The healer. The one she had brought Teas to in a life she no longer recognized.
“How are you here? You are a High District elf.”
Naí half smiled. “Fásachbaile is a different place now. You will hear about it in more detail when we begin this meeting. I was sent out. Many were. Briste sent her guard into every home and shop in the High District after you had been sent off into the Wastes. Any who she decided were unsavory or strange or ugly or Sisters only know what else, they were exiled with nothing but the clothes they wore when they were taken. She has become paranoid. Insane, even. I expect the woman sees treason in every shadow these days.”
Óraithe felt a sense of satisfaction rise just for a moment inside her but she would not let it linger. There was much to be done and she was many miles from the walls of the city where Briste still lived. Scaa nodded at Naí who returned to the table along with the others and Scaa saw Óraithe to the chair at the head of the table.
“Things will move quickly now.” Scaa began without ceremony or introduction. “Óraithe is known to you all, but I will introduce the table to save her the time of having to ask after you if you speak.” Scaa looked to Óraithe for approval and she gave a nod to proceed. “Naí you know well enough. The same for Callaire and Borr.” The men both met Óraithe’s eyes and nodded. “The old man is Oiread. He mixes tinctures and potions and the like, as Cosain did.”
The man spoke. “Though not so well as he. Cosain was a friend for many years. His loss was a deep pain to me. Not a day goes by I don’t regret it.”
Óraithe looked closely at the man’s face. He looked genuinely upset to recall Cosain. “I appreciate that you care for him still. His memory drives me in so many ways.”
Oiread bowed his head and Scaa continued.
“The two women are teachers. Eilit—” The middle-aged woman at the far end of the table held up a hand. “—and Earráid.” The young woman across from her did the same. They did not seem related but both had lightly tan skin and raven black hair. “They teach needlework and dye making and basic subjects. Cook’s in the kitchen. We just call him Cook. He’s got no name as far as any of us can tell. Or at least no tongue to tell us. And he can’t write. He works slow so I doubt we’ll see any food before we’re done.” Scaa looked around the table. “That’s enough introducing, I think. There will be more than enough time for talking and greeting and whatever else when we’ve covered the business. We’ll start with word from the Bastion City.”
Borr spoke first. “Word has gone damn near to a trickle of late, but it’s not much of a surprise considering what the word is. A woman came from Abhainnbaile to see Briste. Someone important. Rumor in the Low District says she kidnapped a girl right out of the Bastion and took off. Made Briste near lose her mind, apparently. She’s pulled near all the guard out of the Low District and the ones that are there get attacked near daily by mobs angry about one thing or another. No food, no business, no water.”
Óraithe sat up in her chair. “Briste’s all but abandoned the Low District?”
Borr nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”
Óraithe was puzzled by it. Naí certainly had no reason to lie about the Treorai losing her mind but to think that she would lose control of the Low District. There would be no way to protect trade caravans bound for the High District. Even a fool would understand that. “What of the gates? The walls?”
“Guarded as lightly as ever. Few dozen for the bulk of the front of the city at the most.”
Scaa piped up. “The gates have been shrinking as a concern of late. Sadly, they will be the least of our issues, I think.”
Scaa slid a map to Óraithe. She picked it up to look it over. The map showed the Bastion City in the center and then the surrounding plains out to the mountains. The roads were filled with red X marks and a few circles were placed in areas far off the roads.
“Bandits?” Óraithe said the words mostly in hopes of it not being what she thought.
“Hordes. We don’t know the exact locations, but there are too many attacks and not nearly enough survivors.”
“Fires take it all.” Óraithe put her chin in her hand and leaned closer to the map. “They’re on every side. Have they sieged the city?”
Oiread shifted in his chair and spoke. “No. Though they’ve moved slowly and acted even more slowly. It is unlike anything I have heard or read in all my years.”
The others at the table made noises of agreement as well. Óraithe knew very little about the horsefolk save the old man, but she had heard trader stories. Always straight forward attacks. Obvious ones with large numbers and no apparent direction or planning. There was no way to look at the positions they’d marked as anything else.
“The hippocamps will siege the city.” Óraithe stated it plainly. “We must at least assume as much.”
“They could not have picked a worse time for it.”
“Worse for us,” Óraithe mumbled the words.
“Then what will we do?” Oiread straightened himself in the chair. His voice was tired and worried. “Should we leave the Bastion City to the hordes? Should we stay and live out Bais in our makeshift city?”
The table looked to Óraithe. She sat back in her chair, looking between the map and the people gathered there looking to her for answers to questions that seemed nearly farcical. The question was a large one, she realized. She was being asked if she
