Socair nodded. “Then, Spéirbaile.”
“Never been. Hoped to never go. Can’t stand Bais as it is. And to be surrounded by stuffed-up ghosts and snow.” Rionn scoffed.
“And Rianaire, then? You know nothing of her?”
“Only what nobles say. Loose tongues around any creature they’re used to seeing in the Bastion.”
“So long as they’re wearing the right coverings?”
Rionn allowed a short, stark laugh. “Too right.”
He moved to the far side and Socair followed. “Then what of Rianaire?”
“Many a word. None of them kind. Petulant. Foolish. Childish. Whorish. Stupid.”
Depending on the author, the books had been only slightly more kind. It made Socair wonder at the way of things. Deifir was, to say it politely, the most diplomatic of the three elves who ruled the provinces. The texts agreed with this, some in flowery language, others more as an accusation. Having seen Deifir so close now for even just a season, she came to understand that texts left much to be desired. Nuance and an understanding of motivation that could not be seen in results or decrees. Briste, however, had been far worse than any text had described her, even those written by historians who had fled Fásachbaile under persecution. She worried what Rianaire might be.
Rionn looked up at Socair as she was lost in thought. “Spéirbaile is waxing at least. They’ve done well under the woman and shown no sign of stopping.”
He spoke the thought she had been working herself toward. Was it the people? Her Binse? One of the texts suggested she refused to lay with her Binse. A curiosity.
“What do you make of it? A place run by a childish fool that has done naught but flourish for years upon years?”
Rionn stood and clapped some dirt from his hands. “I make that nobles are fools and books are only as honest as their authors. I expect the woman is clever at the least. And though I lack for them, I would gather every wit I could manage if I was to be in a room with her.”
“And I am to be in a room with her. Possibly more than twice this time through.”
The sound of feet running on packed dirt came into the stable.
“Socair!”
The voice was Nath’s. Socair turned in time for the girl to jump at her and grasp her around the waist, hugging her tight and pressing her face into Socair’s breast. Nath pulled back and grabbed Socair’s hand, moving to her side.
“I hardly expected you up so early.”
“Práta woke me. Said we would be wise to have an early start.”
“And Práta?”
“Oh! She must be behind me. I ran when I spied the light. I could hardly wait to see you!” The girl squeezed herself against Socair’s arm.
“Well, why don’t you see yourself into the carriage? It won’t be a—”
“No!” The words were sharp, panicked almost. “No. I… I will stay with you.”
Socair put a hand on the girl’s head. “Very well.”
Práta’s feet scuffed in the dirt at the doorway and she dropped their bags. “She’s faster than I had expected.”
Nath stayed at her side as they loaded the carriage and the three took seats inside when the work was done. Rionn took his place and pulled the carriage out onto the road. They moved clear of the city and made for Slíard, a town just across the Abhainnbaile border into Fásachbaile. Away from the rough roads of the desert and into the flat grasslands, the horses made tremendous pace. A stop in Slíard just before midday allowed them time for a short meal as the horses were fed and watered. The city played host to a half-dozen large windmills and tended to bustle with trade as it sat near the borders of all three provinces along the only major road north. It was well seen to and fed Fásachbaile’s Bastion the bulk of its coin, or so Socair’d read.
Socair wished to make Theasín as long before nightfall as they could manage. She had been warned no less than twice in Slíard of the hippocamp incursions into the north. There was scant information, only that the province had seen attacks and that trade had trickled. The warnings gave way to conversation among the locals, half-remembered stories about caravans being overrun by centaur and there being an active siege on Theasín. There had been hardly any communication with Spéirbaile that Socair had heard of, but she was assured that was entirely normal. The Treorai did not meddle with one another as something of an unspoken rule. This had extended in recent years to a virtual end to all information passing through trade or diplomats or nobles who had gone to live in other provinces but still had ties to the Bastion. It had been near unthinkable in the past fifty years that a Treorai would bother to visit another.
In spite of Nath’s complaints, Socair joined Rionn when they set out for Theasín. “I expect you heard of the horsefolk from the stablemaster.”
Rionn nodded, chewing at some lean salt pork. “Talked about it like some bedtime story.”
“I expect it is to them. I was warned off the north entirely at the mill’s cookhouse, but no sooner than they’d warned me, it turned to gossip. None among them had seen a hippocamp. Wondered at their size. One wondered if they could be tamed.”
Rionn huffed. “If only.”
“What do you think? Theasín, I mean.”
“Is this not talk meant more for your woman?”
“Práta?”
Rionn nodded.
“Nath, the girl we took on, she is fragile. The talk would only unsettle her worse than her life in that Bastion has.”
“Girl’s trouble.”
Socair said nothing. She did not disagree, but the girl was broken. It was plain that she needed to be shown a world that was not the insanity of her life among what Fásachbaile called nobility. To leave her with some potshop owner or tavernkeep would only risk seeing her cast out if she became a burden. In slim times, a scraggly girl was not apt to be of use if all she understood were the finer points of social delicacy. She slapped Rionn on the shoulder as she turned to head into the carriage and he slowed to make it easier on her.
Nath was watching out the window as she opened the door and sat herself down on the seat across from Práta. Nath quickly moved herself in beside Socair. Práta twisted her mouth for half a second and then looked out the window.
Práta spoke plainly, without looking to Socair. “What do you intend to do about the hippocamps?” There was an edge to her words.
“Nothing, unless they present themselves. Supposing the stories are true to begin with.”
“You think they are not?”
Socair sighed. “They may be. It may well be a band of raiders dressed in furs.”
Práta slapped the seat and looked across at Socair. “Are you so stupid?”
Nath clutched at Socair’s arm and buried her head behind it.
Socair could not meet her gaze. “We will discuss this in Theasín.”
Práta stared for nearly a minute without a word. “Fine.”
The ride was quiet and Práta made no more attempt to talk, even when Nath had fallen asleep. Socair looked at Práta so often as she could. She had hurt Práta, it was clear. There was nothing undiscussed between them in the past season, not until now. She would understand, Socair hoped.
The sky darkened and Theasín showed itself in the distance as they crested a hill. It sat across from them atop a small, flat mount. The hill and valley surrounding it were filled with light. Inns and taverns and homes and all the rest. The noise of the small city outside the walls could be heard even at a distance. Inside the walls, the tops of buildings could just be made out, with one standing above them. A sort of narrow pyramid of stacked rectangular structures that Socair reasoned must be the Regent’s keep.
Nath stirred as they moved down into the town, pushing her face against the window to take in the sights. The dim orange of the fires burning around Theasín cast a glow on the clouds that had gathered overhead.
With the night coming it may be cold enough for snow if the weather failed them. She had planned to stop in Theasín regardless, but being stuck there was not among her plans. The Bastion City was a good deal farther north, yet. If the attacks across the north were true, Rianaire had no doubt barricaded herself in her city. Any Treorai would, it was only sensible.
Socair felt the carriage slow and stop. She could tell by the feel of things that they had not yet ascended the hill to the walls at Theasín’s city edge. They must still have been in the outskirts. Socair opened the door and Nath shifted behind her. Socair turned.
“No. You stay. It may be dangerous.”
She dropped out of the carriage and closed the door behind. Walking to the front, she called up to Rionn while looking ahead.
“What is it?”
“Troubling news, I expect.”
She could not see what he meant until she made it past the horses. The hill before her was scattered with parked carts and people milling about near them. There were fires among them, even in the middle of the streets.
“Fires take this trip. Can nothing go well?” She walked back and looked up to Rionn. “I will have Nath and Práta with me. The horses need rest and feed.”
“That they do. I don’t expect the carriage will make it beyond the walls. I’ll see to a stable.”
“Do you plan to join us after?”
“No,” he sighed, looking off at nothing. “I’ll sleep in the stablehouse. I prefer it. And with the streets as they are, I wouldn’t find myself too far from the carriage. Parked carts make for bold thieves. Expect the stablemaster will be glad to have me.”
“If not, he’s a fool.”
Rionn gave a forced, tiny smile and Socair saw to the door.
“We are on foot from here. The gates may be shut. It’s jammed the roads.”
Práta hopped down and went dutifully to gather bags. Nath followed her down and moved to Socair’s side.
“Keep close. There is little to worry about, but I won’t have you lost.” Socair smiled and Nath returned one.
The girl acted below her years. She could not be far past childhood, but it was sure she had an adult’s hair in the places she should. Beyond the physical, she comported herself much differently before they had taken her. She would need some help and Socair hoped to find it for her in Abhainnbaile upon their return.
Práta came next to them and Socair took a bag from her.
Socair tried to make her voice soft, apologetic. “We will talk, I promise it.”
They set off up the hill. The carts were primarily traders from the look of things. Men and women with their children. As they climbed, the carts and children became fewer and the milling elves became more numerous. The land flattened and Socair could hear shouting. The walls were tall above them and there were lights in each of the arrow loops. Over the heads of the elves, she could see the doors ahead of her were closed and guarded with pikemen. She turned to Práta.
“Wait here. You as well, Nath.”
The girl squealed a small protest but stood fast as Socair continued forward. The press of bodies grew and she pushed through them, gaining herself a few angry looks but none brave enough to challenge her. As she came to the front she found a half-circle of guards keeping the rabble back amid shouts of cruelty and neglect. It was always thus when gates were closed, moreso when people felt their lives were at risk. The stories must have been true. There were horsefolk in the north. The idea stopped Socair in her tracks. The bulk of Abhainnbaile’s plans dealt with a press from the southeast. They had only just begun considering how to deploy in defense of a wider southern invasion.
Socair shook the concern away. She was here to see to a solution for greater problems. Pressing past the angered traders around her, she walked into the empty ground between the rabble and the guards. Hands went to swords and the crowd dulled their noise, at least at the front.
Socair pulled her papers from her brigandine and unfurled them to show Deifir’s seal.
“I am Socair of the Binse of Deifir, Treorai of Abhainnbaile, here at her behest. I would have you show me to your superior.”
“Bloody nobles!” It was the first and only shout Socair could make out before the din raised beyond comprehension. The guards split and waved her past with worried looks and quickly closed ranks behind her.
“Shut it, you lot! Nobody’s comin’ in!” The guards were at the crowd now, but Socair had given them reason to spit back.
A pale elf, tall with a beard wrapped around his square jaw, walked forward looking her over.
“You one o’ Deifir’s then? Wearin’ them colors.”
“I am.”
“Well, fuck off.”
Socair’s hand went to the hilt of her sword instinctively, as did the guard captain. “You will watch your tone.”
“I’ll not watch shite. This gate’s closed and ain’t a soul ‘cept mine walkin’ past it.”
Socair composed herself and straightened. “I understand you have your reasons, but I am here on official diplomatic business.”
The man relented as well and spit at the ground, looking at her sideways. “Business? Who with? The Regent?”
“No. With your Treo—”
“Well, she ain’t here. Fuck off.”
Socair pressed herself in close to the man, who did his best to chest up to her but could not match her height.
“I will make myself plain. Your men may kill me, but if your insults continue you will die here by my hand.”
“Then that’ll be the way of it. The gate’s closed. What you want ain’t in there.”
“My people need rest.”
“There’s inns aplenty back down the hill. And you’re welcome to ‘em. But I don’t give two squirts of goat piss who you are, where you come from, or who sent you. If I open that gate, these folk’ll be on my men like dogs on thrown meat. Maybe I spoke above my station, and I’ll be wrong on it and you’ve got my sorries right an’ proper, but these boys are goin’ home come sun up and they’ll do it breathin’. Best I can say is word puts the Treorai in Casúr.”
Socair breathed deep and gritted her teeth. She could not help but think of Meirge. “For your men, then. Send word to your Regent that I was here. And if you’ve any honor, tell him that my papers were valid and be clear about the manner in which you comported yourself.”
She turned and walked away. A call from behind her bid the guard file aside. There was cackling laughter immediately as she emerged to the crowd. Jeering and hooting and amazement that even nobles could not pass. Gruff as he had been, the guard captain would have to admit she had done him a favor he did not rightly deserve. Soon enough she was past any elves who knew what had transpired and the noise drifted off behind her.
Práta and Nath were where she had left them, neither doing anything but staring into the crowd for her face. Práta approached and Nath was forced behind her with the crowd blocking her path to Socair.
“Well?” Práta’s voice was impatient.
“An arse of a guard captain and an angry mob. We’ll be forced to bed down on the outskirts.”
“There are worse things.”
As Práta turned, Nath squeezed past and ran to Socair, grabbing her hand quietly and following along. They descended the hill and turned down a broader street that was lined with shops. There were a few inns on the street and Socair stopped into the first one they found. It was full, as were the next two. The fourth said the same but offered a small room off the kitchens when she showed the writ. The innkeep had family in Abhainnbaile province, she said, insisting she was happy to help with whatever she could.
The lodgings were modest, but comfortable. Práta had not spoken since the hill and Socair felt a knot forming in her stomach. When the bags were seen to, Socair walked Nath to the bed.
“I will be just outside, okay? Yo
u are safe here, nothing will harm you.”
Nath frowned and nodded before climbing into bed. Socair walked to the door, grabbing Práta’s hand gently as she walked past. The back door of the kitchen led to a small alley at the back of the inn. It was quiet compared to the main streets and there was no one to be seen.
“You’ve taken to the girl, haven’t you?” Práta crossed her arms. “Do you mean to raise her?”
“I took her, Práta. I am responsible for her.”
“You made yourself responsible for her when you kept her past Íobair.”
“She is broken, Práta. Can you not see?”
Práta turned and leaned toward Socair. “I see it, love. I see it well. There is pain in front of you, and you cannot turn away from it. And I… I love you for your heart, Socair. But what can you do for this girl? How do we explain her to the Treorai of a province under attack by hippocamps?”
Práta stopped there and waited. Socair lowered her eyes to the ground.
“If she is taken, as Vód was, what then? Or if we are attacked? She cannot fight. Will we die seeing to her life?”
“I looked away from all of Fásachbaile, Práta.” Socair’s fists had balled without her realizing. “I know my duty. I left a city, a province to suffer.”
“And thousands more will suffer.” Práta’s voice softened. “Your role is not as it was. You cannot save people with sword and blood any longer.”
Práta placed a hand on Socair’s cheek. Her fists loosened and she met Práta’s gaze.
Práta smiled gently. “You can save so many more, but you must keep your wits. If you do not, all your good intentions could bring you more pain than you can imagine. The battles have changed. You must stop pushing that truth away.”
Socair pushed her cheek into Práta’s palm. It was warm and soft and smelled familiar, like home. “I cannot leave her be, Práta. I know I cannot allow my whims to jeopardize so much, but I must see through what I have started. When we return to Abhainnbaile…”
“You will do as your heart commands you, I know.” Práta’s eyes were sad, almost pitying. “I only hope that you come to see more than what lies directly in front of you.”
One's Own Shadow (The Siúil Book 2) Page 17
