No One's Chosen (15 page)

She had just managed to get comfortable when Síocháin
came into the carriage in a huff. The handmaid had seemed slightly
out of breath.

"Were you… running?" Rianaire couldn't imagine
Síocháin would have thought she would be left behind. "Has
something happened?"

"Yes." Síocháin was not one for words, surely, but
that was a bit short even for her.

"Well?"

"I have provided a distraction for us."

Rianaire did not need to hear more. She opened the
door to the carriage and suggested that she would like to leave as
soon as possible. Rianaire could imagine what sort of thing might
require a distraction. "Spárálaí?"

"Yes. He had some complaint to do with your
declaration that there would be an official supplier of pork for
all of your official celebrations. It seems it's caused something
of a commotion in the Outer Crescent."

The carriage swayed into motion and Rianaire couldn't
help but laugh as they pulled away from the courtyard. Her laughter
died off with a sigh and her face took on a look closer to anger.
"I suppose I was meant to ask his permission first. Impudent,
skinny old bastard. I wonder if he'd be so persistently troublesome
if I were fucking him." She looked back to Síocháin whose face was
a placid as ever. Rianaire put a hand to her chin and rested it
there, looking out the windows as they entered the Inner Crescent.
"He has become quite bold of late. This concerns me."

"As it should." Síocháin added nothing else.

Neither had much to say after that. Rianaire was deep
in thought as to what to do about her troublesome Binseman. He was
surely the finest mind for numbers that one was apt to find in the
whole of the land, but open talk of disobedience was something that
would build and feed. It needed to be cut at the root and she had
let it grow for too long already.

Thoughts of rooting out sedition and unruly Binsemen
eventually gave way to quiet appreciation of the scenery. The
countryside in the areas surrounding Spéirbaile gave way to forest
fairly quickly. A sea of maple and poplar spread out over far
reaching hills and turned to a dark run of fir and pine at the
farthest edges one could see. In the coming season, their leaves
would flush with the most amazing oranges and reds. Burning
brightly before flickering out and falling to the ground. The waves
of green upon green under a grey sky made her feel at ease.

They had broached the edge of the forest in just a
few hours and the weather had held for them to that point. The road
connecting Spéirbaile to Cnoclean was often traveled but was
scarcely wide enough for the Treorai and her envoy. This meant two
things. The first was that the only view Rianaire could hope to
enjoy was of the backside of a horse and the second was that she
would occasionally have to endure the shouting of her envoy for
some cart or horse or farmer to clear the way for hers.

Silence, then, was clearly not the answer for a way
to enjoy the trip proper. She looked to Síocháin who had closed her
eyes in quiet contemplation. How could she stand it? Maybe she
enjoyed the silent riding. Rianaire could hardly abide the tedium.
She was entirely thankful that there were dozens of inn towns on
the way to Cnoclean at which she could stop and find, well,
anything. It was all well and good to enjoy scenery when there were
scenes, but this was just row after row of tree trunks and
horseflesh. Even the dull comedy of the horses relieving themselves
grew stale after a time.

Rianaire had finally had all she could take. She
pulled a cord by the far wall and a bell rang out, muffled through
the walls of the carriage. A single ring to signal a stop at the
next village. They couldn't be far off now but most likely they'd
have passed it by. Rianaire didn't remember being so restless.
Perhaps the stresses bit into her more deeply than she wanted to
allow herself to believe. Either way, she yearned for fun and
distraction and good food and good drink.

It was perhaps another half hour before they arrived,
pulling to a stop in front of a sizable inn. It was built of
unpainted pine with deep forest green on the shutters and a rich
brown roof. The quality of the place stood in a marked contrast to
the town around it.

The door to the carriage opened and Rianaire stepped
out. Grod was there holding the door and they had rolled a carpet
of wool over the soggy approach to the front door of the inn.
Rianaire stepped down onto the wool and felt the wet ground give in
to her weight. It was quite muddy already and looked as though it
meant to begin raining at any moment. She stepped away from the
carriage, waiting for Síocháin, and then made for the entrance.

A short, tubby ball of an elf approached her as they
neared the door, laughing as he did.

"Welcome! Welcome! Treorai, it is an honor to have
you!" He opened the door for them and asked as they passed. "How
long do you mean to stay?"

"We do not," Rianaire answered. "We have only stopped
to fill ourselves with food and water our horses. However, I do
insist on a full stomach."

"Yes, yes! Right away. Please." He motioned toward a
door on the far side of the entryway.

The elves passed through into a well lit and cheerful
little dining area. There were no more than six or seven tables,
not enough to feed the entire inn should it fill up. When Rianaire
asked, the innkeeper explained that they offered a room service
where meals could be brought to the room.

Rianaire turned to Síocháin. "Doesn't that sound just
wonderful? We should never have to leave the bed." She grabbed
Síocháin by the face and kissed her on the cheek. At this, the
innkeeper left, insisting that he needed to see to the rest of her
company.

"You've scared him off," Síocháin said.

Rianaire laughed. "Ha! But now we have the dining
room all to ourselves!"

No sooner had she said that than several of her envoy
entered. Rianaire put on a playful pout and had a seat at one of
the tables. Síocháin joined her.

Before long, a stick thin woman brought out a pair of
serving trays, a silver dome over each. She sat them before
Rianaire and Síocháin and pulled off the coverings to reveal a duo
of sausages with roasted potatoes and boiled summer greens. The
food was delicious, Rianaire ate as though she had been near
starving in spite of the fact that she had been at breakfast only a
few hours earlier.

She was finished before the rest had all been served.
When the last plate of food was delivered, she waved the waitress
over.

"You must sit with us and talk," Rianaire implored,
her voice giddy. "And more wine!"

"Ah, uh, if it please you, Treorai."

"It does!"

Truly Rianaire was at her best when she was around
her people. They reminded her of what life was really like outside
of the politics and drudgery of life in the Bastion. The woman
returned with more wine and Rianaire began to question her at great
length. She ran the inn with her husband.

"No, him?"

"Yes, milady."

"But you're such a beautiful thing! I mean, I imagine
he must have his appeals."

"Begging your pardon?"

Síocháin seemed to be curious as well. "She means his
cock."

The innkeeper's wife flushed so red, Rianaire thought
she was like to explode. She laughed to see a woman who could still
blush after so many years of marriage.

"Well? Come now, we'll have the truth of it. No need
to be shy, Síocháin's no maiden."

The woman had become incredibly sheepish. She leaned
in, her voice a whisper. "Actually… he… his… co… cock… it no
longer…"

"No!" Rianaire shot back, nearly toppling her chair.
She had not meant to be so loud. The innkeepers wife looked around
nervously, Rianaire leaned in to match her tone. "Not at all?"

"No, milady. Not since the beginning of last year.
It… during the Am Idirbhliain holiday, it worked fine."

"Both weeks?"

She blushed again. "Yes… milady."

"Pitiful present to bring in a new season."

Síocháin nodded in agreement and the table was silent
in consideration of the wife's considerable loss. Then Síocháin
spoke. "His mouth seemed in working order when we arrived, was it
not?"

Rianaire roared with laughter. "Haha! She has the
right of that. Surely, he…"

The blank expression on the woman's face showed that
she did not understand.

"No," Rianaire said breathlessly. "Surely he
must."

"Must… must what, milady?" The innwife looked between
the noble elves at her table.

Síocháin motioned down at the innwife's lower half
with her eyes.

"What?!" The woman blurted in surprise at Síocháin's
suggestion. "With," she quieted to a modest whisper, "with his
mouth?"

Síocháin nodded.

"No! Never. I mean… is it… does that work?"

Rianaire slapped the table. "Go and fetch him! And
more wine! Especially more wine!"

The innwife rushed to the kitchen and was back in a
moment with her husband and a pair of goblets filled with wine.
Rianaire bid her sit down and she did. The Treorai then downed the
whole of the goblet. She slammed it to the table.

"Attention, all! I am to make a decree!"

There was terror and confusion on the face of the
innkeeper. He glanced to his wife, eyes desperately curious about
what she had said to the leader of their people to cause this.
Every face was on them, armor clad elves from Spéirbaile and the
Treorai herself. Rianaire laid a hand on the man's shoulder.

"You, good innkeeper, have a most delightful and
hospitable nature. As well your inn is of the finest quality.
However! You have neglected the most important of duties. The duty
of a man to his wife!"

"Hear, hear!" Grod shouted from the corner of the
hall. Rianaire pulled the innwife up by the arm and continued.

"This beautiful flower has been languishing without
the attention of a spout which has ceased to flow. Should she not
grow?"

The innkeeper flushed a deeper red than his wife.

"It is hereby ordered that you must see to it that
this beautiful flower bloom lest its petals scatter to the wind and
rightfully grow fertile anew in some other field."

"As… as you bid Treorai."

Cheers went up around the dining hall and the
innkeeper hurried off into the kitchen, his face deep red with
embarrassment. Rianaire sat, her work completed.

The innwife could not have begun to know what to make
of the situation.

"It will be alright. And in case it is not, I know of
an alchemist who can help with such matters. Síocháin will give you
his name. He lives in the Outer Crescent, but his help will be
worth the trip, I assure you."

The slight woman stood wordlessly and made for the
kitchen to attend to her husband and what little was left of his
pride.

Síocháin watched her go and asked. "Do you suppose
you've helped?"

"Couldn't say. But they will talk if nothing else."
Rianaire eyed the bottom of her cup and laughed. "Hahaha! I did
give him a direct order, after all!"

Rianaire stood and motioned for Síocháin to follow.
It was time to take their leave. There was a good distance still to
ride and she saw that the rain had begun to fall.

The morning was as cold as the night before. As if
the temperature had fallen and been unable to pull itself back up.
Aile could understand the feeling. It had been late when the young
girl had returned and she'd put up quite a fight. It had been near
dawn when she finally fell onto the bed at the inn. The idea that
she could rest was a short lived one in her mind. She would need to
check the drop for both payment and further instruction. Her
employer would have heard the news no later than midday, likely
before considering the state she had left the small farmhouse in.
That being the case, she rose after only a few hours sleep and made
for the inn which held her payment.

The inn was the same as ever. Lavish and
uninteresting. She was at least able to enter through a side door
this time around. It wouldn't take much to find herself in the
caring custody of the guards. She knew that, no matter what their
faces said, when things began to go awry, the simplest explanation
was that the Drow must have done it. She had been questioned about
some of the most inane things under the auspices of her evil Drow
magics. There were more than enough accusations of murder and child
abduction. Those crimes seemed to increase with a Drow in the city,
though she figured that more the nature of opportunists than any
real coincidence. Who would look for a child rapist when there was
a child eater staying at the local inn? Those tended to be the
charges that got a bit tiring as they were so bland and oft
repeated. It was the truly unique accusations that had always
caught her attention. Once she had been accused of using her Drow
magic to keep the bread at a local bakery from rising properly. She
couldn't even imagine what sort of magic that would be. Grain
magic? Perhaps there was a fifth Sister who had been forgotten who
was Patron of Yeasts. Another accusation meant to cast her as
having murdered several local cattle by some unknown machination.
When a local whore was good enough to vouch for her whereabouts the
entire night, the owner of the cattle insisted she had used her
magics to coax the cows to commit suicide. Truly, there seemed to
be no depth to her ability. Though even Aile had to admit that the
ability to send cows into a fit of self-harm did not seem entirely
unentertaining. Especially if she could ply such a magic on her
targets.

The area around the inn was quiet and with the key to
her room already secured, she was able to enter through a side door
without the prying eyes of strangers upon her. She found the room
and went to her work. The cache opened easily and she found that
her employer had, indeed, heard news of her work's completion.