Óraithe took another bite of her food. “So we will be there in an hour.”
Borr seemed antsy still, unhappy with their response. If the fault were with anyone in that, it would have been his own for failing to express what was so dire that she should go and watch guards stand in a line until one of them decided to repeat some of Briste’s madness.
“They mean to turn us against one another.” He looked back at the door nervously. “Please…”
He had not been given to exaggeration. Óraithe looked at Scaa who shrugged. The both of them stood and came around, gesturing that Borr lead the way. He seemed to be careful to mention time and again that they should not approach the square directly. A strange thing with the time they’d spent in it yesterday.
Her mind poured over the news that the morning had brought with it. Trouble enough with the reports and more trouble with this proclamation. Oiread had been the one to deliver the first. Strange for him to be away from his mixtures long enough to find out anything other than that he was hungry but he told the story plainly enough. He had taken Cook with him to see to the storehouse of a friend in the eastern part of the city. There was meat there, and spices and herbs. Kept to be dried and used through Bais for the Low District’s food, at least a part of it. Oiread said he knew of a half dozen others and Callaire confirmed as much. They’d take three of them as it was, but two held only minimal stocks. With their numbers still small, it would be enough, but Oiread thought winning his friend to their cause would be of some use and Cook had wanted the time away.
Their mission saw its wheels flung free of the axles when they came to the warehouse itself. It was guarded. Not lightly and not by any lot wearing Briste’s colors. Cook was livid, complaining about the ingredients he’d not get to use. The rest heard the story with other concerns. Oiread was too old to approach them, so he waited and listened and soon enough they mentioned a name.
Raic. He did not know it, neither did the rest. Except for Eilit. She had known the elf’s mother. He was a sadistic little child, abandoned to the streets when the woman could no longer control him. He had formed a gang, one of the few who managed to keep themselves within the city walls. There was no way to know what their goals were, but Óraithe could assume as much from the sound of things. They meant to have the Low District as she did. And with the bulk of Briste’s guard seen to by her own people, he had suddenly grown ambitious. Eilit knew nothing of the gang itself, only that it existed. She had lived to the east and Raic drifted westward when his mother abandoned him. The lack of information on him troubled her. They would need numbers, sure, and all the rest they could get. But there was risk in it. Oiread had seen the men at the warehouse armed. Not well, only with knives and the like, but that may not be a situation they could hope remained as it was.
Scaa sighed, bringing her mind back to the present. Dusty streets and dry Bais winds.
“We’ll need to organize soon. Make a guard of our own, take volunteers, set watches, send scouts farther afield, all the rest.”
She’d taken the thoughts from Óraithe’s mind. It was a burdensome chore and their numbers grew with each passing day. She wondered if Raic’s gang didn’t do the same. In all his descriptions, Oiread had not called the men at the warehouse savory looking or genial.
“It was something we’d have done sooner or later. To speak the truth of it, I’d hoped we would have more time. Perhaps it’s for the best. Best no one gets…” Óraithe looked down alleys as they passed. She could just see the square. Her speech slowed as she saw them. Arrows stuck in the ground. Not in large numbers, but enough to be seen down an alley. “… comfortable. Borr.” Her voice took on some of the concern that had been in his. “Why are there arrows in the square?”
He did not look back, but rather to the sides, nervously. “They sent a volley before the proclamation. Two volleys. Killed one, wounded four others.”
“And you thought to tell me that Briste had written me a nasty letter instead?”
His voice was shaky. In truth, it was the first he had seen of any real violence. “I… you are right Tre— Mistress. You are… I am sorry.”
This was not an acceptable way to find things. One of the most trusted among her group was so easily frightened by the small show of force. How many others shared his cowardice? There was value in skills, but if the people saw some shivering coward beside her, how could she convince them to walk with her past the Palisade? No, no, no. This was untenable. She stopped Borr and turned him, bringing a quick, firm slap across his face.
“Look at me. My eyes. Now.” He did as she commanded. “You will be strong, do you understand me? An arrow is a blessing. If you wish to fear something, fear that they capture you still breathing. And think it every time you see them. Yes?”
Borr nodded through the whole of what she said and seemed to straighten himself when she was done. “Yes. I…” He shook his head. “I understand.”
“Good. You are valuable, Borr. The people look to you. You cannot show them such a face.”
His face straightened and he turned. “Thank you, Mistress. We should continue on.”
The streets were lined with barricades. Most were in the middle of construction, many showing recent additions to their height and angle. No
