One's Own Shadow (The Siúil Book 2)

by Randall P. Fitzgerald

  “We’ve got axles and, near as I can see, the wheel’s in fine shape somehow. But there’s barrels on barrels in the back. Unloading it’ll take a few hours.”

  Scaa bristled. Óraithe could hear the complaining now. And fair complaining it would be. Hours lost to a drunk hardly seemed worth it. Óraithe stepped forward.

  “Where will you place the lifts when it is unloaded?”

  The man considered the wagon’s front corner for a moment and pointed out a pair of places that were reinforced enough to handle the strain.

  “Would they hold if you could lift the wagon with the casks still inside?”

  “Sure, they hold with a wheel on, so I can’t think why they wouldn’t.”

  Óraithe considered the wagon and then moved to it, inspecting the edge. The wood was all in good condition. She turned to the man and the onlookers who had gathered to be near her.

  “Please clear away from the wagon if you would.”

  They all stared blankly a moment and then took a few steps back. Scaa looked to them and back to Óraithe before coming close.

  “You mean to lift it?” She whispered the words to Óraithe.

  “I do.”

  “This is how you will reveal your Gift?”

  “I can think of no better way. In service of a man who caused trouble.”

  Scaa seemed to search her mind a moment for a complaint, but in the end offered nothing. She took her place away from the wagon with the rest.

  Óraithe turned her attention to the wagon and focused on the ground beneath her. She compressed the dirt and rock beneath the edge of the wagon as tightly as she could manage and began to pull it up. It was heavier than she had expected and the burn she had nearly forgotten came back to her brain. She kept her breathing steady, trying to look as placid as she could that the display could look as impressive as she needed it to.

  The first creak of wood brought murmurs from the audience and when the wagon came up on a series of thin pillars of rock, the murmurs turned to gasps and prayers. The burn in her mind kept steady enough, but her muscles felt the strain. She had not practiced such uses of the Gift and it felt as though the ground were leaching the strength from her body. The wagon came to a height where it sat even and she hardened the pillars into place. As soon as she let her control fall away, she dropped to her knees. The wagon stood, at least.

  Scaa rushed to her and the audience came close.

  “Is this some act, for them?” She whispered as best she could, but Scaa’s voice was near frantic.

  Óraithe coughed softly, her breathing rapid. “No. But there is no need to worry. Help me stand.”

  Scaa stood her up slowly and Óraithe looked out at the small group of faces, all somewhere between concern and awe. She forced a smile.

  “Please see to the repairs as best you can.”

  The crowd was silent. Scaa helped keep Óraithe steady as they left the wagon behind and returned to their barouche. When they were half the distance back, Óraithe felt well enough to move on her own power, though she required Scaa to help her into their transport. When they had settled Scaa scolded her.

  “You should not do something so dangerous.”

  “Were you worried for me?” Óraithe laughed, stroking Scaa’s cheek playfully.

  Scaa looked away, bashful and trying to keep her anger fresh. “I was. Am. And you should not be so ready to wound yourself for sake of some idea about courting your followers.”

  “It is not so dangerous as it looks. It is more… tiring. As though I’d done a day’s work in half a moment.”

  “I fail to see how that is not dangerous.” Scaa sighed. “But so long as you are mindful of your limits. I do not know them, so I can only say so much to you.”

  “Well, I know now that I am not suited for lifting wagons.” Óraithe leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “But with luck, the story will spread and it will have been worth the pain. And if not, well, we will at least be moving again soon. I am like to lose my patience just after you if things continue as they have been. I want to see the Bastion City gates before us. Opened by our own hands.”

  R

  Rianaire

  Faces lingered near the windows, staring at Gadaí unabashedly. The innkeep and cook who had been a constant fixture of the dining room before were now curiously absent. It was obvious enough that they were watching as the innkeep was quick to refill any of the cups that went low, except Gadaí’s of course. Rianaire was entertained by the lack of subtlety. She wondered if there was any sense of shame in their actions or if they simply believed that they were being clever in some way. There was no shame in being wary of a hippocamp. Rianaire was still, even of Gadaí. And after the attack, she even felt her heart stutter when Síocháin had opened the door. It was the gawking that disappointed her most deeply. No willingness to face down their concerns. Though such cowardice likely served them better than any high-minded ideals. At least, it would for the time.

  Gadaí ate greedily, making thoroughly unappetizing sounds as she did. She slurped down mugs of ale between breaths and bites. Rianaire had implored the innkeep to just leave a large tankard and be done with it, but he may have been too nervous refilling the satyr’s cup to hear anything at all.

  “Where are your people?”

  Her elven mercenaries had likely not come into the town with her, considering the commotion. It was easy to think the worst, considering the strength of the starved satyr. Attacking well-fed and alert horsefolk seemed like a sure way to sustain heavy losses.

  “They are camped.” Gadaí said the words while chewing loud and breathing heavy. “At the edge of town. We thought it would be a trouble to the townsfolk if we all came.” Gadaí looked back at the window and people scattered. “I tried to not come. I tried to have one other send for you to come to our camp. They insisted I go. Gave me this.” Gadaí flapped the cloak with her hand. “Not so good.”

  “Well, everything has turned out fine, has it not? Scaring a few folk is to be expected. I likely do the same whenever I arrive somewhere. Have you taken losses?”

  Gadaí shook her head. “Few. They have changed nothing since I was gone from the hordes. The same guards at night, the same tactics, the same movements. Like a song I know well. We had been the end of three scouting camps and broken another. The left fled to the wind before we could kill them all. Three escapes. Maybe four.”

  “I may have met them. Near Casúr.”

  Gadaí took another large bite of her food, nearly the last. She nodded. “We broke the camp north of that place. Impressive that you lived.”

  “They were starved, according to a guest who I was traveling with. Inney saw to them.”

  Gadaí looked to Inney. “The small one?” She shuddered, making a low undulating noise. “She is a dangerous thing.” A barking laugh followed the words and Gadaí ordered the rest of her food, lifting the plate and pushing it into her mouth. She slammed the plate down. “Ah! Good! The best I have eaten in weeks.”

  “Were the camps all that you found? No signs of a horde?”

  Gadaí shook her head and wiped her mouth on the cloak. “Some signs, but old ones. Might be they have moved north into the mountains. In this cold, they will be ill-suited to waiting long.”

  “It is far colder in the north.”

  Gadaí considered this for a second. “Then they may die there. Or will come down. Or they left south. What was left of a horde was left a season before, maybe.”

  Rianaire found it hard to believe a horde could hide itself in her province so well, though perhaps they had not. The reports which closed the Bastion City gates were of heavy numbers.

  “Did any of these scouts mention the attacks on Abhainnbaile? On the south? The riverlands?”

  “They did not. Would not have known of one, nor spoken of one. They fear the centaur too much. If the atta
cks are true, there will be no horde here unless something is strange. No horde yet.”

  “Then they will come?”

  “The centaur have promised as much for longer than I have lived. They will take the elflands. Burn them until there is nothing left. Their gods demand it. The Battle demands it.”

  Rianaire leaned back in her seat. The information would have been more useful a season ago at least. Perhaps two. Now, there was little to be done except hope they could prepare in time. She would need to return to the Bastion City to orient her new Binse to their work and set them about it as quickly as she could manage.

  “Gadaí,” Rianaire said, standing. “I would have you come to the Bastion City with me.”

  Gadaí stood, looking at her with a sideways glance. “If you will it. I owe you much.”

  “Good, it will be to the benefit of my new Binse of War. We have understood too little of the horsefolk for too long. And you know well how to fight them. If you are willing to teach us, that is.”

  “I hold no love for what the satyr have become. They have pride like a fly’s wing.”

  Rianaire motioned to Inney and Síocháin, who came to her side. “Then we will see you at the Bastion. I will have lodging and food arranged for your people. And payment as well. You have done important work for me. You will be rewarded for it. We will leave after breakfast.”

  She left Gadaí in the dining area and was quickly approached by the innkeep.

  “What are we meant to do with the satyr, Treorai?”

  Rianaire feigned ignorance. “Feed her as much as she likes and clean up when she leaves. Do you usually have such trouble seeing to the needs of your guests?”

  She did not wait for a reply and made for her room. A bath was in order, but knowing it would prove a distraction, she first sat with Síocháin and Inney.

  “We have time.” Rianaire slumped in the chair she had chosen, spreading her legs to stretch them. “We cannot know how much, but we must use it. I will no doubt be swarmed by insufferably pious complaints from the temple best. Údar.” She scoffed and stood. Síocháin came to undress her. “The word used to mean more than who best knelt at an altar and begged for favor. Or so the histories say. But to my point. There are things to be done. Síocháin, I would have you see to the roads. We are spread wide compared to the river elves, and we cannot afford to have supply move as slowly across neglected roadways. It will be considered service to the realm. All able-bodied will take shifts at the work and they will be fed with coin from the Regent.” Síocháin pulled her dress away and Rianaire stood naked but for shoes and stockings in the room. She sat and Síocháin went about removing those. “Inney, you will learn what you can from Gadaí. I have no doubt she destroyed those camps, and with undisciplined fighters at that. We must know what she knows. As much of it as possible.”

  Inney nodded. “I will learn everything I can.”

  Rianaire could not help but stare. There was something alluring about the color of Inney’s skin and the shape of her scar. She blushed before standing and moving herself to the bath, leaving Rianaire alone with Síocháin. The Treorai undressed her lover and kissed her from her lips to her neck. Síocháin put her arms around Rianaire and they stood pressed against each other for a quiet moment. Síocháin pulled back and took her hand to join Inney in the bath.

  The bath had been the gleeful distraction Rianaire had hoped but she somehow woke frustrated and uneasy. It had passed when breakfast was done. Shortly after, they left for the Bastion City. It was a slow ride that saw Gadaí and her group left behind, though only by half a day or so. She had given them instructions for when they arrived and had sent word ahead so as to keep panic to a minimum. It was past midday by only an hour or so when they saw the wall around the Outer Crescent peek over a hill. There was little traffic to work past as word of the gates closing had spread and the cold was beginning to be too much besides. The guards were quick to open passage for them and Rianaire made sure the driver informed them of Gadaí’s coming, in case the word had not been spread properly. They, happily, replied that she was expected and Rianaire calmed a bit. There was much information to be got from Gadaí and, until they had it, a skittish guard could do more harm to the province than near anything else.

  When they came to the Bastion, Rianaire immediately set about avoiding anyone who wanted something of her. There were notes waiting in large stacks, no doubt, but she had more pressing issues. First, she saw to quarters for Eala. The girl had hardly said two words the whole of the trip, but stared out through the window of the carriage without blinking from the moment the city walls were visible. An attendant was assigned and Eala was sent off. Síocháin had left to busy herself with something or other and Inney kept to Rianaire’s side as she always did.

  An idea occurred to Rianaire. She had word sent to the inn where Gadaí would stay to have the satyr sent to the Bastion as soon as she arrived. It was only a few minutes spent avoiding serious-looking faces before Rianaire decided she would need something more to pass the hours until Gadaí arrived. There was one place none would think to look and so she went to Eala’s quarters.

  Eala chirped in surprise when Rianaire knocked at the open door. She spun and bowed, apologizing.

  “Treorai, my apologies. I did not expect you.” She wore simple clothes that she had brought. Tan linens that fit somewhat poorly. They were a far cry from the uniform she had worn during the ride north.

  “Apologies?” Rianaire looked around the room. “Whatever for?”

  “For… for…” Eala lacked for an answer until she looked down at her attire. “For being so unsightly.”

  Rianaire laughed. “I had expected it to be for calling me a title rather than my name.”

  Eala’s lips tightened and she blushed a bit. “I did… I… I am sorry. I was not thinking, there is simply so much—”

  Rianaire held up a hand and the girl cut her justifications short. “Eala, you will learn to appreciate humor in time, I am sure of it.”

  Eala exhaled, flustered and not sure of what to do. Rianaire stepped into the room.

  “We have some time to waste. I have arranged a small skills assessment for you. Until then, I would love to hear about you.”

  Rianaire moved to a chair and pulled it out, taking a seat with Inney stood beside her. Eala shifted around idly until she was invited to have a seat as well.

  “You needn’t be scared of me, you know. I understand you are young, but I will be relying on you for many things and if you worry over my mood, you will likely die of stress before the seasons change.”

  Eala took her chair and settled. It took a few stiff, formal sentences before Rianaire coaxed an easy answer out. She found that Eala’s parents had died not long before, a few years prior in an accident aboard her father’s boat. Wreckage was found but no bodies. They had wished for her to be a fisherman as their family had been for so many generations before, but Eala felt she had no hand for it and decided she would live a better life in service to her city. She had been at it only five years and only a year prior had she convinced Ainlag to teach her more. As the time drew away from them, the questions became less valuable to serious things and more to Rianaire’s taste. The girl detested sweets and had laid with only two elves before. A friend when she was young and a boy who was ten years her junior who trains with Ainlag. He had fled the city the next day and Eala had not known what to make of it. She assumed it was her fault. Rianaire protested at that and the two of them shared a laugh for the first time.

  A knock came at the door and Rianaire turned. Had the time gotten away from her or was someone tired of waiting to nag at her? She had a strong enough reason to rebuff anyone short of Síocháin by her own reckoning and so she opened the door with confidence. A servant girl was there.

  “Your… the… satyr. It has arrived.”

  “Very good. See her to the yard and bring a pair of
training swords.” She turned to Eala. “Come. A bit of fun is waiting for us.”

  Gadaí stood in the center of the training yard holding the training sword aloft and shouting at elves who cowered at the edges of the square hoping she would simply disappear, no doubt.

  “What manner of trick is this? Will you attack? Why have I been given a blunted sword? This weak metal will be more than enough for you scrawny ones!”

  Rianaire called to her from the steps. “It is a training sword, Gadaí. I have a favor to ask of you.”

  Gadaí turned and let her sword arm fall to her side. “A strange way of saying it.”

  “Well, I hadn’t expected them to hand you a sword without explaining why you had been called.”

  “And why am I called?”

  “You will fight Eala.”

  Eala gave Rianaire a sharp, half-pleading look but forced her eyes down as quickly as she could. It would be hard to think of the girl poorly for being frightened but there was some credit to be given for hoping to hide it.

  “If you would rather not, I can have her sent back to her lodging.”

  Eala put her hands up immediately. “No. I will fight. And if the Sisters be good, I will live.”

  “They are only training swords.”

  “I know.”

  Eala moved tentatively to the yard below and took her blunted sword. She readied herself and Gadaí held her arms aloft and issued a sound that could only be a challenge. Eala charged as she had with Inney and it ended much the same. Gadaí stepped to the side and slapped steel against steel. The weight of it was far beyond what Inney had offered and Eala staggered away. A few more strong blows were exchanged and the fight ended as Gadaí thundered the flat of the training sword against Eala’s side during a thrust.

  There were a dozen more confrontations, each shorter than the one before, all ending with Gadaí’s victory. When the last sword strike clapped against Eala’s back, she fell to her knees, exhausted.