One's Own Shadow (The Siúil Book 2)

ridge of mountains thrust up out of the desert though they were miles and miles away. To the east there was nothing. More brown desert grass and patches of dirt the same color as the ground. The occasional hill was the most one could ask for. She knew that they were not so far from the Blackwood and that made her feel ill at ease. The elves had long since abandoned the northeast of Fásachbaile, but Drow still made their way into the desert to put an end to deals which had gone sour.

Ilkea pulled out first, headed south. Aile snapped at the reins and the horse set out after Ilkea’s chariot. There were abandoned cities in the desert east of the mountains, Aile knew, but she had never been to them. There were still coastal towns on the large cape due east of the Bastion City. It made her wonder exactly where they were headed. She had been clear enough on the route they had taken up and the reason for it. Riding due east from where she had met the satyr would have put them in the path of any number of elf bandit groups and random trade traffic between the provinces.

It had been too long a ride and there was still the serious question of whether it was like to pay off. On the back of rumors that the hippocamps had left Scáthloch, Aile made her way south. It had been an eternal disappointment to find that there was a fairly heavy band of satyrs still wandering around. Leaving the city, she was followed by a trio of them. There had been no reason to engage them and so Aile simply returned to her camp. She waited outside of her tent to judge what their intent might be, but after a few hours had passed it became clear there was no attack coming. More satyr gathered to the area. Aile was not entirely sure what to make of their actions. She had removed the packs from her horse when a single, young satyr among the group was sent forward on foot to speak with her.

The satyr asked if Aile was, indeed, Aile. Apparently felling a warlord of the centaur was something that warranted being known. A shot of pride had run through her heart when she heard her name from the mouth of some unknown satyr. It was a short conversation after that. The promise of gold if she would undertake some tasks for the hippocamps.

So here she was, sorrowfully watching as Ilkea slowed her chariot so that she might pull up for a chat. Aile sighed, knowing it would go unheard and readied herself.

“I was quite scared when first we met.” The satyr spoke over the soft beat of hooves on the orange dirt. “I do not know if there is a satyr among the hordes who has not heard your name by now.”

Was this some attempt at flattery?

“The Halushek were not always a tool of the centaur.” Halushek was a word that meant the satyr. Or maybe just some subset of the satyr. She was not entirely sure. Ilkea continued. “We once lived all along the east in the Southern Lands. We call the land Hashai, though there are many names for it. It was a beautiful place, I think. I have never seen the home place, but I have heard all the stories.”

That the girl had shut up long enough to hear a story seemed spurious at best. Aile had tried, to no avail, to tune out Ilkea’s shrieking for the whole of their journey. The satyr seemed to love nothing more than to speak. Aile could not help but wonder if she was so talkative in her native tongue and if they had sent her along with Aile as some sort of cruel joke. Perhaps it was for their own sanity.

Aile slid a pair of fingers into one of the pockets on her leg and pulled free one of the small cubes of gold that she had been given by Ilkea when she’d accepted the task. At the very least, the horsefolk understood the idea of partial payment up front. She turned the piece over in her hand. It was nearly the weight of one of the elven coins, but square with a smaller footprint and twice as thick. She had examined them many times during the trip and around half of them bore the same mark pressed into one side. Her best guess told her that this was likely the gold of the horde she traveled with and that the others had been taken in trade at some point or other. It seemed almost odd to Aile that there was a system of trade at all. The hordes were known to fight amongst themselves at the best of times. It was apparent from the small cube of gold that the currency was fairly newly minted, and somewhat poorly at that. The edges were still sharp but the gold had the slightest gold blush, suggesting that whoever had been working the forge was not so steady a hand with the copper mix. It was not an imperfection a novice goldsmith was likely to notice or worry over, not so slight as the tint was, but any merchant worth his wares would take your hand for trying to pass the stuff. It was worth maybe only a few copper less than it ought to be, so Aile had not complained about it. Not to Ilkea, anyway. The young girl had no way to make it right. Someone would, she knew. Someone at the far end of this trek through an endless brown wasteland.

Aile finally interrupted the chatter which had moved on to the finer points of traditional satyr banquet planning for whatever reason. “Where, exactly, are we meant to arrive?”

“Ah! We will go to one of the Dore Lai. He will give you your work and explain the price.”

“Dore Lai?” It was