One's Own Shadow (The Siúil Book 2)

by Randall P. Fitzgerald

  She backed from the door and motioned to it. Heavy blows struck the wood and soon it came open. Metal latches and no bar. Óraithe stepped in behind the men. The wheel to the portcullis was already being worked. She could hardly believe what little care must have gone into the defense of this place. She stepped back out onto the flat and looked across the city and it struck her. The gate led to the Low District. In the room, she looked through a slit in the rock. The wagon fire had done its work and the rest were riding for the wall with as much speed as they could manage. A vast cloud of dust rose behind them.

  Only two were working the portcullis wheel. They proved enough. “We need the gate.”

  She raced down the steps with men at her back. They had not questioned her, even for a moment. They had not given her even a look of mistrust. The ground felt almost overwhelming against her naked feet. She had wrapped the bottoms every morning before leaving the tent. She could feel dozens of weights against the ground, maybe hundreds, all behind her in the city, not far. Watching. The men got to the gate and Óraithe stood behind them, staring at the empty streets. She did not know sands so well that she could tell anything by the feelings in her mind. The first creak of the big door moving behind her sounded in her ears and a second later, well beyond the Low District, a siren wailed.

  The doors opened as a dozen in Briste’s colors flooded the main street into the city ahead of her. At her back, she felt the pounding of hooves as strongly as her own racing heart. She stared them down but they did not move to her. She could feel them, the corpses she’d left at the front. They shifted on the earth and came to her. She slid them forward, raising her chin and narrowing her eyes at the guard.

  “Óraithe t-the… the—” he bit into the word as though it took all his courage to say it— “Treasonous.”

  “Yes?”

  “Y-you are… you… by order of Briste, Tre—”

  She flung the corpses and a chunk of the earth beneath them in rage when she heard the name. The pieces rained on the guards who had come for her, guts spilling over them, knocking three to the ground and sending a pair fleeing in horror. Heads had poked from silent windows along the street and the mob behind her stood ready to kill anything she pointed them toward. But, no. The city was not only the Low District. She raised her voice so all could hear.

  “Go with your lives. Tell that thing in the Bastion that I have come.” She took a step forward and the remaining guards backed away, swords readied. “Tell her I have come to take from her. Everything.”

  R

  Rianaire

  She had woken sometime before noon. Rianaire was never quite sure of the time after waking until someone chanced to mention it in passing or some meal came around. There was little she could find wrong with such a thing, though it often offended people who felt of a station high enough to lecture her about it. To her pleasant surprise, however, it seemed that those people were growing to be in short supply throughout the Bastion and indeed had been replaced with complacent, reasonable elves who did not complain that the work they’d been put to was beneath them or not in line with their own preferences. A truth borne out by reports from Tola and Méid which were short and asked her for nothing.

  Síocháin was reading them as they had lunch. Soft-boiled eggs and roast goose with a soup of mushrooms and stuffing. The drippings from the goose had been made into a gravy and poured over the eggs and meat. A heavy meal which sat nicely in her stomach on a cold day. Her mood was the best she had remembered it in recent times.

  Síocháin finished the papers and moved on to a few other things that had been left aside. “You have not chosen a Binse of Lands.”

  “Hm.” Rianaire poked a piece of egg, swabbed it through the gravy and put it into her mouth. She spoke before she’d finished chewing it. “A traditional position. But there is use in it, I suppose. Unless I mean to work Tola to an early grave.”

  Inney gave a sarcastic huff, focused otherwise on her food. “He’d likely thank you for it.”

  “I’d rather have his ire and longevity than his thanks and a new Binseman who is more a bother.” Rianaire pushed the plate away, most of her food eaten. “Have a marmar sent off to Cnoclean and have them pull candidates. None from Cnoclean proper. That ought to rile that banshee they’ve put into Aerach’s place.”

  Síocháin waved at one of the waiting attendants and they came to take a note from her. “It’s a wonder you allowed them to replace the Regent themselves.”

  “An experiment. Admittedly a failed one.” Rianaire grabbed her wine and emptied the glass before placing it back to the table. An attendant girl hurried over to refill it. “At the very least, they will learn to sleep with what they’ve invited to bed. I do not—”

  Rianaire absentmindedly poked the nearest cheek of the girl’s arse.

  “Eep!” She shocked bolt upright and turned to look at Rianaire, covering the place she’d touched. “Ah!” She flushed red and Rianaire smiled at her before waving her away.

  “—think there is much worry in it though. The woman is simply emboldened by the sense of importance that came with being chosen by her people. She imagines there is deep meaning in ruling a place.”

  Síocháin looked at her, the slightest twitch in her lip. “A fine thing from our wondrous Treorai.”

  Rianaire laughed. She stood, picking up the refreshed wine glass and spilling a deal of it onto the table. “Yes! She who ushered in the golden age of Spéirbaile! Protector of the north and thief of chastity!”

  Inney quietly raised her own glass, stifling a laugh. Rianaire drank from her own and put it back down.

  “Well. This has been a delightful meal. I will now go and ruin it by speaking to very serious mages about very serious magics.” She leaned down to Inney as she passed her to leave and put a finger on her nose. “Perhaps the population will fall again.” She kissed the half-Drow on the cheek and continued on. Inney stood to follow, leaving Síocháin behind with her papers.

  They were walking through the halls toward the colonnade room, at least as much as Rianaire cared to make straight progress. She walked and hummed.

  “Have the colleges’ chosen not come yet?” Inney wondered aloud, not mentioning their slow progress but likely curious at it.

  “Oh, I’m sure they have.” She grabbed Inney’s hands and pulled her around, dancing in the quiet. “Eala as well. They must learn patience.”

  “And you must not?”

  Rianaire had forgotten how much she loved the sound of playful sarcasm in a voice. Inney had come to comfort her in ways that she had not known she needed.

  “How very dare you. I am as patient as I am graceful.”

  “I’ll not argue with that.”

  Rianaire laughed first and Inney allowed herself to do the same. She sighed, then, knowing that Inney had the right of it. She must go and tend to her duties. The familiar carved doors were soon enough in front of them and were pulled open to the frigid room of stone. Eala was the only body in the room who did not show the chill in her posture. The girl looked regal, though there was flush in her cheeks from the cold.

  Inney took her place at the door to the side office as Rianaire plopped into her seat, looking up as though there was nothing more to discuss than the weather. There were eight gathered there, as she’d insisted before eating. The most senior member of each college was brought to her as well as the most adept. Unfailingly, as she looked around the table, the order was an old and a young. Telling, she thought. The most senior had no doubt spent more time with noses in books. Unhungry for knowledge of the Gifts they possessed but desperate for new ways to bend the knee to dead women.

  “Well, let’s not make this painful.” Rianaire looked to those sent from Tine’s college. “Remove those.”

  She meant the veils they wore. Silly things more natural for a cult than anything else. The two hesitated until Rianaire rolled h
er eyes. There was no complaint. The two unmasked themselves. Old and young, again. Rianaire continued.

  “I have decisions I mean to make. And what meaning is there in a decision without spirited debate?” She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. “The question is simple. Should the colleges contribute to the defense of the province against the hippocamp hordes?”

  She said nothing else, offered no opinion. Those she had gathered looked among themselves not sure if there was some deeper concern they were missing. No doubt word of the exile of the college heads had made them nervous. Rianaire had no intention of allowing such a sweet concern to be assuaged, however. Their conviction was the very thing she had an interest in.

  It was Spéir’s college that spoke first. The elder. “I believe… that is, of course, we must not be outside of thought that the colleges could assist in such an aim. But the Gifts are just that. Not tools of war. They are fantastical things which aid us in life.”

  The elders of Abhainn and Fásach’s houses slapped the table lightly, agreeing. Tine’s college showed nothing. Typical of that lot, she thought. They were strange at the best of times.

  Abhainn’s elder nodded, stroking his beard. “Yes, I think my colleague has made a statement most profound.” He nodded, almost rocking in the chair. “The Gifts are a peaceful thing. Meant to bring us closer with the Sisters and their love for us. How else could our waters heal? Hmmm.” He frowned. “No, I think they must not be used for ill. This may anger the Sisters and they may reclaim their Gifts.”

  The first of the youth spoke. A boy, light-skinned but showing the desert heritage in his dark hair and eyes. “What a grand manner of shite old men spit.” He stood, eyes annoyed. “What scrolls have you read that make you believe as you do? Fásach would be sick to see it, elves waving the tools she used to rid us of the horsefolk as flags of surrender.”

  The pale girl who had come from Spéir’s school joined him. “Aye. He’s the right of it. What Sisters do you know who smiled on horsefolk? Who walked with gentle steps?”

  The youth of Abhainn was a fair thing, freckled with deep green eyes. She was calm, remaining seated. “Abhainn could not abide such a devout who would let death come to her people while her waters still flowed.”

  The bearded elf had contained his shock so long as he could. “You… bah! Bah! Children! Such insolence! To your elders, even.”

  Fásach’s boy spoke to that. “Was it age the Sisters prized now? Doddering, rambling, and loose bowels? Are those things most holy?”

  Spéir’s girl lost her composure and was forced to turn away to hide the laugh.

  “Child!” Fásach’s elder had seen her fill. “You will respect your betters! And you as well girl.” The woman waved a knobby finger at Spéir’s youth.

  “Ah will, aye. The room holds three and none of them wear robes nor jewels. I’ve not the time fer unsteady pisspots moanin’ on about what was taught to their father’s fathers.”

  “You ought, girl!” Spéir’s elder. “And I mean to discuss this on our return.”

  “Discuss? Ha! You’ve no more rule over me’n them daffy two with hair full of piss an’ grapes.”

  Tine’s representatives did not stir at the insult and neither did the elders chide the girl for it. The argument went on for another half hour at least before they finally seemed to remember who had called them there.

  Fásach’s boy was the one to say it. “But this is nothing to do with your lofty ideals. It’s to do with the horsefolk, is it not?”

  He looked directly at her when he said it. Rianaire pulled a tight smile across her lips. “Well,” she said, standing, “you’ve all given me much to think about. I will give this serious thought, I can assure you, but I thank you all for your views.”

  The three houses that had done the whole of the talking were quick to stand and gather their things. Tine’s pair came up, dropping their veils over hair made grey and purple by whatever means they used.

  “Ah, Tine’s words have not been heard, have they?” Rianaire said flatly as she stood, herself, watching the others as they stopped their retreat from the room. She put a quiet hand on Eala’s shoulder and sat the girl back down.

  The two women lowered their heads quietly and brought them back up. Voices sounded from burnt lungs that rattled out craggy words.

  “Tine’s Fire will touch everything in the end.” The elder began. The younger finished for her. “We will touch as her hands. Until She returns, Treorai speaks as her mouth.”

  The two lowered their heads again and left. The other colleges waited a moment after Tine’s pair had gone, mumbling uncomfortably, before seeing themselves out. Rianaire returned to her seat, unsure whether to be glad she’d asked or worried she allowed them to live so close. She had spent time among them in her youth, but the college had grown into something very different, she felt.

  Eala looked to her, wondering why she had been kept.

  “A lovely way to spend an afternoon, is it not?” Rianaire laughed. She waved and Inney came over, taking a seat. “What did you think?”

  Her young Binse-in-training knit her brow thinking over the meeting. “I… I do not think either are wrong, in their way. The horsefolk are a grave threat. We must use every tool against them if there is a need.”

  “Only if there is a need?”

  She hesitated a moment. “I think so… yes. The Sisters are precious. They protect us even now, I know it. And we should protect them, in our way. My… my father, he said so when I was only a child. I had fallen in fast water, and my arm had slipped from a rock as I landed. It broke and I cried to him, as all children do. I asked him why Abhainn would not protect me. He told me then that we must not think of the Sisters so selfishly. That we should become strong that we can protect them for all they have given us.” She stopped again, thinking for a long moment. The next words trickled out. “I believe him… I do… but…”

  “But?”

  Eala looked at her with earnest eyes. There was a worry in them, though. “May I speak my mind?”

  “Always. I insist.”

  “I do not believe you care for my thoughts on the matter. Not as advice, at least.”

  Rianaire smiled before the girl finished her sentence but did not interrupt. Eala was worth more than she seemed. She would shine in time.

  “You have made your decisions,” Eala continued. “You had made them long before. This was no debate. It, I think, was a way to find who matched your desires well enough. I believe that was the decision you spoke of. But… but no matter what I believe… your word is my law. If the Sisters themselves stood against you, they would find me their enemy.”

  Eala lowered her head but looked up to meet Rianaire’s eyes as the Treorai stood up. The smile at Rianaire’s lips widened.

  “You…”

  She leaned down and hugged Eala tightly, kissing the top of her head energetically and standing again. The girl looked up at her, confused.

  “You are not…?”

  “What? A monster? No.” Rianaire laughed gently at the suggestion. “I thank you, with inadequate words that lack the weight of your conviction. There are few who would say such a thing. I would only ask that if you decide you have lost that conviction, you do not attempt to kill me.”

  “Oh… I would never… I-”

  Inney broke first, but her laughter caught Rianaire and brought her along. “I apologize. Oh, Sisters…” She sat back down, calming herself. “I have been told such jokes unsettle people. But again, I thank you.”

  There was quiet for a moment and Eala stood quickly as though she’d just remembered something. “With apologies, may I be dismissed? I have drills planned.”

  “Of course. Come and go as you like if I am in this terrible room.”

  Eala left and closed the door behind. Rianaire looked over to Inney.

  “I fear I
made it awkward. Síocháin warned me.” Rianaire looked at the closed doors. “Still, rare of you to show so much personality with another present.”

  “It’s your awful influence.”

  “Síocháin will be cross at you for stealing her sayings.”

  “See? If I continue at your pace, I will be a fixture at children’s’ parties before long.”

  Rianaire imagined it and smiled wryly. She stood a moment later.

  “Come. Let’s escape.”

  Rianaire left and Inney followed. They came across Gadaí returning from the yard as they passed through the Bastion’s main hall.

  “Gadaí! Wonderful.”

  The satyr did something approaching a curtsey. “Treorai.”

  Rianaire watched the display with a face that likely seemed more insulting than she’d intended.

  “I… I am practicing. Learning.”

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Learning?”

  “Your ways.”

  “Well…” Rianaire was unsure of what to say. “Inney and I are escaping. Rather, going away from places where one needs to curtsey. Would you join us?”

  “I should not…”

  “Oh, bah. You’re worried you’ll cause a fuss?” Rianaire began to walk, reaching up to grab Gadaí’s hand as she went. The skin was rough and the fingerprints ridged more strongly than she’d ever felt, to say nothing of the size of the hand itself. “A fuss is the best sort of thing to cause, I’ve found.”

  The stares began in the courtyard of the Bastion and became whispers when they came to the South Road. Gadaí had tensed. Her eyes darted and she shifted nervously, clenching her fist over and over. Her attention whipped to Rianaire as she began to talk.

  “Comfort is a strange thing, Gadaí.” She did not look up at the satyr, only kept moving along the street casually. “It exists with so many tiny subtle meanings. A soft bed. Or a hard one. A chair that catches you just the way it should. Calm, for some. A place to spend one’s nervous nature until you run empty. The blank void of an unbusied mind.” She stopped in front of an alehouse. The noise from inside already leaked out. The Little Bastion, it was called. “My mother’d have killed them for daring such a name, you know? The elf who named the place… tremendously talented, Sisters know. Likely he’s bedding them now if there’s anything beyond the dark. Oh, but I forget myself. Comfort.” She turned to Gadaí finally and looked up. “Everything has a beginning. Comfort, true comfort, begins at familiar, welcome. You must find the first before you can have the other. And so…”