder how it
had come to this. The worst of it was that, in spite of his
advanced age, the old man was keeping ahead of them. His bare feet
seemed to handle the soft packed dirt of the area off side streets
more ably.

"The boats! The boats!" he screamed as he ran, not
seeming to notice the elves behind.

His lead was given away, and indeed the entire chase
was brought to an end, when the man caught his foot on a stone and
fell to the ground in a twisting flurry of grey hair and loose
skin. The man flopped about like a fish on a dock for a moment,
trying to right himself. Socair reached down and put a hand on his
shoulder.

"Boats!" he screeched and wrenched away from her.
"Ah! You are… you are not a horseman. Where is this? Have you come
to save us?"

Socair looked herself over, kneeling in the dirt next
to the naked man. "I am no horseman. You mean the centaur?"

He flinched at the word. "They
came. Came in
boats
." He spit the word out as though it had come unstuck from his
throat. "None believed me, but I ran. Ran away. Ha. Haha. Hid. Hid
a long while. Then ran again."

Silín was still catching her breath. "Did he flee
from a healer?"

"You've come to save us. Return the city to us." He
coughed into a hand. The cough was wet and sickly.

"We are, old man, but tell me, where did the
horsefolk land?" She pulled the old man up by an arm.

He looked at her as though she had asked a stupid
question. "Drocham, fool girl. Of course. Of course, Drocham. You
made it all the way here without having even learned the name of
the place? Ha. Maybe you're not the one to save us. Maybe." He
stood. There was a cut along the thin skin of his thigh that was
bleeding regularly.

Socair gave the man to Silín that she might better
support him at her height and they made for the main road. Once
they arrived there, a stern looking man in white was attending a
terribly worried looking woman in the maroon robes of a healer. She
kept her eyes to the side of the road and when the man in white had
spotted them he tapped her and pointed ahead. The woman's eyes lit
up and she came running toward them.

"
Iníor!"
Her tone was as concerned as it was chastising. "You mustn't run
off! You are not yet well."

The old man looked her over and seemed to regain some
of his senses. "This… this is Dulsiar." He appeared to suddenly
become frail and the man in white took him from Silín.

"I must thank you," the woman began. She stopped as
the man in white passed her by and whispered into her ear. The
matronly elf blushed a deep red. "Oh… oh my. Sisters be good." She
looked at Socair and bowed deeply. "You are the Goddess of
Glassruth."

Silín smiled at the name and shifted her eyes to
Socair.

"I am called that, yes. I am also called Socair,
though far less often than I would like of late."

The woman stood and took Socair's hand. "I must
apologize for Iníor. He has not been in his right mind since he was
found."

"There is no need to apologize. But he says that
Drocham has been attacked—"

"From the sea, yes. He was… he was found near dead on
the road from Drocham to Dulsiar, not far from the outpost. Starved
and parched. It was a soldier from the outpost that brought him to
me, in fact. I fear the sun and the starvation may have sent him
half mad. He will improve with time, perhaps. It is hard to tell
with weakness in the mind."

"Then the situation in Drocham?" Silín asked.

"There have been rumors. Half of which began after
Iníor was brought to my shop. I could not say, myself. I do not
rely on the Drocham traders for much of my needs. There have been
few of them around, but that is not so strange this time of year.
Preparing for the change of Seasons is no small task, even in lands
as fertile as these."

"Truly," Socair said. "Well, I thank you for your
help."

"No, no!" The woman held up her hands in protest.
"Iníor has troubled you."

"It is no trouble. I would only ask that you care for
him well."

"I will, Socair. Thank you." She bowed deeply and
hurried after the man in white.

When the woman was clear of them, Silín patted Socair
on the shoulder. "A Goddess and a Bearer. I am truly blessed to be
so close to you."

"You have been alone with Doiléir for too long, I
see." Socair looked at the sky. "We ought to return to the
inn."

Silín nodded and they set off to return to their
quarters. Socair did not want to entirely waste the opportunity
that being in the markets might afford so she stopped at shops and
stands along the route back. She asked the same question of each of
the traders and merchants she came across. Had there been any news
of Drocham? The answer was always the same. Some variation or
another of how most places tended to slack off their trade ahead of
the change of the Seasons to ensure their stocks were ample enough
for the coming. One fishmonger had chanced to add "Especially
Drocham" to his answer.

"What do you mean?" Socair asked.

He slapped a box of fish up onto the table. "The
Great Storms. Heard a religious type call 'em Spéir's Breath. Don't
get one every Season, but they always seem to find Drocham when
they crop up. Flood and winds enough to ruin the village. Hear most
of the houses wear stilts now." Socair thanked him and carried on
her way with Silín in tow.

Silín spoke as they moved. "What do you intend?"

"For now," Socair said, "I intend only to return to
the inn and eat and think and hear any news there might be."

The morning had turned to a bright, warm day and the
rest of the walk was pleasant, filled with the noise of the city
going about its business. Even the area around the luxurious inn
they were calling home was bustling.

Práta was on the couch when they made it to the
bedroom. She was sitting silently, turning a sealed letter over in
her hands. She did not look up until Socair spoke.

"Where is Doiléir? He was meant to accompany
you."

Práta stood up in a start as though she had not heard
them enter. "Ah! He," She fumbled with the letter, righting it in
her hands. "He did. I have sent the reports as instructed and when
we returned there was a courier. I… she gave me this letter. And
then Doiléir insisted he was in need of sleep and forbid me to
leave."