“Go. Be away.”
He shooed her, face turning red even past the deep bronze that it was. The veins in his neck had begun to pulse. She would not like be given a second entreatment to leave on such terms and so Aile turned and left through the flap she’d used to enter. She walked briskly through the camp, leaving the sounds of barking and crashing pottery behind.
Ilkea was not where Aile had left her, instead she was milling near one of the cookfires and seemed alarmed when she spotted Aile walking through the camp. The girl came running up.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re leaving.”
Aile did not stop to answer and Ilkea hopped along, beside, looking back to the cookfire before giving up and walking normally.
“I do not… where… we…” She composed herself and started again, trying to seem calm. “Then, to deliver the final orders.”
“Rightly so. Where is the third camp from here?”
“I… third. Yes. I do not know these lands well. So… a… my map. I must check it. South, I think.”
They were nearing what was a stablemaster among the horsefolk when a cry rang out from across the camp.
“Sister! Sister, please hear me!”
The words were Drow, but the voice did not belong to Harekor. It was a ragged voice, male. Aile turned to see a Drow man hobbling toward her. He was covered with divots where flesh had been pulled from his bones, his penis had been split down its middle, and the bulk of the toes had been taken from his right foot. He reached for her as he drew near, two satyr close behind him. Aile moved aside and the man fell to the dirt below, giving a pained grunt as he landed.
“Goddess be merciful, the mumblings were true. They are letting you leave? Tell them,” he became frantic and his face washed with tears. He came to his knees and clasped his hands together. “Tell them you will take me with you. Take me from this place, I beg of you. Take me to the Blackwood or kill me here, sister.”
Aile turned to see the satyr. Both had stopped and watched her quietly. She knelt down in front of the man.
“Stop your pathetic crying and listen.”
The man choked back his sobs and put his hands down. “Y-yes, sister. Anything. Please.”
“Do you have coin? Or your family? Would they pay to have you back?”
He began to shake, staring at her in horror. “I… I have nothing. No family, they were killed. Sister.”
Aile stood and looked at Ilkea. “Come. I believe we have business to settle.”
The Drow screamed at her, cursing her soul and her house with what ragged breath he could force out. She heard the sounds of flesh on flesh and the curses were no more. Her attention turned to the satyr at her side. They would rest tonight, she knew. And they would almost certainly have a talk. One which, at last, Aile was very much looking forward to.
Part Nine
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Socair
It was not a comfortable ride after the satyr had mysteriously exploded across her. Socair had been covered in blood and entrails and her own sick and Sisters can only imagine what else. They had stopped at the crossroads and found Práta waiting there with Nath and Rionn. They were only allowed a brief chance to clean themselves before Rianaire insisted they be off again with Socair in her carriage.
For the whole of the ride, Socair found herself drifting toward a focus on the small girl that rode inside with them now, Inney. It was not a name she had heard before and so much about her was strange. Her height, her face, her manner. Rianaire must have noticed her distraction at some point. She asked her rather pointedly whether she was curious about the girl and Socair had no reason to lie, rude though it may be. The explanation was so matter-of-fact that she could hardly believe it. A half-Drow with a strong ability with Spéir’s Gift. It explained enough, though Socair had never even read tall tales of such ability. There were no battlefield legends or campfire stories of it. She had heard tales, however, of extremely adept satyr and so she accepted the reality for what it was. Either the satyr had exploded of their own free will for some reason or the girl had done it.
Socair could not help but develop a sort of respect for Rianaire after what had happened. Indeed, that the Treorai would fight when pressed by horsefolk of all things was beyond her imagination. She had done well in the fight even, as calm as any green soldier would have been on first brush with the satyr. It was the calm after the fight that she found truly confounding. Socair could hardly come through a fight without feeling flush and worn and tense and excited all at once, yet Rianaire seemed to return to her normal self. She could not make heads or tails of the woman’s demeanor except to assume that her life had been threatened so often that she could no longer muster the effort to care.
They came to Theasín by early evening in spite of the delays. There was still blood in places Socair had not been able to wash and the thought of buckets and rags seemed less charming now. A cold river would be better. No need to stare at water as it went orange and filthy and then dip a rag into it once more. The crowding on the roads had thinned and there were very few who still bothered lining themselves up at the city gates to complain. Still, a small barricade had been erected in the interests of doing the work of keeping carriages and the like from coming through and so they came to a stop.
Socair
