One's Own Shadow (The Siúil Book 2)

by Randall P. Fitzgerald

  She sat back down, still holding Scaa’s hand. There was quiet in the room for a moment, the gathered elves all staring at the table before them. Oiread was the first to look up.

  “I pledge myself to your service. I should like to die in my home at least.”

  Borr was the next. “And I. If it’s true you’re Fásach reborn, I shouldn’t like to be on your bad side.” He laughed as did Callaire and Oiread.

  The rest took it in turns to agree, saying their piece and pledging loyalty that Óraithe could neither care about nor take seriously. It was what Borr had said that caught in her ear. A stupid idea if ever she’d heard one. A Sister reborn. Her? The farce seemed to grow by the minute. Before the season was out she would no doubt be a pure, glistening virgin made from the pure sands of the White Wastes.

  She looked at Scaa who was too busy giving instructions to the table to notice her. Her only friend. The only creature still living that she would ever trust again. What did she think of it all? Óraithe imagined she knew. It was much the same as she thought herself. A joke gone too far. An unbelievable absurdity. But a useful one.

  R

  Rianaire

  When Socair had left, Rianaire sat for a while poking at her food and eating very little of it. She had not lied about being unable, and indeed, unwilling to help. Socair must be applauded, Rianaire thought, for having seen through the entire thing. Still, she could not bring herself to feel any guilt at having wasted the diplomat’s time. After all, the information of the invasion of the south would have come to her all the more slowly had she simply told her no and been done with it. And she’d have had less reason to leave Casúr in such a hurry. She could still smell the fishy air from time to time as if being struck by a waking nightmare. Such an awful stink that it haunted her memories.

  She turned to Síocháin after a time. “What do you make of it all?”

  Síocháin took a few bites of the main course, duck with gooseberry sauce and roasted vegetables. She looked across at Rianaire and replied flatly, as ever. “It is not outside of expectations.”

  “Hm. You are not wrong, but certainly it lands at the far end of expectations. I suppose we know what the satyr are doing in the province now. The real question is, are we next or will they not be content to attack us in turns?”

  “The horsefolk are not known for subtlety,” Inney added blithely.

  “True enough. Then we should assume the worst. Or at least, prepare for it.”

  Rianaire went quiet again, as did her company. She knew enough about waging war to know that she knew not nearly enough about waging war to actually do so. Tactics seemed simple enough, but there was much more involved. A presence for command and confidence which she could affect easily enough but could sour her station as Treorai. War heroes were loved, surely, but it was too familiar. It would bring people to ask her to solve problems all the more often.

  Armire was an incredibly capable woman in that regard. She lived for the serious nature of a military commander and was born of a long line of them. A grand misfortune, then, that she had also lived for Spárálaí’s wrinkled old cock. And died for it. The thought of it put a bitter taste in her mouth. The wine helped to wash it away, but only so much.

  “Well, I should say this meal is ruined,” she sighed. “We have no standing military to speak of. Briste is likely already awash in hippocamps, or will be soon enough, and Deifir has now lost two of her major cities but can perhaps hold a while. A fair summation?”

  Síocháin shrugged. “Optimistic, if anything.”

  “Delightful. Well, when Briste is swarmed, the horsefolk will all but have free passage into our lands. My leisurely adventure in Binse building will have to become a bit more insistent. Do either of you know of any candidates?”

  Síocháin shook her head and Inney gave a simple “No.” Though there were still three courses yet to be served, Rianaire had lost her interest in the meal and so they left. She slept poorly and woke annoyed. There was very little to be done save to begin visiting Regents and see if they might be able to send her in a meaningful direction. She made for Theasín’s keep after a small breakfast. It was an impressive place. There were tall towers at every corner of the walls surrounding it to allow a vigilant watch of the surrounding valleys. The main gate had a checkered light and dark grey stone pattern laid all around the portcullis, one which was matched throughout the main yard. When she arrived, Rianaire was welcomed in and shown to the main hall. The attendant who took her there was a different one to the day before. She had not exiled anyone but the Regent so perhaps the other had gone with him. Or simply left for fear he might be blamed next. The stern middle-aged man had been replaced by a fresh-faced young elf who looked sturdy in his build but unsure of himself.

  He left them behind in the hall and Rianaire took a seat in what was surely the Regent’s chair to await whoever had been appointed after she’d left the night before. It was not worth her time to stay and wait to see who it might be, though so long as the message she intended had been sent properly with the punishments she’d handed down, the person who took the seat would not matter.

  It could not have been five minutes before the door to their left opened and a woman with grey and silver hair came into the room. She looked to be nearly Rianaire’s age, though poorly shaped at every curve below her neck. An unhandsome woman no matter where one looked.

  She came to the front of the seat Rianaire had taken and bowed deeply. “I apologize humbly for the wait. I am here to serve as it please you.”

  The message, it would seem, had been conveyed. “No need for formalities of that sort. I am no tyrant. And before we get to business, I must apologize as well. I have thrust a burden upon you, and without even knowing your name.”

  “Cruóg, Treorai. I am called Cruóg. And I am wholly grateful for this position and a chance to serve my people.”

  An ugly name for an ugly woman. The name seemed familiar. She had been, at least at some time, the head of a trade guild in Theasín. A very successful one at that. “I think you will do well for them. I have come before you for a number of reasons, though it seems you are in the middle of some work?”

  “The work can wait, Treorai. I—”

  “I won’t hear of it. What I need can certainly wait until lunch. Have something prepared. Something that has been killed. I am in a mood well-suited to meats, especially after my dinner was so spoiled.”

  “At once, Treorai.”

  “That is all for now.”

  Cruóg turned on her heels and walked briskly from the room, jiggling in all the wrong places as she went. Lunch was a few hours away still and so Rianaire busied herself by walking around the keep. It proved a terrible way to waste time, she found, as she spent the bulk of it looking at dull pictures of rigid faces on angry, dead elves or being bowed at by servants and attendants and nobles. When lunch had finally been called for, she was guided to a large dining hall with a table to seat fifty or more. The new Regent met her just inside the door and walked down to the far end where four place settings had been laid out. Rianaire sat at the head of the table.

  “Has there been any news from Spéirbaile, firstly?”

  “Little. A marmar brought word of the arrival of a Binseman from Daingean.”

  “And from Casúr?”

  “Nothing, I’m afraid.”

  Not worrying, yet. At the very least Méid had completed the journey unmolested. The satyr ambush had left her half-expecting everyone she sent on travel to wind up dead. A leftover feeling from having been chased across the province by Spárálaí’s murderers, no doubt. There was little reason to think the satyr had planned anything so grand or well-informed.

  “Tell me of the state of your protection of this city. If a horde arrived tomorrow, would the city hold?”

  Cruóg thought on the problem a moment. “Likely not for long. The city guard is poorly
trained, if I am honest. They are undisciplined and were held to no standard before me. My predecessor pandered to those who lived in the walls and simply considered those without to be citizens of the forest rather than of Theasín.”

  “You speak as though you intend to change that.”

  “I should say I do. If I’m to have honest folk paying their taxes in an honest way, I need their trust. And trust requires protection, a feeling of safety and that they are provided for.”

  Rianaire nodded. The woman was a salesman, that was sure enough. She seemed sincere and spoke plainly about what she intended to gain from what she would provide. “Tell me more about the guard.”

  “A difficult problem. I have no one trained well enough to train them. I know of a woman… she trains the guard for Síoscuain. Used to serve as personal guard for the Regent in Cnoclean. I would have her come here. Or at least send someone she trusts well enough to do the work.”

  Rianaire did not remember such a woman in all her time at Cnoclean. Perhaps it was before her time, even. That would make the woman very old, a concern to be sure. Lunch had arrived. Venison in gravy with dry bread. It fit the brief she’d asked for but somehow did not interest her at all. She had become impatient having heard there may be a woman.

  “What do you know of the woman aside from what you have said?”

  “Very little, I’m afraid. She was spoken highly of by a merchant from the city.”

  “A pity. I had hoped to save myself another carriage ride.”

  “I apologize, Treorai.”

  “Do not. Your plan is a good one. We will need as many able, competent fighters as we can manage. I intend to raise a provincial guard and improve the roads. I would have you begin work on your own as soon as you have capable guards to keep them safe. Movement is treacherous enough with the satyr roaming the hills like something from a bad children’s story. Build them up as you would within the walls.”

  “Understood, Treorai. It will be done as soon as we are able.”

  “Well,” Rianaire stood, tossing her napkin onto the plate lazily. “I fear it is time I returned to my rolling cage and trudged off toward Síoscuain.” The Regent stood as well, a serious look on her face. “I believe I am leaving the city in capable hands. I would ask that you do not let me look a fool for thinking as much.”

  “I would not. My standards are my own and I live by them as I would die by them.”

  “Good.” Rianaire nodded and the Regent bowed.

  She sent Inney ahead to see that the carriage was readied and almost immediately began to complain to Síocháin.

  “Must I go in the carriage again? Please, strike me across the head that I might be unconscious for the trip.”

  “A head wound would help in appointing a Binse of War?”

  “I fail to see how it could do much harm at this point. After dealing with the moron who saw to the city gate, I’d be happy to see a soldier who knows where to put the pointy end.”

  Leaving past noon put them barely to the crossroads when the sun fell and so Rianaire took the opportunity to drink as much as she could, planning for the headache to at least be a distraction from the boredom of the next day’s ride. It helped somewhat but she also gave up her breakfast to the road and by the time there was another place to stop, she was more hungry than hungover. Lunch was brief and she avoided drink in spite of herself. They made good pace and for that, Rianaire was thankful.

  It was mid-afternoon when the port town of Síoscuain came into view. The day was sunny but there was still snow on the ground. Only a thin covering in most places. The town was packed full with people, a fact that said the Bastion City port was still limiting ships. It was an awful time to have to do such a thing, she knew that much, but there was little choice in the matter. The ice floes were still a few weeks from forming at meaningful size and even then, sailing in Bais was a risk few took without good reason or proper equipment. The ports would prove crucial if the hippocamps did make it so far north. It would allow them supply and troop movement, at least along the eastern side of the province.

  She asked after the old woman, whose name she had not been given and quickly found that just about everyone knew who she meant. Ainlag. People cheered up at the sound of her name even. It was curious to Rianaire that she had never heard of or met the woman. Síoscuain had no Regent to speak of, so it made an amount of sense but she still found it curious.

  At the northwest edge of the town, there was a small house, painted the colors of the Treorai and with a fence around the side and back yards. A woman stood in the side yard. Grey-haired, but she moved too sharply to have been as old as Ainlag must have been. She turned as Rianaire and her two companions approached.

  “Treorai Rianaire. A true honor to have you come to such a place. Assuming you’re not simply lost.” There were the deep cracks of age across the woman’s face and her voice, like her laugh, was rough and deep.

  “If you are Ainlag, I am very much not lost.”

  She laughed again. “That’d be me. I knew your mother.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mm, can’t imagine the smallest worm in the ground could make a tighter hole than her arse must’ve had.”

  The laughter burst from Rianaire so suddenly and so forcefully that she nearly broke a rib. Ainlag laughed as well.

  “Good to see your way about humor came from whoever laid their seed in her. My jokes were welcome at one time in Cnoclean, but that changed in time.”

  “They are…” Rianaire struggled to keep her composure and catch her breath. She had to place a hand on Inney’s shoulder to keep herself upright. “They are most welcome. Rare to find someone willing to admit they’re glad to be rid of her.”

  “Scared you’ll throw them in a cell, most like. People have their ways. Most of them based on fear. So what is it you’ve come looking at an old woman for?”

  “I can scarce believe you’re old. You don’t move like it.”

  “About the only thing I can do anymore. Mind’s rotted of anything other than fighting and rude language. I can barely piss and when I do it’s sent half down my legs from all the sag in my cunt.”

  “Too much time in bed?”

  “Sisters, I wish. Too much time spent sweating into thick leather and then scratching the rash it made.”

  “All the more reason to wear dresses, then.”

  “Bah,” Ainlag spit at the ground. “Could never stand the things, except for the ease at gettin’ into them. So.”

  “Right, business. I’m rebuilding my Binse and your name was given to me. Or rather, the knowledge of your existence was. The name came later. I was worried you’d be old and useless, but now I have rather changed my thoughts on the matter.”

  “Don’t be fooled by a loose tongue, Treorai. I’ll be dead in a few years and I’m not fit to fight much more than young ones who don’t know their way around a sharp stick, much less a proper weapon. Worried about the horsefolk, is it?”

  “It is. They have invaded Abhainnbaile in earnest and I have my suspicions the desert will not be far behind. It would be a shame for me to have spent the time on such a ride to leave with nothing. In fact, I believe I cannot allow it.”

  “Well, you’ll not drag my bony old hide anywhere no matter how much insisting or allowing you do.” She leaned on the fence and looked up at the sky beyond Rianaire. “I guess a recommendation ought to run you off.”

  “I’d take that, if I can convince you to give nothing more.”

  “A fair enough trade, then. Young girl. She’s not learned as much as I’d like, but she’s the best I’ve seen since I was a child. Deadly with a sword, smart mind, almost too smart. But young.”

  “How young?”

  “Forties, I’d say.”

  “So scarcely grown.”

  “Grown enough. She’s killed before. Knows the theories of war.
Strong-willed, and has the respect of everyone I’ve put under her.”

  Rianaire considered the situation for a moment. She was to trade one extreme of age for another. She looked across at Ainlag, who met her eyes. The old woman’s face was serious and her eyes were steady. She’d meant what she said.

  “Well, I’ve decided. Bring the girl here tomorrow. We will come in the afternoon. And with any luck, I’ll rob you of a student and we’ll all be drunk from celebration by the evening.”

  “One less whelp to nag me and payment in drink?” Ainlag stood and laughed, slapping a hand against the fence. “Might be you make an old woman fall in love again.”

  U

  Aile

  In the hours since leaving the horde on the plains behind, they had gone south without Ilkea so much as looking at her. Aile found that somehow more annoying. The satyr was quiet and conspicuous like a child who had failed some feeble attempt at mischief but not yet been called upon to answer for it.

  They must have been just north and west of Fásachbaile’s Bastion City, or at least Aile reasoned that was about right from the way two of the four plateaus that flanked the city sat relative to them. She slowed her chariot and pulled it to a stop in the middle of a barren brown stretch of plain. Ilkea had continued past her, as if hoping that Aile had not stopped at all. She looked back and dragged her own chariot to a stop a distance away before trotting it up to Aile.

  “What do we stop for?” Ilkea’s voice played her nervous mind out in sound.

  “We sleep.”

  “Here? This is no place for a camp. We… we are too near the elves. We will be seen.”