“Welcome. So rarely true inside these walls. But I don’t mean to be so dour in the face of kindness. My thanks, Tola. I expect you and Méid have made introductions.”
Méid chirped. “We have. A fine man, and earnest. He’s been a great help to me already.”
Rianaire passed a burning fire at the corner of the room. It brought the room to a temperature comfortable enough to do without coats, though Rianaire would not remove her own. It was a long thing, simple, dark. She had taken to more serious clothes since returning. She ignored it for now and made for her own seat at the end of the table. Tola and Méid sat again and looked to her.
“Well, let us have it. Méid, I should hear your news first, if there is any.”
Méid nodded. “Aye. That… Where to begin.” She was nervous now that it had come to the talking. It was endearing, at least. “The smiths have worked without question. They are talented, sure, and eager besides. I had no need to bargain with them, even. They took the rate I offered and spoke well of you. Provisions for the roads have been made, though no two cities could agree to materials. I had them get on with their work, saying use whatever would live longest under hoof and cart.”
“Well-sorted.” Rianaire was as pleased with herself as she was with Méid. She’d expected to be bogged with issues. “There were no issues then?”
Méid became suddenly bashful. “I… there was one. A smith of the Inner Crescent. Insisted his wares were beyond such as we’d offered him.”
Rianaire knew who she meant without asking. Cantankerous, old, and more a maker of metal art than meaningful weapons, or so she’d been told. He had a strange child with him whenever he was seen about the city.
“Along the South Road?”
“Yes. Buail is his name. He has come around, however.”
“Has he?”
“I… may… I suggested that he may be moved to the Outer Crescent to better avail willing smiths to the tools of his shop.”
Rianaire laughed aloud. Perfect. She’d never have considered it. Méid, it must be said, knew the way to strike at a smith’s heart. Both her Binse jumped as Rianaire slapped at the table.
“I love it. I’d kiss you if I weren’t so fond of Olla. He’d be lost in grief if you left him for me, I’m sure.” She turned, chuckling, in her seat. “Tola. I apologize there’s been so little time for us to understand one another.”
Tola nodded formally. “No need of an apology, Rianaire. The work makes itself plain enough, if I find much of the help wanting.”
“You’re welcome to make whatever changes you see fit. Mion can likely help you find folk suitable with coin as it is.”
“I’d sooner not have his help or the sight of his face weighing in my mind.”
Rianaire stifled a laugh. Tola continued.
“There is coin enough in the coffers, and even with the harbor shut as it is, trade is firm. Though it’s not mine to do, necessarily, I’ve seen to the food stores as well. They are ample, if less than ideal should the cold run long into Breithe.”
“And the sour news?”
Tola was silent a moment. “I suppose it depends on how you would prefer things handled. Taxes are underpaid almost as a matter of course, if the books I’ve had time to view are to be believed.”
“I mean to raise an army, Tola. They will need rations and pay.”
“Then, there is sour news. For the moment. The coffers are well seen to, for the state of things. A force of any real size will find them wanting.”
Rianaire nodded. “Forgo taxes unpaid past the latest year. But have the guard collect on any owed for the seasons of this one unless it would prove a burden. Any who are able but refuse or argue should be relieved of whatever has worth like to what is owed. Have the criers explain our cause and our need. It should reduce complaint.”
Tola nodded and wrote some notes quickly at the edges of the book in front of him.
“Is there anything more?”
Her Binse looked at one another and decided there was not. They took their leave. It had been painless enough, to her grand surprise. Perhaps a hopeful view of things to come.
Left alone in the room, Rianaire’s placid mood grew to one of annoyance. The college heads were keeping her waiting and Síocháin was off with Inney. It was not so strange when they were in the Bastion, but her mood was further soured by the loneliness. She stood, pacing for a moment in an angry huff. The room was far too comfortable for such an insolent set. Rianaire set her focus on the fires and they slowly died as she pulled away the air around them. In a pair of moments after the flames were gone, the cold had reclaimed the place. Frozen air filled the room and Rianaire let the wave of discontent that it brought ride through her. Another ten minutes passed and the door opened.
“My greetings, Treorai!” The first of them wore a jovial smile until the air hit him. “Our apolog—”
Rianaire stood, slapping the table. “Sit. All of you. And do not dream of being so familiar with me. I’ve tired fully of playing coy.”
The four looked amongst themselves. Deciding it was best not to test her they moved to their seats. Somehow this drew her ire. It seemed that self-preservation still saw them through the days. She stood, quietly, for long minutes, watching cheeks flush red and arms bundle in the cold. Her eyes dared them to speak, but they were not fool enough to do so.
“I want an explanation of your expanded admissions and numbers. If you came without them, I will be extremely displeased.”
The quiet continued in the room, but they no longer watched her. The heads looked between themselves, growing nervous. It was the head of Spéir’s school who spoke. The eldest, of course. She would not like whatever words came from him.
“I believe there…” He cleared his throat. “That is, we have come to a decision.”
Rianaire, leaning on the table, impatient, stared with narrowed eyes. He turned his own away, looking at the table a moment before beginning again, and looking up to her, hoping she had looked away. She had not.
“We will not compromise the sacred mission of our colleges nor make our students machines of war.”
She righted herself from the table and raised her head. “Then you are all dismissed.” They stood quietly, not understanding what she had said. “Permanently. Leave this province and hope the south suits your tastes.”
“This is—”
She swung her arms and the woman who wore Abhainn’s stones flew across the room, impacting the stone at the far wall with untempered force. She raised her voice. It was cold, deathly cold, as she remembered her mother’s to be, but with a different purpose.
“You have no right to speak in this place! You exist at my pleasure! In my land! Now go!” Rianaire sat back in her chair. “And drag that wheezing wretch along with you before she bleeds on something.”
The college heads hurried away, taking their injured fourth with them. Rianaire slammed her fist into the table.
“BAH!” She swung at the air, wishing to be rid of the anger she felt. When she had finally writhed the bulk of it out, she slumped. “This endless frustration will age me, I know it…”
A sigh escaped her and she stood, exhausted. The first meeting had been so pleasant. It mattered little in the end. If a change in the Binse could begin so well, there was nothing that meant the colleges could not find the same.
She made for her chambers through the connected doorways she always used. When she came to them, Inney, in her mask, was sat on the bed naked with Síocháin behind her wearing the same. Síocháin was busying herself playing with the false colored hair, braiding and unbraiding it. Brushing and rustling. Rianaire sat in a chair across from them and marveled at the two. Her heart quieted at the sight and a calm came over her.
Minutes passed with the quiet rustle of hair being the only noise. Síocháin spoke without looking up from her aimless work on In
ney’s hair.
“How were your meetings?”
Rianaire leaned her head against the wall at her back and watched them lazily. “I dismissed the lot of them.” Her words were casual, flippant. “The college heads. And exiled them.” She rolled her head to the other side, keeping her eyes on the pair before her. “No matter. I will find more on the morrow.”
U
Aile
The guards at the gate put their hands up when she returned. She did not remember the face of the elf that had let her in, but none among them seemed as welcoming as they had been. It was hours to dawn still and Aile ached from the long ride. Her horse chuffed and backed away as the guards stepped forward. She decided it was likely best that she dismount before gaining entrance to the city became something altogether troublesome.
“I was here just the night before.” She supposed that offering up such an explanation would help her cause.
“And where were you for the night?”
“I had business to the west.”
“What sort of business?”
“Business.” She narrowed her eyes at the guard, the stiff grind of the leathers having removed the bulk of her patience hours before.
“Why you little black—”
The guard that had come forward with the first put an arm out and put an end to the self-destructive sentence the other had started.
“You’ll forgive him, Drow. A guard is missing. He believes stories about—” The smarter guard went pale and stumbled in his speech. “I… I had heard of your coming. Before, that is. You were seen at the gate. You’ve gold to spend, correct?”
“I do.” She shifted her eyes to the stupid one who still seethed behind gritted teeth. “And I have no interest in being a part of any stories.”
“Well, then we’ll see to the gates. I do not mean to offend, but please… cause no trouble. Folk are on edge after…” He trailed off and looked back at the other, frustrated and walking around full of impotent rage.
The gates were seen to as was promised. It had been the full of a day since she was in the city and little had changed, in spite of the dead guard it seemed. The city was still quiet, even for the time. No better defended, either. Attitudes seemed to be the only things that had heightened since her leaving.
Her gold cubes had been accepted without balk or question at the inn she now moved toward. There was no reason to change when something so convenient was availed to her. It was strange, she knew that well enough. It would not matter in a few days’ time when the red city was at her back and the hippocamps had moved to surround it, but no innkeep in such a place should take strange currency. At least, no innkeep who suffered delusions of being upstanding. Either the woman had intended to melt the coins and make them usable or there was no more meaning in the faces printed on the golden circles. Her plans did not factor the bother of determining the reasons. Neither did they include plans to be in the city much past sun-up. She had slept enough after her work was done with the faun and the return ride had been slow.
She walked casually through the empty, wide street. There was some motion from the side streets though none which seemed to care much for her passing through the city. Nothing followed, nothing called. The horse sat, dutifully, beside the wall of the inn when they arrived. Aile stepped in, walking with speed toward the bar. The elf woman from before was there. She did not seem to sleep, having been in the tavern any time Aile passed through it. She took two cubes from her bag and placed them on the counter. The woman looked at them.
“I mean to leave in the morning. I will have breakfast as early as you’ll serve it.”
“Keep paying as you do and I’ll wake Cookie with boiling oil.” The elf picked the gold up and rolled them in her hands. “Horse?”
Aile nodded.
“Alright. He’s a sweet thing, that one. Where’d you get him?”
“From a goat.” Aile turned with that and moved for the door. “I will be back near dawn.”
Her horse began to stand when she exited but a sharp point at the dirt sent the animal back down. It complained, shaking its head but Aile wasted no time bothering to soothe it. The horse was a thing, in the end. A useful one but if the thing became a burden, she would be rid of it.
A move away from the main roads brought on thin alleys and darting side streets. A mess of a city, in the best of places. Filthy and packed too tight. At the very least, the streets seemed to play host to few elves. The ones she saw did not see her. Guards were nowhere to be seen. Welcome enough, but curious still. Such a calm would be welcome if she was sure it would not soon turn to something very different. The air reeked of it. The silence was unnatural.
When she came to the famed iron fence of Fásachbaile, an understanding began to form. She climbed the side of a two storey building by ladders and ledges to see a better view of what she was sure she’d seen. When she made the roof, she came to the edge and confirmed the view of passing alley exits. The gate was lined thoroughly with city guards, most no more than arm’s length from the one beside and set a few yards away from the fence itself. She clicked her tongue quietly and crouched. There was no obvious way past the fence, at least where the ground stood, but none of the guards seemed to look above. Half looked to be nearly asleep, which was welcome at least.
Aile made her way down and then toward a walk between the gate and the houses. She was careful not to show herself. A sighting might send a wave of renewed diligence out from whoever spotted her. The Goddess saw fit to bless her as so often she seemed to. A plank poked itself out over the street from a roof just down from where she’d inspected and so she climbed again.
The board itself, she found when she’d come to the roof, was properly affixed to the structure it jutted from. The spikes were fewer above the roof line and the board lined with one perfectly, and even had a near-height leap at the other side. The board was here for this purpose. Curious it had been left as it was. Perhaps it was watched. Aile considered the idea and peered over at the sleeping guards. She scanned roof after roof across the gap and saw nothing which her eyes said to be guards. They may have just been confident enough in the guards who stood watch, or more patrolled beyond. It was of no consequence. She had need of new leathers and she meant to have them.
She leapt from the roof and caught the thin iron spike easily enough. A quick shift gave her leverage enough to cross to the roof at the other side of the gap. The High District was below her now. She had only the rough memory of where the leather worker kept her shop. Toward the Bastion and a left, she remembered. There was nothing to do but move and search, so she did. It was slow work with the guards as they were. Most did no patrolling. Rather, they stood in pairs and spoke of gossip like children, never looking overhead or behind. Their comfort afforded easy passage near enough that she found wider streets, familiar ones. Enough cause to turn left. She had brought a piece of the name from somewhere in her memory. The word “Skin.” It ought to be enough. Signs passed with no such luck and the walls grew a bit closer with each street passed by. She’d considered turning back when the shop showed itself. “Skin of Swords.” The memories fell into order and she dropped from a low roof into the street where the shop sat. A horrible name, and a horrible old creature running it. She rounded the back. A door there was locked thoroughly. A bit of give but the feeling of a bar at the far side sent her back to the front and the risk of exposure. She set about the locks quickly. Two in total, laughably weak against the unsubtle punch of her blades. The door swung free and Aile took herself out of the streets.
The shop had a different look than she remembered. It had been close to a century since she’d needed leathers from Fásachbaile. Where before the items were stacked with no ceremony or delicacy, they now sat on mannequins and racks. Organized. She looked through for not even a minute when she heard the creak of wood from the floorboards above. She dropped to a crouch and put herself in a
shadow that would survive candlelight. A moment passed and an elf, light in hand, the other raised and open to show it empty, came into the shop area.
“Hello?” A male voice, young and high as elves went. “I have heard you, I’m afraid. I do not value these things above my life. I came to tell you as much. Take what you like, but I ask you leave me with enough to sell.”
Aile stood. “Where is the old woman?”
The elf squeaked girlishly and swung the candle to light her direction. He squinted as he answered, eyes too close to the light to see much beyond it.
“She… she died. Many years ago. More than forty now.” His eyes adjusted and he covered his mouth, whispering, “Drow…”
“Who works the leather now?”
“I have heard of you! She told me!” He came closer until Aile put a hand to the hilt at her hip. “She told me of you. Said to never turn you away. That you paid well and gave the leather meaning.”
“Who works the leather?”
“M…me? I am all there is here. And my love. He is away, though. With his family.”
Aile found it hard to believe the crone had managed to find a cock bold enough to put a child in her, but the items carried a surety in their stitching not suited to a novice hand.
“Leathers, then.”
He nodded. “Yes. Yes! I have some, made for you. The last thing to ever touch my mother’s hand. I’ve kept them religiously, as she made me swear. Oiled and supple and sturdy. She made them a finish, she said. To seal them.” He turned and moved behind the desk at the head of the shop, pushing a chair aside and opening a hidden place below the floor. “She said they would see use. Over and over she said it, admiring them.”
He pulled the clothes from their recess and held them aloft. They were thicker than any Aile had seen but moved freely as the elf’s hands went across them. The darkness in them was rich, deep, and thorough. The leathers were draped over the desk and Aile put her hand to them. Soft, pliable, and with a strange feel across her thumb, one she had never felt before.
One's Own Shadow (The Siúil Book 2) Page 38
