“I doubt if I could sleep,” Socair said looking idly at the roof of the tent.
“Would you be able to even if you were tired?”
“Doubtful. We’ll make Fásachbaile tomorrow evening at this rate.”
They had stopped at the edge of the province where the hills gave way to green plains. Or they would have been green in any other season. Bais was turning them a yellow-brown. It seemed fitting for a land at the edge of a desert.
Socair had leaned the sword against the edge of the table and tapped at it idly. She wanted to unsheathe it and look at the blade, but there was no good reason to. She and Práta both made attempts at conversation but they went nowhere. The situation was distracting for them both. After an hour of effort, Socair gave in. The bed was the only thing for it.
Slumber was slow in coming but her mind finally allowed her some rest. It would be short lived, though, as a scream in the night pulled her from what had already been a fitful sleep.
“Vód!”
The voice was Rionn’s. There was no need to call so loud unless something was amiss. Socair pulled herself up from the cot, donned a loose shift and her breeches. She grabbed the sword and pulled it from the scabbard.
“Práta, dress but wait here.”
She had felt her moving so she knew Práta had stirred. It was not worth risking her being in the open if they were being watched.
Socair ripped the tent flap aside and hurried out into the camp.
“Vód!” Rionn called again for the elf.
“He is missing?” Socair moved to Rionn’s side, scanning the dimly lit plain. It was cold and clear which helped make the surroundings visible, but there was nothing stirring in the dark.
“I woke and it was past time for my watch. Vód would not have slept or abandoned his post.”
“Are there tracks?”
“None that I could see.” Rionn scanned the empty field desperately.
“Then he was taken when he stepped away from the camp.”
“Not by raiders. He would have made more than enough noise to wake one of us.”
Socair’s face fell. “Then not by elves, you mean. There is only one reason he would not have made a sound.”
It was not uncommon for satyrs to snatch travelers, though they were well north of where that sort of thing tended to happen. It was unsettling to consider at the very least.
“I will keep the watch with you until dawn. I can sleep in that damnable carriage as we ride. Gather your bedding and get what rest you can out here.”
“Understood.”
Rionn nodded and moved to collect his things. He set up his bed efficiently and as he was taking his place under the thick blankets, Práta came out of the tent.
“Vód was taken?” There was no concern in Práta’s voice, only purpose. She had changed so much in only a season. Socair wondered if it was her influence.
“It seems so. I will be keeping watch until morning. You should sleep if you can.”
Práta nodded and returned to the tent. Socair sheathed the blade and laid it across her lap. She cursed her want of adventure as though it would be the thing that had cost Vód his life.
The night passed without further incident and when the sun crept over the horizon, Socair tapped Rionn with the tip of her scabbard. He woke abruptly and looked around. There was a clear look of dismay on his face. Rionn said nothing as they packed the camp that morning. The feeling that it was her fault had crept in during her watch, but there was little to be done about it now. Vód was grown and knew the dangers. Dangers that would not have existed at an inn in Ciúinloch.
With the carriage packed, she climbed in. Práta seemed to immediately see the worry on her face.
“Satyrs have never taken someone this far north. Not in Abhainnbaile, at least.”
Anything she could say would be something Socair had told herself the night before. Even the suggestions that he might still be alive. Socair curled onto the seat as best she could as they started away from the camp, placing a hand on Práta’s. She would sleep and when she woke, her problems would be new ones.
Where she had expected the bouncing of the cabin would keep her awake, it helped her sleep and they passed through the small trade town Íobair without so much as a stir from Socair. It was when the carriage pulled to a stop at the gates of Fásachbaile that Socair finally woke.
The exchange of papers was brief and Socair heard one of the guards mention that she had been expecting them tomorrow. The gates parted and they moved into the Low District. Though it was early evening now, Socair was struck by the relative quiet. Only a few dozen bodies moved through the streets as they passed by, all of them staring blatantly as her royal carriage passed. The looks could not be called friendly by any definition of the word. The Palisade came and went and the looks changed, though the quiet remained. Was this truly a Bastion City?
The ride to the Bastion took no more than fifteen minutes, even encumbered as they were with a wide carriage and supplies. They were greeted at the main doors to the Bastion by a row of finely attired servants, all younger looking men. The door was opened and Socair stepped down from the carriage.
“Binseman Socair of Abhainnbaile, welcome!” The chipper attendant had only said a few words
