No One's Chosen, page 3
"And what of it?" She made no attempt to hide the boredom in her voice. "Has Spéirbaile slid down the mountain and joined the rabble?"
"I…" the Binse member wanted to protest but thought better of it. "No, your Grace."
"Then why do I care what happens in the south?" The underling opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off. "I do not. Now, is there any other business? Business relating to Spéirbaile or its people?"
Her eyes must have looked angry as she scanned the table. No one moved or spoke as her gaze passed over them. "Good. Then we are done with this farce and you lot can go back to busying yourselves bothering people with nothing better to do. You are dismissed."
The gathered members of Rianaire's Binse stood and bowed. She scoffed openly at them as they cleared the room.
"Sisters, if I'd known this was what my mother spent her life doing, I'd have run off with one of the hippocamp hordes."
"I'm not sure they'd have had you, Treorai, with your disposition." Síocháin walked casually into the room carrying a tray with tea and finger foods.
Rianaire couldn't help but laugh at the truth of it. "Ha! A loss they've clearly suffered for."
Síocháin placed a cup and saucer before Rianaire and poured carefully. She did the same for herself at the nearest chair and sat down gracefully.
Rianaire said nothing but took a sip of the tea.
"Seems it's going to be a cold summer. Or so the Oracles keep saying." Síocháin broke the silence before taking a bite of a cucumber sandwich.
"Fat lot of good predictions like that are. Next they'll bless us with the knowledge that the morning comes after the night."
Síocháin sat wordlessly and took a sip of her tea.
Rianaire rolled her head back. "We used to be young, you know? I'd say we were so free back then but that was never true, was it?" She glanced around the room and considered the space for a moment. "I was so terrified of this place."
She motioned a hand over her head at the colonnade. "Mother would stand in front of that damnable window staring out as though she were just waiting for the whole of Spéirbaile to crumble beneath her." She took a long sip of tea and closed her eyes, sighing. "Fear of failure, I suppose."
Síocháin spoke at that. "Not a concern with which you are burdened, I suppose?"
Rianaire threw her arms wide and laughed a sarcastic laugh. "Ha-ha-ha! Need you even ask, my darling Síocháin? All the Great Hedonist of Spéirbaile needs concern herself with is when the next orgy will occur and whether there will be enough drink!" She smiled in spite of herself at the jest.
Síocháin looked at her with a flat expression. Rianaire sighed again, happy and resigned. "There was a time that sort of talk would have had you blushing beet red and covering your face."
"There was a time you'd have come crying to me about how pitiable it was to be born into money and power." Síocháin's retort was matter of fact. She took a calm sip of her tea.
Rianaire laughed and stood, slapping the table. "HA! Good! Now if it please my handmaiden, let us go and pay patronage to the finer drinking establishments of my fair city."
Síocháin stood and gave a florid bow. "By your leave, milady."
They had done as Rianaire desired and now it was morning. Rianaire sat up in the bed surveying the landscape of naked elf flesh that laid out before her. Fat and thin, male and female, all younger than her by half at least. It was a smorgasbord and she had had her fill the night before. Now the problem of how to escape without inciting anything particularly carnal was upon her. As much fun as staying might be and as much as she was prepared to protest the work, it was a providence that must be kept.
With some effort, Rianaire emerged from the room, pulling on a caraco over her frumpled dress. She mussed her shoulder-length blonde hair, eyes closed, smiling pleasedly.
Síocháin interrupted her grooming. "Drink your fill?"
"Do I ever?" Rianaire sounded almost disappointed. "Still," she said, "my people need me and the beds here are simply not sufficient to fit them all."
"I do pity your biographers." Síocháin began walking, Rianaire followed.
Rianaire buttoned her caraco and they made for the stairs and out the front door. "The books will certainly take a turn after the first hundred years. 'She dutifully studied the magics of the Four Sisters, finances, and the histories of the realm… then came the orgies.' Haha, I can only hope." Rianaire laughed lightly.
The streets were full and lively in spite of the briskness of the day. Merchant stalls lined a high street, their shouts underscored by the songs of buskers. Spéirbaile wasn't always so rich with artists and scops and the like. It had, for the bulk of its history, been a city built on the cold, steel bones of tradition and vigilance. A vigilance that had long outlived the raiders her forebears had sought to keep at bay, Rianaire felt. She was fond of reminding her Binsemen that the north was not so wild as it had been. Even the hippocamps had given up on Spéirbaile.
The walk was pleasant. Talk was sparse, but Rianaire had spent so much of her life in temples and Bastion towers that she always relished being out-of-doors. It had always helped clear her mind. Perhaps a relic of her youth when she wasn't availed to the sun and the breeze with any regularity.
"I've decided!" Rianaire declared in a voice loud enough to startle Síocháin, who was lost in thoughts of her own.
"What have you decided now?"
"We'll not return to the Bastion today." Rianaire sounded almost triumphant in her declaration.
Síocháin didn't seem surprised. "The Binse is sure to express their displeasure at having to spend a day without her Grace under close watch."
"Surely the province will plummet into unrest and we'll each suffer untold horrors at the hands of the hippocamps!" Rianaire grabbed Síocháin and dipped her romantically. "But fear not, simple elf! The mighty heroine of Spéirbaile will push them back. They say she is as mighty as a dozen centaur warlords!"
Síocháin's face remained placid. "Do they?"
Rianaire stood up and considered this a moment. "Hm. Surely someone must." She shrugged. "Either way, facts are facts."
Síocháin straightened her dress. "Twelve, was it?"
Rianaire struck another flamboyant pose. "It was! And a modest count, to say the least!"
Síocháin allowed herself the slightest of laughs. Rianaire threw her hands up in victory. "Ha! I have cracked the armor around the heart of the maiden! Surely this means my cause is just."
"The cause of shirking your responsibilities as leader of the north?"
"The very same!" Rianaire was too busy with her theater to rise to the jab. She marched off down the street leaving Síocháin very little choice but to reluctantly follow.
It was a few blocks before Síocháin noticed where Rianaire was leading them. "Rianaire, I'm afraid I really must ask where it is you think we're going?"
"Ah!" Rianaire seemed to have just remembered that they were headed anywhere at all. "There is a fantastic potshop in the Outer Crescent that has piqued my curiosity. So rare that I make it to the outer ring, isn't it?" Going beyond the second of Spéirbaile's three great walls was as exciting now as it was when she was young. Maybe even more so. As a child, she would have surely faced a lashing for being so brazen. Those days were past, she told herself.
Rianaire looked back to judge how Síocháin liked the idea. It was a sour look and subtle, but one that Rianaire well. Síocháin had long since given up trying to convince her to see reason once her mind was set, so on they walked.
It was a half hour of window shopping and refusing gifts before the pair arrived at the inner gates. They were open and the foot traffic was considerable as a result. The Inner Crescent was closed three of every four days in a week. This is as it had always been and the practice had forced grievous battles of attrition onto any enemy fool enough to try taking the city directly. This was likely the reason the strict rules regarding the gates had never been protested.
"I'm beginning to believe you had this planned." Síocháin spoke up as they passed through the gates.
"And I am certain I have no idea what you might mean."
"And you know where this amazing potshop is?"
"More or less," Rianaire sounded anything but confident, she knew. She shrugged and added, "What does it matter?"
"Very little, now. But in an hour's time, I might become cranky. Ought not the savior of Spéirbaile provide for her beautiful ward?"
Rianaire laughed. "Hahaha, spoken like a true maiden."
In spite of all her bravado, Rianaire seemed to have no real idea of where they were headed. She'd wave a hand at any questioning and call it adventure. The adventure took a turn at the sound of a girl's cries for help, however.
Rianaire and Síocháin were approaching a small, muddy intersection in the poorly kept roads of the Outer Crescent when they heard her. "Help! Please, someone!" The voice was urgent. Rianaire made for the intersection with as much speed as she could manage. Her dress was functional at the least, but still not entirely friendly for running. She rounded the corner and looked in the direction of the screams. She saw a waif thin elf with muddy blonde hair running toward her in work clothes.
"The shoat!" she pointed as she yelled.
"Shoat?" Rianaire was confused. She looked down just in time to see a pink-orange blur make its way between her legs. Snagging her dress, it pulled her off balance and she fell into the mud with no hint of grace.
The girl slowed and put her hands over her mouth. She scarcely had time to be concerned over the dress as Rianaire was up and after the shoat in seconds. "Wait!" She called after Rianaire. "Your dress! Please!" Síocháin shook her head as the farm girl ran past in a panic.
Rianaire was dead set on catching the pig. Her shoes weren't entirely useless, but the grip was insufficient. She kicked them off and continued her chase. The pig was fast but it wasn't apt to outsmart her. She hoped not anyway. The bards could be quite unforgiving with that sort of thing.
The shoat had a fair lead on her but seemed to be losing speed. It was no wonder with all the flailing and squealing. How could it have any manner of endurance with such a spastic means of escape? The lead wasn't too great but the road was too wide for Rianaire to manage a sort of capture. She'd have to hope for it to make for an alleyway, something manageable.
Almost as if the pig had heard her thoughts, it bolted for an alley rather than try confront the few elves on the street ahead. Rianaire wasn't far behind, she rounded the corner into the alleyway and saw her target some yards away. It was time to end this.
It took only half a second. Rianaire formed a subtle shape with her hand and stomped the ground. A small stone wall shot up in front of the pig and it clambered to a stop, horrified and squealing.
When Síocháin and the farm girl finally caught up with Rianaire, she was splayed and breathing heavily on top of a stone cube that seemed to form from the ground itself.
"I… I got the bastard." She said, lifting her head for only a second to tell them of her victory.
The farm girl walked toward her. "Your dress! I am so…" Rianaire sat up at the pleading. "I… please, I don't have much but I can-"
Rianaire interrupted the girl. "No, no, no. You shouldn't worry over something like this."
"But surely it must've been expensive."
"It…" Rianaire looked down at the dress and realized she had no idea of the cost. She looked to Síocháin.
Síocháin spoke for the first time since arriving. "It was. Well, relative to this poor girl's worth."
"Oh no," the girl fell to her knees.
"Now Síocháin," Rianaire put a hand on the girl's shoulder, "how often have you chastised me for making fun at the expense of others."
Síocháin shrugged.
"Si…" A wave of realization washed over the girl. "Síocháin? Then… then you…?" She looked up at Rianaire.
Rianaire simply smiled down at the girl.
"Oh Sisters, no. I can't. I… my shoat… the Treorai."
"Hahaha!" Rianaire lifted the girl up and hugged her tightly. "Síocháin, isn't she just precious! Let me keep her!" She turned the horribly confused girl around and squeezed her cheeks. "Please? I'll see that she's fed and everything!"
"It would probably serve best to address the girl before she dies of fright. Or confusion." Síocháin tossed a pair of muddy shoes toward Rianaire.
"My shoes! You absolute darling!" Rianaire turned the girl to face her. "Good morrow, child. I am Rianaire, Treorai of Spéirbaile. Mayhaps you've heard of me."
"I… I have. Please, the dress. Yer dress." The girl seemed to have forgotten entirely about the pig.
Rianaire looked down at the dress again and back up at the girl. "Well, if you so insist that recompense be paid, I suppose I have little choice. I would sup at your farm and eat of the foul shoat that has dirtied my visage!"
"Yes. Yes, as it please ya, Treorai. Anything."
"Hahaha!" Rianaire hugged the farm girl again. She pulled back, still holding the girl's shoulders. "Did you hear, Síocháin? We've been invited to dinner!"
Síocháin raised an eyebrow. "I am sure I remembered 'invited' to mean something altogether different from what just happened."
"Details!" Rianaire proclaimed. "Let us away to the wonderful farm of…" She turned to the farm girl. "I fear I do not know your name."
"Áras."
"To the wonderful farm of Áras and her honorable family!" Rianaire began walking out of the alleyway, pushing Áras along in front of her. She stopped suddenly. "Ah! Almost forgot."
Rianaire lightly pounded the side of her fist on the top of the stone cube, a wall fell away. She grabbed the shoat up under her arm. At first, the animal protested but it soon grew quiet.
It wasn't a particularly long walk to the farm. Small farms for livestock and valuable crops like parsnips and spinach were not uncommon in the Outer Crescent. The safety the outer wall provided was a protection that many sought. Still, space was at a premium and plots of land did not change families. You could either buy them out, which only the most desperate families were willing to do, or hope that the family that owned the plot died out. There would then be an open bid for the plot with restrictions dictating the nature of the business allowed. Áras's family had likely been there for generations. Pig farming was not a profession one happened into and, from the looks of the shoat Rianaire'd been chasing, they were quite good at their trade.
By the time the unlikely group had reached the front door of Áras's home, she had loosened up a bit. Her family had indeed been there for generations. The shoat, Áras explained, had managed to escape while they were mending the main fence. She pointed to it as they approached. The shoat was mischievous, Áras knew, but she hadn't imagined it would cause such trouble. Áras asked Síocháin and Rianaire to wait outside while she explained the situation to her parents.
Rianaire looked around. The plot was small. She doubted it would even hold the brothel she'd visited the night before. The stone was dirty but not disused and there were two doors, one on the front and another that exited the side of the house into the animal enclosure. The enclosure made up the bulk of the property. There was also a window, such as it was. There was no glass, a small eave over it to keep rain out. On the inside of the window hung a green curtain that allowed the family some privacy from prying eyes. "But not ears," Rianaire thought. She could hear the family talking plainly. Áras still hadn't said who exactly was waiting outside. Or that they were waiting outside.
"It's nice," Rianaire remarked to Síocháin.
"It is. Would you live in it?"
Rianaire made a face. "Eh, perhaps? I doubt I'd raise-"
"The Treorai?! Outside?! Fires take you, girl, why would you leave- By the sisters!" Áras's mother had apparently heard who she was to have for dinner guests. She flung upon the door. "Treorai, a thousand, er, pardons… I don't… My daughter, you see…"
Rianaire hugged the rotund elf, the woman's eyes went wide. "Your daughter is splendid! As is your home. Ah!" She pulled back to address her host. "Might I come in?"
"P-please… Oh… oh my." The farmer's plump face was flushed. She made her way over to a wooden chair and sat for maybe half a second before leaping back to her feet. "Goodness, I ought to prepare something. Áras explained everything, we… we're happy t-to…"
"Mother." Áras nodded her head at the kitchen.
"Ah, yes!" The old farmer woman made off for the kitchen.
Rianaire entered and motioned for Síocháin to sit down. She did. "It's a lovely home, Áras." Rianaire looked around at the place with the curiosity of a child. She'd never been in such a humble home. Potshops, sure, but never someone's home. One side of the living quarters held a small-ish bed, the other a loom dresser. Other than that, some family decorations on the wall, a few materials for stitching, and a pair of chairs the room was rather bare. There was a fireplace, at least, Rianaire thought. Though she scarce had any idea how they might live through a winter without one.
"I know it ain't much." Áras said quietly, pride in her voice. "We make due by sweat and blood as is proper."
The door to the kitchen opened and Áras's mother waved them in. The kitchen was cozy but had room enough for a dining table and four chairs. The meal was delicious. A roast suckling pig that wasn't like to make it to size, Áras explained. There was always one or two in the litter that just wouldn't make it. As well they had to keep tight control on the population. There were roast parsnips and carrots besides. They sat around, plates empty, talking as night fell around them.
As if she had just realized who the dinner had been with, Áras's mother suddenly said, "Oh dear, we've just been ramblin' on so. Beggin' yer pardon, Treorai."
"Oh, bah! I have my pardon begged often enough at the Bastion. And my name is Rianaire. There is no Treorai outside of that damnable castle. The Treorai is some far off thing capable only of solemn waves and shits that smell of lavender and honey." Rianaire looked to Síocháin. "Does honey have a smell?"
Síocháin shrugged. "I've never thought to smell it. Still, I can attest you've often bested honey in pungency, if not sweetness of smell."
