No One's Chosen (6 page)

At that, she turned and made for the edge of the
tent. The Warlord Ke'Laak began to laugh with all he had left. The
laughter turned to hacking coughs which turned to silence and the
horde slept on, none the wiser.

A short walk from the camp, the Drow had anchored a
horse to the sand. She found it quickly and aimed it toward
Fásachbaile. The ride would be a long one, and boring. But the air
was at least cool enough at night in the far desert. There was
little to get in the way of her ride and she made it to the city
easily enough. The horse was stabled and she began what was like to
be a rather obnoxious walk through the city proper.

Other cities were not so fascinated at the sight of
Drow, though her people were rare enough outside of the Blackwood.
There was something about the desert that seemed to breed
slack-jawed oglers, and that was what Aile saw along the side of
the road, gathering in ever greater numbers as she moved toward the
inn. It was unlikely that any among her number would be brave
enough to so much as approach her. Or so she thought.

A tiny elf girl stumbled out into the street, barely
taller than Aile. The girl looked like to shit her pants just from
the sight of the Drow. A word was enough to send her fleeing to the
alleys beyond and Aile continued on her way. The alehouse where she
was to take payment for the centaur smelt of piss though she came
to realize it was just the drink. She was not sure that made things
better.

She took a room and allowed herself a short nap. She
woke just after sundown and took up a place at the tables of the
first floor. She was not there long before a tiny elf in a cloak
pretending not to be the girl from earlier in the day came in. Aile
heaved a sigh as the foolish child made her way up the stairs. Her
time was precious and so she sent the girl away with some strong
words. There was no money in her blood and it would complicate her
current work.

Aile again descended the stairs from the second floor
of the alehouse. As if the gawking of the day weren't enough, now
she had some foolish little girl following her around and
attempting to rummage through her things. Aile hadn't taken her for
an enemy outright. If she had been one then at the very least the
child spy failed in whatever it was her task had been. No point
killing her when there was no gain in it.

Arriving at the main floor landing she glanced
around, finding her table still and drink unmolested by the sweat
mob of the tavern. The untold benefits of being a living marvel in
a land full of morons, she supposed. Still, the once over of the
crowd revealed that her employer had still not made rendezvous and
she was becoming annoyed. It wasn't the atmosphere of the bar that
bothered her. The humid air hung thick in the place and with the
heat from this Goddess forsaken desert city, it actually reminded
her of the swamps of the Blackwood. It wasn't exactly comforting to
be reminded of home, but still it gave her a comfort she'd never be
like to admit to anyone.

The Drow made her way to the small table she had
occupied before being drawn upstairs and sat down. A few stared,
they always did. A few watched her, unblinking as though she might
cast some darkling spell over them and steal their souls or cocks
or who knows what. "Over sized sots." she muttered to herself.
Still, the stairs were not worth ignoring. She poured the remnants
of her drink out on the floor and threw a hand up that the tavern
wench might bring a new drink.

She had paid enough in gold and promised enough in
threats that she trusted they would not attempt anything untoward.
She would have been less convinced of this except when she
mentioned the name of her employer, their eyes widened. She figured
him for a man of some import based on the price he laid on the head
of the Warlord she'd felled, but now there was to be no doubt.

The wench brought Aile another glass of the
piss-colored water that passed for drink in the south. She was
never much one for ale over wine, herself, but Goddess, there had
to be some measure of pride, surely. She took a drink, frowning, as
a thin, old elf sat down in front of her.

"It's unbearable what southron elves allow to be
served as drink." His voice was nasal and tight. Well enunciated,
the voice of a highborn no doubt.

"I find myself in agreement with you on that, elf."
She took another drink from the overused wooden mug and spoke. "My
work is done. I would be paid what I am owed."

The noise of the place was such that she did not
concern herself with low voices or mixed words. None would notice
them save those that were apt to stare as it was.

"Before I pay, I should like to discuss—"

The look she gave was cold and filled with malice.
"Nothing comes before pay. The work is done. I would be paid."

The old elf sat for a second, considering. Aile only
kept her gaze fixed on him, a hand on the dirk at her thigh.
Finally, he spoke. "Fine. Then might we adjourn to more private
quarters."

The Drow shook her head wordlessly. She saw the
shoulders of the elf slump in resignation. "Fine. Have it your way,
darkling." The old man pulled a bag from his cloak and placed it
gently on her side of the table. The bag slumped as the coins
shifted into place. "There. You are paid. Now can we please
adjourn. Ignoring the private nature of this business, the smell
here is like to be the undoing of me."

Aile lifted the bag and considered its heft. Finding
the weight acceptable, she stood and made for the stairs, the
highborn dragging behind.

Once again she was ascending the stairs of the
alehouse. She wondered at the odds of elf blood staining the floor
of her accommodations before the end of the night. Certainly she'd
now had two more visitors than she expected and she almost trusted
the child more than the cloaked figure she was now leading to
tighter fighting conditions than she'd enjoy. Wiry as the old elf
was, he had a foot on her at the least.

She opened the door to the room, insisting her guest
head in first. He gave no complaint at the suggestion which was a
positive sign at the least. Inside, the old elf made his way to a
chair near the window, Aile took the chair she had used earlier in
the night.

"I have need of your continued services, darkling,
but the work is neither set nor singular."

"Speak plainly, elf, there is no profit in hearing
how this work differs from the other."

The highborn man looked out the window. "There is a
certain… how shall I say it? A very important woman."

Her once and possibly future employer paused there as
if inviting her to ask for names. That was not her way. Aile
waited. Often the silence would draw out the words just as well.
Elves wanted their words to be chased after, she'd found. And when
one did not follow closely enough, they would gladly play the
part.

"A northern noble." He continued. "She has become a
problem for me, but I do not wish her killed. Not by your hand,
anyway. I wish to give her a second shadow. One which is capable of
whispering in my ear and, perhaps, arranging for solutions to
problems she might create."

Aile had been watching the old man closely. Not once
since sitting had he taken his eyes from the window, as if looking
at her put him ill at ease. She did not trust the highborn, but
work was work and the gold was real enough.

"How do you intend to structure payment, elf?"

"Ah, yes." He looked to his lap briefly in thought
and then back to the window. "You would be given a salary, paid
weekly, as well as a stipend for equipment and expenses."

"And the cost of your… solutions?"

"Paid over and above the salary at the rate in line
with the work you have just completed."

The cost would be considerable, she thought. "Few
have endowments as to allow for such an expense."

She saw the slightest clench roll over the jaw of the
elf, he did not like being questioned. "You will have your first
two weeks paid in advance, should you agree. While my coffers are
no concern of yours, darkling, it should be said that you are free
to leave if your fees are not satisfied in full."

Aile considered this for a moment. If the elf was
curious about her expression, his distaste for her kind wouldn't
allow him to show it. "What is expected of your, how did you say?
Your whispering shadow?"

"You will be provided a room at a certain inn.
Whether you use it for respite is no matter to me. The room
contains a false wall that is to be used for exchanges." He shifted
in the chair, clearly uncomfortable on such a cheap thing.

"And you would have a darkling do your work?"

For the first time since entering the room, he faced
the Drow. The sneer was plain on his face, Aile smiled. He turned
back to the window but his voice betrayed his anger. "Make no
mistake, darkling. Working with you fills me with nothing short of
disgust. I do not wish to work with filth as much as I do not wish
that the work was necessary. I am left with no other course to a
conclusion that benefits my people."

"I do not care for the plight of your people, only
that your gold arrives when it should and that you do not interfere
with my work."

He seemed to shrink, the sound of resignation game
from under the dark hood. "You are, regretfully, a board in the
bridge across a black depth. I do not intend to burn it."

"Acceptable. Then, we have come to terms."

"Good." The elf stood, his sharp features cut a
unique silhouette as he turned. Reaching into his cloak, the noble
produced two pouches of gold, each about two-thirds the size of the
first she had been given, and tossed them on the floor of the room.
Aile looked down at them. "Your salary." He produced a third pouch,
half the size of the first, and tossed it onto the other two. "And
the stipend. How long do you expect it will take you to reach
Spéirbaile?"

Aile crossed her legs. "No more than a week."

"Understood. The pouch with the stipend contains a
writ of passage. Show it at the gates. A courier will find you when
you arrive to supply further instruction."

Aile nodded wordlessly and the elf took his leave of
her chambers. He'd left a smell, she thought to herself, some
flowery smell she couldn't quite place. It was more earthy than
sweet and it made her angry to breathe it in. She held not
particular hatred for the elves. Indeed, most were fairly pleasant.
Highborn, though… Goddess they were a special sort of creature. She
shook the thought from her mind and stood. Without a sound, she
paced to the small sacks of gold. Aile worked her foot under the
edge of one and flipped it up to her waiting hand. She bounced the
bag lazily in her hand and went to look out the window.

Certainly the elf must have been bored to tears
staring at such a landscape. Brown on tan on beige. It was as if
the desert elves were allergic to vibrance. Or maybe it was the
land itself which sucked the color from things, she thought. Even
the towering palisade of wrought iron and black steel which
encircled the High District seemed to helplessly drown in the
dismal earth tones. She couldn't imagine the reds, greens, and
purples of the hanging banners had ever been vibrant.

It dawned on Aile that she hadn't ever been to the
north. Would it be so barren? Or maybe a bleak landscape of
inescapable whiteness. She tossed the gold to the bed and decided
she had had enough of such thoughts. The contents of those pouches
meant she was not a slave to the nature of whatever place she
happened to be. If she wished for color and comfort in this land of
dirt and dust, she need only jingle a few coins and it would be
hers. That was the truth of the world, she knew.

She closed the door to her room behind her, back in
the hallway of the alehouse's second floor. The noise from below
had grown again as the night drew to a crescendo. Down the stairs a
third time.

Aile was pleased to find her table remained as she
had left it. The elves here had some sense. She retook her seat and
looked over the floor again. A minstrel had shown up and was
playing bawdy songs one after another. A few tables had been
cleared off and some of the dimmer looking females took turns at
what Aile imagined passed for dancing seductively on them. Still,
most men and a number of the women seemed game for it. Aile waved
for a fresh mug and a young waitress came to see to her.

"You been real popular tonight, mistress." The
waitress smiled cordially.

"Didn't you know?" Aile smiled back. "Drow are always
popular."

The girl seemed confused, as if there was some hidden
meaning, and hurried off. When she returned with the mug
replenished, she said nothing. The rest of the night passed without
conversation as the waitress still seemed convinced the Drow meant
to eat her firstborn. Aile had never been one for words, but she
enjoyed watching people and puzzling out their motives and their
cultures. Her own people had been largely incomprehensible to her.
A rigid, proud society that spoke of Drow unity out of one side of
their mouths and seemed only capable of discordant infighting from
the other. She had wondered about the world outside the Blackwood.
About the elves. A time or two she had imagined leaving, even. When
her hand and maidenhead were promised to the gormless son of some
patron of her father's in exchange for a parcel of land, she
fled.

The dull thud of a mug on the table interrupted her
recounting of the past. She looked across the table to see a tall,
muscular elf with rugged features and two day's stubble.

Aile's hand went to her thigh instinctively. She
raised an eyebrow at the elf as he swayed back and forth under the
influence of his drink.

"Ain't never been in a Drow before." He stopped there
and stared at Aile as if that revelation begged a response.