“They are all that is left?”
“Aye. Less you’re keen to find out how the carthorses take to being backed.”
Socair gritted her teeth and looked around at the empty stalls. She sighed in resignation. “Please prepare them. And thank you.”
“Couldn’t take thanks for saddlin’ that lot. And, I expect you know better, but don’t take ‘em near to anything even smells like trouble. Do and you’ll be laid in the mud wonderin’ why your toes don’t wiggle.”
He did not wait for a reply, only went off to see to his work. Práta caught Socair’s eye as she came back out to the yard at the front of the stables.
“It seems a bit quiet in there.”
“It is. Nearly every horse of speed or experience has been taken.”
“Did Róin give a reason? They must have put nearly every elf leaving ahorse.”
“He said nothing. I would never have allowed it. So many on horseback would move no faster than a slow march if they keep tight near Deifir. Forgetting the travel, what is the Bastion City to use if they fail? If they reinforce or…” Socair let her words trail away as she thought through the decision, looking for any redeeming value in it. “Fires take it all, what is she thinking? Or is it the Binse? Some remnant of Crosta?”
“It could be,” Práta offered. “Or perhaps Deifir has chosen the crossroads as something of a first and final stand.”
“Or she hopes to quell the horsefolk before they gather more power. Still, this is no way…”
Nath grabbed at her sleeve and pointed toward the stable when she looked. The horses were saddled and ready. Nath was helped into her saddle first, with Práta and Socair just behind. The horses grew uneasy and shifted with the riders on their backs. Socair pulled at the bit and brought the horse into line. Answers awaited her in the south and the animal would take her to them even if she must wear the reins thin to see it done.
v
Óraithe
To say that the first night of their journey had been raucous would fail to capture it. Young and old danced and sang and drank spirits. They had at least heeded warnings not to be careless with the food. Óraithe kept herself clear of the revelry as best she could, not wanting to be fussed over or praised for simply being awake and present. She took the time to practice with Fásach’s Gift well away from any who might see. She had no direct intention of hiding her ability, only a wish to first use it in a situation which would be to the advantage of her standing among the people. It had been hard to find a place to sharpen her skills with so many awake and wandering. In truth, she had half expected a report come the morning that dozens had wandered into the Wastes or been snatched by bandits or horsefolk. To her surprise, the morning head check had come back counting the number they had set out with.
The morning was orderly and they had made ready to go within an hour of sunup. No small feat with so many among them. Óraithe had marveled at the efficiency of the checks and morning preparations and Scaa explained that she had put the system in place long before the trip.
“The city was run down when we found it, not that the state of it when we left was a point of pride.” Scaa had relaxed into her seat and leaned her head back, exhausted. “There was much that needed doing and people were injured often. Mild injuries, at most. A wrist here and a shoulder there. I could not see to them all, but they had become used to seeking me out since the camp. I sectioned the city and assigned those who seemed the most competent to the people in each area.”
“The ones I met? The blacksmith?”
“And stablemaster and on and on, yes. The same groups are in place for our train.”
“You are becoming impressive. It is a smartly built system.”
She scoffed, laughing sarcastically. “I am, it is true.” Scaa sat forward in her seat. She smiled at Óraithe. “It was something thrown together from necessity. It should likely take more thought than that.”
Óraithe thought on things for a moment. “No, it will serve us well, even in the Bastion City, I think. They are more your Binse than mine, in spite of your jokes, but they work as I read the Binse does.”
The day before had seen its share of stops and delays. The bulk of them to do with wheels coming loose or a spoke needing mending. Each time, as was promised, they stopped and saw to the issues. Óraithe had gone to as many of the broken wagons as she could manage, something that the people in the train seemed no end of happy about. She had not had a terribly long time to adjust to the way she was being treated, not when so much of the past seasons saw a new horror with each passing day, but had started to make sense of it. They had been under way for a few hours without issue, time Óraithe used to try to understand what her situation meant and how to use it to see Briste dead.
“I have been thinking,” she started, bringing Scaa out of a vacant stare.
“Of?”
“Of how I should act when I present myself to people.”
“When you… present yourself?” Scaa did not seem to understand the question wholly.
Óraithe was unsure exactly how to explain herself. “The people, here. They do not see me as I am. The more I think on it, the more I feel that this is for the best.”
“There is nothing wrong with what you are.”
“To you. And it is a sweet sentiment, but if they would see me as more, then I should act as
