One's Own Shadow (The Siúil Book 2)

by Randall P. Fitzgerald

  “There is no road for miles. And nothing out here but cold and dirt. Raiders will not venture this way.”

  “But… but we have work still.”

  “I was given no time limit. Do you mean to dictate one to me now, goat?”

  Ilkea chuffed angrily. There was a brain in that head after all. “No. But we should not sleep at this place.”

  “Then do not sleep.”

  Aile stepped down from her chariot and as her foot hit the ground Ilkea’s head sank, no doubt convinced the argument and her protest, minuscule as it was, were done. She came down from her chariot and took her own tent first.

  “I will make tents for us.”

  “Then I will supply the fire.”

  Ilkea stopped and looked at Aile when she said the words, not sure what to make of them. Apparently, her musing on the line decided it was a good thing. She smiled at Aile and seemed to cheer up.

  When the satyr had gone, she set about digging out a small pit. It would be hours still until dark and nothing could rush the light from the sky. When the pit was dug, Aile pulled some wood from the pack on Ilkea’s mount. It had not been refilled when they were at the camp. The pouch that held whichever of the letters caught her eye. No need to check it now. She would have all the time she needed. The fire was set and Aile sat herself on the ground next to it. There were no rocks nearby to ring the fire, but it mattered little. It would not be a large flame and there was nothing left to burn anyway.

  Ilkea had become rather adept at the setting up of tents. It was a convenience that Aile considered she might have enjoyed for a moment before realizing that, if it were up to her, she would never bed down in a tent again. It likely was not. Gold made as many of her decisions as she did. More, if one only counted decisions on where to travel. The smell of horsefolk assaulted her nose again as Ilkea passed by to fetch the second tent and go about its construction. Aile watched her work. She set the tents farther apart than she had most nights. Did the girl think she was being clever?

  With camp made, Ilkea returned and sat on the far side of the fire. She did not speak for hours, not until the sun was nearly down, though she looked at Aile often. At her hands, especially.

  “Do you…” Ilkea caught herself and quieted.

  Aile looked her over. “Go on. I will indulge you only once. Two questions.”

  “Do you feel… regret? For killing your own?”

  “My own? Drow? No.”

  “Have you ever had friendship?”

  Aile softened her voice and put on a half-smile. “Of course, I have. You are a precious friend, Ilkea. My partner.”

  The satyr’s eyes opened wide and her mouth did the same. She looked around the camp as if trying to find an explanation for the answer. It had made her restless.

  “What—”

  “Two questions.”

  There was quiet until the fire had burned down and Ilkea excused herself to go to her tent. Aile stood and went to her own, taking her cleaning supplies along with. She saw to her ritual slowly and methodically. A skin of wine was all she had for entertainment when the work was done, even that had soured. Aile’s patience for this play with the horsefolk had truly run out. Weeks of being subjected to one presumptuous, smelly fool after another. It was past time for a return to plush beds and edible food. And smells. Goddess, to smell something appetizing or pleasant. She flung the wine skin across the tent and it slapped pathetically against the canvas. She could hear the satyr sleep, even at the distance she had put between them.

  She left her tent and walked without a sound toward the horse. It shook its head and shifted as she came near, annoyed to be approached at night by something not shaped like a satyr. Even the horse annoyed her. The chariot as well. She went for the pack and the horse shifted again, making a noise. Aile pulled her long blade and shoved it into the horse’s neck. Before it could buck or complain the horse fell to its knees, breathing ragged and eyes rolled back. She went back to the pack she wanted and pulled the one sheet of paper clear from it. It was the shorter letter. Aile gritted her teeth as she looked over the paper. She pulled the blade from the horse’s neck and slammed it back into the thick meat time and again. There was no sound but the quiet, slick pop of the dagger exiting a newly formed hole time after time and the increasingly panicked but slowly fading breath of the dying animal.

  It fell after only a pair of minutes with a quiet thud. She stopped still to listen for the satyr’s breathing and heard it. She kicked the horse in the throat and turned to face the tent.

  The flaps had been tied on the inside. Something of a futile gesture. Perhaps Ilkea hoped they would somehow cause her to make more noise. The goat clearly did not understand how loudly she slept. The straps held no metal and were cut through with hardly any resistance to speak of. A metal clasp would have made it all the easier given Aile’s abilities but it was all the same in the end.

  A cot sat in the middle of the space with Ilkea on it, facing away from the door. Aile walked over and looked up and down the creature. She seemed smaller now than when she was standing. Aile crouched next to the bed and surveyed Ilkea’s back. She let her hands run over the hilt of each of her weapons before settling on a flat, wide plunging knife. She pulled it free and held it out, aimed dead center of the girl’s exposed lower back. Aile took a deep breath and forced the blade in as far as it would go.

  The satyr jerked in the bed only once, but her eyes shot open, trying as best they could to see what was at her back. Aile would oblige her curiosity. She stood and came around to face Ilkea.

  “I lied about us being friends. I expect you knew that though.” Aile sighed. “I have found everything about this work so disappointing. Instead of a fight with satyr who meant to kill me, I got shown a turgid cock and fed spiced refuse. And you.” She pulled the satyr’s mouth open and spit into it. “Pathetic little coward. So proud of your honor. Just like the centaur you hate, only lacking the conviction.”

  She slapped Ilkea’s jaw shut and splinters of teeth popped out as her mouth rebounded. Tears streamed soundlessly from bloodshot eyes.

  “I put up with your stink and your pathetic excuse for culture and rambling odes to your people’s greatness. And for what? For an obvious ploy and poorly forged gold.” Aile took a deep breath. “I cannot stand to talk so much. You’ve drawn it out of me. And for that, I hate you all the more. Still, it is rare I have a satyr all to myself like this.” Aile crouched down to look directly into Ilkea’s eyes. “This will be unpleasant for you.”

  Aile walked slowly to the end of the bed and took a long look at the hooves in front of her. She placed the flat of her hand against the top one and closed her eyes. An orange glow surrounded her palm and soon the hoof itself began to turn red and then orange. The bone that fed into it began to glow beneath the surface of her leg and the hairs caught fire, burning away quickly. Ilkea managed a few weak jerks as her hoof went white hot. The skin crackled and flesh began to drop down onto her other leg. Even with the paralytic, the satyr let out a long and horrible scream. Aile moved a hand to her own crotch and pressed two fingers against herself through the leather.

  “Yes. Mmm. Impressive.”

  She pulled her hand away from the hoof and smiled, moaning just the slightest bit. She slapped the hoof with the back of her hand and the meat and bone snapped away. Boiling blood and meat streamed down onto the other leg as Aile rubbed herself, watching. She let out a tiny gasp and a pleased smile rolled across her face. Aile walked to the side of the bed and put the fingers that had given her pleasure against the fur of Ilkea’s legs. She wiped them lazily across the fur, leaving trails of flame that lapped and grew as she went. The satyr jerked helplessly, rocking, and vibrating. Foam and blood trickled from her mouth and Aile came back to the head of the bed and crouched.

  Ilkea’s eyes flashed between rage and pleading. She had begun to choke now. Aile laughed quietly
. She stood, moved behind Ilkea to retrieve her blade, and then back. She flipped the cot, sending the girl onto her back. Aile stood over her and then straddled her chest, squatting down. She placed her hands on either side of Ilkea’s head and the glow returned. The satyr shook violently underneath her. Her eyes went white and then grey and then black. A pop sounded somewhere inside her skull and the matte black orbs sunk away. Ilkea was still and her ragged breathing was slow and desperate. She was not choosing to breathe now. The fun was all but done. Aile pulled her long blade from her back and put the tip at the center of the dead goat’s forehead. She sighed and leaned her weight against it. The blade scraped across an inch of bone before it caught and the weight pushed it through. It stopped again at the back of her skull. Aile pushed the hilt away, forcing the metal through the soft meat inside and then pulled it free.

  She stood again and moved to the ruined blanket that now sat on the floor covered with coagulating pieces of Ilkea. She wiped the tools she’d used clean and placed them back where they belonged and returned to her tent. The knives she had used were again cleaned and prepared, as were her leathers. She stripped herself of them and wiped dry the inside and herself. Her loins still twitched with excitement at her touch. The hours passed quietly, peacefully. The smells she had hated so much had been replaced with far more pleasant ones. The smell of char and blood.

  When she had finished with the things that needed doing, she saw herself outside and looked at the horse and chariot she had ridden for so long now. She could not unhook it yet. The stupid beasts wandered when they were not strapped to the ridiculous carts. Come the morning she would take it and go. She was still owed gold. Quite a bit of it, in fact. Though, she did have a thought. With the Bastion City so close, it would be a shame if she did not take advantage of an opportunity to indulge herself in some comfort.

  She smiled and looked up at the stars. That was the only thing for it, she thought. After all, it just wasn’t good for business to follow up such a pleasurable night with a day of work and toil.

  Part Ten

  P

  Z

  Socair

  The Eyes were far across the sky when the walls around Abhainnbaile’s Bastion City came into view. The ache in her rear and her legs annoyed Socair. She had been too long away from the saddle and from the work of a fight in general. Each painful bounce reminded her of the starved satyr. She had never had so much trouble with one. Her mind tried to offer excuses. That the creature was desperate or that she had been concerned about the north’s Treorai. They were excuses in the end. None of those things should have drawn her attention and even then her strength should not have failed her. Discipline would be the only answer. She must not allow the Bastion to be her prison and neither could she allow her appointment to the Binse to mean a life spent in soft chairs around polished tables.

  Práta rode beside her with Nath sharing the saddle. The gates were near enough now that she could see three elves awaiting her arrival. Two were dressed in full armor and held torches. Gate guards, most like. Another with them struck a familiar shape, even in the dim light. As she drew closer, she could see Meirge more clearly. They brought the horses to a stop and Socair jumped down, putting a fist to her chest and bowing.

  “An old habit,” Meirge said.

  She stood herself up, remembering that she now outranked him and that he ought to bow to her if anything. “A hard one to break, at that. I hardly expected you would be here to meet us.”

  Meirge’s eyes flitted, just briefly, to Práta and Nath as they climbed down from the other horse. “There are important things to discuss. And Deifir has given me express orders to bring you to her immediately.”

  “Then let us waste no more time here.”

  Meirge bowed quickly and turned to enter the now open gate. Socair took her place beside him as they went. Práta fell in behind with Nath beside her and followed quietly. The Bastion City was always so beautiful at night, Socair thought. It was something about the light of the Eyes that made the buildings seem to shimmer almost. A million half-seen colors. It calmed her to be back among her people.

  They had not gone far when Meirge began his questions. “You arrived more quickly than we expected you could.”

  “We were expected in Aostacroí. Hand pies and horses were waiting for us. As were water skins.”

  “Good. The northern Regent has a tendency to be stubborn at times.” Meirge glanced behind and then turned his eyes back to the street ahead of them. “We received a number of accusatory missives from Fásachbaile. They say you kidnapped a servant girl. And now you are here with a desert elf child.”

  “She is no child. And she is here of her own will. The Treorai of Fásachbaile is a torturer. I brought the girl to attest to that. And to see that she was taken care of.”

  “Nonetheless, it is not our place to interfere in the business of the desert elves.”

  “Neither is it our place to treat a free citizen as though she is a prisoner to her own land when she is not. Was the girl not free to leave?”

  Meirge released a short, annoyed groan before changing the subject. “How much did the messenger say about the attacks?”

  “He said that Cursíol and Dulsiar had likely fallen. Is there news from Glascroí?”

  “Little. A scout said that the city had been evacuated. There was no one to be found, but it had not yet been razed. We do not know if they move together or if Rún simply ordered the city be emptied. It has not been long enough for them to reach Abhainnbaile if they kept a reasonable pace. She may have received fair warning from Cursíol. The hordes came in separate waves, near as we can surmise. One from the south, through the swamps, and the other from the east, to sack Cursíol. Perhaps they found Glascroí empty on the road to Dulsiar and simply ignored it.”

  Socair nodded. “What of those cities then?”

  “Cursíol was burned and left. It sits empty aside from corpses. Dulsiar is in much the same state except it now houses a horde and will soon house another. Nearly three hundred centaur and four or five times as many satyr. They have held there, waiting for reinforcements from the east. The south is lost to us, no question.”

  It was a troubling state of things. The two cities that could have provided them a keep and a defensible place to quarter large numbers of soldiers and facilities to forge the equipment they would need. Soldiers.

  “What of our forces? Numbers. The First Company?”

  “Not the best of news, but hardly the worst. The First Company camp was near enough to give response to the initial attack, but it was late arriving due to weather. Rains kept them back. They lost nearly a fourth of their numbers in the attempt to reclaim Cursíol before a general retreat was sounded. They are at Ciúnasmaidin licking their wounds for the moment. Should be on the march in a day at the most. The other companies were well away from the fighting and the city guards were no match for horde numbers. Every able-bodied elf in service to the Treorai is moving south as we speak.”

  “For Innecarnán?”

  Meirge nodded. Things were dire, to say it mildly. Innecarnán was a small town at the fork that split in the road south. Glascroí sat southeast of the fork and Dulsiar was southwest. It would no doubt be the next place the horsefolk moved. There was nowhere else. The city did not even have walls to speak of.

  “Are they reinforcing the city?”

  They had made the steps of the Bastion and began to climb them.

  “Construction had begun on a southern wall, but that is all I had heard.”

  “Good. Get a marmar to Ciúnasmaidin and have the First Company send the uninjured immediately. Before dawn if possible. Aostacroí has a siegeworks and I saw nothing on the road. Have them at least move some of their weapons here for staging.” Socair stopped at the doors to the Bastion and finished her orders. “Send for Dragart in Glassruth. He’s a mason and a fine one at that. Tell him to make for In
necarnán immediately to assist with the wall and anything else he sees that needs work. And tell him to bring as many men as he trusts to get the work seen to.”

  “Understood Binseman.”

  Meirge took a short bow and then saw himself inside. Socair waited behind to speak with Práta. “Go and get some rest.” She put a hand to Práta’s cheek. “I doubt if Deifir will be brief.” Práta nodded and Socair leaned down to look Nath over. “We are finally home. You will like it here, Nath.” She smiled and Nath leaned forward and kissed her quick on the lips. Socair stood up, shocked and not quite sure what to make of it.

  Nath smiled wide. “I know. You will protect me.”

  “I… yes. I will.”

  Socair went inside and took Práta’s hand for a moment. They said nothing but Práta gave a concerned look. When they parted company she wiped at her lips. She had not meant to give the girl such an impression. She would need to find time to explain things. And delicately. Nath would perhaps not understand. There was no time for it now.

  Deifir’s door stood before her. It was only as her hand reached for the latch that the weight of her failure returned. She had failed to convince anyone to believe her, let alone help. And now she must say as much to her Treorai. She pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Deifir sat in a chair holding a glass of wine and staring at the window. She turned her head to see Socair.

  “Welcome home.” Deifir’s voice was solemn and low. She took a sip of her wine. She forced a smile before looking back to the window. “I fear I cannot greet you with much joy. Many of our brothers and sisters lay dead.”

  Socair felt a pang of anger at the thought. It lasted only a moment and fell underneath a wave of sadness and regret.

  “I could have done more,” Socair said. “If I had been here.”

  “Sit.” Deifir motioned her wine at the chair beside her. “And try never to think of what may have been. Not yet at least. I am the Treorai and I sent you away.” She swirled the wine around, watching it. “I sent you away because I believed I would have more time.”