“Socair. Of—”
“Ha! Bearer and a Goddess, at that. I know that name. Sisters be good, I ought’ve known. Why in the Fires didn’t you stop an old man’s prattle?”
He was not old. Not so much as he seemed to want to believe. Perhaps twice Socair’s age, she could not imagine he was much older.
Corrach laughed before she could hope to answer. “Serves me right and proper, lettin’ off at the mouth to whoever rides by. I know you, by deed. And proud you do us all. It’s no wonder you ride south.”
Socair found the familiarity seemed to put her at a disadvantage. The man had an idea of her, one built on stories and little else. It had changed the way he spoke to her in an instant. The change troubled her, more so because he had understood her before or at least seemed to. Now, she wondered what he saw.
“There is no need of worry. I’m not so grand as the titles they seem to wish on me. Oh, with me are Práta and Nath.”
He turned to them and smiled. “A pleasure to be in such scenic company then. A ride should never be a lonely one, at least.”
Práta spoke up. “Why did you ride alone? And why do you ride south?”
“A fair question!” He turned his head to the sky again, to shout back. With his voice, there was no need in it. She’d likely had heard him half a field away. “Shoes all got horses on ‘em in Dheasurdhún. Might as well strike steel where it’s needed. And I ain’t the only one. Just the slowest. Hahahaa! Takes time to pack tools. Folk weren’t so keen to wait.”
The conversation turned away to stories swapped and questions asked. He was curious and kind and cleverer than he’d give himself credit over. Socair nearly forgot that he had made mention of others moving south until they came across the first of those resting. Small camps of people sat, eating and drinking. There was jubilation among the bulk of them, and Corrach saw himself to one of the small bands as they passed. He left them, laughing, saying he’d forge her something fit for a Goddess and that she’d have it when next they met.
Their mounts had settled somewhat, likely due to fatigue, but the nearness of so many strange elves and other horses made their starts more of a bother, with Socair’s mount rearing once, nearly throwing her. They were forced to ride on, in spite of it all. At times, they were joined by riders who sang songs and drank as they rode, others were serious and spoke of their duty to the Treorai. There had been no militia that Socair knew of, and Práta had confirmed that there was no call made by Deifir to join her. These people, hundreds along the road and who knows how many more as word spread, came for reasons Socair had lost somewhere inside her own addled mind. Her time among them stirred her convictions, but it was not so easy to make them solid again. She felt guilt at the doubt that plagued her. She had remembered who she was, and what it was she believed, deep into the core of her soul. Nath was proof enough of it, riding just behind her this long while. Yet still, nothing made the pain leave her, even as the tents of the gathered thousands reached out from city walls to make their welcome.
The voice grew louder. “Run. Live.”
She rode on, still, finding herself amidst the growing camp and the crowding street. The walls were near enough and so she left the mount, as did Práta and Nath. She was glad to be rid of them, though the crowding gave its own problems. Nath clung to her as they drew closer and closer to the city walls. The girl did not do well in such situations even when among the people of a city. Around her were armed and armored elves. The sort that had beat her, no doubt. At some point, Socair realized that Nath was quietly weeping, her arms shaking and her eyes darting from place to place, bloodshot and terrified. There was little Socair could do to help her. They could move only so fast and nothing could shield her from the swarm of life around. Perhaps it was good, in a way. Or Socair hoped as much. Perhaps Nath would see that there was less to fear than she expected.
The city, Innecarnán, was beginning to show itself amid the tents. There were inns and taverns and homes along the main road outside the walls and little sprawl except a few thin wispy paths.
The walls of the city drew above them as they walked. Socair knew them, but not well. Geometric walls of light grey rock. They were brittle stones when compared to much of what the rest of the province knew and not nearly so tall as Socair would have liked. Airy and built for bandits, not hordes. They would have to do, she knew. A line of elves stretched back away from the open northern city gate and Socair stopped at the back of it, looking in at the small city.
A knot grew in her stomach and sat there, heavy. Práta put a hand at her back and Socair drew in a breath. Whatever she felt or whatever nagged at her, she could not simply stand and watch. Perhaps that was all there needed to be. She did not know, but there wasn’t time enough to worry over it. The Treorai was in Innecarnán. Socair would have to find her and, if not reasons, at least find answers.
v
Óraithe
Their train had come to its destination in the late morning
