v
Óraithe
Borr burst into the alehouse, frantic. Óraithe heard his shouting before she bothered looking up from her meal to see him.
“Mistresses! Come! They are at the Palisades!”
Scaa seemed more annoyed at the noise than concerned with his words. “Who? Has it fallen or something? Why are you shouting?”
Borr came to the table across from Óraithe, bent over trying to catch his breath. “They are issuing a proclamation. Every hour. The first has just been issued.”
Óraithe took another bite of her food. “So we will be there in an hour.”
Borr seemed antsy still, unhappy with their response. If the fault were with anyone in that, it would have been his own for failing to express what was so dire that she should go and watch guards stand in a line until one of them decided to repeat some of Briste’s madness.
“They mean to turn us against one another.” He looked back at the door nervously. “Please…”
He had not been given to exaggeration. Óraithe looked at Scaa who shrugged. The both of them stood and came around, gesturing that Borr lead the way. He seemed to be careful to mention time and again that they should not approach the square directly. A strange thing with the time they’d spent in it yesterday.
Her mind poured over the news that the morning had brought with it. Trouble enough with the reports and more trouble with this proclamation. Oiread had been the one to deliver the first. Strange for him to be away from his mixtures long enough to find out anything other than that he was hungry but he told the story plainly enough. He had taken Cook with him to see to the storehouse of a friend in the eastern part of the city. There was meat there, and spices and herbs. Kept to be dried and used through Bais for the Low District’s food, at least a part of it. Oiread said he knew of a half dozen others and Callaire confirmed as much. They’d take three of them as it was, but two held only minimal stocks. With their numbers still small, it would be enough, but Oiread thought winning his friend to their cause would be of some use and Cook had wanted the time away.
Their mission saw its wheels flung free of the axles when they came to the warehouse itself. It was guarded. Not lightly and not by any lot wearing Briste’s colors. Cook was livid, complaining about the ingredients he’d not get to use. The rest heard the story with other concerns. Oiread was too old to approach them, so he waited and listened and soon enough they mentioned a name.
Raic. He did not know it, neither did the rest. Except for Eilit. She had known the elf’s mother. He was a sadistic little child, abandoned to the streets when the woman could no longer control him. He had formed a gang, one of the few who managed to keep themselves within the city walls. There was no way to know what their goals were, but Óraithe could assume as much from the sound of things. They meant to have the Low District as she did. And with the bulk of Briste’s guard seen to by her own people, he had suddenly grown ambitious. Eilit knew nothing of the gang itself, only that it existed. She had lived to the east and Raic drifted westward when his mother abandoned him. The lack of information on him troubled her. They would need numbers, sure, and all the rest they could get. But there was risk in it. Oiread had seen the men at the warehouse armed. Not well, only with knives and the like, but that may not be a situation they could hope remained as it was.
Scaa sighed, bringing her mind back to the present. Dusty streets and dry Bais winds.
“We’ll need to organize soon. Make a guard of our own, take volunteers, set watches, send scouts farther afield, all the rest.”
She’d taken the thoughts from Óraithe’s mind. It was a burdensome chore and their numbers grew with each passing day. She wondered if Raic’s gang didn’t do the same. In all his descriptions, Oiread had not called the men at the warehouse savory looking or genial.
“It was something we’d have done sooner or later. To speak the truth of it, I’d hoped we would have more time. Perhaps it’s for the best. Best no one gets…” Óraithe looked down alleys as they passed. She could just see the square. Her speech slowed as she saw them. Arrows stuck in the ground. Not in large numbers, but enough to be seen down an alley. “… comfortable. Borr.” Her voice took on some of the concern that had been in his. “Why are there arrows in the square?”
He did not look back, but rather to the sides, nervously. “They sent a volley before the proclamation. Two volleys. Killed one, wounded four others.”
“And you thought to tell me that Briste had written me a nasty letter instead?”
His voice was shaky. In truth, it was the first he had seen of any real violence. “I… you are right Tre— Mistress. You are… I am sorry.”
This was not an acceptable way to find things. One of the most trusted among her group was so easily frightened by the small show of force. How many others shared his cowardice? There was value in skills, but if the people saw some shivering coward beside her, how could she convince them to walk with her past the Palisade? No, no, no. This was untenable. She stopped Borr and turned him, bringing a quick, firm slap across his face.
“Look at me. My eyes. Now.” He did as she commanded. “You will be strong, do you understand me? An arrow is a blessing. If you wish to fear something, fear that they capture you still breathing. And think it every time you see them. Yes?”
Borr nodded through the whole of what she said and seemed to straighten himself when she was done. “Yes. I…” He shook his head. “I understand.”
“Good. You are valuable, Borr. The people look to you. You cannot show them such a face.”
His face straightened and he turned. “Thank you, Mistress. We should continue on.”
The streets were lined with barricades. Most were in the middle of construction, many showing recent additions to their height and angle. No doubt an adjustment brought on by the morning’s arrows.
Callaire was among them, barking orders to any near enough with a hammer and answering questions from elves who came to him, most holding papers. He spotted them as they approached, handing a paper back to its owner and sending the elf away.
“Mistresses.” He bowed deeply and gave a quick nod to Borr. “Borr.” He turned his attention to the work at his sides. “We’ve been at them a few days now. The bastards’d been quiet so we’d not bother rushing through the work. More fool us.” He shrugged. “I’m no carpenter. Got the plans from one. He’s over…” Callaire motioned off to the east vaguely. “… you know. Doesn’t matter. Expect we’ll be done come afternoon two days on. It’ll allow us safe passage along our watch posts for what we hold along the Palisade. Not sure how you want to handle the west…”
Óraithe looked around. “Raic?” Callaire nodded. “Best not to give him free bodies or fortifications until we know what his game is.”
“I thought the same.”
“What about our wounded? And the death?”
“Mm, not so bad overall, considering the number of arrows. Hit morale sure as shit stinks. The dead was a young girl. A potter. Lit a fire in the builders when they heard the news. The rest’ll be fine.”
Óraithe looked over the fortifications as Callaire detailed where they were placed and what else needed to be done. They were doors, mostly. Some tables. Hitched together with whatever was handy. The lumber had all been claimed from houses, nearly all of it that she could see used for the structural pieces. They were ragged but sturdy, too heavy to be moved and uncaring of arrows.
She met with the builders, thanking each of them individually. Several called her Treorai, only to be chided for it by the ones who knew not to. There was no meaning in the title. She doubted if there ever would be. Even if Briste were pulled from her cave, the city was not likely to know order as it had. She did not care for order anymore. Raic… he was a nebulous thing but the thought of him excited her. She wished for him to try to stand in her way that she might kill him and every single elf behind him
who thought to gain from her work.
The proclamation began with the sounding of loud bells. They were not the far off alarms of the first day. They had brought smaller ones close to the Palisade. A subtle way of saying that those bells rang for the elves of the Low District. They warned the highborn of nothing.
“Hear ye, hear ye. It is written as follows, by command and decree of Briste, the due and only Treorai of Fásachbaile.” The crier pulled a deep breath and continued his little speech. “Being that Óraithe the Treasonous is a cancer upon the fine name and image of this fair city, it is so ordered that she be remanded unto the City Guard in ready fashion that she might face punishment for her crimes against the right and just Treorai of this land.”
Eyes fell upon her as the reading went on. Nervous eyes, fearful ones. She stood behind a wall of wood as iron words commanded her arrest. The word of Raic must be known among them as well. She began to walk, Scaa calling after her and then following.
“Those who consort with the accused will meet her justice as well, unless she is given over before night of the second day hence from this proclamation. You will know clemency. You will have benefit of the whole of Briste’s kindness. You… are…”
The words faded as he saw her. Óraithe pulled the leathers from her feet as she came to the end of the barricades and walked in the dead still air of the square’s north end. She turned to face a wall of Briste’s men staring at her. The feel of hundreds of shifting feet on the dirt nearly overwhelmed her mind but she forced them into order. Murmurs came from her sides and she could feel Scaa’s nervous eyes begging her to return. She would speak loudly so that all could hear.
“Speak plain. You wish my people to betray me to the woman who sits in the Bastion sipping wine and cursing the lowborn. Well, here I am.”
Five soldiers looked behind and the crier waved them forward. A perfect number. She felt them move. The crier had begun to say something but she did not listen to the words. They were close enough now. A valley of needles shot up from the ground, piercing the legs of the guards, and disappeared in the next instant. The middle guard would serve for the potter girl. A shard, jagged and awful pulled up from the ground, tearing through the man’s chest and out the back. He slumped, screaming, but only for a moment. The other four writhed beside the monument she had made of the fifth. A pair screamed, the others breathed and groaned, hoping, perhaps, not to be noticed where they lay on the ground. None of their brothers in arms came to pull them away.
“I will make the same offer.” She yelled the words now, so that as many would hear as she could hope to reach. “Any guards who bring me Briste, alive and screaming, will know mercy.”
A roar came from behind the shoddy barricades beside her, becoming a rhythmic war chant. They had heard her.
Óraithe turned her back to the guards and a second later the war chants turned to panicked shouts. “Arrow, arrow!”
Before she could even turn to see the thing, a finger of rock shot up from the ground. The helpless sound of metal against rock came to her ears and the rock fell away. Her eyes were fierce as they scanned the faces of the guards, but her heart raced. She had not commanded the rock, not with any part of her mind.
She walked back to where Scaa waited and they grabbed her, fussing over her and rushing her away. She was taken to a nearby tavern and sat at a table. Scaa laid into her immediately.
“What manner of stupid… muleheaded… You could have died! Where would we be if you had taken that arrow? Where would I be?”
The words flew by, only half heard. Borr and Callaire were frantically arranging for her to be taken from the tavern, back to where she and Scaa slept.
Scaa, for her part, was still screaming at her for what she had done. Óraithe looked down at her hands.
“I did not call for the stone.”
Scaa stopped. “You…”
“It came of its own accord. I did… I did not use any Gift.”
“What do you mean? What are you saying?”
“I do not know…”
A man came in frantic, a patch over his eye. One of those who had helped her take the gates. He was meant to be along them. He talked to Borr, scared as she never imagined so hard a man could be.
They left from the tavern, but did not make for their home. They moved due east, toward the wall. Óraithe felt the earth at her feet. It felt different. Nearer. She was so lost in the feeling that she had not thought to ask why they went for the wall now. Even as she climbed, she felt detached from the world. Lost in the feel of the stone around her.
“You’ll see it,” the one-eyed elf grumbled. “You’ll wish you hadn’t.”
Borr came to the top ahead of them and fell immediately to his knees. Óraithe and Scaa both looked at him in confusion as they came to the top of the wall. Scaa had looked first.
“No… no…”
Óraithe turned her eyes away from the city. In the high sun and the cold wind, she looked out to see the worst stood tall, looking her dead in the eyes.
“How many?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
The words were true enough. Hippocamps. Thousands and thousands. No matter where her eyes fell, they stood there, unmoving at the horizon. Óraithe put her hand in Scaa’s and entwined their fingers.
“What will we do?” Scaa’s voice shook as her hand did.
Óraithe could only offer the truth.
“I do not know.”
R
Rianaire
For once in so long there was energy in the Bastion. Servants and cooks and others moved with purpose to see to the preparations for the celebration of Gadaí’s new position. Eala had taken the news well, to Rianaire’s surprise. She had even called it a good idea. It seemed to encourage the girl. There was grit in her which gave Rianaire hope for the future of all of them. Even to her, having a satyr in her Binse was a feeling she was not entirely comfortable with. Her life had not been touched meaningfully by the Eternal War, but she still understood what had been done by the horsefolk well enough. The questions all nagged at her through the day. What was the meaning if a soul could not part with their upbringing or with their base nature? She knew well that two eyes could look upon the same idea and see two different meanings. As much as she thought over it, Rianaire could not help but feel that her eyes were the clearest. She worried that may be ego, though only because Síocháin still protested against speaking with her.
The evening was close and Rianaire was seeing to her dress in her room with help from Inney. The door behind opened with no knock. It was Síocháin. There was nothing to do but stare blankly for the first moment. She did not enter straight away and Rianaire was dumbfounded to see her. It was strange. Síocháin’s fits did not end this way.
“Síocháin… why have you come?”
She stood with her perfect poise and her impassive face. “You were not wrong. I will say no more than that.” She walked in and made for the dressing room, likely to fetch something to wear.
Rianaire followed her, spilling out of her unbuttoned dress as she walked. “You are dressing? For the feast?”
“What else would I be dressing for? It would be strange if I were not there. Unless you do not want me?”
“I want you.” Rianaire smiled. “Always. I’d missed you.”
Síocháin said nothing. Likely it was best not to push her luck, Rianaire thought. She could not remember Síocháin admitting a loss in such an argument, not even back to their young days. She was stubborn to a fault, even hidden beneath that stone exterior.
Rianaire went back to dressing, Inney putting the buttons together up her back. The dress was a luxurious silvery affair with deep purple designs across it. She had intentionally kept the banquet somewhat small. Only a few dozen of the most prominent business owners among the Bastion City. Mion would be there, as well as her new Binse and Eala. She k
new the situation would be a delicate one. Word had spread well enough as it was and she’d received letters begging concerned questions all day. This event was to be an introduction to Gadaí. The rumors were what they were, but she would need them to be quelled by showing the satyr, not keeping her secreted away behind walls and guards and the like. That was not the way forward, the alehouse had told her as much.
She had dressed and Inney had done the same before seeing to Síocháin. Her stoic love wore pale blue. It was a favorite of Rianaire’s. She looked so beautiful in it, her skin almost grey against the color.
Inney wore a cloak as always, ornate and marked with dark greys and deep blues. It was heavy leather, lined with light plate at the inside. She wore similar ones any time she went out, though they were rarely so intricately designed. Likely she’d ordered it made to keep from hearing Rianaire complain that she would stand out at events.
The hours slipped away lazily until they were called for the pre-banquet pleasantries. They went to the hall, finding Gadaí waiting outside.
“You did not wish to make your own introduction?” Rianaire joked, thinking what a delight it would have been to see her do just that.
“To have the guards forget who I am amid all the screaming? I prefer a silent wait.”
Rianaire chuckled. “Very good then. Shall we go and have you meet the people you’ve sworn to protect?”
Gadaí nodded and Rianaire ordered the large doors opened. All heads turned to them as they came into the room. They were announced to the guests to the sound of silence and only a pair of gasps.
“I will not be flippant in this,” Rianaire said to them, eyes shifting from her to Gadaí at her side. “You know what I have done for this land and where it sits in my heart. I ask that you remember those things as I speak to you now. Gadaí has proven herself an ally, a fierce one. Killing her own that we might live. Eala, my chosen Binse of War, is not prepared and we want for the time to see her to such a state. In her place, until she is ready, I will have Gadaí serve as my Binse of War. If she fails in her task in the slightest, I’d ask that you come for my head and see it gladly offered up from my shoulders.” She huffed out an exhausted sigh. “Now, someone bring me wine.”
One's Own Shadow (The Siúil Book 2) Page 51