One's Own Shadow (The Siúil Book 2)

by Randall P. Fitzgerald

  Socair seemed hesitant, but took the offer.

  Rianaire turned to the crowd. “Now! Where were we?”

  The crowd erupted and the two men went back to the slippery row. Rianaire looked at her visitor and smiled.

  “I’ve promised the winner a bit of gold. Now, you are an expert at battle—”

  “I—”

  Rianaire brushed aside the interruption. “No, no. I have read of you. And heard songs. And, Sisters, I’ve seen enough of you. For a time, you were near as popular a subject for the painters of the Bastion City as I was. Curiously obsessed creatures, painters. I doubt if I will ever understand them. Perverts, as well. Each and every one of them. And yet… almost exclusively awful in bed. They do not lack for passion, mind you, nor for enthusiasm. But those, I find, seem to be mistaken for positives where sex is concerned. And to mention it, you are a striking thing, Socair of Abhainnbaile. Would you fuck me?”

  Rianaire could not have ever expected such a sound to come out of a woman who had slain centaurs. An alarmed chirp and a face flushed red with surprise. She could not help but laugh at the sight of it.

  “My, you’re an innocent one.” She put a hand on Socair’s arm. “I do apologize. You’ve been sitting so very stiff and I worried you would have the wrong impression. Though, I would still have you in my bed.” She leaned close to Socair, breathing in the air around her and sighed it out playfully. “Oh, but your honor would never allow it I’m sure. Honor to Deifir, of course. And to that girl there.” Rianaire looked across at the freckled elf. “I do not know her name, I fear. She has not felled as many monsters as you. Who is she?”

  “Práta is her name. She is the Regent-in-Fact of Glassruth and my traveling companion. I would—”

  “Such an important guest and you’ve left her there?” Rianaire turned to Inney. “Inney, please, go and fetch Práta of Glassruth for us. I have many questions.”

  Socair’s eyes had not left the fight for more than a moment since she had come into the room. Again her attention had turned away from Rianaire and to the fight.

  “Ah yes, my question for you before I became so distracted. Which of the men will win the fight?”

  There was not a moment’s hesitation in the answer. “The smaller has seen more fights, I would say. And the larger lacks for stamina. However…”

  She trailed off, likely as she was coming to the best part. “However?”

  Socair pulled in a breath. She seemed nervous to speak. “It is no true fight. Neither means to kill the other. Gold can only motivate one so far.”

  A boring answer, Rianaire thought. “You think of them too simply.” She took a large swig from her mug. “It makes sense. You are a soldier… or were, I should say. For how long? What brought you to the life of a warrior?”

  “My father, he… he trained us all from the time we were children.”

  “And so there it lies. You have fought to survive because you have only ever fought for the reasons that have been handed down. There are many other things that can bring a body to arms against another. Coin, pride, jealousy. It is true that survival is enough in the moment, but the will to survive does not walk one toward the sharp end of a sword.”

  Socair went quiet. The serious frown seemed to be fixed on her face but it was the lack of confidence that Rianaire found to be the most curious.

  Rianaire sighed and placed a hand on Socair’s thigh. She jumped at the touch. “You mustn’t be so dour if you hope to survive a world full of people who have much more experience at it. I expect you do not show such a face to that beautiful woman.” Rianaire nodded to Práta who had finally come around.

  Socair looked over to see her and immediately turned back. “Treorai, I…”

  “I will insist that you call me Rianaire.” She looked past Socair to Práta. “And you are Práta of Glassruth! Such a joy to have you both among us—”

  “Rianaire, I fear I have come on some business.”

  “Of course you have. Oh! Is it about the roads? Unbearable, aren’t they? Do not worry, I intend to see to them as soon as I have concluded my affairs in the province.”

  “There… I have been sent on a more pressing matter. The hippocamps have—”

  “Práta.” She could not help herself but interrupt. For all Socair’s nervous stiffness, the elf beside her seemed entirely at home. “You are the Regent-in-Fact of Glassruth? Then the former Regent…”

  “My father, yes.”

  “And how did you meet Socair? After the battle? Oh, during? Terribly romantic. It’s a wonder you’re not mentioned in any of the songs.”

  “No, I was… I was ordered to spy on her.”

  The fight had ended it seemed. That it was even still afoot had slipped Rianaire’s mind entirely with newfound fun sitting just next to her. She stood.

  “Well-fought and a glorious bit of fun indeed. Now, while I do very much thank all of you for making me so welcome, I should ask that you might give me some time with my very important guests.”

  The patrons grumbled but did as they were asked and reasonably quickly to Rianaire’s surprise. When they had all gone she had a table brought as well as meat pies and drink for everyone.

  “Do pardon the interruption but I believe I heard a wonderful story on the verge of being told.”

  Socair sat quietly as Práta recounted the events of their meeting. Crosta’s betrayals and Socair’s kindness, her unwillingness to let harm come to others. Her loss. There was a surprising frankness in the telling that Rianaire had not expected. It was clear why Práta was ever at the side of the Goddess. A voice to show the sides of Socair she seemed to believe nobles had no interest in seeing.

  “Very good! I’ve decided!” Rianaire clapped her mug against the table. “I should like a story! One from your own mouth, Socair of Abhainnbaile. And in turn I shall tell you one of my own. I wish to know you, and for you to know me.”

  “I would not know what to tell.” Socair said, looking to Práta. A soft smile seemed to calm her and she looked back to Rianaire. “But if it must be done.” She thought a minute and then drew a breath. “It was Breithe and I was just barely grown. I was to join the fight against the hordes the following year and so I wanted to know peace so much as I could before then. I went to the forests north of the Bastion City to hunt and sleep among the quiet. The days passed effortlessly and I found myself thinking that I might never like to see the walls of a city again. I was moving my camp to find a new herd of deer, not wishing to hunt any set beyond what they could replace, and I happened across a poorly built hut and a boy who lived there. He could not have been much older than I was. He was pale and thin and said he had no name and that he had come to these woods to die.” She paused and took a drink from the mug on the table in front of her. “I stayed with him. How could I not? For nearly a season, I killed what we ate and he would cook it and we would bed down at night. Only once did he ever kiss me, and he called me beautiful. I was still a child in my heart. I was awkward and tried as I might to have him love me as I grew to love him. It was the hottest night I can remember. We laid in the bed to sleep and he complained. ‘It’s far too warm,’ he said to me. ‘I do not feel I can bear it. I will go and have a walk.’ I told him not to be long or I would worry and he laughed. I fell asleep then. I had forgotten his words.” Socair looked into her mug. “I found him the next morning, naked and hung from a tree. I could not save him. Worse, I forgot that I had meant to.”

  Rianaire watched as Práta comforted Socair who smiled politely and made her stop. It was a moment before the story left and Socair remembered where she was.

  “I think… perhaps I have told an inappropriate story.”

  “No, of course not. A true and honest one, if sad. You have bared yourself to me, at least a little, and so I will for you, that we might understand one another. Tell me, do the rivers freeze in Abhainnbaile when the col
d comes?”

  Síocháin shifted at her side.

  “Some years.”

  “And you understand the way of Abhainn’s Gift?”

  “Práta is well-versed. More than I could ever hope to be.”

  “Then she, at least, will understand. In the years before my mother died, I spent much of my time avoiding her reach knowing that she would lock me in rooms with teachers and books and lessons on what she thought I ought to understand. Síocháin was my only joy in the world, then, and so I dragged her along whenever I fled. The cold had come early one year, not even Bais and a nearby lake had gone frozen. Ice is a thing that I cannot seem to draw myself away from. Perhaps it is the transformation of one thing to another so easily with just a changing of the wind. Rigid and sharp and unforgiving, but simply another face to something that sustains us.” Rianaire chuckled and drank from her mug. “Perhaps I think of it too much. I should not get so distracted. Or so I’m reminded. The lake had frozen quickly and I saw something I had never witnessed before. Fish trapped among the ice. They still moved and I could not pull my eyes away from them. Síocháin came to call me for lunch and I insisted she come and see. She hesitated and I mocked her as I did often. It worked so well, it always did then. She had come onto the ice from a different place than me. A weaker place. The ice cracked only twice before it gave way. I ran to her as best I could but the water had shifted her away and she panicked. She was under the ice as the fish were. I forgot I had ever learned the first word of knowledge of the Gift of water and I beat the ice until my hands were bloody and useless. Finally, whatever place in my brain held the thought told me to move the ice. I could not. I had learned the Divine Waters but they were not meant to move ice. For twenty minutes I tried and failed until finally I felt the water below move to my whim. She had not moved for so long, I knew it in my mind but I ignored it all. I dragged her from the waters and put her on the land. She was blue and still. I screamed and wept and no one came. I made my resolve then. I would pull her back or die in the attempt. We would be together, at least. I ripped myself apart from the inside out, plying every piece of the Gifts I could think. I warmed her, pushed air into her and out again, and set the Divine Waters coursing through her. It hurt more than any pain I have ever known. An acid pool built itself some place deep in my skull, one which has never left me to this day. But she took a breath. A single breath and the pain became something beautiful. Now so long as she is with me, I find I can bear the pain.” Rianaire smiled and looked at Síocháin. “How was that? Did I tell it to your liking this time?”

  Síocháin looked across to Socair. “A story where I am often blamed for not having known the ice was thin where I was goaded into walking.”

  “Oh, come now. I saved you, didn’t I? It’s only fair that I seem the hero.” Rianaire turned to the pair across the table. “She is so fussy about these things, I swear it. Sisters know I can’t have a single moment of glory with her around.” She had eaten half of the meat pie without noticing and it was growing cold so she pushed it away. “Nothing worse than cold pie. Would you like another?”

  “No, and while I appreciate the meaning in our exchange I would—”

  Rianaire turned away from the table, ignoring the conversation’s move back to business. “Tavernkeep!” She turned to Inney. “Or… Sisters damn it all, is it tavernkeep at an alehouse? Alekeep?” She swiveled again in her chair. “Alekeep! Another pie! Make it hot!” Finally, she turned back to Socair. “Yes, of course. Your business.”

  There was frustration growing on her guest’s face. “I have been sent by Deifir to seek aid. Or rather, an alliance. That we might help one another against the hippocamp threat.”

  The pie arrived and Rianaire dug into it immediately. Socair stopped as she ate. “Oh no,” she said, mouth half full. “Do continue.”

  Socair gripped the table and gritted her teeth near imperceptibly. “We have an organized force, which no other province can boast of, but any of us alone lacks the manpower for the coming attacks.”

  “Ah, the heart of it.” Rianaire wiped flakes of crust away from her mouth. “You would take our defenses and run them south to fight a threat that has not yet appeared.”

  A look of annoyed resignation washed over Socair. She had heard those words before. “I… understand your hesitance, but—”

  “If you understand then I have a proposition. I will soon ride for Theasín and I would have you come with me. After all, you must understand that what you ask is a very heavy thing. I would not agree to it unless I know both the state of things for my people and the woman who would lead any I send along with her. You are Deifir’s Binse of War, are you not?”

  “I am.” Socair stood.

  “Then will you ride with me? We have much to discuss. And at the very least, the trip to Theasín would be that much more pleasant in such fine company.”

  “Of course, Tre— Rianaire. I have every intention of doing all that I can until I have your answer, whatever it may be. If that is all?”

  “A shame you’ll go so soon. I had hoped to share more stories. Perhaps some happier ones. But no, I shan’t keep you. I hope you enjoy your time in the north, Socair of Abhainnbaile.”

  She gave no reply, only nodded and left with Práta who bowed before taking her leave. Rianaire pushed the pie away, having left it mostly uneaten.

  Síocháin spoke. “You mean to consider Deifir’s proposition?”

  “I do not,” Rianaire said flippantly. “I intend to waste the time of a woman who was sent here to waste mine.”

  “She seemed earnest.”

  “Because she is. To her own detriment. She believes she has been sent to save all of us with her horse and her sword as she has done her whole life until now.” Rianaire drank from the mug until it was emptied and slapped it down against the table. “If Deifir wishes me to play teacher to her little pet, then it would be a shame to give too brief a lesson.”

  U

  Aile

  They had camped only a half mile from the main road between Fásachbaile’s Bastion City and the port cities which were scattered along the inlets and far coast, a decision which led to no end of worried complaining from Ilkea through the night. Aile found that the amusement of setting the satyr ill at ease calmed her more than the endless frightened chittering annoyed her. Stopping had not even been her intention to that end, but Ilkea insisted the horses might find such a journey unfair as time was not so precious in their current duty. There seemed to be as much sense in asking her blades what sort of skin they preferred to pierce, but Aile could not know the temperament of the animals trained by the horsefolk and a slow walk through the cold desert lacked in appeal.

  The ride had resumed just after dawn and a breakfast which was well below par. Aile could feel her nerves beginning to fray. The food was poor and there were none to kill and she found the promised gold to be less and less convincing as a reason to continue with the entire farce that lay ahead of her. Still, she had only been given so many chances to provoke centaur and they were the nearest to good sport she had ever dealt with. Simple, but with enough power, weight, and reach to make up their lack of inventive tactics.

  A ready accounting of her weapons was made no less than three times before she had stepped into the chariot. Centaur were easy enough to see to, but in numbers they would be a problem for her, doubly so with no vertical space to help her move. A measure of caution was required in her dealings from here forward, she knew that well enough.

  It was midday when they made the foothills camp and Aile pulled her chariot to a stop when the form of three centaur could be seen moving out from the small camp to meet them. It was a tiny horde, very probably comprised entirely of centaur. She stepped down and fetched the papers from the satchel she’d stowed them in, handing the entire stack to Ilkea. A test of the value of her honor.

  “See to them.”

  The three
centaur came to a stop a dozen yards away and stood wary. The largest of them presented himself. He had a scar that ran down his chest and deep into his right foreleg. He croaked angry words at Ilkea.

  “‘What is this’, he says.”

  He spoke again and spit at the ground when he was done.

  She translated again. “‘The faun send us dark messengers now? An insult,’ he says.”

  Curious for a centaur to speak so well. Not rare among the warlords she had learned. Aile put her ears to the wind and she heard it. The faint sound of screams from the camp. The centaur were, as ridiculous as the idea seemed to her, gathering information.

  “Take him the paper so we might be done with this.”

  Ilkea ferried the letter across and the centaur snatched it from her hands, stamping at her for not immediately backing away. He read over it and then looked to Aile. He turned, speaking a few words in the centaur tongue to his attendants. One was small for a male, and the other was female, not much smaller than the leader. The male grunted agreement at whatever had been said. Aile knew only a few words of the centaur tongue, most of them curses screamed at her by dying horsefolk. The three took a few steps forward, looking her over again. Aile put a hand to the long blade at her back and kept silent. He spoke at her and Ilkea relayed the words.

  “‘Drow. Have you read these papers? Do you know of the invasion?’”

  “Tell him I cannot read the papers and that telling me the contents makes that fact irrelevant.”

  The indignant anger across the centaur’s face told her that her point had been carried across. Or at least that whatever was said had the reaction she hoped her words would. He barked again at Aile, before waiting patiently for the words to be translated. She tried not to laugh at it, but failed. A pleasant surprise to learn that a centaur would be patient enough to allow his rage to be translated.

  “‘Tell me why I should not kill you?’”

  “I could not care if he tried. So large and stupid as he is, his death would likely be a boon to the entire race. What the centaur do with the elves does not concern me.”