Práta’s voice came on labored breath. “I… I will be alright, love. You mustn’t… mustn’t… worry.”
v
Óraithe
The bulk of the camp had risen at morning. Some elderly and children still slept, and some wives and sick who would take care of the others. In all, it was a force just over three hundred that stood before her, staring. They had all gathered at the edge of the camp to see her before they left. Faces she had never seen were mixed in and there seemed to be a hunger in the air. Scaa had nothing to say about the lot of them, only sat in the barouche with a sour look, having had the face since Naí told her she would not be allowed to fight unless her life was endangered in some way. She’d even gone as far as binding Scaa’s arm. The screaming did not last as long as Scaa seemed to want, but she’d let too much blood go from her body to be thoroughly angry. Óraithe teased her about it often, though the teasing was more to keep her mind from the task ahead and the weight of it than anything more.
She wondered how long they would wait in silence for her to speak. There was murmuring, of course, but only a few and only short pieces that she could not hear well enough to matter. What words was she meant to say to them? If she said nothing, would they still follow? Was that the nature of a leader? The right words for the right moments? She was like to be a poor leader, then.
“I have nothing to offer you of my own hand.” She paused, swallowing hard. “Nothing of worth. Only my conviction to see the thing that has befouled our home taken from it. And I cannot guarantee it. I cannot give you your homes or your lost. But if I have my say… if I can destroy that evil woman… I will not keep you from them. Not as she has.”
She stopped there. The quiet moment between her words and the cheers that followed caused her to jump in surprise. The speech had been so paltry in her mind, but they cheered her for it. Óraithe sat in the cart next to Scaa and looked around as they began to move. The excitement was at fever pitch. There were chants, violent and angry and jubilant in turns. For a time, groups of people ran along beside the barouche, bowing when they caught her eye and falling away behind it. Their fervor gave out when the camp had fallen a fair distance behind them. There was no sense in hoping to see whether they had joined this new sort of train she rode with now. The crowd at her back was thick, far less courteous than they had been in their ride north from the bay. They filled the road chanting and singing all the way. It was for the best that they had energy. It would steel them when the swords came. Their numbers would give them confidence as well.
Scaa had rolled her head back and stared up at the awning that covered them for the half hour since they’d left. She huffed and wriggled against the wraps meant to keep her from doing herself harm.
“At the least, some of them have fought.” She put the words into the air with a tone that seemed to suggest she did not care if Óraithe answered.
“I am more worried what the city will think, should we manage to take it. If we do not find ourselves welcome, this may all be for nothing.”
Scaa shrugged at the wrap again. It went over her shoulder and around her arm entirely. An attempt to move would be fruitless unless she cut the thing. She shifted again, unable to get comfortable and the bother of the wrap tipped past her self-restraint. Scaa moaned like a child and kicked at the flat boards at the head of their barouche and wriggled back and forth. She stopped and slumped for a second before wriggling again.
“BAH! Cut this damned thing off me, Óraithe. I’ll lose my mind in it.”
Óraithe laughed. She rolled Scaa to the side and pulled the knife kept at her thigh. It was a thick thing, suited to skinning or chopping but Scaa often picked at her teeth and nails with it. A few cuts to the wrap and the impatient prisoner pulled herself free from the linen. She gathered it with the hand she’d been able to move all the while and threw it from their carriage.
“You still cannot fight. I won’t have it.” Óraithe closed her eyes and turned them to face the awning above, allowing them rest. The sun was bright against the light sand around them and the break from it was pleasant.
Scaa, for her part, had stifled a complaint before she bothered making a noise, giving a gruff agreement to keep herself from the conflict. “But if there’s trouble, I will come.” It was the last thing she said before Borr pulled them to a stop at the side of the road. A crest in the earth ahead of them was the last line before they would be visible to those atop the walls.
“This is it?” Óraithe asked calmly, eying past Borr but seeing nothing except the hill.
Borr nodded. “Two minutes at full clip, maybe. Ten at our pace.”
“Gather the ones who will be in our party.” Óraithe brought herself down from the barouche and Scaa leaned after her.
“I will be watching.”
“I should hope.” Óraithe went to her tiptoes and kissed Scaa light on the lips. “I’d hate for you to miss it.”
She moved to a box at the side of the carriage and opened it, pulling a cloak. It was a simple grey thing, but made new. She had never known a cloak without holes and so ran
