No One's Chosen (35 page)

The elves pressed in behind the edge of the building,
both panting. The length of the day biting again at them.

"Did they see us?" Síocháin whispered.

"I cannot say. We should act as if they had."
Rianaire said the words and turned to move along the back of the
library as quickly as she could manage. Síocháin followed
closely.

The gap from the library was another large one, but
beyond was a small line of houses. They were close-set, all with
darkened windows. The word had spread and none among the town would
be so foolish as to invite the curiosity of the invading raiders.
Another wash of anger flowed through Rianaire. If this had been
Spárálaí's work, she would not let him die easy. Even if he meant
to have her killed, he likely did not expect this. That would not
remove the weight of it from his neck.

They passed the gap quickly and came in behind the
houses. The yards were small behind the wooden houses, some fenced
in. They passed the first, and the second. It would not be far now
and they would be on the southern side of the town, nearer the main
road. As they came to the third, the door beside them opened with a
squeak. Rianaire wheeled, ready to throw whatever she might at the
person but the voice that came was old and tired.

"Treorai." His voice was graveled and high, but still
spoke of urgency. "Treorai, this way. Quickly."

There were few other choices if they had indeed been
seen. She ran to him, Síocháin just behind, cudgel at the ready.
The women rushed inside and the door shut behind them.

The old man spoke. "Treorai. I had heard you were
here. I did not think…"

She stopped the old man there. "Who are you?"

"I'm no one, Treorai. I haul lumber down from the
north for trade. You met my younger son at the inn. He stole away
to tell me of your arrival. He was as excited as I'd ever seen
him." The old man looked at the floor as if he wanted to weep.

"I am sorry." Rianaire meant the words, truly. They
may have come whether she was here or not, but it did not
matter.

"No, I'm sure he delayed them. He would not betray
you for something so simple as his life. His mother and I taught
him better than that." He turned and started toward the front door
of the small house.

Rianaire followed. "Then I am in your debt."

"Not at all, Treorai. We are loyal folk and you've
done right by us. We all see it." He pulled the door open. "Come,
we haven't the time. I've a few horses at my storehouse. It isn't
far."

They followed the old man out into the street. The
rain had turned to a mild drizzle and would not hide them from
much. The man went as quick as he could but one of his legs did not
move so good and his movement was an awkward skip. Rianaire and
Síocháin kept pace with a brisk walk.

He motioned ahead. "S'not far, just at the corner
there."

The storehouse was well maintained to see it from the
outside and they had made it without being seen. The old man pulled
keys from his cloak and shoved them into the door. They jingled as
he twisted and the door swung open. The three elves hurried in.

Inside was pitch black. There were no windows to the
place, though she could hear the faint sound of horses. The smell
was more apparent. The old man moved deftly even in the dark. He
pulled a match along the wall and dim light flooded in. He quickly
lit a lantern.

"The light'll draw them, no doubt. Not much we can do
in the dark though." He pulled the lantern down and carried it to
the far side of the room.

The light shifted and Rianaire could make out four
horses in stalls at the far end of the barn. The woodseller hobbled
around the room as quickly as he could manage, grabbing paddings to
throw over the horses. He tossed them to Rianaire.

"I'd ready them for you, but my leg'll just slow
it."

Síocháin took the paddings and made for the stalls.
The old man motioned Rianaire over. "Saddles." She grabbed one and
made for Síocháin. The man followed her with the other.

When she got close, she could see that the far end of
the storehouse had a pair of large doors that opened to the world.
Síocháin had padded the two chestnut mares nearest the doors. The
other pair were dray horses and would not make for a viable escape.
Rianaire slung the saddle up over one of the horses who chuffed at
the sudden weight.

The old man lifted the other over the horse. "They
ain't well bred, but they'll get you away—" A sharp bang came at
the door. "Fires take 'em. Bastard raiders." The woodseller hobbled
away, shouting back at them. "Get them saddles tied. Reins are on
the wall."

He made it to the door as another slam rang into it,
this time the raiders shouted. "We can see the light under the
door! What you hidin' in there?"

The old man slid over a large wooden bar to secure
the door. Síocháin had tied the saddle to her horse and put the bit
and reins on. She moved to do the same for Rianaire. The pounding
was louder now and near constant. The raiders hooted and hollered
outside, demanding to be let in. As Síocháin tied the saddle, the
bangs against the door became louder and deeper. They were at the
door with tools now and the number of voices had grown. The old man
threw his body against the door to brace it.

Rianaire watched, unblinking, until Síocháin tapped
at her shoulder. She spun and Síocháin motioned to the horse. She
mounted, Síocháin crossed to the other stall and did the same.
Rianaire trotted her mount out into the middle of the storehouse
floor. Síocháin moved behind her, mounted as well, to free the
latches on the door. She swung them wide and the wind howled in,
bringing a mist of rain with it.

The pounding and screaming at the door had reached
fever pitch. The door would give any second but the old man held
his back to it with steely resolve. She stared at him in his
struggle. He looked up at her and smiled.

"Treorai," he shouted, his voice nearly giving way
with age, "Sisters keep you." He smiled and the door gave way
behind him.

Rianaire spun on her horse and dug her heels in deep.
She burst out of the storehouse just ahead of Síocháin and they
made quick for the main road. She could hear the cheers and yells
of the raiders behind.

"Sisters keep me," she mumbled to herself. She wanted
to cry, but instead she laughed.

Aile had never been so thankful for the Goddess's
fire as she was just now. She had burned shut the hole that had
been left in her arm and the bleeding had stopped for the moment.
She stood on the back side of a tree, three arrows dug into the
trunk. The girl elf had been sending them occasionally as if to
remind her that there was to be no escape without walking into the
sights of the archer.

Even moving behind the tree had taken a good deal of
work but there were no other arrows piercing her body so Aile had
assumed she was allowed to take cover.

"She wishes for me to run," Aile thought.

She looked down at the arrows sticking through her
calf. Drow healed fairly quickly, but there was still blood pushing
its way past the shaft with in rhythmic pumps. Aile bent down and
snapped off the feathered end. The tremor of the wood sent a spike
of pain through her body. This would hurt. She put two fingers
behind the arrowhead and breathed deep. She yanked.

The wood was smooth and it slid through easily enough
but the suction caused a deep throbbing pain when the arrow was
pulled clear. Blood spattered across onto her other leg and she
winced. She pulled a dagger free of its sheath and cut clear the
leather around her lower leg. The wound was clean and would likely
heal on its own, but she needed to move. Aile closed her eyes and
breathed deep, placing a finger over both sides of the hole in her
grey skin. Her breathing sped up and the blood began to dry and
smoke. The sound of searing meat and burning skin crackled in her
ears. She put her leather clad wrist into her mouth and bit to
stifle a scream. Another second and the work was done. It would not
hold for long, but it was all she could do.

Aile stood again, with some effort, and poked her
head around the tree. She hoped for a chance to steal some linen
from the corpse only yards away, but no sooner had her head slid
out than another arrow buried itself in the trunk of the tree just
below the others. She pulled her head back into the safety of the
tree. She could not stay here, that was abundantly clear. She would
simply have to hope that the archer intended to see her suffer
rather than kill her outright. It was an odd thing to hope for, but
it was all she had. She did not know where the girl was and she
could not close the range, however much it might be.

The sun was shining overhead. The Goddess was mocking
her, she thought. What else could it be? If death found her, she
would find the Goddess. Aile gritted her teeth at the thought.
Someone would give her blood in trade for her own, even if that
blood was the divine.

She looked off ahead of her. The trees weaved tight
and should provide cover for all but a sliver of her body at a
time. That was, if she could move quickly enough to make use of
them. Aile punched herself hard in the leg with her good arm to
ready her body for the pain. She could not afford to stumble. She
flexed the muscles of the leg and the burn of the wound smoothed
out. She sprang from her cover and charged directly away from the
archer.

It was distant and quiet but she heard the shuffle of
leaves behind her. The girl was moving. No doubt the taller,
uninjured elf would outpace her. It was only a matter of time. But
she would be out of range of any decent moving shot for a time. It
was the best she could hope for. And so she ran, the pain tearing
at her leg, increasing with every step.

She had made it maybe a few hundred yards into the
wood before the pain was too much to bear. A tree with a wide
enough trunk to hide behind was just ahead. She weaved a few times
and fell in behind it, hoping that the archer would not have seen
her. Maybe, just maybe she would pass by and Aile could spring on
her. The Drow sat, listening. There was nothing. The archer had
stopped moving, but had she seen her? Aile's heart sank as the
thrumping bass of an arrow sunk into the meat of the tree she sat
behind. The archer was not so stupid as she'd hoped. There was
little she could do but run when she could and hope the elf's
patience wore thin.

The next few hours were an unending torment. Aile
would run when the pain in her leg fell enough to make a dash. Even
as she sat behind the trees to rest the girl would put an arrow
into the trunk to remind her that she was there. One time she had
called the girl's bluff and stayed behind the tree. The arrows
began to creep their way around the trunk, toward her head. She had
fled as the arrow landed halfway around the trunk.

The exhausted Drow could not say how many trees she
had used for cover now. The girl had put out more than twenty
arrows, but she must have been recovering them and even then, she
never put more than three in a tree anymore. She had traveled more
than a mile in the wood by her estimate. Though she had cauterized
the wound in her leg it had re-opened twice so far. The pain and
the worry that the elf might tire of her game were enough to put
her to exhaustion, but having to use the Fire, and so precisely at
that… it had nearly been more than Aile could handle. She could not
abide dying, however. She was a stubborn woman when it came to such
matters.

The trees had gotten younger and thinner as she had
run. They did not allow her much cover anymore, but it was all she
could do to find rest. Aile understood the game well enough. She
lost when she could no longer run. She had hoped that the girl was
less accurate with her weapon. It was not a concern that had
occurred to her until the trees began to grow thinner. She thought
that an arrow would have to miss the trunk eventually. Something to
give her hope that an open dash would not mean her end, but it was
not to be. Arrow after arrow had hit home in the trunk. She could
feel them dot the wood just around the height of her head as she
crouched. And open run was as good as death, but the trees were
thinning and soon there would be little choice.

Aile fled to another tree, and another, and another.
They were even younger and more evenly spread than before. Her eyes
widened behind a tree so thin that she had to stay sideways to keep
her body concealed properly. There must be a clearing ahead. A
timber mill, maybe. It couldn't be far with the trees spread as
they were. She was nearing, she figured, two miles of travel in her
current manner and it was all she had. She decided that the next
run would be her last.

Her grey skin shimmered and shifted in the shaded
sunlight as she stood. The wound at her leg was still shut. She
slapped at the muscle and clenched her teeth against the pain. The
pain was good. It reminded her of what it was to live. Aile
breathed deep and sprinted from the tree.

She made good speed. The trees went whipping by and
she dared not look behind. The burn at her calf was dull and not
enough to break her stride. She kept the pace. To slow down was
death. The archer was behind her somewhere, she knew it. It did not
matter.

She had made a few hundred yards and the burning
returned. Her leg screamed out for respite but she could not give
it. Aile bit her lip and willed her legs to move faster. There was
the sound of a thunk drilling into the tree beside her head. The
girl had figured it out. Their game was done. This was the end.
Aile dug her good leg into the ground, forcing herself to the side.
She would need to use the trees, she knew. Another hundred yards
blew by. She could see it. A green field. She pushed harder, her
leg a blaze of pain so bright it forced a sound from her.