No One's Chosen (74 page)

She was nearing a small town now and had drawn some
looks from the passing traders and farm folk on their carts.
Perhaps they'd recognized her, or could make the assumption. Socair
knew that she was not the least conspicuous of people. The nigh
ancient armor couldn't have helped. Her silver hair had always
marked her a bit of an outsider, though her mother had died in
childbirth so any tie she might have had to Spéirbaile was cut then
and there. It had not caused her so many problems, but was the
object of teasing when she was a girl. Her father had taught her
war and history and tactics and as much as he knew, but he never
spoke of her mother. They had been married she knew, which was odd
for a family of their stature.

There were two main roads in the town, the one she
walked which headed due west, and then a north-eastern facing road
that would take her to the city. As she moved toward the road, a
shorter man strode up beside her. He had long brown hair and wore a
long mustache which looked as though it would make eating and
drinking fairly difficult.

"Good morrow!" His voice was deep and clear. "You,
are you not Socair? The Goddess of Glassruth?"

She smiled down at the man politely and nodded. "I
am."

The man was not visibly armed and he smiled at her
answer. Still, she kept her pace. "Ah, it's a true honor to meet
you. I had heard you were to the south with the First Company! What
brings you so far north? Ah, could it be some official business at
the Bastion?"

"Exactly that, yes. I was named a Bearer of the Will
some weeks back and I am here to speak with the Treorai."

"Sisters be good! I am standing far too close then,
aren't I?" He laughed. He pointed to a small inn at the corner of
the two roads. "Do you see that inn? That one is mine. Let me say,
you are always welcome there, free of charge. My cousin was of
Glassruth. She made it out before the town was sacked, but it was
of little consolation until you retook the place. She's been back a
while now. The rebuilding is slow, but there is hope. You gave them
that hope." He clapped her on the back and smiled wide.

Socair smiled in spite of herself, forgetting the
past weeks for a moment. "I am glad to hear the city will be
rebuilt."

"Of course. The folk of Abhainnbaile are not run off
so easily. There's stone under the soil, my mother used to
say."

They neared the intersection and the man smiled and
bid her good luck in her travels, making sure to remind her that
she was welcome if ever she needed a room. When he had gone and the
low noise of the river returned to take his place, she thought of
Glassruth and of its heir. Had Práta escaped? Did the Treorai keep
her now? Crosta had not found her, she knew. The letter would be an
odd thing to falsify. She had ordered and folded the papers as she
walked through the wilderness and tucked them under either shoulder
of her armor. They would hold their place well enough and weren't
apt to be ruined by sweat or water. She still kept a close eye that
they had not.

She was nearing the bridge across the Rith and the
soothing sound of the rushing water brought a tiredness over her
weary mind. She could lay down on the smooth stones of the bridge
and sleep for two days easily. The thought reminded her of her
aches and the wounds that had not been allowed to heal. Walking had
slowed the process and it had been a full week now since she'd
slept. Well, that was not entirely true. She had found herself
missing unknown chunks of time as she walked through the trees. She
could not say if she had closed her eyes for minutes or hours, but
the lapses had not taken her off course.

The town walls were not far now. The small gates for
carts were open during the day, she knew, so as to foster easy
trade with the nearby cities and to allow the citizens to leave and
fish as was needed or whatever else they might wish to do. She
could see the dark grey of the walls. They were of the same
hexagonal rock pillars that it was said the Bastion were made of.
Socair had always found them beautiful.

It was apparent as she drew nearer that the small
gates were open and Socair breathed a sigh of relief. There were
guards on either side and no doubt they would have an idea of who
she was. She had thought long about what she would do if they set
upon her. It would be easy enough to flee from them outright. Her
height and speed were likely to keep her free of them, but if an
alarm was sounded that would be a problem to be sure. She did her
best not to look at them as she went by, but she could feel the
gaze of the guards on her. The women did not move but they followed
her with their eyes as she passed through the gates.

Socair looked up on the far side of the massive green
gates and saw the stone streets of Abhainnbaile laid out ahead of
her. The Bastion sat to the eastern side of the city. The buildings
were all richly colored wood, cherry and dark oak, with green on
most of the roofs. A few were red and brown here and there. The way
they contrasted with the brilliant white of the Bastion was
beautiful. The rich brown of the earth and the white sun to guide
them.

She made her way as directly for the Bastion as she
could, keeping to the side roads. There had been no horn blown and
she had not seen any marmar leave the wall. There was hope yet,
then. Perhaps the word had not spread.

Just as the thought finished passing through her
mind, a shout came from an alley a few houses back. Socair heard
the shuffle of steel ahead of her on the thin road and before she
could react a row of five of the city guard filed out from an alley
and cut off the street in front of her. She immediately stopped to
reverse course but before she could another row appeared two alleys
back. There was a thin alley to her left, but she did not know
where it led and the only thing worse than the current situation
was to have a wall at her back.

Socair pulled her sword and readied it, facing the
row of soldiers to her front. The quickest way to the Bastion was
through the front line. The city guard all carried spears and on
both sides they leveled them at her. She had not fought so many
spears before but it would be harder for them if she could close on
them fast enough.

The warrior elf dug her feet in and a voice cracked
out a crisp order.

"Hold!" The voice was clear and manly.

The city guard raised their spears and parted in
front of her. A handsome man with deep brown hair approached. He
was well muscled and bore a scar across his naked right arm. He
wore the colors of the city guard, but a much different sort of
armor. He had heavy steel plate along his left arm and a more
flexible sort of banded armor cuirass. She did not know the man and
kept her blade at the ready.

"Socair of Abhainnbaile."

Socair's eyes flitted from guard to guard behind the
man to look for movement and then over her shoulders. They had laid
such a trap.

"I am Meirge of Deifir's personal guard. There is no
fight you can win here. Sheath your blade and come with us
peaceably."

The man was not wrong. The tips of the spears behind
were still aimed square at her torso and any delay would mean at
least one among them piercing her dated armor. She had been glad
not to use it and the stuff might have held against slashing but
piercing weapons would undo the protective garb with little
resistance. Socair placed the sword back into its place at her side
and stood up straight.

"I would speak with the Treorai." She said the words
with as much conviction as she could muster but Meirge did not seem
moved by it.

He turned and left the line in the direction of the
Bastion. The spearmen followed him and the line behind began to
move. Socair kept between them and when they made the main road,
they formed a box around her. She was given a wide berth by the
guards. The citizens of the city murmured and stared as the
procession passed them by. It was a long walk and Socair began to
feel the full weight of her journey as the rush brought on by the
threat flushed from her body.

At the gates to the Bastion yard, the front line of
the city guard split off and two muscled elves in a similar style
of garb as Meirge took up the patrol beside her. The back line fell
off as they reached the gate behind her and it was just the three
now. It was an escort, to be sure, but to where? There were cells
inside the Bastion, Socair had heard.

She stared up at the white exterior of the Bastion in
awe. She had never been so close. Bearers were meant to be sworn in
at the Bastion and sup with the Treorai, but hers had been a
special case. She looked it over, trying to remember the details of
the beautiful building. It may be the last time she saw the cool
white walls. She had always dreamt of seeing the inside of it, and
now she was being taken there. Perhaps to die.

As they moved through the door, the white of the
towers outside turned to a dark grey along the walls. The floor was
polished white agate with dark swirling bands running through. It
reflected the walls and the green banners and the rest with a
wonderful clarity. Socair was caught between a drastic pair of
feelings. She was living a dream now. The Bastion was as beautiful
as she had imagined. But she was seeing it alone. She and Silín had
often spoken of what it must be like inside. They had never come
close to imagining such a place. Socair wanted to cry. In joy and
despair and anger. She did not, though. She kept her expression
flat and made not a sound.

At the end of the main hall was a large, stone chair
made of the familiar hexagonal stones on a dais. The chair was
cushioned and had deep green velvet curtains hung behind it. They
did not approach the chair, however. Instead, turning and making
for a brightly colored oaken door. Meirge pushed the door open and
stood aside. Socair stopped a moment in front of it and then went
inside.

The room was lined with bookshelves that went to the
ceiling along each wall. A rolling ladder sat at the edge of each
of the walls to make access to the higher areas more ready. Socair
scanned over the books quickly and the door closed behind her. She
was left alone in the room. There was a door at the other end of
the room that connected to… somewhere, presumably.

She waited nearly an hour before
finally picking up a book. It was a thick tome titled
Of the Sisters and Their
Marvels
. It was not a book she had ever
seen before and most tomes on the Sisters were stiffly worded
religious texts or something closer to the night time stories she
had been told as a girl. This book seemed to suggest a more
historical approach to it. Socair lost herself amongst its pages
from the first. Even its very beginning would have been blasphemy
among most elves as it dared to suggest that the four had not been
sisters at all. Its tone was casual, almost
conversational.

"They say the elf who wrote the book was mad and that
he claimed to be thousands of years old."

Socair slammed the book shut and shot to her
feet.

"Sisters grace, I didn't mean to frighten you!" The
woman laughed lightly, gracefully, putting a hand over her
mouth.

The warrior's eyes went wide and her mouth fell open.
"Treorai… I…" Socair went to one knee.

"There is no need of that, Socair." Her voice was
gentle and kind, melodic almost.

Socair stood awkwardly. Her legs were more worn than
she thought and the time sitting in a comfortable chair had not
helped. Neither did the sight of the Treorai. Deifir was old, she
knew, but the woman did not look it. She must have been alive for
nearly four centuries now and looked near as young as Socair. She
was incredibly fair-skinned and her hair was the most amazing
golden brown. It fell down around her shoulders in loose curls. She
was wide hipped and busty— though Socair did her best not to notice
overmuch— and she wore a flowing dress of light green with white
trees embroidered along the hems.

There was a silence in the room, not for so long, but
Socair could not stand it. She dug the papers from under her
shoulders. "I… I have brought papers, your Grace. The content is
disturbing and I do not—"

Deifir held a silent hand aloft and Socair stopped
speaking abruptly. Her heart sank. Did she not wish to hear it? Had
Crosta's allies gotten to her? No, Socair thought. Not this.

"I know."

Socair's expression dropped. She… knew? Knew what?
"I… I do not."

"Crosta. He has done terrible things. And his
treasons have cost you dearly, I am told." Deifir looked truly sad,
as though she meant to cry. "I never meant it to cost you so much.
I have known for a time that something was amiss in our efforts to
repel the hippocamps."

Deifir let out a tired sigh and turned to seat
herself. She motioned to the chair Socair had been in. "Please, I
would explain." Socair sat. "He hid his involvement well for longer
than I should like to admit. I have doubts that he was the start of
things, but he was their greatest instrument. His reports were
meticulous and the losses seemed to make sense. Words are easy
enough to coordinate and I must see to so much more than I could
explain. I had known Crosta for so many seasons. He was a cold man,
but he felt things deeply, I saw for myself. He was kind to
me."

"I apologize." The Treorai frowned and looked down at
the table for a moment. She looked back to Socair and continued.
"Rumors of the sudden tactical movement from the hippocamps reached
me. Slowly, but they did. Crosta adjusted that their ambushes would
find smaller groups, but I am not blind as to ignore the rumors. He
knew that and pushed the focus to others and even sacrificed a dear
friend to keep his ruse hidden. That was why I named you
Bearer."

"To find him out?" Socair knit her brow. "I was not
fast enough."