She dressed while he raved.
“She is some hero to the river elves. I saw her at the banquet. Her insolence sent the Low District into a spiral. Of course, it would.” He threw his hands up. “Filthy muleborn, the lot of them. No culture to them. They will rise to anything. Some bulging river elf. And to call that a woman. Hah! If she hasn’t a cock, I’ll die of shock.”
Her blades all had a place among the myriad sheaths. They slid in smoothly, but the pieces not in use lay flush against her. She’d have complimented the elf were he not so obsessed with his ranting.
“They say she slays centaurs, you know? They say she can match them. No wonder from the sight of her. Probably sired by one.” He scoffed but the words caught Aile’s attention.
“An elf who slays centaur? Alone?”
He waved his hands dismissively. “So they say. River elves lie. All of them. A few even live in the High District. Unthinkable. Liars, all.”
Aile dragged her old leathers up from the floor. “Her name?”
“So… Socair? Terrible name.” He noticed the old leathers in her hands. “Oh! Might I have those? Mother will love them.”
She looked at the garments. “Is she not dead?”
He nodded, unphased. “She is. And?”
There was no sense in inviting further conversation. The leathers were done and fit her as well as her own skin. She threw the old pieces to the elf.
“There are thirty gold coins in them. Should you survive, I may return.”
His eyes widened an amount, but he shook his expression clean and nodded. “Oh, it’s nothing so dire as that. Just some rabble among the peasants.”
She said no more and left the shop, disappearing quickly into the alleys. He followed her into the street and bid her to return whenever she liked. She was right to move quick, expecting such a stupid gesture of the elf. Still, his presence and the gold were small prices in the face of the quality of the work she wore against her skin. She felt lighter and, with the littlest bit more luck, found that there was a guard change at the segment of the elf fence she first came to. She moved through it and then along the streets and alleys that would see her back to a meal.
The dark was being chased from the night and the deep colors of the dawn were coming. She would eat and take her leave of the desert. She had grown tired of it and of horsefolk. There were more interesting things in her mind now. Giant elves who kill centaur. She licked her lips just imagining such a thing. Surely someone must want such a creature dead.
Part Thirteen H
Z
Socair
Inside the city walls, there was little of note beyond waves and waves of people, many soldiers, plenty not. The sight of it gave her hope they could hold against the horsefolk, even with the concern in her mind. They would need to be used properly, especially the inexperienced who had come hoping to be of use to the province. She was grateful to them, and understood their verve, but without guidance, they could prove to be fodder or, worse, a hindrance to the trained regiments. A few familiar faces called to her. Members of the First Company. They gave sarcastic bows and laughed, wishing her well. She smiled at them as best she could and asked after Deifir.
They repeated after her, laughing and giving flourished salutes, curtsied to one another. “Deifir, oh. Deifir, of course. At your will.” They repeated their joke over and over, more ridiculous each time, until they saw that the smile had faded from her face and been replaced with one somewhere between concern and impatience.
“The mayor’s place. Big one, two streets over, green walls.” The one that answered pointed past her. “Should be there.” She started to turn. “Bearer.” The word stopped her. “I know you’ll see us through this.” He nodded to her and she took her leave of them.
“If I’m allowed,” she muttered to herself, motioning to Práta and Nath to follow.
The mayor’s place was not what she had expected. She had even stopped a passing soldier to confirm it was the building she’d been sent for. It looked, for all purposes, to be a dance hall. Certainly, it was the largest of the buildings she’d seen in the city but it was no house. The doors were guarded, but that had been true of a half dozen other nondescript sheds and carriage houses through the city. They were often used for storage. The lack of a Regent meant a keep was less likely, but the city was at least walled. There was no point in thinking over it further, and so Socair approached the guards, who had not taken notice of her.
“Ah! Binseman. You’re expected.”
They parted with no trouble and opened the doors. Socair stood a moment, looking at the opened doors and the guards who held them. She was not sure what she’d expected. Perhaps she had made more of it in her own mind than there was. Worry could do that in the absence of any explanations. She stepped into the building and the guards held a hand out behind her, stopping Práta and Nath.
“Pardons, Regent.” The guard was firm in his tone. “Only Binse allowed in. I’m sorry.”
Práta looked to Socair and tightened the corners of her mouth in small frustration. It was a thing she was used to by now, but her eyes said she did not wish to leave Socair’s side.
“Very well. We shall find an inn, then.”
“No need,” the guard chimed. “Binseman Socair, if you mean to keep with her, will be quartered at the Grand River inn. Same as the Treorai and the rest.”
Práta nodded. “Then we will see you there when you’ve finished.” She
