Armire was an incredibly capable woman in that regard. She lived for the serious nature of a military commander and was born of a long line of them. A grand misfortune, then, that she had also lived for Spárálaí’s wrinkled old cock. And died for it. The thought of it put a bitter taste in her mouth. The wine helped to wash it away, but only so much.
“Well, I should say this meal is ruined,” she sighed. “We have no standing military to speak of. Briste is likely already awash in hippocamps, or will be soon enough, and Deifir has now lost two of her major cities but can perhaps hold a while. A fair summation?”
Síocháin shrugged. “Optimistic, if anything.”
“Delightful. Well, when Briste is swarmed, the horsefolk will all but have free passage into our lands. My leisurely adventure in Binse building will have to become a bit more insistent. Do either of you know of any candidates?”
Síocháin shook her head and Inney gave a simple “No.” Though there were still three courses yet to be served, Rianaire had lost her interest in the meal and so they left. She slept poorly and woke annoyed. There was very little to be done save to begin visiting Regents and see if they might be able to send her in a meaningful direction. She made for Theasín’s keep after a small breakfast. It was an impressive place. There were tall towers at every corner of the walls surrounding it to allow a vigilant watch of the surrounding valleys. The main gate had a checkered light and dark grey stone pattern laid all around the portcullis, one which was matched throughout the main yard. When she arrived, Rianaire was welcomed in and shown to the main hall. The attendant who took her there was a different one to the day before. She had not exiled anyone but the Regent so perhaps the other had gone with him. Or simply left for fear he might be blamed next. The stern middle-aged man had been replaced by a fresh-faced young elf who looked sturdy in his build but unsure of himself.
He left them behind in the hall and Rianaire took a seat in what was surely the Regent’s chair to await whoever had been appointed after she’d left the night before. It was not worth her time to stay and wait to see who it might be, though so long as the message she intended had been sent properly with the punishments she’d handed down, the person who took the seat would not matter.
It could not have been five minutes before the door to their left opened and a woman with grey and silver hair came into the room. She looked to be nearly Rianaire’s age, though poorly shaped at every curve below her neck. An unhandsome woman no matter where one looked.
She came to the front of the seat Rianaire had taken and bowed deeply. “I apologize humbly for the wait. I am here to serve as it please you.”
The message, it would seem, had been conveyed. “No need for formalities of that sort. I am no tyrant. And before we get to business, I must apologize as well. I have thrust a burden upon you, and without even knowing your name.”
“Cruóg, Treorai. I am called Cruóg. And I am wholly grateful for this position and a chance to serve my people.”
An ugly name for an ugly woman. The name seemed familiar. She had been, at least at some time, the head of a trade guild in Theasín. A very successful one at that. “I think you will do well for them. I have come before you for a number of reasons, though it seems you are in the middle of some work?”
“The work can wait, Treorai. I—”
“I won’t hear of it. What I need can certainly wait until lunch. Have something prepared. Something that has been killed. I am in a mood well-suited to meats, especially after my dinner was so spoiled.”
“At once, Treorai.”
“That is all for now.”
Cruóg turned on her heels and walked briskly from the room, jiggling in all the wrong places as she went. Lunch was a few hours away still and so Rianaire busied herself by walking around the keep. It proved a terrible way to waste time, she found, as she spent the bulk of it looking at dull pictures of rigid faces on angry, dead elves or being bowed at by servants and attendants and nobles. When lunch had finally been called for, she was guided to a large dining hall with a table to seat fifty or more. The new Regent met her just inside the door and walked down to the far end where four place settings had been laid out. Rianaire sat at the head of the table.
“Has there been any news from Spéirbaile, firstly?”
“Little. A marmar brought word of the arrival of a Binseman from Daingean.”
“And from Casúr?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid.”
Not worrying, yet. At the very least Méid had completed the journey unmolested. The satyr ambush had left her half-expecting everyone she sent on travel to wind up dead. A leftover feeling from having been chased across the province by Spárálaí’s murderers, no doubt. There was little reason to think the satyr had planned anything so grand or well-informed.
“Tell me of the state of your protection of this city. If a horde arrived tomorrow, would the city hold?”
Cruóg thought on the problem a moment. “Likely not for long. The city guard is poorly trained,
