“Yes,” the wife echoed. “So beautiful! To be in front of our shop!”
“Oh! Our shop, you must, Treorai. You must take our fish!” He held them out to her and Rianaire looked at them, trying not to laugh.
“Please! A gift!”
“Of course!” Rianaire smiled wide and threw her arms open. “Such beautiful produce. Inney, please.”
Inney grabbed the fish, each nearly half the size of her, and did her best to hold them aloft.
“Oh, thank you Treorai. We did not mean to delay you! Please, we are sorry. But for all you have done.”
“All you have done,” the wife echoed again.
“There is no need to thank me.” Rianaire smiled and placed a hand on the fishmonger’s shoulder. He stared at it as though he were being touched by some anointed creature. “It is the work of you and your lovely wife that keeps our province prosperous and free. I thank you.”
He was on the verge of tears. “Thank… oh… oh no, you… Treorai. Sisters bless you, Treorai.”
“Sisters bless you… yes.” The wife could not compose herself, tears falling over fat, red cheeks.
“We must be going. I thank you for this wonderful gift and for your kind words.”
“Of course, Treorai. Bless you. Bless you.”
They both repeated the words half a dozen more times as Rianaire and Inney walked away. Rianaire cut in at the first corner to be away from them. When she could no longer hear the sounds of the pair, she stopped.
“You can leave those.”
Inney looked at the fish she had been struggling to carry. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. What would we do with them?”
Inney laid the fish on the ground carefully and as soon as the second was put down, Rianaire scooped her from her feet and lifted her up.
“What—!”
“What a bother.” Rianaire laughed. “Carrying something half your size. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to do it.”
“You don’t mean to carry me like this, do you?”
“I do. I very much do. All the way to the inn.”
“It’s embarrassing!” Inney turned her head and pushed it against Rianaire’s breast.
“For who?” She spun and Inney clung to her tightly. Rianaire felt a rush pulse through her. “This is how it ought to be, reality. Strange and inescapable.”
U
Aile
The girl one was chittering something at the male one again and Aile could not decide whether the noise bothered her more than the sand whipping against her face. The chariots had ridden for hours now, and there was little indication that they intended on stopping soon.
Ilkea’s attempts to talk to the old satyr went unanswered for what must have been the tenth time, but she seemed no less enthusiastic in the noises she barked at him.
“Some did not believe Shahuor existed.” It dawned on Aile that the words must have been meant for her for whatever reason. “It has been nine hundred years and sixty seven more since his exile. I have told you of the pride of the Halushek, yes? Much of what we still hold today is in thanks of Shahuor. He rose up for us against the centaur. Led us to many victories. Even when we long were bent and broken, he made us stand.”
Ilkea turned to Shahuor again and rambled on in her native tongue, pausing briefly from time to time to see if a response was forthcoming. He remained silent. The quiet was what drew Aile’s attention. She was not sure of the ways of satyr, but she had yet to meet one which wasn’t over-willing to prattle, even when it was clear the other party couldn’t understand. Perhaps the other satyr were so bewildered by his ability to keep quiet that they had simply raised him to living god status. If only things could be so simple. No, it was clear the creature was dangerous, she knew that without Ilkea’s prattle. For such an old beast, he was still sinewy and his muscles were hard.
The sound coming out of the other chariot had pointed itself back at her. “Shahuor is a savior to us. Some think he abandoned us. The same who hate me for what I am. They do not know. He was too clever for the centaur. Too wise. They were made angry by this. Swore to kill every of us. He exiled himself that we should survive.”
Uninteresting as the story was, the faun being so willing to push gold on her made more sense. Perhaps it was even too small a price. Information had a way of revealing that about such work. Though, negotiations could always be had after the work was done.
“Here.”
The venerable Shahuor had spoken the first words since they left the prison and they were in the elven tongue, grating and snapped. Ilkea looked shocked and confused for half a moment before pulling the reigns and bringing the chariot to a stop. Shahuor stepped down and sniffed at the air.
“A fire. Here. I will see to it. Young one, you will make our tents. Two hundred yards from here.”
Ilkea began to speak in the satyr tongue and he clicked loudly.
“No! The Drow cannot speak our words, nor hear them. You disrespect her presence.”
“Yes, Shahuor. I will see to the tents.”
Aile stepped down from the chariot to see the old goat raise a trio of rock seats from the ground and form a pit in the center. Ilkea was busying herself unstrapping the first of the three tents from the chariot. When it was free, she hurried off into the dark. Shahuor poked at the bags until he found one with wood. He untied it and pulled a few pieces, taking them to the pit he’d made.
“You can light it?”
Aile stared at the wood. If this was satyr humor, it was unimpressive. She ignored the question and went to her horse to check her supplies. Finding them in order, she pulled some dried meats, taking a bite before closing the pouch. The sight of the wine in her pack drew an annoyed huff. It
