No One's Chosen (4 page)

Síocháin sat wordlessly and took a sip of her
tea.

Rianaire rolled her head back. "We used to be young,
you know? I'd say we were so free back then but that was never
true, was it?" She glanced around the room and considered the space
for a moment. "I was so terrified of this place."

She motioned a hand over her head at the colonnade.
"Mother would stand in front of that damnable window staring out as
though she were just waiting for the whole of Spéirbaile to crumble
beneath her." She took a long sip of tea and closed her eyes,
sighing. "Fear of failure, I suppose."

Síocháin spoke at that. "Not a concern with which you
are burdened, I suppose?"

Rianaire threw her arms wide and laughed a sarcastic
laugh. "Ha-ha-ha! Need you even ask, my darling Síocháin? All the
Great Hedonist of Spéirbaile needs concern herself with is when the
next orgy will occur and whether there will be enough drink!" She
smiled in spite of herself at the jest.

Síocháin looked at her with a flat expression.
Rianaire sighed again, happy and resigned. "There was a time that
sort of talk would have had you blushing beet red and covering your
face."

"There was a time you'd have come crying to me about
how pitiable it was to be born into money and power." Síocháin's
retort was matter of fact. She took a calm sip of her tea.

Rianaire laughed and stood,
slapping the table. "
HA!
Good! Now if it please my handmaiden, let us go
and pay patronage to the finer drinking establishments of my fair
city."

Síocháin stood and gave a florid bow. "By your leave,
milady."

They had done as Rianaire desired and now it was
morning. Rianaire sat up in the bed surveying the landscape of
naked elf flesh that laid out before her. Fat and thin, male and
female, all younger than her by half at least. It was a smorgasbord
and she had had her fill the night before. Now the problem of how
to escape without inciting anything particularly carnal was upon
her. As much fun as staying might be and as much as she was
prepared to protest the work, it was a providence that must be
kept.

With some effort, Rianaire emerged from the room,
pulling on a caraco over her frumpled dress. She mussed her
shoulder-length blonde hair, eyes closed, smiling pleasedly.

Síocháin interrupted her grooming. "Drink your
fill?"

"Do I ever?" Rianaire sounded almost disappointed.
"Still," she said, "my people need me and the beds here are simply
not sufficient to fit them all."

"I do pity your biographers." Síocháin began walking,
Rianaire followed.

Rianaire buttoned her caraco and they made for the
stairs and out the front door. "The books will certainly take a
turn after the first hundred years. 'She dutifully studied the
magics of the Four Sisters, finances, and the histories of the
realm… then came the orgies.' Haha, I can only hope." Rianaire
laughed lightly.

The streets were full and lively in spite of the
briskness of the day. Merchant stalls lined a high street, their
shouts underscored by the songs of buskers. Spéirbaile wasn't
always so rich with artists and scops and the like. It had, for the
bulk of its history, been a city built on the cold, steel bones of
tradition and vigilance. A vigilance that had long outlived the
raiders her forebears had sought to keep at bay, Rianaire felt. She
was fond of reminding her Binsemen that the north was not so wild
as it had been. Even the hippocamps had given up on Spéirbaile.

The walk was pleasant. Talk was sparse, but Rianaire
had spent so much of her life in temples and Bastion towers that
she always relished being out-of-doors. It had always helped clear
her mind. Perhaps a relic of her youth when she wasn't availed to
the sun and the breeze with any regularity.

"I've decided!" Rianaire declared in a voice loud
enough to startle Síocháin, who was lost in thoughts of her
own.

"What have you decided now?"

"We'll not return to the Bastion today." Rianaire
sounded almost triumphant in her declaration.

Síocháin didn't seem surprised. "The Binse is sure to
express their displeasure at having to spend a day without her
Grace under close watch."

"Surely the province will plummet into unrest and
we'll each suffer untold horrors at the hands of the hippocamps!"
Rianaire grabbed Síocháin and dipped her romantically. "But fear
not, simple elf! The mighty heroine of Spéirbaile will push them
back. They say she is as mighty as a dozen centaur warlords!"

Síocháin's face remained placid. "Do they?"

Rianaire stood up and considered this a moment. "Hm.
Surely someone must." She shrugged. "Either way, facts are
facts."

Síocháin straightened her dress. "Twelve, was
it?"

Rianaire struck another flamboyant pose. "It was! And
a modest count, to say the least!"

Síocháin allowed herself the slightest of laughs.
Rianaire threw her hands up in victory. "Ha! I have cracked the
armor around the heart of the maiden! Surely this means my cause is
just."

"The cause of shirking your responsibilities as
leader of the north?"

"The very same!" Rianaire was too busy with her
theater to rise to the jab. She marched off down the street leaving
Síocháin very little choice but to reluctantly follow.

It was a few blocks before Síocháin noticed where
Rianaire was leading them. "Rianaire, I'm afraid I really must ask
where it is you think we're going?"

"Ah!" Rianaire seemed to have just remembered that
they were headed anywhere at all. "There is a fantastic potshop in
the Outer Crescent that has piqued my curiosity. So rare that I
make it to the outer ring, isn't it?" Going beyond the second of
Spéirbaile's three great walls was as exciting now as it was when
she was young. Maybe even more so. As a child, she would have
surely faced a lashing for being so brazen. Those days were past,
she told herself.

Rianaire looked back to judge how Síocháin liked the
idea. It was a sour look and subtle, but one that Rianaire well.
Síocháin had long since given up trying to convince her to see
reason once her mind was set, so on they walked.

It was a half hour of window shopping and refusing
gifts before the pair arrived at the inner gates. They were open
and the foot traffic was considerable as a result. The Inner
Crescent was closed three of every four days in a week. This is as
it had always been and the practice had forced grievous battles of
attrition onto any enemy fool enough to try taking the city
directly. This was likely the reason the strict rules regarding the
gates had never been protested.

"I'm beginning to believe you had this planned."
Síocháin spoke up as they passed through the gates.

"And I am certain I have no idea what you might
mean."

"And you know where this amazing potshop is?"

"More or less," Rianaire sounded anything but
confident, she knew. She shrugged and added, "What does it
matter?"

"Very little, now. But in an hour's time, I might
become cranky. Ought not the savior of Spéirbaile provide for her
beautiful ward?"

Rianaire laughed. "Hahaha, spoken like a true
maiden."

In spite of all her bravado, Rianaire seemed to have
no real idea of where they were headed. She'd wave a hand at any
questioning and call it adventure. The adventure took a turn at the
sound of a girl's cries for help, however.

Rianaire and Síocháin were approaching a small, muddy
intersection in the poorly kept roads of the Outer Crescent when
they heard her. "Help! Please, someone!" The voice was urgent.
Rianaire made for the intersection with as much speed as she could
manage. Her dress was functional at the least, but still not
entirely friendly for running. She rounded the corner and looked in
the direction of the screams. She saw a waif thin elf with muddy
blonde hair running toward her in work clothes.

"The shoat!" she pointed as she yelled.

"Shoat?" Rianaire was confused. She looked down just
in time to see a pink-orange blur make its way between her legs.
Snagging her dress, it pulled her off balance and she fell into the
mud with no hint of grace.

The girl slowed and put her hands over her mouth. She
scarcely had time to be concerned over the dress as Rianaire was up
and after the shoat in seconds. "Wait!" She called after Rianaire.
"Your dress! Please!" Síocháin shook her head as the farm girl ran
past in a panic.

Rianaire was dead set on catching the pig. Her shoes
weren't entirely useless, but the grip was insufficient. She kicked
them off and continued her chase. The pig was fast but it wasn't
apt to outsmart her. She hoped not anyway. The bards could be quite
unforgiving with that sort of thing.

The shoat had a fair lead on her but seemed to be
losing speed. It was no wonder with all the flailing and squealing.
How could it have any manner of endurance with such a spastic means
of escape? The lead wasn't too great but the road was too wide for
Rianaire to manage a sort of capture. She'd have to hope for it to
make for an alleyway, something manageable.

Almost as if the pig had heard her thoughts, it
bolted for an alley rather than try confront the few elves on the
street ahead. Rianaire wasn't far behind, she rounded the corner
into the alleyway and saw her target some yards away. It was time
to end this.

It took only half a second. Rianaire formed a subtle
shape with her hand and stomped the ground. A small stone wall shot
up in front of the pig and it clambered to a stop, horrified and
squealing.

When Síocháin and the farm girl finally caught up
with Rianaire, she was splayed and breathing heavily on top of a
stone cube that seemed to form from the ground itself.

"I… I got the bastard." She said, lifting her head
for only a second to tell them of her victory.

The farm girl walked toward her. "Your dress! I am
so…" Rianaire sat up at the pleading. "I… please, I don't have much
but I can-"

Rianaire interrupted the girl. "No, no, no. You
shouldn't worry over something like this."

"But surely it must've been expensive."

"It…" Rianaire looked down at the dress and realized
she had no idea of the cost. She looked to Síocháin.

Síocháin spoke for the first time since arriving. "It
was. Well, relative to this poor girl's worth."

"Oh no," the girl fell to her knees.

"Now Síocháin," Rianaire put a hand on the girl's
shoulder, "how often have you chastised me for making fun at the
expense of others."

Síocháin shrugged.

"Si…" A wave of realization washed over the girl.
"Síocháin? Then… then you…?" She looked up at Rianaire.

Rianaire simply smiled down at the girl.

"Oh Sisters, no. I can't. I… my shoat… the
Treorai."

"Hahaha!" Rianaire lifted the girl up and hugged her
tightly. "Síocháin, isn't she just precious! Let me keep her!" She
turned the horribly confused girl around and squeezed her cheeks.
"Please? I'll see that she's fed and everything!"

"It would probably serve best to address the girl
before she dies of fright. Or confusion." Síocháin tossed a pair of
muddy shoes toward Rianaire.

"My shoes! You absolute darling!" Rianaire turned the
girl to face her. "Good morrow, child. I am Rianaire, Treorai of
Spéirbaile. Mayhaps you've heard of me."

"I… I have. Please, the dress. Yer dress." The girl
seemed to have forgotten entirely about the pig.

Rianaire looked down at the dress again and back up
at the girl. "Well, if you so insist that recompense be paid, I
suppose I have little choice. I would sup at your farm and eat of
the foul shoat that has dirtied my visage!"

"Yes. Yes, as it please ya, Treorai. Anything."

"Hahaha!" Rianaire hugged the farm girl again. She
pulled back, still holding the girl's shoulders. "Did you hear,
Síocháin? We've been invited to dinner!"

Síocháin raised an eyebrow. "I am sure I remembered
'invited' to mean something altogether different from what just
happened."

"Details!" Rianaire proclaimed. "Let us away to the
wonderful farm of…" She turned to the farm girl. "I fear I do not
know your name."

"Áras."

"To the wonderful farm of Áras and her honorable
family!" Rianaire began walking out of the alleyway, pushing Áras
along in front of her. She stopped suddenly. "Ah! Almost
forgot."

Rianaire lightly pounded the side of her fist on the
top of the stone cube, a wall fell away. She grabbed the shoat up
under her arm. At first, the animal protested but it soon grew
quiet.

It wasn't a particularly long walk to the farm. Small
farms for livestock and valuable crops like parsnips and spinach
were not uncommon in the Outer Crescent. The safety the outer wall
provided was a protection that many sought. Still, space was at a
premium and plots of land did not change families. You could either
buy them out, which only the most desperate families were willing
to do, or hope that the family that owned the plot died out. There
would then be an open bid for the plot with restrictions dictating
the nature of the business allowed. Áras's family had likely been
there for generations. Pig farming was not a profession one
happened into and, from the looks of the shoat Rianaire'd been
chasing, they were quite good at their trade.

By the time the unlikely group had reached the front
door of Áras's home, she had loosened up a bit. Her family had
indeed been there for generations. The shoat, Áras explained, had
managed to escape while they were mending the main fence. She
pointed to it as they approached. The shoat was mischievous, Áras
knew, but she hadn't imagined it would cause such trouble. Áras
asked Síocháin and Rianaire to wait outside while she explained the
situation to her parents.

Rianaire looked around. The plot was small. She
doubted it would even hold the brothel she'd visited the night
before. The stone was dirty but not disused and there were two
doors, one on the front and another that exited the side of the
house into the animal enclosure. The enclosure made up the bulk of
the property. There was also a window, such as it was. There was no
glass, a small eave over it to keep rain out. On the inside of the
window hung a green curtain that allowed the family some privacy
from prying eyes. "But not ears," Rianaire thought. She could hear
the family talking plainly. Áras still hadn't said who exactly was
waiting outside. Or that they were waiting outside.