Rianaire put on a pouty frown for half a second.
“Oh, it’s just as well. The business before us is fairly serious, I suppose. I trust you’ve had time to think on my offer.”
Olla’s face turned serious and he looked at Méid. She spoke.
“While I very much appreciate your faith in me, Tre… Rianaire, I cannot leave my place here.”
“And why not?”
Her eyes shot to Olla, who was quick to put his hands up. “I’ve no place in it, no. I cook and I sleep. Méid does as she pleases and I’ll follow where she likes.”
Méid continued. “I am needed here.”
“I see. To help the people?”
“Yes.”
“Is that what you wish? To help the people?”
“I do. So much as I am able.”
“Then,” Rianaire said before sipping some wine, “what of the people beyond Daingean?”
“I cannot help so many.” Méid looked up from her plate. “Even here, I am pulled so many ways I can barely keep my wits. And there are so few people here.”
“And so few to help you,” Rianaire interrupted. “Or is that by your own design? How many have you appointed to positions of meaning? What have you delegated?”
Méid looked to Olla, who only raised his eyebrows and shrugged.
Rianaire ate more and continued, food still in her mouth. “You are a woman of supreme talent and extraordinary conscience, Méid. I treasure you and what you’ve done for the people of Daingean. I would have you do the same for all the people of our province.”
“And what of Daingean? What of the horsefolk?”
“Daingean is thriving. Surely you know who would help it continue to do so. Does she not?” Rianaire pointed her fork at Olla.
“Aye.”
Méid slapped his thigh and turned away from him slightly.
“As for the horsefolk, they are why I need you. Why our people need you. And I would never break your ties with Daingean. Both of you are crucial to what lies beyond this Bais.”
Méid sat a moment, quiet, but stirring, fidgeting. She shook her head from time to time and mouthed sentences to herself. After a half minute, she sighed.
“I’ve no taste for city life, Olla.”
He laughed lightly and looked to Rianaire. “No chance of a garden in the Bastion City?”
Rianaire took a large swig of wine and slapped the cup down.
“I have a place. In the Outer Crescent. There was… a fire. Though it’s been rebuilt. And I had it expanded. You would feel very much at home there, I would make sure of it.”
Méid frowned and placed her hand on Olla’s. He gripped her shoulder and smiled kindly.
“Very well. For Spéirbaile. And for her people.”
Rianaire raised her cup. “Then it’s decided!”
Olla raised his as well. “Aye!” He paused there and lowered his cup. “Now… I remember as a boy… I hear that, eh, the Binse and the Treorai, they…”
Rianaire laughed. “Worried I’ll please your woman?”
“Worried you’ll do better,” he laughed.
“The deep shame that it is in Méid’s case, I have no use for that ritual.”
He sighed in relief and Méid slapped his thigh again.
“I apologize for him, Rianaire. He wasn’t raised well.”
“Hey, now. I was raised… no. No, she’s the right of it. Haha. I’m a brute.”
“Brutes are worth more to me of late than the sort who roam the Bastion. Complaining and writing papers and making work of simple matters. Bah! I’d burn it all down if stone took to flame.”
“How long?” Méid asked, suddenly.
“Hm?”
“Until I must go. To the Bastion City.”
“Ah, yes. One week. Two at the most. I would apologize for the short schedule, but the horsefolk will not be so quiet for long and I suspect you have plans in place should Daingean need to go on without you.”
“I do.” Méid nodded, her mind clearly turning over the work to be done. She poked idly at her food.
“Wonderful!” Rianaire held her cup aloft and Inney filled it. “Now, if it’s entirely appropriate, I should like to hear more about Olla’s hands.”
U
Aile
It was late afternoon and the sky had not quite begun to change color. Being the cold season, the sun would set soon enough and Aile could earn her pay. She had ridden with Ilkea since morning toward what seemed an endless sea of nothing. It was only in the past bit of an hour that a spec of a building had shown itself at the horizon.
They were just near enough to cleanly make out the shape of the structure when Ilkea pulled her chariot to a stop. Aile did as well. The satyr dismounted the car and looked silently across the desert before checking over her supplies. It was strange of her to not speak during the lot of it. An hour before, Aile would have been grateful for the silence. Now, it annoyed her. Even in her annoyance, Aile thought better of inviting the grating sound of satyr speak. She’d had enough of it for a lifetime or more. The thought reminded her that she was here to put another satyr within earshot.
The wind had picked up with the evening slowly setting in around them, and the temperature was dropping swiftly. Ilkea finally spoke after having gone over her cargo twice and seeing to tightening the packs.
“Shahuor is there.”
Aile looked out at the building. It was an unimpressive old ruin, though one wall had been shored up and rose above the others, a bit taller than she remembered. The satyr moved to the front of the chariots to inspect the horses and continued explaining.
“We have counted no more than twelve who guard. Each then never stays more than a season.”
The nature of the prison seemed clear enough from the details Aile had. It was not a place one was released from. And there were not so many kept there as to be concerned with proper staffing. Or perhaps they were kept in such a way as it did not matter.
“The large wall. It is where Shahuor is kept.”
“In a cell?”
“No cells.”
A yard, then. A very
