“I…” Socair looked to Práta. “Neither of us has had a chance to clean ourselves and—”
“Ah, the Treorai certainly understands that you have only just arrived. As to your esteemed companion, I do apologize, but the Treorai has specified that she should like the pleasure of your company privately.”
“Oh.” Socair looked at Práta with concern. She had acted as a sort of buffer when dealing with the Binse in Abhainnbaile. “I understand. Then, please.”
Socair followed the elf from the room and out into the hall where the serving girl sat, staring silently at the floor. All of the servants wore garb of pale and forest green, even the man ahead of her now. The hallway followed around to what must have been the area behind the main hall. He stopped in front of a large pair of double doors, carved with crests Socair remembered seeing on the myriad paintings. He knocked firmly at one of the doors and waited. There was a quiet response from the other side and he pushed the door open.
The servant waited by the edge of the door as Socair entered and closed the door quickly behind her. The room was vast with a dome ceiling. The Treorai and her Binse were arranged on a raised stage, looking down at her as she moved to the center of the room.
Alone indeed, she thought. The Binse all seemed to share features with the Treorai in one way or another, and most looked well older than the woman. Briste spoke first.
“I hear that Deifir has sent you without a proper entourage. I do hope that there is not so much need for able bodies in Abhainnbaile that you were sent unattended. Oh, but how is Deifir? I have not seen her in such a long time.”
“She is well.”
With a large, sweeping motion Briste expressed her relief. “Wonderful news. Simply wonderful. I have missed her, you know? She is my favorite of the other Treorai by far.” Briste cackled at a joke that seemed only to exist to her, though her Binse joined her quickly enough.
“Now,” Briste continued, “I know you have been sent on important work. I fear that it may not have made appropriate banquet conversation, so please…”
“Thank you, Treorai.” Socair took in a breath. “There is cause to believe that the hippocamps may not leave our provinces unperturbed this Bais. There have been irregular patterns in their behavior for more than a year now. It is Deifir’s belief that careful preparation and a unified front will be key should the hippocamps attack en masse. We are at our weakest in the cold season, this year especially.”
“For Abhainnbaile, you mean,” grumbled one of Briste’s Binsemen.
The comment took Socair aback. Her nerves had been held at bay due primarily to the hundred times she had gone through the explanation in her head. She had expected questions, even dissent, but to murmur complaints before she had even finished?
“I…” She struggled to remember what she meant to tell them. Her eyes went to the floor and she thought of Práta. She brought her eyes back up to face the Treorai. “As we slow trade and remain close to home for the winter, we risk having little warning of—”
“Oh just say it plainly, girl.” An old man spit the words. “Your Treorai sent you to beg our help because you’ve run yourselves out of food. With Drocham and half your southeastern cities awash in horseflesh, you’ve not got enough for the season. The attacks weakened you and you wish our people to have less so that you might see the season in comfort.”
The rest of the Binse mumbled their agreement as Briste looked them over and then looked to Socair for a response.
She hardly knew where to begin. There was no sense in what they had said. The most fertile of their lands laid along the Rith and their coastal cities in the west had gone entirely untouched.
“I am not…” Socair started and looked frantically across the grim faces looking down at her. “We have no need of food. We wish to coordinate our forces. To share resources as needed, whatever they might be.”
“So you want our able-bodied soldiers to trot off to Abhainnbaile to die?”
Socair looked away and balled her fists. “If you even have soldiers, I would—”
A pair of hands slammed the table to her left. “You would dare insult our forces while you ask for our help?”
The murmur at the table had begun to grow into voices of discontent. Socair bit the inside of her cheek and took a deep breath. She would need to measure her words.
“Now, now.” Briste spoke. Socair raised her eyes immediately. “All of you should calm yourselves. Clearly the girl is stupid in such matters. Deifir has sent her here because she is deeply concerned for our wellbeing.”
Stupid? Stupid?
Socair could not bring herself to believe she had not misheard the woman who ruled an entire province. She was not sure where to look or what she could even do. Her mind ached to reach for the hilt of a sword, but it was not there, she knew. It was in the room with Práta and sweet salvation from these people.
The Binse quieted, but their faces were no less sour. Briste looked them over and then smiled politely down at Socair.
“Now, I do apologize. I am very interested in what Deifir needs of us.”
We need nothing of you, she wanted to scream. We would protect you! Help you!
“Sadly,” Briste continued, “I must go and make myself ready for the banquet. It will be just wonderful and we will talk then in, perhaps, a setting where you find yourself more able to express what it is that you mean.” She smiled again. “You may go and make ready as well.”
Socair turned without another word and made for the door as quickly as she could manage. She swung the heavy door open with more
