No One's Chosen (50 page)

"South," Rianaire said, reaching out and grabbing
Síocháin's hand. "But not to a cabin."

Taise licked her lips and looked at Síocháin. "Then I
must insist we be on the move." She held the flap aloft.

Rianaire climbed into the wagon where she had been.
Síocháin joined her and the flap was closed and tied tight. As the
wagon swayed and they began to move, Rianaire tore a piece of cloth
from her dress and put it over the slit she had been looking out.
The wagon grew entirely dark, then, save for the tiniest dots of
light between the cargo that lined their unimpressive carriage.

The want to scream was still boiling inside her but
she could not. Especially not now. She clenched her fists instead.
Síocháin said nothing and Rianaire wished she could see her
handmaid. Even just for a moment. A moment passed, slowly enough,
but it passed, and Rianaire felt a hand slide down her arm. She
opened her hand and Síocháin's fingers entwined with her own.
Rianaire turned to her side to face the direction she knew Síocháin
was in. Rianaire could not see but she felt the heat of her
friend's face. She pulled her hand free of Síocháin's and brought
it up to the handmaid's face. It was wet and hot.

"I must be what you need." Síocháin's voice was flat
and quiet. It was always flat but the words ripped at Rianaire's
heart.

The Treorai did not offer any reply, she only pulled
her love close and pushed her lips to Síocháin's. Síocháin put her
arms around Rianaire and squeezed as tightly as she ever had.

Síocháin pulled back. "Can you trust the girl?" she
whispered.

"I can," Rianaire said with certainty. "I do not know
what she is, but she is ours truly enough."

Síocháin said nothing but Rianaire could hear her
breathing. The handmaid buried her face in Rianaire's breasts and
squeezed. Rianaire placed a hand on the back of her head and they
lay like that until the wagon began to slow.

The hoof beats of the horse slowed and the elves
pulled away from one another, resuming their pose on the flats of
their bellies. The horse slowed to a stop and the world grew silent
for a moment.

"Ah, Álainn! I've missed you. Been near half a
season." The voice was a man's. A guard, Rianaire assumed.

"Aye, ya know I've missed ya, but there's been no
work to bring me this way." The voice came from where Taise had
sat, but it was not her own. Rianaire did her best to turn silently
in the wagon.

"What're you carrying?" The voice was nearer the
wagon now.

"Crate load o' paintings. Sendin' south for some
highborn or other."

Rianaire had turned herself around and neared the
front end of the wagon. The sounds of the smaller doors on the
outer gates could be heard. But it was not sounds that interested
Rianaire. She wedged her fingers in between the wagon and the
canvas covering and pulled them apart. She brought her eye near the
hole. She could not see much but she could see the driver. It was a
black-haired woman, a head taller than Taise had been but sitting
in her place and wearing the same cloak. Rianaire pulled back from
the edge slowly.

"Would that I had enough coin to be bothered about
pretty pictures. On your way, then. Keep careful out there."

"Aye, I shall. And tell your woman I love her." The
woman laughed in her rural accent and the wagon swung into
motion.

The man laughed and made some jape or other but
Rianaire had been too busy righting herself to hear. Once they had
cleared the gate it shut behind and the horse towing the cart broke
into a gallop. Rianaire tried desperately to right herself and
though the way was smooth enough, the sway of the wagon and the
tightly bound roof proved to be able in keeping her down. She
wished for a dagger or even a dinner knife and cursed at herself
for not having insisted upon one before leaving. She was never so
confident in the use of the Fire and she did not wish to immolate
herself by way of an escape. Her magics would be better used when
they had stopped.

Another minute's hard riding passed them by and the
horse started to slow, bringing the sway of the wagon down to
something more manageable. Rianaire could feel the horse angle for
the side of the road. It came to a stop there, or she hoped it was
the side of the road. And empty one if she had her way. A torch was
lit and specks of pale orange light dotted the inside of the wagon.
Feet landed on the road side of the wagon and made for the back.
Rianaire crouched as best she could and readied herself in front of
Síocháin.

The quick zip of canvas untying sang in her ears and
she stood up all at once, bringing a gust of air with her. Rianaire
froze. Standing on the road beside the wagon was the red-haired
girl, smiling as she always did.

"I apologize if I have alarmed you," Taise bowed her
head slightly but seemed otherwise unperturbed.

Síocháin stood in the wagon as Rianaire leapt down
from it, looking up and down the road and under the wagon and to
the edge of the wood beside them.

"Where is she? The black-haired woman." Rianaire's
voice was quick and suspicious. Síocháin got down from the wagon
beside her and stood watching.

"She is here," Taise's face was her own but her hair
shimmered between red and black and her voice was the one Rianaire
had heard at the gate. A soft breeze fell across Rianaire.

"What magic is this?" Rianaire narrowed her eyes and
the short, girlish elf. "Spéir's Gift?"

"You are wise to see it, Treorai." The girl's smile
brightened. "Many have called it witchcraft, those that do not
appreciate the true breadth of the Sister's Gifts."

"Then the face you have shown me is not your own. A
pair to your shifting name."

"It is."

"I would offer a trade," Rianaire said plainly.

"I would hear it graciously, Treorai." Taise's smile
was as it had ever been.

"Your true name. And your true face."

"And in return?"

"A place at my side for so long as either of us live,
if you value it. I realize it may be of little use as I am now and
that my life may not span so long as I'd like. But it is what I
have. And it is my own selfish desire to have you there."

The small elf's smile faded for the first time. "You
know nothing of me, Treorai."

"I knew nothing of Síocháin when I stole her from her
father's keep as a girl, but the feel was there. That is the thing
that matters. And I should like if you called me Rianaire. It is my
name, after all."

Taise looked at the ground a moment. "The name
first?"

"However you would like." Rianaire suppressed a
gleeful smile.

"Inney."

Rianaire turned her head. "A Drow name."

"My father was of the Blackwood." She said the words
slowly and quietly, as if waiting for a rebuke or insult. When it
did not come, Inney spoke. "My true face, then, if you still wish
it."

Rianaire smiled sincerely. "I do."

The pale skin began to fade and dissipate. Below the
shocking green, her eyes turned black and where there had been
white flesh there was a milky grey. It did not shimmer the way a
true Drow might in the light of the Eyes. Rianaire stepped closer
and Inney took in a sharp breath and closed her eyes.

Rianaire laid her hand lightly on the girl's cheek
and brushed a thumb over. She could not see it in the night, but
there was a scar, deep and wide, across the tiny face. The shape
was the same as it had been when the skin was pale save for a
poorly healed split where the scar met her lips. She pulled her
hand back and Inney opened her eyes.

"Is this enough?" Inney said. Her voice trembled.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"You do not," she said. "But I… I am not used to
being seen."

"You may do as you wish. Though, you are among the
most beautiful things I have ever laid eyes on and the mask is a
pity."

Síocháin stepped to Rianaire's side. "She has the
right of it. You are gorgeous."

Inney bit her lip. "I thank you. Both. I look forward
to our time together. I have long admired you, Rianaire." The pale
veneer slid back over the girl and her eyes returned to their
brilliant green. "If it is acceptable, I would prefer my true face
belong to you."

Rianaire laughed lightly. "I've been given a
troublesome gift, Síocháin."

"I am pleased to have it in your stead." Síocháin
grabbed the half-breed girl and held her close.

Rianaire felt suddenly refreshed. "Good. This is how
things ought to be." She made for the front of the wagon.

"She is more impetuous than I expected." Inney's
voice was strong again behind the mask, with no hint of a
tremor.

Síocháin parted from the girl and moved toward their
ride. "She is."

"We have been here too long." Rianaire called
impatiently from the seat of the wagon. "Let us go. I've just had
the loveliest vision of Spárálaí bleeding onto the floor of the
Bastion great hall and I mean to make it real."

The skin on her arm had not yet grown back, though
the meat had more or less stitched itself. There was a large scab
across the meat just blow her shoulder. It was tight and tended to
tear open if she moved too vigorously or quickly. A few more days
and the skin would begin to close around and remove the wound
entirely, though there was like to be weakness there for a while.
Her leg had fared better, at least visibly. The calf muscle still
complained regularly as she walked, but she could make distance
with little trouble and there was barely an outward sign of the
wound.

She had been forced to stick to the wood and it had
slowed her progress considerably. Sleeping in her leathers against
a tree did little to abate Aile's growing exhaustion. A thorough
examination of her pockets showed that a few of her gold pieces had
remained unfound. The others taken by the woodcutter, she imagined.
There were few other places they might've gone. And why not? He'd
provided her room and board. Had she not needed to leave so
quickly, she would likely have helped herself to whatever goods she
could muster. Torn and stained leathers were not like to give off
the aura of danger that would grant her reprieve from the
blathering of idiots. And without her blades, the Fire would have
to suffice.

It was day now and the heat was creeping in. There
was a wetness to the air that meant she was sweating again in the
leathers. She could smell herself and it was unpleasant. She wished
for a bath and a bed and a day's rest but she could not guess as to
when she would be allowed them. Earlier in the day she had found a
tripped bear trap sticking out of a poorly piled bunch of leaves.
If there had been meat on the thing, it had been stolen away by a
smaller creature. She carried it with her now. If she was to spend
another night in the woods, it may afford her some small piece of
mind. A set of three would have been ideal, but the prospect of
carrying thirty pounds of steel any distance made the idea more of
an idle dream than anything.

The hours passed by in a slow trudge of trees and
grass and dirt. There was nothing worth seeing in the deep of the
wood. She had chanced upon a swift moving stream and spent the best
part of ten minutes sucking down water. There had been a small road
branching north from the main road as well. Scurrying across it had
been a minor annoyance, and she was not sure whether she preferred
that or the dull walk. If there were animals, they kept at a
distance. Every hour or so, she would angle toward the main road to
ensure she had not turned herself around in the forest. The road
had not offered much in the way of a distraction and Aile was too
cautious to imagine she could walk it openly. Each time she checked
the road, there was little to see.

She had started her walk before dawn had fully sprung
and the sun now set on the far side of the sky. Her muscles still
had strength left and she resolved not to stop until they had given
out. The light was fleeting when the trees thinned and gave way to
a small clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a small tent
with a cook fire out front and a horse tied a stake in the ground
well away from the lot of it. The horse was not particularly well
bred looking but it would serve its purpose well enough.

The Drow put herself in behind a tree instinctively
and laid the bear trap on the ground quietly. Her mind turned over
the situation. Camps were common enough and certainly furriers paid
well for the skins of bears and wolves from the area. Though the
three after her were journeymen killers to say the least. She could
not be sure if they had been sent for her or if the call were put
out to any who cared to claim her. A high price would see every inn
and horse tie watched until the bounty was claimed, she knew that
well enough to have avoided towns since leaving the woodcutter's
behind. But which was this? She needed the horse, true enough, but
there was no profit in the kill if the elf did not mean to kill
her. The past weeks had left her weary of killing without good
cause. She was short of gold and short of strength.

The hours absolutely crept. Aile was hungry and
exhausted. The exhaustion was more mental than physical. The pain
had kept her from truly being able to settle into any sort of
rhythm for fear of cramping. It did not hinder her speed but she
was forced to be mindful of her gait every so often. The Drow
leaned her head against the tree and let her muscles rest for the
first time in hours.

She kept a close watch on the camp across the hours
and she caught a few glimpses of the tent's owner in that time. He
was a slender elf and ragged looking from head to toe. He wore
cheap clothes and the stubble on his chin seemed to want to will
itself into a patchy beard. He wore a bow at all times when he
moved from the tent to the fire to keep it set.