No One's Chosen (76 page)

It was another week before the door opened again.
Thin guards, this time. Not the pig man and his cut up woman. She
looked at them, expressionless. They entered the cell and ordered
her to stand. She sat. They flung a burlap covering at her and told
her to dress. She did not. The guards entered and forced the
clothes onto her. They then clamped a metal ring around her neck
with chains coming from either side. One of the guards held it as
they had her climb the stairs. When she crested the stairs they
turned and climbed another. Above was a warm yellow light. The sun.
She had not seen it in a long time.

She squinted as they made the top of the final stair.
The walls were a reddish-brown. The Bastion. She knew the stones
well enough, at least the color. There was sound in the world
again. Shouting and birds and steel ringing against steel.

The guards flanked her as they dragged her to her
destination. She was walked across a red brick overwalk. From the
windows cut into the bridge, she could see part of the High
District. The overwalk gave way to another small hallway and opened
into a grand room with a dais at the far end. On it sat a plush
chair lined in a deep burgundy.

A thin woman sat upon the chair and she stood when
Óraithe was dragged into the hall. She wore a dress that shimmered
between orange and yellow and was lined around the swooping
neckline with rubies.

"So this is our little rebel." The woman's tone was
condescending. "I am your ruler, child. I am called Briste. I would
have your name."

Óraithe did not answer and the Treorai laughed.

"Petulant to the last, are you? I'd have expected you
might be a bit more… respectful by now." She turned to Óraithe and
smiled. "It does not matter. After all, my hand has been forced.
You must imagine I take some perverse joy in what I have done to
you, but it is simply a matter of social etiquette."

She came close. "Ugh, that smell. Did you not bathe
her before you brought her here?" She snapped at the guard.

"Y-your Grace, we did not… I mean…"

"Enough. It is too late now, isn't it?" She turned
back to Óraithe. "Your kind would not understand such matters,
child, but it is imperative that I make an example of you. While
the Low District dullards might believe that old man's lies, my
people know better. They know what you meant to do. I must make an
example of you or they will fear you lowborn. And that just won't
do."

Óraithe chuckled. "It is a fine dress to die in."

Briste looked at her sharply. "You can still smile?
Ha. Truly lowborn elves cannot be of the same species. Could be
you're more horse than elf. And I don't mean to kill you. No, no.
That is too quick and plain. Nothing is learned. Sisters be, if you
oafish lot could learn by example, the hangings might have stopped
you acting as you do. But no. You continue to root around in your
own shit and piss. Ugh." She shuddered. "Disgusting. All of
you."

She moved nearer to Óraithe looking down at the girl
as she drew near. "No, examples are made among the sands. So I
won't kill you. I will simply forget you and let you work until the
desert takes you. The rocks they crush there build our homes. Isn't
that nice? You will be building us homes, in a way."

Óraithe lowered her head, shaking, and snorted
deeply.

"Aww." Briste leaned down to mock her. "Was it too
much? Crying suits you girl."

All at once, Óraithe hocked and looked up. She spit.
A web of green and clear spread across the Treorai's face. The
woman shrieked and clutched at her face.

Óraithe smiled wide, her eyes insane.

"I'm going to kill every one of you."

And she laughed. She laughed as loud as she'd ever
laughed.

"Take her to the Wastes!"

The guards dragged her away by her neck, the hall
echoing with insane laughter.

Spárálaí's rebellion was crushed in less than a day
but you wouldn't have known it from the songs. They were grand
things that told of a grand struggle, fraught with dangers and
bloodshed. There had been deaths, though very few even among the
citizenry. The most loyal and numerous of Spárálaí's troops had
been placed along the West Road and in stations along the walls,
especially by the gates.

The South and Port Roads had fallen without much
fighting at all, as the city guard either laid down weapons or took
up Rianaire's cause. Mion had organized the citizens in
considerable number and even more drew to the cause as the battle
moved to the Inner Crescent. The flanks from those sides of the
city fell into a full route and the West Road battle was quickly
reinforced and Spárálaí's camp was overwhelmed.

The bards had already taken to calling it The Midday
War and the name seemed to stick among the populace. The songs
circulated and some even told of Rianaire having killed a woman
without laying a finger upon her. The verses made her sound as
though she were some sort of god. She was in no hurry to correct
the rumors so long as they painted her in a positive light. Such a
rumor could really only be to her benefit.

After the battles were done, a great crowd had
gathered in front of the Bastion. Rianaire had declared a great
feast would be held and the week after had been full of small
feasts and parties and preparations. At least, it had been for the
citizens of the Bastion City.

For Rianaire, the week had been a litany of trials
and ordered executions. She had chosen to oversee the proceedings
herself in the interests of fairness. It had been her life they had
meant to take or, at least, her claim to the throne they meant to
deny to her. All at the word of a Binseman. Some of the days she
wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it and others a rage
filled her heart.

The guards who had worked for Spárálaí were the first
to the blocks. Rianaire had decided to hold the trials in the
Bastion yard, only a short walk from the executioners block. She
had the gates opened as well so that the townsfolk could see the
justice that was dispensed with their own eyes. She even entreated
them to tell her if they felt one of the accused was done ill by
her justice. If the people saw to it that someone ought to be
pardoned, she would honor their will and merely banish them from
the province. The people cheered to hear her tell it and she had
hoped that there might be a few among the lot worth sparing.

The soldier had manned the inner walls at the South
Road. He had not even seen Rianaire in the flesh. Gadaí and her
group had found him firing arrows from a slit in the South Gate
stair. His had been one of the more calamitous trials. He was a
blustering sort and not particularly quick of wit.

"You said you were stationed on the wall by Armire?"
Rianaire asked the question flatly.

"She… she drew up the stations herself. I was told to
protect the gates."

"Protect them from what?"

"They… there was talk of an army."

"And did you see an army?"

The soldier hesitated a moment. "No, your Grace."

"But you fired on them. On citizens of the city you
were sworn to protect."

He stood from his chair and cut a hand through the
air. "I never did!"

"Then my people are liars? They have falsely reported
to me that you stood at an arrowslit along the inner gate firing
through it at the innocents below? And this in direct violation of
the code of the city guard that swears an oath to protect the
people."

"I… I did not… I…"

His stammered reply brought boos from the crowd.
Rianaire waved a hand and two large elves dragged him to the block
to see his head cleft from his body. He screamed the way over,
apologizing and crying, but the gathered elves only booed all the
louder and his cries were drowned out. His face turned red from the
screams as they forced him down into the divot that was worn into
the stone. The axe severed his neck cleanly and as the head tumbled
down into a waiting cart, the boos turned to loud cheers.

The others did not go so differently. Only one among
the lot had been granted clemency. He swore himself a coward and
that he had hidden in a grain storage room along the wall. It was
where they had found him and although the crowds balked at his
cowardice, they saw fit to let him go free. She ordered the
cowardly elf taken to the border with Abhainnbaile and sent away
with five silver. He would forfeit all his other worldly goods over
to the people of the Bastion City for his part in the coup. The elf
thanked her as he was dragged away.

Five among the Binse had been killed in the fighting
besides Spárálaí and Armire. Síocháin and Inney had found the
remaining two of her nine and brought them back to the Bastion.
Inney had not been gentle with them and her former Binseman of
Agriculture was missing a hand.

"He meant to draw his sword, Rianaire," she had said
from behind her smiling mask.

He died of the wound. The healer had said there was
not enough blood remaining in the body to save him. Rianaire was
not bothered by it. She'd meant to kill the lot of them but she had
wanted to perform the trials publicly as with the guards. It seemed
only fitting that they be brought to the same level of importance
as all those who had acted alongside Spárálaí. For the final trial,
the only surviving Binseman was placed in a chair along a row with
the corpses of the other eight. The woman was the daughter of a
shipbuilder who had been famous throughout Spéirbaile in his day.
She had retreated to the ports outside the city before the fighting
began.

Somehow she had gotten herself drunk enough to become
concerned for a painting of her father that she had left in her
quarters in the Bastion. Inney found her returning for the item.
The woman was sober now, and her long, sullen faced looked all the
more so from the bags under her eyes. It was clear she had not
slept well during the wait for her trial. The short, wide woman had
asked for a bottle of wine and Rianaire had seen little reason not
to give it to her. The guards reported that she drank it down in
two tips of the bottle and then set to crying.

She sat now on a stage in front of a hushed crowd,
Rianaire looking her over. The woman just frowned and looked at the
floor. It was a depressing affair, even for the gallery of
onlookers. Rianaire asked her questions for the best part of two
hours, most of which went entirely unanswered. The questions that
were answered where given with sad mutters and deep sighs. There
had been a thorough accounting of her actions and testimony from
trusted attendants of the Bastion. It was clear she had done
nothing to stop Spárálaí and there was even the suggestion that
she'd meant to make some profit from Rianaire's removal from her
position.

When finally Rianaire ordered her head struck from
her body, the crowd hurled angry taunts at the woman. And when the
head fell, they spit in the direction of the cart that held it. If
the damned would not fight for their freedom, they were at least
expected to give a spectacle, it seemed.

The death of the whole of her Binse had marked the
end of the trials and the feast was to start the next day. Rianaire
took Inney and Síocháin to her chamber that night and relaxed
herself thoroughly. The half-elf had begun to grow comfortable in
her own skin. She dropped her masks whenever the three of them were
alone together. Síocháin said that she had even begun to keep her
masks off when it was only the two of them. The pair had been alone
together much more in the week of the trials and it made Rianaire's
time alone with them all the more natural and relaxing.

When the Midday War had ended, Rianaire had
immediately named Inney as captain of her personal guard. As yet,
she was still the only member. It was a trouble for another time.
She needed to replace the entirety of the Binse as well. And this
time she would not make the same mistakes she had made before. It
would take some time and that was more than fine. The province was
well away from any enemies and the writs she had supplied to the
Binsemen should help to keep things in good order in the mean
time.

The morning of the feast saw Rianaire dressed early
in the battle dress she had been given in Daingean and went out
among the people. She had taken a serious liking to the weight of
the gown. It made her feel a true warrior. The final parts of a
stage in front of the Bastion wall was being assembled. She danced
with the citizens and sang and laughed and drank more wine than she
ought to have. She even forced Síocháin and Inney to have a dance
with her. Inney's cloak made it awkward, but she managed none the
less. As comfortable as the girl had become, she wore the cloak any
time she was out of the large bedroom the three shared.

Rianaire almost thought she'd seen a blush through
the mask of magic when she kissed the girl in front of a large
crowd of revelers. A great cheer went up at the sight of the kiss
and Inney had pulled the hood of the cloak up over her head and
looked down at the ground for the whole of their walkabout after
that.

At Midday everyone gathered at the constructed stage
and Rianaire gave a long speech in thanks to the people who fought
for her and in honor of those who died. She announced that a
memorial would be raised in the center of the square to mark their
sacrifice. Cheers rang out and Rianaire bowed and took her leave.
She would feast in the Bastion with a gathering of the Inner
Crescent's finest and some of those from the Outer Crescent that
she had taken a liking to.

Elves dressed in fine clothes were lined up along the
edge of the stair that lead to the main hall. As Rianaire climbed
the stairs, they all clapped politely as she climbed and, honestly,
the noise was getting to be a bit much. She had not been given a
chance to truly rest since the incident had started and Rianaire
looked forward to the end of the festivities. She did not begrudge
the people their celebration. Had the situation been different, she
might have welcomed it, even. But now she wanted rest and sleep and
time away from having to play at appearances.