No ones chosen, p.4
No One's Chosen, page 4
Áras and her mother gasped. Rianaire laughed and turned to her hosts. "I'll have to apologize for Síocháin. She just has no sense of table manners. Not a refined lady such as myself."
"Would that I had your upbringing, milady." Síocháin spoke as flat as ever. Rianaire burst into laughter, the farmers perplexed at the behavior.
Rianaire wiped a tear from her eye. "Ah, it must be a great disappointment to see us carry on like children. Poor upbringing, you know." Rianaire took a sip of the wine and grunted her pleasure at the taste. She sat the clay goblet on the table with no great care. "Speaking of upbringing, where is the father?"
The mother spoke up right away. "Fever got him this time two years back, Sisters be good."
"The Summer Plague?" Rianaire wiped her mouth and grabbed at a piece of crispy pigskin on Síocháin's plate.
"Aye."
"My condolences. I lost friends in the plague as well."
"The farm was his, truth be told. Well, his family's anyway. He was an only child. Áras as well, not for lack of tryin', mind." She laughed at herself. "He managed to put two others in me. Stillborn, the both. Would suit me to have a man around as to pawn the work off on, but ain't a thing a man can do a woman can't manage. Not on a pig farm anyway. Cold bed's the worst of our problems here. Still, I reckon that makes it Áras's farm, her being his proper heir."
"A grave problem, by my measure." Rianaire offered.
"Haha, aye, you've the right of that, milady."
"Still, the pigs are as healthy as I've ever seen and the taste is unimpeachable. You've done well by your farm." Rianaire reached back over towards Síocháin's plate but this time Síocháin slapped the back of her hand. Rianaire drew her hand back and rubbed it, looking pitiful.
"Áras does the most of the work these days. I've grown old and lazy… and fat. Used to be, I was pretty as you." Rianaire laughed at the jab.
"Mother!" Áras was red with embarrassment at her mother's impropriety.
"Oh Áras, your mother has the right of it I'm sure. Tell it true, when you were young, you had your pick of the men, didn't you?"
"Men and women," the round old woman boasted.
Rianaire looked to Síocháin, raising her eyebrows in delighted surprise. "I've decided!" she shouted.
"Again?" It was impossible to tell how Síocháin might have meant the query to all present, save Rianaire it seemed.
"Again!" Rianaire stood and pointed at Áras's mother. "I like you!" And then to Áras. "And you! Henceforth, unto… Síocháin, how long?"
"Forever?"
"Perfect! Henceforth, unto forever, the Áras Farm of the Outer Crescent shall be the one and only supplier of swine to the Treorai of Spéirbaile!"
The old woman's eyes shot open wide. For the better part of a minute the farmers simply stared between the two highborn elves who occupied their kitchen. "Treorai… I…"
"Stop!" Rianaire snapped. "Now is not the time for words! It is the time to drink to good fortune! For the health and flavor of your pigs!" She grabbed the goblet up and held it aloft.
Áras's mother did the same, timidly. Rianaire slammed her goblet into the other, smashing them both. "To the Sisters!"
The old woman found her words. "Aye! To the Sisters!" Rianaire couldn't help herself, she embraced the old, fat woman. The feel of cold sweat against her cheek told Rianaire all she needed to know.
The night devolved into drinking and revelry. Before the end of it, Áras's mother ended up topless, coaxing Rianaire into comparing their breasts. Rianaire declared her the winner by virtue of volume but insisted on a rematch in the future.
The moons were working their way to the horizon when they finally left, Rianaire with Síocháin leaning against her shoulder. Síocháin was never much for drink, she told the farmers. As Rianaire was leaving, Áras pulled her aside. Her eyes were full with tears. "Treorai," she said. Over and over, "Treorai." Rianaire pulled her close and kissed her on the forehead.
"There is no Treorai here, Áras. She is a far off thing."
And away she went.
Aile
Aile had been sitting in the rafters for the better part of half a day. Waiting was often a part of the job for her, but the smell was another thing entirely. Her mind rarely wandered but she wondered what it must be like for the elf girls the hippocamp horde took when they sacked a city. The rapes were one thing, she figured, but by the Goddess, how could you ever get used to the smell?
Night had fallen some hours ago, it wouldn't be long now. And indeed it wasn't. She'd only just finished what was to be her final check of her supplies when the thudding sound of a large centaur approached the expansive burgundy marquee. She could just make out the harsh tongue of the hippocamps followed by roaring laughter that crescendoed as the flaps parted.
The other voices quickly fell away, retreating into the distance, as he entered the marquee. He was easily the largest centaur she'd ever seen. Warlord Ke'Laak it had said on the papers, hirsute and muscular even by centaur standards. A large, limp cock, wet with blood and semen, swung between his legs as he strode toward the canopied bed in the center of the room, his laughter turning to a yawn. With a lack of grace ill-fitting the grandeur of the thing, he crashed down onto the mattress.
Aile froze, knowing the moment was crucial. His eyes might swing upward and, while she was confident in her shadows, escaping two-thousand enraged hippocamp brutes was not something she was prepared to puzzle out. She was right to freeze, his eyes passed directly over her as he gave the room the night's last look. If he had seen her, his face did not betray surprise or alarm.
It couldn't have been more than ten minutes before the cacophony of snorts and grunts came streaming up from the bed. The warlord must have worn himself out during the festivities.
Aile was not so quick to move. It would be another twenty minutes before she began to slowly make her way to the floor of the marquee. Her feet on solid ground for the first time in hours, she wanted nothing more than to stretch her body out and let the aches in her muscles wind their way to some other place. Hunched and silent as the dead, Aile moved toward the behemoth.
As she neared Ke'Laak, the dagger at her back found its way to her hand. She'd have to be precise. She couldn't afford him flailing around and drawing the guard. Far off as they might be, the patrols were sure to hear the stamping of this massive oaf. Besides, she was smart but not made of steel. The centaur could crush her if she made a wrong move. Still, she knew the anatomy and the poison. It shouldn't take more than a few seconds to paralyze the great savage, even at his size. Or so she hoped. She had to.
She drew back the blade. Just under the foreleg. It was her best shot. Near the heart and a wound that was apt to be overlooked by the dreck that passed for doctors among the hippocamps.
Aile plunged the dagger into the warlord to the quillon. She held her breath. Had it worked? Just as rush of success began to flood over her, the great beast wrenched up from the bed, growling low in pain. He rose violently and his arm caught her under the chin, slamming her teeth together in a jolt of white-hot pain, the edge of her lip caught in between. Aile landed some feet away and scrambled to a defensive crouch as best she could.
Ke'Laak growled at her and postured, flexing his massive human torso. "RAAAH! You dare to—" All at once he seemed to realize he'd been stabbed. Little wonder he didn't notice right away, with the size of him. He plucked the dagger out. His face told the story of his disdain for the size of the weapon and his attacker. "A toothpick," his face seemed to say.
And then it struck him. He turned to his attacker, genuinely noticing the deep, shifting grey of his attacker's skin for the first time. He laughed dismissively. "Hah. A Drow."
Aile's eyes flitted ever so briefly to the flaps of the marquee. Had the guards heard? "What of it?" She reached for a second dagger at her thigh, smaller but just as deadly. She had speed, to be sure. Would it matter?
To her great surprise, however, Ke'Laak sat his massive equine body upon the earthen floor of what had been his home for as long as he could remember. He folded his great arms and in a gruff voice called to Aile. "Give me the truth of it, Drow… am I undone?"
Aile raised an eyebrow, was it a trick? She stood from her crouch, hesitant, dagger at the ready still. "You are."
The great warlord sighed a weary sigh and smiled a sad smile. Time seemed to inch by, Aile had no clue what to do. Her life was in his hands as much as his had been in hers just a moment before. "Hah!" he began after what seemed like forever. "A Drow of all things. I feel your poisons doing their work and I still scarcely believe it."
He groaned a little. Fighting back the poison must have been sheer force of will. And what a will it was. Aile had seen the elixir she'd used fell a bull ox in less than a minute. For the briefest moment, she lost herself in awe at the centaur. His words snapped her into the moment. "The kill is yours and I would honor you."
"Not curse me for a coward?" Aile wasn't used to the idea of honor.
"Ha! Darkling, what do you know of the mighty centaur?" He let out another groan.
She found herself sheathing the dagger. "Very little. You bleed and die just like any other creature. Beyond that, I imagine I'd find the knowledge a waste."
"Then my revenge will be the burden of our custom." The warlord, with great effort, turned his torso and pulled taut one of the dozens of braids that made up his tail. He cut the braid with the dagger and tossed the tool aside. He turned around and laid the thick rope of hair almost gently in the dirt. "There is no shame in the kill, darkling. Only glory. The Battle is everlasting. It does not abate for meat and mead or dreams or even death. Our paths crossed in Battle and I was found wanting."
Aile didn't move from the spot. The braid was in range of the great centaur and she knew it. She looked down to it and back up at him.
He stared into her for longer than she would have liked. A dare to move. Finally he let out a tired laugh. "Haah hah hah. Good, Drow. You… you are smarter—" A hacking cough took him, blood spattered the dirt. "—than your fair-skinned cousins." His torso began to slump, his breathing labored. "What I wouldn't have… urk… have given to take you with me…" His head drooped. He rolled his eyes up to look at Aile. "Tell me, Drow—" The coughing was worse, phlegmy and wetter than before. "What trophy would have coaxed you?"
Aile couldn't help but smile. "You misunderstand, horselord. My trophy was half paid before I entered your disgusting hovel and the other half wasn't hanging from your arse."
At that, she turned and made for the edge of the tent. The Warlord Ke'Laak began to laugh with all he had left. The laughter turned to hacking coughs which turned to silence and the horde slept on, none the wiser.
A short walk from the camp, the Drow had anchored a horse to the sand. She found it quickly and aimed it toward Fásachbaile. The ride would be a long one, and boring. But the air was at least cool enough at night in the far desert. There was little to get in the way of her ride and she made it to the city easily enough. The horse was stabled and she began what was like to be a rather obnoxious walk through the city proper.
Other cities were not so fascinated at the sight of Drow, though her people were rare enough outside of the Blackwood. There was something about the desert that seemed to breed slack-jawed oglers, and that was what Aile saw along the side of the road, gathering in ever greater numbers as she moved toward the inn. It was unlikely that any among her number would be brave enough to so much as approach her. Or so she thought.
A tiny elf girl stumbled out into the street, barely taller than Aile. The girl looked like to shit her pants just from the sight of the Drow. A word was enough to send her fleeing to the alleys beyond and Aile continued on her way. The alehouse where she was to take payment for the centaur smelt of piss though she came to realize it was just the drink. She was not sure that made things better.
She took a room and allowed herself a short nap. She woke just after sundown and took up a place at the tables of the first floor. She was not there long before a tiny elf in a cloak pretending not to be the girl from earlier in the day came in. Aile heaved a sigh as the foolish child made her way up the stairs. Her time was precious and so she sent the girl away with some strong words. There was no money in her blood and it would complicate her current work.
Aile again descended the stairs from the second floor of the alehouse. As if the gawking of the day weren't enough, now she had some foolish little girl following her around and attempting to rummage through her things. Aile hadn't taken her for an enemy outright. If she had been one then at the very least the child spy failed in whatever it was her task had been. No point killing her when there was no gain in it.
Arriving at the main floor landing she glanced around, finding her table still and drink unmolested by the sweat mob of the tavern. The untold benefits of being a living marvel in a land full of morons, she supposed. Still, the once over of the crowd revealed that her employer had still not made rendezvous and she was becoming annoyed. It wasn't the atmosphere of the bar that bothered her. The humid air hung thick in the place and with the heat from this Goddess forsaken desert city, it actually reminded her of the swamps of the Blackwood. It wasn't exactly comforting to be reminded of home, but still it gave her a comfort she'd never be like to admit to anyone.
The Drow made her way to the small table she had occupied before being drawn upstairs and sat down. A few stared, they always did. A few watched her, unblinking as though she might cast some darkling spell over them and steal their souls or cocks or who knows what. "Over sized sots." she muttered to herself. Still, the stairs were not worth ignoring. She poured the remnants of her drink out on the floor and threw a hand up that the tavern wench might bring a new drink.
She had paid enough in gold and promised enough in threats that she trusted they would not attempt anything untoward. She would have been less convinced of this except when she mentioned the name of her employer, their eyes widened. She figured him for a man of some import based on the price he laid on the head of the Warlord she'd felled, but now there was to be no doubt.
The wench brought Aile another glass of the piss-colored water that passed for drink in the south. She was never much one for ale over wine, herself, but Goddess, there had to be some measure of pride, surely. She took a drink, frowning, as a thin, old elf sat down in front of her.
"It's unbearable what southron elves allow to be served as drink." His voice was nasal and tight. Well enunciated, the voice of a highborn no doubt.
"I find myself in agreement with you on that, elf." She took another drink from the overused wooden mug and spoke. "My work is done. I would be paid what I am owed."
The noise of the place was such that she did not concern herself with low voices or mixed words. None would notice them save those that were apt to stare as it was.
"Before I pay, I should like to discuss—"
The look she gave was cold and filled with malice. "Nothing comes before pay. The work is done. I would be paid."
The old elf sat for a second, considering. Aile only kept her gaze fixed on him, a hand on the dirk at her thigh. Finally, he spoke. "Fine. Then might we adjourn to more private quarters."
The Drow shook her head wordlessly. She saw the shoulders of the elf slump in resignation. "Fine. Have it your way, darkling." The old man pulled a bag from his cloak and placed it gently on her side of the table. The bag slumped as the coins shifted into place. "There. You are paid. Now can we please adjourn. Ignoring the private nature of this business, the smell here is like to be the undoing of me."
Aile lifted the bag and considered its heft. Finding the weight acceptable, she stood and made for the stairs, the highborn dragging behind.
Once again she was ascending the stairs of the alehouse. She wondered at the odds of elf blood staining the floor of her accommodations before the end of the night. Certainly she'd now had two more visitors than she expected and she almost trusted the child more than the cloaked figure she was now leading to tighter fighting conditions than she'd enjoy. Wiry as the old elf was, he had a foot on her at the least.
She opened the door to the room, insisting her guest head in first. He gave no complaint at the suggestion which was a positive sign at the least. Inside, the old elf made his way to a chair near the window, Aile took the chair she had used earlier in the night.
"I have need of your continued services, darkling, but the work is neither set nor singular."
"Speak plainly, elf, there is no profit in hearing how this work differs from the other."
The highborn man looked out the window. "There is a certain… how shall I say it? A very important woman."
Her once and possibly future employer paused there as if inviting her to ask for names. That was not her way. Aile waited. Often the silence would draw out the words just as well. Elves wanted their words to be chased after, she'd found. And when one did not follow closely enough, they would gladly play the part.
"A northern noble." He continued. "She has become a problem for me, but I do not wish her killed. Not by your hand, anyway. I wish to give her a second shadow. One which is capable of whispering in my ear and, perhaps, arranging for solutions to problems she might create."
Aile had been watching the old man closely. Not once since sitting had he taken his eyes from the window, as if looking at her put him ill at ease. She did not trust the highborn, but work was work and the gold was real enough.
"How do you intend to structure payment, elf?"
"Ah, yes." He looked to his lap briefly in thought and then back to the window. "You would be given a salary, paid weekly, as well as a stipend for equipment and expenses."
"And the cost of your… solutions?"
"Paid over and above the salary at the rate in line with the work you have just completed."
The cost would be considerable, she thought. "Few have endowments as to allow for such an expense."
