No One's Chosen (7 page)

"Fascinating."

He didn't seem to hear her. "'ow much?"

"Leave, elf." She decided to be as plain as she
could. While not exactly a delicate situation, she had no interest
in opening the throat of a drunkard.

"'ey now. Don' be—" He wretched and his throat spat a
wet click. "don't be picky, whore. My gold shines good as that
highborn."

"I am no whore, lout. Go from me."

He adjusted his cock. "Sisters, that accent does me
in. Lemme jus' see yer—" He reached across toward her face but
before he put hand to skin, she grabbed his wrist. In a blink she
forced his hand to the table. A blade appeared as if from nowhere
and she slammed it through the upturned palm and deep into the wood
of the table.

He stood, eyes wide and bloodshot. The wisp of a
scream breached his open mouth before the blunt end of another
dagger found his throat. He grabbed at his neck with the free hand
and leaned away instinctively. The blade through his hand held fast
and the edge peeled apart his hand. Blood gushed from the
bifurcated appendage onto the half-bare chest of the choking elf.
The alehouse grew quiet in an instant. Horrified eyes darted
between Aile and her bloodied friend.

"If you are a friend to this man, he is in need of a
healer." She said it flatly, pulled the dagger from the table,
wiped it clean, and placed it back in its sheath.

As Aile sat back down to her drink, the drunk was
dragged off by a pair sporting concerned looks. She waved a
waitress over and the minstrels resumed their songs.

"Spéirbaile," she thought. "I shall require heavier
clothes."

Socair had calmed down considerably by the time she
made it back to Crosta's. He still seemed annoyed but informed her
that they would march at dawn. There had been a scouting report
that a large hippocamp horde had struck and razed a town to the
north-east. This marked a change in tactic for the hippocamps and
since their unit was closest to the city, they would be marching to
engage. Crosta then curtly reminded her that she needed to debrief
her people and sent her on her way.

Socair stepped out of the camp and heaved a heavy
sigh. For the first time since the fighting had ended she felt a
sense of relief. She hadn't known what to make of the regent's
advances and she would rather just put it out of her mind.
Regardless of the intent or deeper meaning there might have been—
Socair convinced herself there was none— she would be marching in
the morning and likely never returning. She made for the section of
the vast encampment where the vanguard were stationed. It had
always been the manner of the Abhainnbaile military to keep fairly
tightly to your own company. Conventional wisdom was that this
manner of isolationism would strengthen unit cohesion, engender
deep adherence to the chain of command, and keep morale over losses
outside of a given company from dipping.

As she passed one of the rear guard encampments and
heard the revelry, she couldn't help but remember that it had
always seemed such a foreign idea to her. Her father would often
send his three children out on hunting trips. They were to live off
the land and not return before catching the quarry he had assigned
them, one each, of their own ability. If they returned without
having completed their task, they would be beaten mercilessly.
Later, she would come to understand that he had made himself the
villain with great purpose. He had sacrificed the love of his
children to make them strong. Or at least she liked to imagine it
that way.

One particular hunt stood out in her mind. She and
her brothers had been sent to the swamps of the south-west to find
some reptile her father'd known of, half the size of a horse. She'd
know it to see it, but Sisters help her, she couldn't remember the
name for the life of her. They had been out so many times before in
their hunting and had, at worst, failed to track and kill their
prey. The reptile was different. Fierce and with a hunger for
survival they had never seen. The geography of the swamp had
limited their ability to give proper chase and the creature's chest
was home to a thick, bony plate which meant arrows weren't apt to
penetrate.

The reptiles were in no short supply, so they meant
to ambush one from the trees and cut off its means of escape. The
plan had started fine. They cornered the beast and her eldest
brother made for the kill. The beast would have none of it and
slashed at his leg, finding purchase. He fell to the ground
instantly, writhing in pain. The plan had failed so they withdrew,
taking him to camp. Medicinal herbs were having no effect, it
seemed.

"We should go, we must." Socair had pleaded with her
middle brother. He refused. The hunt was not over. Even with the
eldest like to die, he would not abandon the mission. Socair was
furious, but she couldn't say at what. Her oldest brother for being
felled so easily, the other for refusing to leave, or the damnable
beast for existing in the first place. She stood wordlessly and
walked into the wood. The able brother called after her but could
not afford to pursue with the eldest sick as he was.

Socair lost all track of time in her rage. When she
finally returned to camp, she came covered in black blood and
dragging the corpses of three of the reptiles. "The hunt is
finished. We are leaving." Her brother offered no protest to her
declaration.

Certainly, she thought as she walked through the
camp, the outrage of seeing something she loved attacked had made
her fight so deftly. Still, military protocol was what it was and
she knew better than to question the orders of a commanding officer
or the way of the many that had come before her. Her father had
rarely done anything without purpose. He would not want any of them
dead, she was confident of that. "Fear and hate and rage. Every
weapon has an edge. It will cut only that which you allow it."

She was back to her company now so she put thoughts
of the past out of her mind. "Officers! Rally!" She called with
great authority and her soldiers fell into ranks quickly. It had
been only a season and a half since she was raised to Leader of the
Vanguard. The entire unit had been supportive though a few of the
more cynical among them— usually those doing their compulsory
service— insisted that it was a political move to raise morale in
the Bastion City. They were still happy for her, they insisted. And
she deserved the position. But everything was politics. She tended
to agree with them, though not out loud. It was rare for a lowborn
to be raised into a leadership position but her actions at
Glassruth had made her quite popular among the river elves.

"Debriefs." She stated plainly, she liked to be
somewhat informal after a day of fighting, and brief. It put
everyone at ease and was less likely to dredge up concerns. "We'll
start at the first left flank. Doiléir."

A tan elf, dark hair marking him as of desert stock,
stepped forward. "Only two, Vanguard. Arrows took them in the first
minutes. They were slow to raise their shields and paid for it. I
have petitioned for two to be called up from reserves. They should
be battle-ready by morning muster, assuming I applied an amount of
wax that Requisitions will find pleasing." The gathered officers
chuckled at the jest, Socair as well.

"Sisters willing," she rolled her eyes. "First right
flank."

A soft-spoken elf in plain clothes stepped forward,
Silín. A pair of twin braids hanging down over her chest. "No
losses. There was minimal resistance to the breach on the right
flank."

Socair patiently heard reports from the gathered
officers. All reports given, she let them know they would be
marching on the dawn. Groans came and went and the officers were
dismissed. Socair made for her private tent. It was one of the few
luxuries she had ever been allowed and it was, in all honesty, one
of the few she imagined she would enjoy.

The tent was fairly plain in general. Of the same
make and size as the barrack tents that were thrown up for the line
soldiers, but in place of five other bodies and the accompanying
sounds, there was only empty space and silence. It had, in honesty,
taken her a while to become accustomed to sleeping alone, but after
a week or so she had grown to relish the ability to lay down and
let the weight of the day fall off of her. While the tent was thin
and still allowed nearly all of the sounds of the camp in, they
felt impenetrable.

She had sat down upon her bed and begun removing her
shoes when she heard voices approaching the outside of the
tent.

"We ought not bother her, she has been—" Before Silín
could finish her sentence she had been pushed through the flaps of
the tent. Silín regained her footing and looked up at Socair,
clutching her armor. "Uh… evening, Vanguard."

Socair smiled and Doiléir made his way in carrying
three skins of wine. "It is well past evening."

"It is," Socair remarked playfully. "And I do wish
you'd stop calling me Vanguard in my private quarters."

"One can hardly blame her, however." Doiléir pulled
the cork on one skin after tossing the others to the bed.
"Especially with you looking as you do."

Socair looked down at her attire, having forgotten
about it. "Sisters be good, I'd nearly forgotten."

"We were worried you'd gone and joined the courtly
types. Silín especially." Doiléir's jest ruffled the girl.

"I did no such thing! I know Socair would never leave
us." Silín answered back.

"Right! She'd take us with."

Socair laughed and scooped up one of the skins. She
took her armor from Silín. "It was certainly something."

She began undressing as her friends made themselves
comfortable around the tent. As naked as she had felt in front of
all those nobles, she didn't give a second thought to changing in
front of her fellow soldiers. She never had. She was happy to trade
the thin clothes of those that were meant to be her social betters
for the lazy tug of armor across her shoulders.

Silín and Doiléir listened attentively as Socair
recounted the dinner she'd just experienced. They had been with her
for so long she could scarcely remember. It had been at least ten
years now, though she had no mind for tracking dates or the passing
of seasons. Socair was one of the few to request a position in the
van. The choice was one that was considered incredibly honorable by
all the official codes but somewhat headstrong and foolish by most
normal folk. She'd never considered it either, but still,
volunteers were grouped into a formal squad while those which were
called up from reserves or other units made up other squads.
Another of those morale structures that didn't make much sense to
Socair.

They put her at ease, in truth. There was not another
soul in the camp she'd have told the story. Even then, she felt a
twinge of betrayal in telling it. Would Rún have been upset at her?
She caught herself wondering and returned to reveling with her
friends. Surely she wouldn't. It must have been some offhand thing.
The whims of a noble.

When she told them of the kiss, Doiléir was so
surprised that he spat wine out on the floor. Silín would likely
have chastised him had she not been so busy blushing. They joked
about it, pondering on the motives of nobles, each agreeing they'd
likely never comprehend the minds of people who sat on majestic
chairs and lived in constant comfort. Silín had the final word of
it, suggesting that most weren't likely to understand why an
able-bodied elf would ever join the vanguard. They toasted that and
drank until the skins were empty.

Silín and Doiléir bid Socair goodnight and made for
their bunks. She could hear the vaguest whisper of their jokes as
she once again undressed. Socair made her way to the bed and laid
down, closing her eyes. She saw a flash of Rún's face and a tingle
at her lips and she was asleep.

The next morning she rose before the first horn. Her
head was throbbing with the pain of an evening spent in her cups.
It'd been a long time since she'd had more than a few drinks.
Several mugs with dinner and a full skin had done her in.

She groaned and moved to her armor. It would take the
bulk of her concentration to get everything into place but
eventually her wakefulness caught up to the sun and she exited her
tent with the morning horns. The troops rallied around and she told
them of the plan. They would be headed north-east, in the direction
of the desert province Fásachbaile. A town near the border was
likely to come under siege and they would move to defend. There
were no questions and her team left to take their positions on the
front of the marching column.

The march was uneventful, to say the least, and they
made good time. Camps were kept light and the march was swift.
Toward the end of the second day of marching, they arrived at a
large hill nearly an hour's march from the town they meant to
defend. A rider wearing the sigil of the Binseman came to the head
of the column.

"Vanguard, there has been a change of plan."

Socair raised an eyebrow at the rider's words. "Out
with it."

"A full halt has been ordered and we are to set up a
staging outpost here."

"On order of the Binseman?"

"Yes, Vanguard."

"And what of the people we are meant to save?"

"I do not know, Vanguard. I was told only that we are
to make a full halt and that you are to report to the Binse."

Socair looked to her friends. Doiléir simply
shrugged. Silín put on a half-smile in support of Socair, nodding
her head in the direction of the Binseman's messenger.

"Stay vigilant," she told them.