A satyr stood suddenly when her bowl clattered in the dirt. He walked to her in a huff. A dusty creature with an axe at each hip and scars across his shoulder and chest. He croaked at her before laughing, looking around to rile the others. Aile looked to Ilkea for an explanation.
“He asks if you know what you have eaten.”
“Ask how he can be so stupid as to be unaware that a Drow is not an elf.”
Ilkea fumbled for a moment, trying to work the translation in her mind. Aile turned to leave. The one who had challenged her barked while Ilkea gave him Aile’s reply. His taunts turned angry, first directed at Ilkea then at Aile from the sound of things. She could hear hoof beats in the dirt behind her. She put a hand to her long blade and kept pace. The enraged satyr was three strides away when she saw movement from the corner of her eye and turned to watch it. Shahuor slid smoothly in front of the charging goat and lifted him by his chin. A cloud of dust burst from under the younger of the combatants as he struck the ground. Shahuor barked what may have been words at him and it was done.
Aile turned and continued away, Ilkea joining her more quickly than she’d expected.
“Chariots. Make them ready.”
Ilkea trotted on ahead and Aile kept her pace. She could not bring herself to find a redeeming feature in the satyr as much as she tried. She looked over the papers, studying them in the hopes that some piece of it might be familiar, but there was nothing she understood. It mattered little in the end.
The chariots were waiting when she came upon Ilkea again. Aile untied the pouches of gold from her belt and placed them in the pack attached to her fresh horse. She put the papers in with them as well. Her goods had been transferred over and if anything was missing she did not notice. Then, there was little of value that she left unattended.
They set out and rode south for a while. Ilkea informed her that they would need to pass around to the other side of the mountains and make for the foothills north into the dry plains. It was easy enough to tell that Ilkea’s mind was wandering. The girl glanced over at her from time to time and then returned to looking ahead silently. The sun was creeping low in the sky when Ilkea finally spoke.
“Cursebringer…”
Aile did not look. It was rare that such apathy could stop the questions, but she would never fail to hope.
“Do you know the centaur script? Can you read it?”
An interesting question. Very interesting. Aile turned her head and locked eyes with Ilkea, waiting silently to see if she would continue. The girl could not bear it. She looked down and away and said nothing else.
“I have no need to,” Aile said flatly.
There was no more talk. Aile wondered if Ilkea intended to warn her. She almost wanted to laugh. She would get to see soon enough the value of satyr honor.
Part Seven
p
Z
Socair
Casúr was something of a stiff ride and Socair was glad to be freed of the confines of the carriage again. She had been told time and again that she would come to enjoy it. Even she had thought that she would find some manner of utility in it, but it was quite the opposite. In spite of herself, she could only see the rolling box as a death trap that either slowed travel or made it uncomfortable when it need not be. Nearly every moment of the ride for Casúr was marked in her mind by concern that an ambush would flood from the trees— though they were generally well away from the road— or by some bump that she had neither been able to see coming nor avoid. Had she been ahorse none of these items could be marked as a shortcoming.
The thought of ambush was the more grievous of the two. It would take nothing more than a few moments to have the gaudy wood and lacquer monstrosity flaming from top to bottom. Were that not enough, she’d not met a horse who dealt well with fire. Even the most well-trained of them would buck and run if a blaze was at their backside. And this was what was used to transport nobles and Treorai and Binsemen and the like. Socair had scoffed when considering it so often that Práta had begun giving her strange looks. There could not be a more noble idea in practice, Socair decided. An inescapable, readily-burned box of wood to hold the most precious pieces of elven civilization. All for vanity. She scoffed again and Práta gave her another confused glance. Socair put on a resigned face and motioned toward the carriage.
At least for the moment, they were done with it and it was being loaded into the Regent’s stables outside the walls. Casúr, it relieved her to find, boasted open gates and, refreshingly, seemed incredibly happy to have visitors from another province, important ones especially.
“Always busy these first weeks of Bais. And on into it, truth
