No One's Chosen (70 page)

Another voice, one she did not know, took up the
conversation. It was a woman's voice, but boyish and gruff. "And
what of the hippocamp movement toward the north?"

"It matters little, so long as they continue to press
their front here. The horsefolk are stupid enough as it is. Let the
north see to the north."

The door opened and Socair pressed herself against
the wall of the small housing. Crosta and the other elf exited,
continuing their conversation as they walked away into the
camp.

"And the girl you sent with the Bearer?"

Crosta groaned. "There is nothing to be done. She's
disappeared as well. Like to be dead alongside that freakish woman
I sent her with. A pity we only had the one report. What else is
there?"

"There is the matter of Sonraí and his…"

They moved out of range and Socair could no longer
make out the words. When she was sure they had gone, she moved to
the door. Grabbing the handle showed the thing to be locked tight.
Socair was no thief and it looked too thick to pry free with the
blade of her sword. Sighing, she put her shoulder into the wood.
She rocked back onto her heels and rammed against it. The sound was
thunderous in the quiet dark of the night but the obstruction did
not budge. It would not do to have to repeat the attack many more
times so Socair pulled herself back twice as far and slammed
forward with all of her strength. She heard the splinter of the
frame and the jingle of metal pieces on the far side as the door
swung free. It was not perfectly done, but it would suffice to get
her inside with at least a few moments to investigate the
Binseman's papers before he returned.

When Socair entered the room, she froze a moment. It
had been set up exactly like the marquee that had stood before,
down to the placement of the items on his desk. She almost felt as
if she could turn and see Silín and Doiléir behind but she knew it
wasn't true. She shook the thought from her tired mind and moved to
his desk, quickly rustling through the small stacks of paper on it.
They were daily reports from the squadrons under his command,
nothing of value. Beside the chair was a locked chest. She opened
the drawers each in turn, looking for a key and eying over any
papers that were kept inside. Nothing. The chest must have
something, she knew it.

Socair pulled her sword and took careful aim at the
lock with the hilt. She gave it a firm slam and it sounded a dead
thunk that reverberated through the floor. There was nothing to be
done for it. Even with her strength it would take a number of blows
and there was no way to keep it quiet. She found a rhythm and
hammered away at the lock, leaving deep scars across the metal. It
took nearly a full minute of hammering before the latch finally
gave way and fell open.

She pulled the broken metal away and lifted the lid.
Papers were neatly stacked in the chest at one end along with maps
and tools for reading and marking them. She grabbed the first paper
from the top of the pile and read it. It was addressed to Crosta
from Dúil. Socair did not remember the name at first, but it came
to her. The name belonged to the woman who oversaw the Second
Company. They had been stationed to the north. Socair's eyes went
back to the words.

"We have allowed the hippocamps passage as per your
suggestion and they have headed north, presumably toward
Spéirbaile. The ambush sites along our border with Fásachbaile have
been surprisingly effective, counting no survivors. We have been
sure to cede the territory to the horsefolk as carefully as we are
able though they have made crude advances under the orders of the
newly installed warlord who has replaced Ke'Laak. As yet, our
agents have failed to make contact with this warlord though we have
hopes that he will be as readily compliant as his predecessor. I
have kept the strongest among my troops back in the event that this
new warlord does not see logic. As well, I have placed other
operations in hiatus until such time as I have your orders."

Socair's hands were shaking when she finished the
letter. She tucked it into her armor and grabbed another pile,
flipping through. Notices from as far afield as Fásachbaile and the
Bastion in Spéirbaile. She glanced over them with worried eyes
until the name Sonraí came in front of her. She narrowed her eyes
at the document, shaking her head.

"As per our conversation, I am forwarding you the
information I have sent to the Bearer. Her trust in me is firm, I
believe, but I doubt she will linger long in Dulsiar whether I
guide her south or not. We will simply have to hope the work done
there has sufficiently alarmed the Regent and that he will aid us
without being brought in. Will forward all else I receive."

She flipped the pages, reading line after line of
horrible words.

"…the vessels are of Fásachbaile make. I doubt the
Drochami folk have half the wit or worldly nature to know them by
sight…"

"…again successful. There were no survivors of the
twenty who were sent…"

"…did their job well, but the hoofed bastards forgot
to burn the fields. I had to send a pair of my own to do it…"

Her face had flushed a deeper shade of red with each
page that passed her eyes. What was this? It was clear treason, but
to what end? Why? Were they of a kind with the hippocamps?

The low creak of the door brought Socair to her feet.
She pulled her sword from the floor as she stood and readied the
blade at Crosta. His face was impassive even as he saw her there.
He did not flee. Rather, he stepped forward and shut the door
behind. It would no longer latch but it had closed well enough. The
woman from before was no longer with him.

"Where is the other?"

"She is tending to the marmar and some letters." He
walked forward calmly but stopped when Socair lifted the blade.
"Oh, I mean you no harm. I know when a game has reached its end. I
must admit I underestimated your luck. Or perhaps it was your
skill."

He moved to a chair in the corner of the room and
took a seat. "You will need to make a report to Deifir, no doubt. I
suppose it would be simplest that I explain."

Socair lowered the sword. Did he mean to buy time? It
would not matter, would it?

"There are things a dim soldier such as yourself
could never come to understand. For centuries, the entire flow of
coin within the provinces has been dictated by the war and how it
was being won. Should the war be successful, the eastern crops
might thrive, driving their price down. This means less coin for
the merchants of Abhainn and more beggars. Certainly even you can
understand the logic there."

"You… you kill our kin to ensure a fair price on
crops?"

"Not just crops, no. All goods. And to see that our
rate of consumption stays level as well. These things are important
for a healthy society, you understand." He sighed. "Conveniently,
the centaur hunger only for battle. We can provide them with those
battles and they do as we need."

A queer smell had begun to fill the room and Socair
sniffed at the air trying to place it.

"Ah, the smell," Crosta said the words as he pulled a
blade and flint from his trousers.

Socair pulled her sword to the ready and took a
defensive stance. He simply smiled a cold, toothless smile.

"I do not know how much you have found, but I have
doubts that it will truly be enough even should you escape." He
nodded his head down to the floor. An orange-ish liquid had spread
out across the floor in a thin trail. It ran from the man's foot
directly to the chest as though it had been directed there. "This
is the end of our talks. Well met, Socair. I am defeated."

He turned his head to the door, keeping his eyes on
the warrior elf and he screamed. "Help! The Bearer! She means to
kill me!" He then struck at the flint with his small dagger and the
sparks fell to the floor. The trail of liquid turned to flame and
raced to the chest faster than Socair could move. She looked down
to see the edge of her boot catch fire. She kicked the flame out
against the desk and set the wood alight in the attempt. Some
alchemist's potion. She looked back up to see Crosta's devilish
grin as he pulled the blade across his neck. A slit opened and a
curtain of red washed down over the green of his shift.

Socair stared at the bleeding man as he tried to
stifle the jerks of death taking him. The flames had taken to his
leg and were working their way up the flesh. When she finally
pulled herself away from the sight of Crosta dying, panic set in.
The papers. She reached down for the maps and the papers but the
fire burned too hot to get close. She grimaced and pushed her hands
over the flame again, but could get no closer than she had the
first time. It burned too hot to be a natural fire. She clutched at
her chest. The papers were still there. Would they be enough? They
must be.

There were voices outside, shouting out to Crosta.
They must have heard his cry. With the fire and a slit throat, it
was not likely that she would be given the time to explain her
plight. And if the elves outside were Crosta's then there would be
no meaning in an explanation anyway. She turned as the fire filled
the main room and pushed through the door just behind her. It led
to a small kitchen rather than the storage area that had adorned
the back of Crosta's marquee. She was thankful for that as kitchens
tended to have doors. This one did as well. She ran to it, her leg
protesting, and shoved it open. Sound came from the sides of the
building. She could not be seen and so she ran straight away from
the back of the flaming building.

She crossed the trench that had been dug for the wall
of the fortress in a large leap and as she did she heard a voice
behind call "There!" She turned to look and saw the silhouette of
an elf pointing to her. She had been seen. Socair cursed and made
for the tree line a few hundred yards away. When she made the edge,
she did not stop. They would have a party in the wood soon enough,
searching. She ran on and on until her lungs burned and even then
she kept her pace. There was no way to know how many miles she had
crossed when she finally collapsed beside a tree. Her lungs were
still raw and spasmed as she drew the deepest breaths she could
manage.

It was dawn when she finally caught enough breath to
stand and continue her flight. She was an enemy now, she would be
sought out. She could not allow that to happen. Crosta's network
was wide and it was likely that any allied to him would kill her on
sight.

There was one option to her mind. Only a single place
she could go. Abhainnbaile. It did not matter if the trip would
mean her death. It did not matter, even if the Treorai herself had
a hand in the plot. Socair had been given a duty and she meant to
fulfill it as best she could.

Óraithe spent the rest of the day wandering the city
in a daze. Night fell and she kept walking and walking. Her body
was exhausted and though it seemed to want nothing more than to
break down, she carried on. It wasn't until a stone down some alley
tripped her that she had finally fallen asleep. The heat of the
morning sun on her back was enough to wake her from her pitiful
slumber.

She pushed herself up from the ground and realized
she felt wet. Looking down to the ground there was a dirty brown
puddle where she had slept. Most likely someone's bath water. She
did not remember if it had been there the night before, she did not
know. She remembered very little from the day before except
Cosain's face, though every time it came to her mind her stomach
turned and threatened to force her to vomit.

The short elf moved to the nearest street and looked
to the Palisade to judge where she had gone in her wanderings the
night before. She could tell from the way the iron circle appeared
that she had ended up in the southwestern part of the city. It was
farther west than the Southern Markets but still was not the sort
of place where wandering at night was encouraged.

There was a sudden pang in her heart to see Teas.
Cosain was gone now and she had not left things in a decent way
with Teas as it were. Perhaps the girl was right, in her own way.
It consumed her thoughts as she walked. Cosain had given his own
life to keep her safe. Was it better just to stop? Was happiness as
easy as letting the idea of freedom be amended to exclude a thing
or two? Just yesterday she had known the answer to the question but
now, every time she tried to find an answer, she only saw Cosain's
beet red face and bulging eyes and the sickness returned to her
stomach.

Teas's house was a decent enough walk and Óraithe's
muscles were sore from her mindless strolling about. She was
annoyed at the walk even as it happened, but there was nothing else
she could think to do. Her feet were terribly sore and swollen
inside of her shoes. She doubted she would be able to get them off
without some cutting. Raw was not a strong enough description of
the state of the soles of her feet, to say nothing of her ankles.
There was some solace in the picture of Teas that she held in her
mind during the walk. She imagined how they would have something to
drink. Óraithe would even apologize to her father properly. He
might even let them put milk in the tea. He would have to forgive
her with all the coin they'd given up to heal his daughter.

It was a sweet dream for a while, but the thoughts
came creeping back as she drew closer to half-way to the scrivening
shop. Would the girl still wish her to leave her ambitions behind?
At the least, she would need to consider it. Would they take her in
if she let go of her rebellion? With Cosain gone, she had no where
else to go save the den. Scaa's face came into her mind. What was
to become of the husky voiced elf and what of Bonn? Certainly Scaa
had said she would follow Óraithe. Even then, there was no way the
shop could support so many. Scaa would go back to the streets, at
least for her meals. It was where she took them now, but at least
there was a sort of family to it. They worked together to come by
what they had. There was a pride in that.