No One's Chosen (68 page)

Gadaí nodded and rode away, screeching orders in her
heavy accent. A dozen and more of her raiders joined to her side
and they rode at the gate through which they had just passed. Inney
rode off toward the east with Síocháin in tow. There was little
left to do but see to Spárálaí. The old bastard had no doubt
planted himself within the Bastion. Where else would he bother to
go? A man who knew better than the Treorai how to run the
province.

She put her heels hard into the horse she had ridden
from Daingean. It was a strong horse and had served her well. It
did not balk at the ring of steel or the smell of blood. And now it
rode toward the Bastion with single minded purpose. She could see
the building ahead. The gates had even been left open. Whether it
was a telling symbol of Spárálaí's confidence or the doing of those
fleeing the Bastion, she could not say. It mattered little. Her
prize was ahead of her, not far now.

A shadow darted out from the shadows and stopped in
front of Rianaire's horse. The destrier did not pull up and
Rianaire had not ordered it to. She saw the colors of her Binseman
of Defense. Another of Armire's toys. They did not stop or rear as
the attacker had hoped. The feel of the horse's step went from the
firm clack of stone to the soft feel of meat and bone. The leather
armor had provided little to save the elf. Perhaps she had even
known it would be the end of her, but Armire's girl had done her
part. The blade caught the underside of the horse and shortened its
gait just enough to send the mount's back legs into the crushed
body. The horse jerked to try to remain standing but only succeeded
in throwing Rianaire clear. She could have called it a blessing as
the horse fell to the ground and rolled just after she was thrown.
She may have even, had she not landed so squarely on her back.

She could feel something in her chest break and the
wind leave her body. The world spun a hazy mix of colors as
Rianaire gasped for air. The plating in the back of her ornate
battle dress had made the fall all the harder and the awkward arch
of her back when she landed had snapped at least one bone in her
side. The pain rolled through her in a great wave as she turned to
her stomach, gasping. She looked up and down the street. There was
no one but the mangled corpse of the elf and a trail of blood off
in the direction the horse had run.

Rianaire concentrated as best she could on drawing
breath. She willed air in to her lungs and out again, slowly
expanding them. When they finally began to listen to her well
enough, she pulled in a big breath and her lung spasmed, dragging a
ragged cough from her. It had been dry but there was a taste of
iron in her mouth. She forced eyes to focus on the ground below her
to see if there had been blood among the cough, but there was no
spot of red on her hands or the stones beneath.

It felt as though it took an hour to rise to her
feet. The sounds of fighting had not grown closer. Spárálaí had
placed his hopes on the natural choke at the Inner Crescent's
walls. He would fail, she knew. He failed the moment she left her
camp that morning to walk in the forest. She forced one foot ahead
of the other, pointing herself at the Bastion once again. A pool of
blood had formed under the ruined meat of Armire's helper. Rianaire
scoffed at the corpse and moved on. Her body slowly put its
complaints away and she walked with great purpose toward the
Bastion gate. There was no one along the wall and she could not
hear a sound from the yard ahead.

The Treorai stared straight ahead as she pushed into
the yard. The Bastion was there. Home. And in it, a vermin that
needed removing. She had crossed a quarter of the yard when a cold
voice sounded from her side.

"You were meant to die."

The doors through the Bastion Wall were opened at
Dusk and the worshipers began to file out of their temples and make
for the barracks. The entire scene was quite casual and the guards
who saw to the doors paid little to no attention to the devout as
they worked their way back into the lush square. The sun had dimmed
the sky, though not completely, when the black robes began to make
their way through the door.

Aile had found a comfortable seat that allowed views
of the approach and the doors proper but did not make her presence
overly obvious to any passersby. When the women in their black
robes had passed her, she stood and did her best to rush to the
guard who was preparing to shut the gate. She did her best to
affect whatever she thought an innocent girl might run like when
she was in need and hoped it would add a layer of plausibility to
her story, though she could not say whether she moved like anything
more than a drunkard.

"Wait!" She did her best elven accent and hoped that
the guard would be ignorant or inattentive enough for it to slide.
"Please. I've forgotten my tomes." It occurred to her only after
the words had parted her lips that she had only seen tomes of study
in the hands of other elves. The women in black carried no such
books. She swallowed hard as the guard turned to look at her.

The guard was a fat man, sweaty from the day's work.
He had been there for longer than Aile had, likely since the
morning. He looked her over and let out an annoyed groan.

"For a lot what's supposed to be good with books you
sure seem to forget 'em often enough."

The other guard was as far and disinterested as the
one she had approached, but he let go a laugh at his colleagues
jab.

"Go on. It'll be Réidh and Logall by the time you get
back anyway. Best you just tell 'em you was late leavin'."

He held the gate aside and Aile scurried through as
awkwardly as she could force herself to move. As she moved away she
could hear the guard click is tongue and complain to his
partner.

"Y'see that? Not so much as a kind word. No sense in
doin' for these religious types."

She had done it. The temple yard was ahead of her and
the Bastion was just to her left. She could hear loud drilling
there. The noise of soldiers practicing and forming into ranks. It
was no place for her to be, especially not in the garb she now
wore. She continued to shuffle toward the Temple of the Fire. It
was curious that it was named as it was. The others were all called
for the sisters to whom they belonged. The Temple of Spéir and so
on.

The temples were built resembling a stack of rings
with every other level containing a series of windows. They were
old and well built, twice the size at the base of the inn she had
patronized briefly before being sent from the city. The spires were
painted colorfully save the Temple of the Fire. It was black at the
base and faded to the color of stone as it rose. The others had all
been adorned with intricate designs reflecting the nature of the
sister for which they stood.

She looked up along the spires and saw that midway up
a series of bridges ran out from the four buildings and came to
meet in the middle in a grand platform suspended above the square
below. From the center of the platform a bridge ran out toward the
Bastion. It was difficult to see from her angle, but there it
stood.

The temple was utterly empty when she arrived. She
supposed it must be only the first floor but as she found a
stairwell that spiraled upward there was no one to be seen. She had
not even heard another soul. Perhaps they took their meals now? It
mattered very little but she was thankful for the ease of the
climb. It was the sixth floor that bore the bridge to the platform
and so she counted the floors away.

She found the sixth of them and exited into a room
that was thoroughly lit. It was covered with at least one of each
type of black stones she had known to exist. Onyx, obsidian, the
darkest slates, and rocks she had never seen. Rocks that looked
soft to the touch and rocks that looked as though they had been
bent and molded into shape. There was no time to admire the stones,
though, and so she moved out to the walkway. It was quiet there and
she could just see over the Bastion Wall. She moved along hurriedly
in the case that one of the clergy might find her there and begin
to ask questions.

Aile was not sure what to expect beyond the temples
though she kept the worship garb on that it might buy her an
opportunity to remain undiscovered should there be some misstep.
She made her way across the bridge connecting to the Bastion and
when it came to an end there was no door to block her access to the
home of the Treorai. The Drow wanted to shout. Had they placed such
unrelenting confidence in so little security? Surely, it would be
impossible to push through the barracks square in force, but would
she not be enough to end a single person?

Shaking her head, Aile decided to put the
shortcomings of elven security from her mind. She moved now into
the marble halls of the Bastion. She kept a slow pace and ducked
into room after room. None of them were the Paper Hall and her
entrance into the Bastion had not come with a map. This could take
longer than she had and the more aimless her wandering the more
likely she was to be found out.

She had inspected her tenth room to no avail when she
heard humming from around a corner. A young elf carrying a stack of
linens. He must have passed when she was inspecting the room but he
had not gone far. At one of the rooms, the elf stopped and opened
the door. When he went through, Aile dashed to catch it before it
closed. He had not heard her over the sound of his song. She
silently removed the hood and pulled a blade from under the
robe.

It was an ornate bedroom with trim of brilliant red
and the elf had laid his linen bed covers next to a plush looking
bed. Aile approached him from behind and tapped the blade on his
shoulder. He spun in surprise and the sharp dagger cut into his
face. Before he could let out a scream, Aile placed her hand tight
over his mouth. The young elf fell to the ground and stared up at
her from wide eyes.

"Do not make a sound other than to answer, elf. Where
is the Paper Hall?"

When she pulled her hand away, the elf swallowed
hard. "From this room, right, and right again. The end of the
hallway. Large doors painted white."

When he had finished, Aile put the point of the blade
to his neck and pushed it through. He struggled to scream but could
not make a sound. She twisted her dagger in the boy's throat and
pulled it free. There was precious little blood as the boy
struggled to pull breath. There was panic in his eyes and the
breaths he drew were filled with gargles and sputters. Aile kicked
him hard in the sternum and the elf fell over. She pushed him under
the bed with a foot until he could no longer be seen, though
hearing him was easy enough. She turned the stack of linens over
onto the blood on the floor, making sure to keep them stacked.

She left and followed the directions slowly and
carefully. There were guards but not so many as she had expected
and they seemed unconcerned with the wing of the Bastion that she
now inhabited. Soon enough she was before the great white doors and
she wasted no time in pressing them open.

The Paper Hall was true to its name. It was a vast
library of bound volumes on row after row of shelves. The place was
lit from above by three great fires burning in metal chandeliers
that looked as though the bottom piece of a cauldron had been cut
off and hung up. The walls were painted white and so the fires lit
the room thoroughly.

She had left the veil behind and removed the rest of
the garb just inside the doors of the Paper Hall. It would take
ages to find the information she needed here, though she certainly
had time. The first thing to be done was to make an accounting of
the ways one might enter and find her. There were more than enough
places she might hide, but each of those places presented the
opportunity to another. She spent the first two hours of her time
in the Paper Hall scouting and ensuring she was alone. There were
three main doors. The one she had entered and a door at each
perpendicular edge of the room. The massive shelves had been built
in a circle with a single desk at the middle and the shelves all
showing their side edges to whoever sat in the center. There was a
break between in the middle of each aisle and hundreds upon
hundreds of stacks of parchment in each of the rows besides. There
were more papers here than would be sortable in any number of
lifetimes and each of them provided a spot to secret herself should
someone enter. Above, there were two exhaust stacks for the fires
and a pair of hatches to feed them as well. There were large
windows at the far side of the room from where she had entered, but
they were well above the shelves and were more for light than
looking through.

Convinced she was alone with the papers, Aile set
about attempting to make sense of the ordering systems, if there
was one. Her neck grew sore from the strain of running her eyes up
and down the stacks before she finally managed to piece together a
logic in the way the books had been ordered. They had, rather than
an accounting by years and seasons, been ordered by the Treorai who
had ruled at the time. And the Treorai were ordered alphabetically.
Within that, the files and registrations were handled by the class
of the person to whom they belonged. And this seemed only to apply
to files from before the current Treorai had taken her place.

Feeling as though she was not likely to find anything
among the bound volumes, she turned to the loose files. She had
searched more than a dozen stacks and found that they had no
discernible pattern and neither did they seem to even follow a set
subject. There were business filings, taxation certificates, horse
registries. Many of them had seen Spárálaí's signature but left no
hint as to his holdings or whether he had any heirs or where he
might be himself. She had grown tired of the effort of looking and
the elven words made her head hurt to read. It would do her much
better to see to her old ways and so Aile planted herself in the
shadows of the stacks of paper and wood and leather and she waited
for the doors to open.