She swept her hand toward the alehouse door.
Gadaí croaked a curious reply. “You… mean to have me drink?”
“No, no, no. Sisters, what a horrible idea.” She looked to Inney and back to Gadaí. “I mean to have us drink.”
She took Gadaí’s hand again, it shook just the slightest bit. Even a satyr could know fear, she thought, amused. Inney saw to the door and Gadaí ducked as she went through it. A cheer started as they saw Rianaire but died when Gadaí showed behind her. Still with Gadaí’s hand in her own, she climbed the nearest table and stomped on it.
“Such quiet in my Little Bastion! Why?” She looked quite obviously at Gadaí. “This one? Is that all? Oh what brave elves you were until a moment ago.” She laughed and then she shouted. “My drink! Now!” There was a scramble behind the bar as an ale was hastily put into a mug. “The horsefolk are strange to us, sure as fish breathe water. But this one.” The mug came, but the elf edged it to her as far from Gadaí as she could manage. She took a large drink and slung the cup out wide. “This one! She’s saved me more than once. She’s saved more of you than you can count. Killed her own for our lives. And you’d look at her with such eyes? At this woman? My friend?” She took another drink and put her hand on Gadaí’s shoulder. “Well? I’ve said my piece. Tell me what you think of her.”
There was quiet for a moment. A voice from the back. “Fine lookin’ for a horsegirl.”
Another near as soon as the other had finished. “Aye, I’d not mind to be found with my cock in that and a hoof mark on my arse!”
A roar of laughter filled the room, turning to cheers and the raising of mugs. Gadaí blushed at the words. A bashful woman inside her somewhere. Rianaire could not help but smile at that. She raised her mug again and stomped at the table. The room quieted.
“Good! I’d not have stood for anything less. Now drink until you’re drunk and leave the coin to me!”
The room cheered again and the noise fell to where it had been, elves shouting over elves.
She sat with Gadaí and Inney, sharing drinks and asking meaningless questions. What foods she preferred, what she thought of their cities. It was Inney who asked the question that changed Gadaí’s face from something approaching at-ease to serious.
“What do you miss?”
Gadaí was quiet for a while. There was no need in rushing her or changing the subject. Rianaire was curious. At Gadaí’s coming answer and at Inney having asked the question.
“None of it.” She finally said. “There is something inside. In me. It wants an answer to a question, like you. But it does not like words. It… that thing… it wants the words and their substance both. I could not answer that thing among the hordes. It would never be allowed. The question was not allowed.”
“Question?” Rianaire drank from her mug, asking casually to have Gadaí give her more.
“To have a reason.”
Inney scoffed at the answer. “Is a reason not something you give yourself, in every meaning?”
Gadaí thought on this for a moment. “It… is. And at once is not.”
“She will not understand with only that. And no doubt she’s near drunk now. She’ll not let you off so easy.”
Inney nodded sternly and clapped her mug on the table, her mask shifting just the slightest as she did, in a way only Rianaire was like to notice.
Gadaí thought again. She looked desperate for the words in a tongue that was not her own. “If I am hungry—”
“I am hungry.” Inney repeated the words.
“Come now, Inney. You’ve asked, you must let her answer in her own time.” She groaned and leaned into Rianaire.
“If I am hungry… I can tell my stomach that I have two fish… I can even believe it in my mind, as truth. But the hunger will not fade. So it is with my reason. I must live for something. The ones among the hordes, they live only to live. To not die. I cannot be as they are. I cannot think away my hunger.”
“And what is it you want to live for?” Rianaire poked at Inney’s nose and the half-Drow bit at her finger, no longer interested in her own question.
“I do not know.”
“A good answer.” Rianaire clapped her mug on the table loudly and Inney tried to do the same even in her awkward lean, nearly spilling her cup. “I’ve decided! You’ll be an advisor to Eala. Officially. You will be written into our histories. And I hope that in that place, you will find what you need. That your hunger might be sated.”
Rianaire held her mug aloft at Gadaí who stared at her as though she’d just removed her own head and placed it on the table before she spoke. A wonderful face, and not the last she was like to see for such a decision. The mugs clacked together and Rianaire drank again from hers, setting it on the table after. The pieces had begun to come together well enough. Whatever came of the south, Spéirbaile would be prepared. No matter how many must be sent to exile, no matter how many puffed their faces and ran red with anger, she would see her people through the coming war.
U
Aile
Aile was beginning to believe that her horse was some sort of reincarnated old god. It never seemed to tire and drank only briefly when she brought it to streams. It kept itself at her back without fail any time she was off it to loose her bowels or make water. She considered, at first, that such a thing must be quite convenient. The thought disappeared the moment hot breath and then a cold nose hit her naked arse. She punched the animal in the nose and it cried out, but had kept its head at a distance from her nethers since, at least.
She was forced to rest just across the border to the river elf province. The night was quiet and the wood where she made camp was thin enough to see the tent and fire placed without any need to clear away underbrush. It would show the light of the fire at a distance but there was little worry in that as it would only burn a few hours. The tent would provide a respite and a chance to order her thoughts on what she meant to do. The Bastion City was the largest and seats of political interest were so often filled with gold and people who had a need to spend it on killing. It was a sound plan and Aile felt a nag in her mind to replace the money she’d spent in the desert.
The morning brought rustling outside of the tent. It took her out of her sleep and immediately set her heart to beating. It was her mount kicking at the ashes and wandering through the camp. An annoying way to be woken, one she had hoped to avoid for a single day, at least, by sleeping among the trees. There was nothing for it. Ciúinloch had been within her reach, but she preferred not to enter smaller cities at night if she could help it. It had a way of making guards uneasy and innkeepers equally so. Elf stories always seemed to stem from a fear of the dark and shadows and they seemed to suddenly believe all their stories to be true when a Drow came upon them at night. She considered for a moment as she readied her horse that there was an irony in her disdain at stories, a few of which, she may be the cause for. It was not beyond belief if the horsefolk had a quaint little name for her.
Ciúinloch was only two hours from her camp and she arrived about the time one would expect breakfast to begin. The walls were small, a few heads more than the guards who stood them, and the gate was ornate, made of wrought iron. Iron roses sat at the inside edges of the two sides of the gate. The gates themselves were open, enough to allow three abreast to pass through, or thereabouts.
A guard held up a hand at her as she came to the gate.
“Hail, Drow. Welcome to Ciúinloch. Rare to see your kind here. What brings you?”
“I make for Abhainnbaile.”
“Ah, even the Blackwood’s come curious about the war in the south, eh?”
Aile looked at the other guard, a sleepy man who seemed more interested in the dirt than her. “It would seem,” she said flatly, moving her eyes back to the guard beside her horse. “But I’ve ridden too long and I should like to eat and rest.”
“Heh, I can believe it. Just standin’ the gate all day does the legs in somethin’ fierce. Right, well, I’ll not bring down the wrath of the Blackwood.” He horked a stupid laugh at that. “On in with you. Plenty of what you’re after in there.” He walked back yawning.
Just after she’d passed she heard him again. “Mighty big horses in Drow lands. Bit odd, innit? Bein’ they’re so small and that.”
The words faded out behind her and the city opened up to her front. It was not a large place, one she’d been a few dozen times, years and years between each visit. It was a reliable enough city. That was the best compliment she could afford it. A boring city near a large lake full of boring elves who lived boring lives. She had never known trouble to come from Ciúinloch, only stupid questions and a sort of absent-minded friendliness that seemed to draw those stupid questions to her in greater numbers. It was, in a way, more bearable than the rural places and the far-flung ones where the questions had their place taken by fear, which was lovely, or open hostility, which often proved less so.
She found an inn. The best looking of the lot and quiet. She liked the idea of quiet for a time. If it suited her, she may even take a few nights. The guard had mentioned a war in the south. She could imagine what had happened. Horsefolk. Ambitious, she’d afford them that much. A porch sat at the front of the inn and her horse looked at the ceiling above and the stairs with what could only be called confusion. It tested the first step with a hoof and pulled back, huffing at the obstacle. Aile watched it from near the door, wondering what it would do. The horse backed up and trotted forward again, jumping with its head low up the steps and then clattering desperately to keep upright as it landed on the creaking wood. The horse looked at her and chuffed happily when it finally regained its footing, deciding just after to walk to the end of the porch. It tore a hanging chair from the roof as though it were not bothered by the thing and turned when it was happy, sitting down calmly and finally lifting its head now that there was room. Aile stared blankly at the creature wondering what was in its mind. It stared back for a brief moment before some movement in the street caught its attention.
The door opened to a lobby with dining to either side of the entryway, a desk straight from the door. The elf at the counter, a woman with brown eyes and tight braids holding plain brown hair to her head, clapped when she saw Aile enter.
“Oh my Sisters be! A Drow, well what a delight!” She came walking over immediately and Aile felt an exhaustion sweep over her. She hesitated to leave as the dining room looked well-appointed and she was unlikely to find a much different reaction elsewhere. “Welcome, welcome. What a special day this is! Oh!” She stopped in front of Aile. “You have no bags?”
“I will retrieve them when I need them.”
“Oh! Well, do you wish for a room? We really are the most lovely inn you’ll find in Ciúinloch. Our deck at the roof even allows a view of the water. Or the forests if you’d prefer. You must just love the woods.”
“I am here for a room, yes. And meals.”
“You’ve come to the best place, then. Just the best place for someone like yourself.” She turned to move back to the counter.
“Like myself?”
“Hm?” The woman looked over her shoulder. “Oh! A discerning customer, of course. I could tell from your attire. It’s so beautiful. All of you…” She held the end of the word and bent it upward into another. “—r leather. It’s just wonderful.”
Aile walked to the counter, unsure if she’d have preferred the hostility.
The woman looked over her board. “Let’s see, one room. Easily done.”
“On the second floor.”
“Oh? Well, of course. Whatever you’d like. We have plenty, what with the war. Might I have your name?”
Aile stared at her quietly, the woman carried on unphased.
“No? Well, how about Tine, then. That will do nicely, I think.”
The name elves called the Goddess. Close enough to her own to make her feel ill at ease. A thing that bothered her more than it ought have.
“It’s two silvers a night. Meals included. You can take them in your room, but I do recommend our lovely dining room.”
Aile pulled a few cubes of gold and tossed them onto the counter. “Extra, for the trouble of their shape.” There was no strangeness in the city, aside from its overly familiar people. An explanation would be more likely expected than in desert slums.
“Oh! Oh, my! Is this Drow coin? Cubes? I’ve never seen the like!” She was practically giddy, rubbing them with her fingers and holding them close to inspect them.
“They are all I have.”
“They will do wonderfully. Just…” She stared at the cubes, her eyes close. She sniffed at them even.
“Just?”
“Oh.” The woman shook her head. “Nothing. They will do fine. Your room.” She grabbed a key attached to a small plank and handed it over. “Up the stairs, either end of the main floor. I will prepare breakfast when you are ready for it.”
Aile found her room. The middle of the second floor. Far from the stairs. She did not enjoy the distance, but there was a roof above the porch that would serve her if need be, far more open than the hallway. She inspected the bed and the rest. The room itself was nice, clean, comfortable. It had a large wash basin which had been filled that morning, most like. It was still cold, though the room was well-heated by open pipes in the wall.
The day passed peacefully enough. She was left alone in her room taking breakfast and dinner there, looking over maps of Abhainnbaile and its Bastion City. There was much open space in the Bastion City, and she still knew very little about this elf woman. It was decided that she would have dinner in the dining room and, as tiresome as it might prove, she would ask after the newfound object of her interest. The bell in the hall rang well after dark, as Aile was grinding ingredients both to clean her blades and prepare them for use among the elves. The paralytic she’d put on so many of her blades was overkill where elves were concerned. Still, a few poisoned tools were necessary. She carefully packed her half-finished work and dressed herself. Downstairs there were only two others in the dining room. A pair of men, clean-shaven with precise haircuts. Oddly uniform. She knew little of the trends of elf religion, but their clothes gave such a feel if their hair had not.
The innkeep woman clapped again when she came down. “Oh delightful! I was worried you might just live up there in your room.” She laughed. Too much and too enthusiastically.
Aile ignored her and took a seat. The woman came with a sheet of paper, a menu written on it in neat letters. Beef or bird. It always was some version of that. Or fish when the water was near enough. Oddly, with such a large lake so close, there was no fish. Perhaps the least odd thing about the room.
“Tonight we have a choice of—”
“I can read it.”
“Oh! Of course, you can.” The woman stood, but did not leave.
“The beef.”
She shifted the paper in her hands, still holding it but now pointed toward the woman. Rather than take it as any sane creature would have, by the edge, the elf closed her two hands on the paper from either side, nearly touching Aile’s hand had she not pulled back at the last moment.
“Right away.”
That was all. The innkeep retreated into the kitchen and stayed there until the food came. The two others more stared at her than glanced. She watched them for a time, but they spoke no words. Not to each other and not to Aile. When the food came, it was placed in front of her. Unassuming, though the steak seemed spiced more than she’d like. The woman did a quick bow and turned to take her leave.
“Wait.”
She stopped, turning slowly to Aile.
“An elf named Socair. Have you heard of her?”
“Oh my! Several, but you must mean the Goddess of Glassruth. The Blackwood has an interest in her, does
it? Oh my, how interesting.”
Aile cut the stewed potatoes with a fork and pushed them through a creamed sauce that covered the beef steak. She put it in her mouth while the woman rambled. There was an odd taste to it, but she had eaten horsefolk trash for long enough that it was worth forgiving.
“She is a Binseman now. No doubt well south, seeing to the horsefolk and the war. Oh she’s very impressive, I hear. I’ve not seen her myself…”
The innkeep carried on as Aile cut a piece from the meat. She put it in her mouth and immediately her nose twitched and her eyes watered. She knew this flavor. A poison. Not one meant to kill, not as she knew it. The woman must have known. She spit it to the plate and stood. The men at the far end of the dining room did as well. Aile’s eyes narrowed.
“Oh my! Is— gah— gah— kkrr—”
Her throat came open easily and Aile ran for the stairs. The men chased her, she knew they would. She shook her head, annoyed to have left such valuable ingredients in such a vulnerable place. There was the roof, still. She pulled open her door to find a wall of yellowed smoke. The smell hit her. Poisoned. She turned to see the men at one side of her. She pulled a throwing knife and flung it, but her arm did not do as she wished, not wholly. The knife landed at the man’s leg and she felt her mind shift toward dizziness. There was nothing for it. Aile drew as deep a breath as she could, even with the smoke filling the hall. She ducked into the room. Below she could hear the screams of men and animal both. Her horse. She grabbed the pack she’d left in the room, though her eyes would not tell her what she saw with any hope of accuracy. She knew where the window was at least and the smoke was clearing. She swung her pack into the glass and the screams of her horse were all the louder. It clattered helplessly below, men shouting at one another to put it down. The horse would pay her a final favor if it kept them distracted enough to flee to some hiding place long enough to grind a purging agent.
One's Own Shadow (The Siúil Book 2) Page 42