The girl satyr handed her the papers and pouches. Aile eyed the words quickly. It was centaur tongue, or near enough. She had seen enough of it scrawled on tarps and stretched skins to know it. She was not aware that the language had been formalized for writing. What concerned her more was the weight of the gold. It was twice what she was owed and generosity was not a well-known trait among the horsefolk. Even if it were, the job was not beyond expectation. The faun expected something of her.
“You have done well and returned Shahuor to his people even more quickly than I could have hoped for. Timely work should be met with timely pay. And the other, well, I assume you are wondering about it.” The faun grabbed a glass with clear liquid in it and took a small sip, wincing at the burn as it went down. “I have more work for you, if it would be something you find agreeable. Simpler work, even, but we are found with a particular need.”
Aile threw the second pouch hard at the faun’s head. He ducked just barely, his hands coming late to cover his face.
“Do not presume my agreement. And do not think I am so stupid as to be swayed by gold in my hand when I can just as soon take it off your corpse.”
A vibrating nervous laugh spilled out of the tiny creature. “Haaaah. Yes, yes. Presumptuous of me. I do apologize. Well, I should explain the nature of the work. The papers you hold, they are my personal recommendations for the movements of our hordes in this province.” Salaar took another sip from the glass with shaky hands.
Courier work was what he seemed to be describing. To offer such work to a Drow and at that heft of gold, something was amiss.
“The situation is precarious, you see. Elves roam the open lands at random and often we would be forced to the roads for travel at any sort of speed. We simply cannot afford to have these papers interrupted in their transit. A Drow would draw less attention than any of our own should you happen to pass any—”
“The job, faun. The pay. And nothing extra.”
“Yes, very good. You are to take those papers to each of three camps. Then return here for payment. As simple as that.”
Too simple.
“Ah,” he said. “Ilkea will join you. As a form of insurance. Surely you can make an excuse for having her with you. A captive or some such thing.”
He meant to kill one or both of them, she knew it now. She could not be sure when, but as there were three documents, the contents were likely real enough. Aile understood Shahuor’s hatred of the faun somewhat better.
Aile held up the pouch of gold. “This. What unit of measure is it to you?”
“The… weight of the gold?”
She narrowed her eyes at him and said nothing.
“Of course, how stupid of me. A half-skull.”
“Six of them.”
“What?”
“That is the price of the job. Six.”
Salaar flushed and his face screwed up trying to hold back annoyance. His response would tell her how desperate he was. Failing a positive response, he may just call for guards to kill her now.
“I… Cursebringer, your terms are harsh. But we are where we are. Fine. Acceptable.”
He knew that meant he would have to pay her half up front. Aile wondered whether the papers were more important or if it would be her death. Or maybe an expensive scapegoat in the death of a noble satyr.
Salaar stood and waddled to the back of his tent, through a flap and into what must have been the bedroom. She heard the opening of a chest and the shifting of metal on metal. She found herself hoping the camp was at least semi-permanent. Tracking the faun would be an annoyance.
Her gold was ready and Salaar handed it grudgingly to Ilkea. He must have come to covet it. A sign the faun were at least capable of higher thought. The three pouches dropped were near enough in weight to the first. Aile opened them. The gold was mostly the newer mint, though she spied a few rosy cubes inside. The complaint would be wasted time, though she felt she could get away with it if she wanted. She did not.
“Ilkea knows the way?”
Salaar was drinking deep of the clear liquid in his tiny cup now. “She does.”
“Then we will take our leave.”
Aile stood.
“Very good, Cursebringer. I hope that you find the work worth the cost.”
She left the tent before Ilkea had managed to catch up and eyes immediately drew to her. A few satyr even took a step or two in her direction, stopping when Ilkea appeared behind her and returning to their business.
“Have you not been unfair?”
“I’ll cut your tongue from between your teeth, goatchild, if you speak that word to me again.”
Ilkea clapped her mouth closed. The girl’s familiarity was pushing her patience and the reminder of stations was needed.
“Take me to food.”
It would be disgusting, Aile knew, but she lacked enough stored food to last the trip in its entirety and horsefolk rations would be worse than whatever they made fresh. Ilkea took the lead, moving through the camp toward a series of three cookfires in a rough triangle. There were at least twenty sat in the clearing eating from what could be called bowls if standards were low enough.
Aile stood herself as far away from the eating
