There was frustration growing on her guest’s face. “I have been sent by Deifir to seek aid. Or rather, an alliance. That we might help one another against the hippocamp threat.”
The pie arrived and Rianaire dug into it immediately. Socair stopped as she ate. “Oh no,” she said, mouth half full. “Do continue.”
Socair gripped the table and gritted her teeth near imperceptibly. “We have an organized force, which no other province can boast of, but any of us alone lacks the manpower for the coming attacks.”
“Ah, the heart of it.” Rianaire wiped flakes of crust away from her mouth. “You would take our defenses and run them south to fight a threat that has not yet appeared.”
A look of annoyed resignation washed over Socair. She had heard those words before. “I… understand your hesitance, but—”
“If you understand then I have a proposition. I will soon ride for Theasín and I would have you come with me. After all, you must understand that what you ask is a very heavy thing. I would not agree to it unless I know both the state of things for my people and the woman who would lead any I send along with her. You are Deifir’s Binse of War, are you not?”
“I am.” Socair stood.
“Then will you ride with me? We have much to discuss. And at the very least, the trip to Theasín would be that much more pleasant in such fine company.”
“Of course, Tre— Rianaire. I have every intention of doing all that I can until I have your answer, whatever it may be. If that is all?”
“A shame you’ll go so soon. I had hoped to share more stories. Perhaps some happier ones. But no, I shan’t keep you. I hope you enjoy your time in the north, Socair of Abhainnbaile.”
She gave no reply, only nodded and left with Práta who bowed before taking her leave. Rianaire pushed the pie away, having left it mostly uneaten.
Síocháin spoke. “You mean to consider Deifir’s proposition?”
“I do not,” Rianaire said flippantly. “I intend to waste the time of a woman who was sent here to waste mine.”
“She seemed earnest.”
“Because she is. To her own detriment. She believes she has been sent to save all of us with her horse and her sword as she has done her whole life until now.” Rianaire drank from the mug until it was emptied and slapped it down against the table. “If Deifir wishes me to play teacher to her little pet, then it would be a shame to give too brief a lesson.”
U
Aile
They had camped only a half mile from the main road between Fásachbaile’s Bastion City and the port cities which were scattered along the inlets and far coast, a decision which led to no end of worried complaining from Ilkea through the night. Aile found that the amusement of setting the satyr ill at ease calmed her more than the endless frightened chittering annoyed her. Stopping had not even been her intention to that end, but Ilkea insisted the horses might find such a journey unfair as time was not so precious in their current duty. There seemed to be as much sense in asking her blades what sort of skin they preferred to pierce, but Aile could not know the temperament of the animals trained by the horsefolk and a slow walk through the cold desert lacked in appeal.
The ride had resumed just after dawn and a breakfast which was well below par. Aile could feel her nerves beginning to fray. The food was poor and there were none to kill and she found the promised gold to be less and less convincing as a reason to continue with the entire farce that lay ahead of her. Still, she had only been given so many chances to provoke centaur and they were the nearest to good sport she had ever dealt with. Simple, but with enough power, weight, and reach to make up their lack of inventive tactics.
A ready accounting of her weapons was made no less than three times before she had stepped into the chariot. Centaur were easy enough to see to, but in numbers they would be a problem for her, doubly so with no vertical space to help her move. A measure of caution was required in her dealings from here forward, she knew that well enough.
It was midday when they made the foothills camp and Aile pulled her chariot to a stop when the form of three centaur could be seen moving out from the small camp to meet them. It was a tiny horde, very probably comprised entirely of centaur. She stepped down and fetched the papers from the satchel she’d stowed them in, handing the entire stack to Ilkea. A test of the value of her honor.
“See to them.”
The three centaur came to a stop a dozen yards away and stood wary. The largest of them presented himself. He had a scar that ran down his chest and deep into his right foreleg. He croaked angry words at Ilkea.
“‘What is this’, he says.”
He spoke again and spit at the ground when he was done.
She translated again. “‘The faun send us dark messengers now? An insult,’ he says.”
Curious for a centaur to speak so well. Not rare among the warlords she had learned. Aile put her ears to the wind and she heard it. The faint sound of screams from the camp. The centaur were, as ridiculous as the idea seemed to her, gathering information.
“Take him the paper so we might be done with this.”
Ilkea ferried the letter across and the centaur snatched it from her hands, stamping at her for not immediately backing away. He read over it and then looked to Aile. He turned, speaking a few words in the centaur tongue to his attendants. One was small for a male, and the other was female, not much smaller
