No One's Chosen (60 page)

"I no longer sleep." He picked up a bottle with a
silver-grey dust in it and shook it at her. "What is it you need
and how much of it? Might be I've got the bulk of it prepared
already."

"I have no coin."

The girl giggled behind her and the old man looked
up, sighing. "That may be a problem. Depends what you mean to do
with my mixtures."

"I will kill at least one member of the Binse. A man
more unpleasant of face than yourself."

"Spárálaí, I expect. He sees to the coin." The old
man spun on his stool and grabbed a dusky red balm. He turned back
and handed it to Aile. "Rub this on your wounds. They will heal
clean with the balm."

"I need poisons more than balms."

"But you will take the balms just the same." The old
man considered her a moment. "The Binseman has made himself few
friends in the few days since word of the Treorai's death has
spread. She did well for those of us that rely on coin and
discretion. I would not mind outliving the man. What do you have
need of?"

"Anything suited to coating a blade, powder or
liquid. Til, monkshood, black salts, larkspur. Whatever you have. I
do not mean to take more than I need without pay."

"Don't keep til, not worth the trouble to get. The
rest ought to be around the shop somewhere. The whelp'll see to
'em." He waved a hand at the girl who got to the task, eying Aile
as she walked past.

Aile took a seat in the chair the girl left and
crossed her legs. She opened the balm and spread some on her wound.
It smelt like burning flesh and felt much the same. "So you know
the Binseman I am after."

"Seen him enough times, sure. Can't say where he'll
be. Spending a lot of time in the Bastion of late. If it's
knowledge you're after, the Paper Hall will have anything you could
want to know. Keeper of Records oversees it. Copies of every slip
of paper you could want. Land holdings, businesses, all that
lot."

She had hoped to avoid the Bastion entirely if it
were possible. With the state of things, it was doubtful she would
be so lucky. Such a thing would take more planning than she was
willing to do now. She would need a proper sleep. One would be hard
to find as late into the night as it was already.

The scarred girl finished gathering random vials and
pouches from around the shop and put them on the counter. The
alchemist sifted through them and handed a few back to her. She
giggled, staring at the bottles, and licked her lips and walked
them back to their places on the shelf. He began mixing the
rest.

"If you don't make an end to the Binseman, I'll
expect you to come and pay me for these. Maybe when you were
younger I'd have let them go." He looked up at her and then back
down at his work. "Yech."

"Surely the whelp keeps you entertained enough."

"A disgusting proposition." The old man finished
mixing the the items and slid the bowl toward her. "Take whatever
vials you need to fit your leathers. There's a spare bolt of
leather and needle and thread if you wish to make yourself look
less a fool. The whelp will accompany you."

Aile moved behind the counter to fetch a few vials
and paper sachets. She filled them with her poisons carefully and
placed them around the leathers. When she was satisfied that she
had them secured, she looked to the child who hopped up from her
chair and walked up the stair.

The girl motioned to a couch that was old and ragged.
She then left to get the items Aile would need. For as long as the
thing had been in the den, it had not seen use in some time, she
could tell. There was a visible layer of dust. Rather than sit on
it, Aile removed the leathers and awaited the return of the scarred
apprentice. When the girl came back, she clutched the bolt of
leather she was carrying close to her chest and bit her lip. She
stayed at the edge of the room a moment before scuttling to Aile's
side and throwing the patching materials onto the couch.

Aile cut the spare leather to size and then sat
herself on the couch to sew it into place. It was courser and less
pliant than the leather that had been used for the main garment but
it would do well enough. A large hole over a healing wound was not
particularly sound from a tactical standpoint to say the least.

Much as Aile tried to ignore it, the girl stared at
her ceaselessly. She rocked back and forth, staring and licking her
lips. She paid it no mind and continued mending the leathers. When
she was done, she held up the top to inspect her work. As she was
checking the top, she heard a voice, small and raspy.

"You use the Fire."

Too close. Aile pulled her arms down and the girl was
just at her knee, almost touching her. She had not heard the child
move. She stood to move away, almost feeling foolish to flee a
child but there was something wrong with the girl.

As Aile pulled back, the girl grabbed her hand and
put it against the scarred flesh. Tiny hands forced Aile's into an
oddly textured cheek.

"Burn me." The tiny voice was insistent, almost
mad.

Aile's eyes widened and gave no answer. The child
grew impatient and slapped at her arm.

"Burn me!" She gritted her teeth.

There was not much reason against it. Aile did as the
girl asked. Her hand warmed and the girl began to squirm, still
holding the Drow in place against her skin.

"Yes. Yes!" Her tiny voice was emphatic.

The hand began to glow and the skin under it began to
crackle and shrink. The girl howled as the pain grew. Her eyes
rolled back in her head and her grip on Aile loosened. As the
Drow's hand pulled away, some of the scarred flesh came with it.
The girl let out a strange moan and went to her knees, drooling and
breathing heavily.

"Mad elf girl," Aile said, bemused.

The girl seemed not to notice. Aile heated her hand
again and burned the stuck flesh down to ash. She brushed it away
on her smallclothes and dressed. The girl had begun rubbing herself
all over when Aile took her leave of the alchemist's living
quarters.

When she reached the bottom landing the alchemist
spoke without looking up. "It's nice she made a friend," he
laughed. "She is such a shy girl, I began to worry."

"A friend?" Aile said, looking back up the stairs.
"Then when you are a corpse, I shall have to visit. Friends give
better prices."

He scoffed. "You are of a kind with her if that
girl's price is one you're willing to pay."

"I'll have the words as a compliment, alchemist."
Aile smiled and opened the door to leave. "Teach her well."

They had spent the night stacking the bodies from the
yard and mess into a pile near the stables. The horses were too
large to move on their own and there was no good that could come
from burning the bodies, so rot near rot was the basic idea. Socair
had wondered whether it would be worth the effort to put water and
brush to the drying blood in the mess, but they would not be in the
keep so long as to be worried about it.

In its way, it was somewhat lucky that the attack had
happened when it did. The food stores and feed were fresh and rats
had not worked their way back into the storage areas. It meant good
eating for the short time they would be there. Doiléir had handled
the preparation of the food while Socair and Silín investigated the
living quarters of the now empty outpost. They had returned with
nothing to show for the time among the beds and dressers of the
dead soldiers.

When they returned to the kitchen, Doiléir was
complaining about the lack of spices and peppers. They did not lack
for cream, vegetables, or fish, but those were ingredients Doiléir
did not use often and found ill suited his tastes. Socair offered
to cook in his stead and he took her up on it, casting aside a pan
of overcooked river trout with a huff. Socair prepared the
remaining trout with boiled cream and butter with some local herbs.
There was an oven in the mess and she used it to roast some
potatoes. The meal was taken outside in the yard so as to avoid
sitting in the blood. Sitting on crates and stairs, the three elves
talked more of Socair's cooking than the bodies across the
yard.

They took their sleep that night in the storehouse
next to the stables in case the attackers paid a return visit in
the night. It was unlikely, but best to be near the door they would
enter through and hear them while there was a chance to force a foe
through a choke and flank them at once. The numbers would need to
be preciously low for such a tactic to work, but Socair was given
orders to protect the people of Dulsiar. Fleeing was not
protecting, not by any twisting of logic that Socair would allow
herself. Satyrs were dangerous in close combat, centaurs doubly so.
But surprise would help. She ran potential battles through her mind
over and over. They kept her awake for hours after the trio had
laid down to sleep. She could hear Silín's soft snores after only a
few minutes and marveled at her ability to sleep so readily.

The morning came without a sound save for the Saol
songbirds ringing their morning aggressions at one another. Socair
rose before the others. Though sleep had come to her slowly, she
did not lack for energy. She rose from the bundled hay and sacks of
grain that had made her bed and adjusted her clothes to be more
comfortable.

Though there was no sound from the yard, Socair still
opened the door with caution. It was empty, as the lack of noise
promised. It was a relief and disheartening all at once. She had
hoped the boy would have arrived in the night and that there would
be reinforcements by the morning. Doiléir had stirred when she
pulled the door open and joined her in the yard with Silín just
behind.

"I wonder if the boy made the Black Keep." Doiléir
looked around the yard.

"If the raiders are bold enough to murder an
innkeeper, a boy, barely grown, with a fine horse isn't like to
fair well," Silín said.

Socair nodded in agreement. "Even if he has found
help, we cannot afford to wait for them here. Drocham could be held
or under attack."

Doiléir's tone turned to upset. "And what would we
three do? Push back a wave of hippocamps alone?"

"We have little option," Socair said. "Would you let
the townsfolk be murdered? I do not mean to enter the city if it is
overrun, but we must at least see to the safety of those that we
can."

"I do not like it, is all. All of this is
strange."

"It is. But whether it is somehow a plot if Crosta's
or not, there is little we can do. Our duty is to the people and to
the Treorai."

Doiléir left it there and they prepared to leave in
an uncomfortable silence. Doiléir rode alone as they mounted to go.
Silín joined Socair on the larger of the two horses. It was early
morning yet and they should make Drocham by midday at a reasonable
clip. The day was cool for the bulk of the ride. The forest was
thin this far south and gave way to occasional wide openings that
had been cleared away for use as farms at some point or another and
never regrown. On the approach to Drocham, there were even proper
farms, most with their crops in full bloom in preparation for the
harvest season. Many of the steads off the farms appeared empty and
there was not a living soul in the hours they rode. To that end,
there were no dead either and none of the houses or crops had been
put to the torch. It was possible many of the outlying folk had
fled if news reached them of any attack.

They dismounted a short distance from the outskirts
of the town. Drocham was built tightly along a river delta. It held
maybe a few thousand people, though there was no sign of life as
they approached the town proper on foot. There were no walls in
Drocham, much as Dulsiar. A testament to the peace they had known
for so long. Drocham was not large enough to warrant a keep and
fell under the protection of Dulsiar's Regent. There would have
been little in the way of guards here, and most folk would likely
have kept the peace among themselves.

The edge of the city was quiet. Socair could not help
but be reminded of their encounter in Scáthloch. She pulled her
sword and her Attendants followed. They had barely made the edge of
the town, but it was not worth risking an ambush, wherever it might
come from.

"Keep together and stay vigilant."

She led them into the town. Drocham was not broken
into districts from the look of it. Fish shops and houses and
cookeries and the like were all mixed together. A row might have
two houses and a shop and a blacksmith. It was a small enough place
for such an arrangement to work. Perhaps a few dozen streets
between the homes at the far edge and the docks.

The main street was one over from the path they took.
Close combat was not ideal, but neither was another quarrel in
Doiléir's thigh. Or Silín's or her own, for that matter. There was
quiet throughout the entirety of the city. Socair had decided the
docks would be the best place to look. If there were any elves in
the city, she had not heard them.

Their movement to the docks was disciplined and
steady, though the empty city did not seem to require it. Had they
all gone, Socair wondered as they moved through the empty side
streets. If they had, it seemed entirely curious that at least some
would not have made for Dulsiar. In some far corner of her brain,
she hoped they had been scared to go there, expecting it would be
attacked.

As they got to the docks, the true state of the city
began to reveal itself. The first signs were doors that had been
left open and bread shops with mold growing over the product. A
broken window here or there. The waters grew nearer and the damage
grew more obvious and severe. Burnt out homes and shops. Some of
the citizens must have escaped. Even so, none had gone to Dulsiar.
Perhaps the hippocamps had hidden themselves in the woods.