Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 (49 page)

“Your hair has doubled, I think,” he said. “It must be startlingly long out of its plaits. I’m surprised you’ve kept it.”

“There’s still an odd chance I might get trapped in a tower, and need rescuing.” This had been a favorite story of theirs, as young children, and Hafgrim smiled to remember, but then frowned.

“I am... sorry for my distrust earlier, I was...”

Adria waved her hand dismissively as he fumbled for an apology.

He smiled a little, nodding, but his voice remained serious. “We should talk, Adria.”

Adria sighed and nodded in return. “No doubt.”

“And we should truly test our stomachs, as well,” he added, turning and motioning her to follow. “While there is still fresh food to be had. We shall miss it in a few days, also without doubt.”

“I would welcome the chance to meet our Sisters, as well.”

Hafgrim said nothing for a moment, wore no expression as he watched the deck hands in their tasks. “I am certain there will be a time. For now, I fear, they mostly keep their own counsel.”

He flashed a smile, turning to bow his head again, then made his way to where the Knights were finding a clear and safe space to gather.

“No doubt,” Adria whispered after he was out of earshot.

Hafgrim had only moderately better quarters than Adria, enough for Hafgrim’s page to serve the two of them as they dined.

Adria was offered a seat on a small stool, while Hafgrim set upon his bunk. Between them, the page was setting a small but serviceable table — clay and wooden platters, bowls, cups, and pitchers. There were small loaves of crusty bread, firm wedges of cheese, slices of cured pork, almond milk, and beer.

“An impressive array…” Adria admitted.

Hafgrim nodded. “No doubt it will be dried fish and watered wine in three days’ time. Apples, if we’re lucky.”

The lad brought a ewer of warm water and a basin for washing their hands. With the weight, the confines, and the slow listing of the floor beneath him, he had some difficulty balancing the two, and Adria was obliged to pour the water herself, rinsing one hand and then the other. The boy looked quite relieved when the task ended with relative success.

“This is my page, Ames,” Hafgrim said as he followed the ritual. “He has the noble distinction of having survived my occasionally ill humor.”

The boy half shrugged, half smiled, and nodded all at once, as he offered a napkin for Adria’s use.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ames,” Adria said. “Who is your family?”

He looked a little startled, and then glanced to Hafgrim, as if for permission, but Hafgrim did not seem to notice, his attention focused more on the pitcher of beer the lad took up.

“I do not know my father, Ma’am, if that is what you ask...”

Hafgrim raised his cup for a drink, and then broke a loaf of bread to share between himself and Adria, explaining, “Most of the pages and squires now are sons of the Sisterhood. Their lineage is not important.”

Adria blinked several times, then smiled at Ames as he poured her beer and milk, offered honey. Uncertain what to say, she managed, “I am sorry if the question offended you.”

Ames merely shook his head, still appearing a little confused — either with the original question or with her apology for it.

Hafgrim portioned pork and cheese between his platter and Adria’s, and with his knife waved the lad away without looking. “That will be all for now, Ames. We’ll attend to ourselves. Go and explore the ship, if you like. I can find you if I have need, so long as you don’t fall overboard.”

The lad bowed to them both, in turn, and closed the door behind him as he left, obviously eager to do just as was ordered.

“The peers no longer offer their sons as squires?” Adria asked, after the boy had gone.

“Between the peers, certainly,” her brother shrugged. “But at court most are now the children of Sisters. Squires to Knights of Darkfire of rank are often the same. It seems somehow to be more prestigious.”

“And the Sisterhood keeps the knowledge of the fathers to themselves?” Adria said, almost murmuring, then raised her tone to normal, and offered, “I apologize, I am no longer familiar with these customs.”

“No matter...” Hafgrim waved this away, as well.

Not impatience
, Adria began to understand. 
Not annoyance... I have not said anything wrong, the question is only... irrelevant. Things have changed so much that old traditions seem trivial. Sir Marbury has good cause for concern.

“We should speak of your mission,” Adria suggested after a few moments of silent eating. She was surprised at her own hunger, especially for a morning meal, but Hafgrim’s easily surpassed hers. He was soon offering her second portions as he took his own.

“Yes, of course,” he nodded. “What would you care to know?”

“I know almost nothing, but what little I know makes the journey seem... curious.”

He glanced at her twice, then focused back to his spoon and knife, though he nodded.

“As you know, the War of Scars was fought mostly in Kelmantium. After Kelmantium lost, Heiland, among other nations, established embassies in Kelmantis, to help rebuild our diplomatic efforts, and to keep a watch on any efforts to rekindle war with the West.”

Adria nodded. “Father left this war well before its end. He returned to claim the throne of Heiland while many of the lords still fought in Kelmantium.”
Including our uncle,
she might have added.

Hafgrim continued, nodding. “The Sisterhood returned to Heiland with him, but they left some of their members in Kelmantium. This became our embassy, and a Mission of the Sisterhood.”

Adria nodded as she ate. “This makes sense.”

“Ever since the war, our concern there has been great, but our diplomatic efforts… erratic. Several years ago, we established a Sisterhood Convent and Knight Academy alongside the embassy, to further advance the wisdom of the Sisterhood and the purposes of our House.”

“And it was accepted?” Adria asked, incredulous. “Or seen as an encroachment?”

“The former, at first,” Hafgrim nodded. “It was not done out-of-hand. Could not have been. It’s not as if we sent battalions of Knights. This rose up out of the Sisterhood Embassy itself, and in fact was more Kelmantian than Aeman or Heiland. We sent some support in the form of a few Sister Ambassadors, but specifically withheld military additions. Regardless…”

Adria nodded. “Trouble.”

“Yes,” he smiled wryly. “Last winter, we found reason to believe that the embassy had been...” he hesitated again. ”...compromised.”

“How so?” Adria urged. It appeared that Hafgrim might really know more of his task than she had expected. It also appeared that he might be more capable of handling it than she had believed. Still, obviously his
‘we’ refers more to Taber and the Sisterhood.

“The Sisters of the embassy had always sent routine missives to Windberth, but it became apparent that these had begun to be forgeries.”

“You know this for certain?” She hoped he would reveal details, but decided it was too early to press him directly.

He nodded and crumbled some of the hard cheese on his bread — Coffield, she believed it was called. “The signs were slight at first, but Taber herself began to answer the messages personally. In her replies she asked them questions for which no forger, nor even a torturer, could have elicited answers. After a few such exchanges, the falseness of the messages became obvious. After a few more, they ceased altogether.”

Adria frowned at the thought, but nodded. Though Hafgrim seemed to know what he was talking about, she questioned the wisdom of Taber’s plan. “If that is the case… they know to expect us.”

Hafgrim put down his knife and spoon. He leaned back, met her gaze, and crossed his arms, nodding. “Absolutely.”

“Was only the one Mission established in Kelmantium?”

“No, but the one in Kelmantis was the most established,” he said. “The others are monastic and far remote, and their lines of communication flowed through the capital.”

“This is…” Adria hesitated to phrase herself diplomatically. “A rather weighty mission for a first Knight’s bequest.”

Hafgrim exhaled at length, then smiled a little. “But I have a single contingent of Knights. And three Sisters. Dear Sister, are you perhaps implying that we might be getting ourselves in a little bit of trouble here?”

Adria blinked, uncertain rather to be amused or horrified.

Hafgrim uncrossed his arms and raised his hands. “Things are not wholly as they appear. I won’t say there is no cause for caution, but I can say that I have some reason to be more confident than the details seem to warrant.”

Adria shook her head, unwilling to be dismissed of her concerns so simply, regardless of his confidence, and a demeanor more stable than she had expected. “Explain yourself.”

He sighed, nodding. “Taber has other contacts within Kelmantium — old but loyal contacts which had little to do with the embassy itself. They will be a sure source of information, of political weight, and, if need be, of protection. And she knows that, no matter what ill will or subterfuge Kelmantium may harbor for Heiland and the Sisterhood, Kelmantium is not prepared for an outright war. By sending a prince of Heiland, our mission gains some protection.”

Adria considered. She could not expect Hafgrim to trust her, and yet… he was being rather more familiar than she would possibly have expected.

What is his part in this game?
 She was disturbed that she could not tell already. She could not read him as simply as she should, as she always could before.

Taber has trained him herself,
 she realized.
...and well. He seems more formidable than the Sisters she has sent... why?

“I’ve been told that Taber was a woman of some power in Kelmantium, before Father brought her here,” Adria ventured, but neutrally.

Hafgrim nodded. “Yes.”

“It is not unusual that she would have maintained some kind of connection, no matter her new allegiance and her standing during and after the war. She has such talent.”

Hafgrim shrugged and then nodded.

“Still, I don’t understand…” she hesitated. “If these contacts are so strong, why are they not already in contact? Can we be sure they are not compromised or lost as well?”

And now he hesitated, looking down and then toward the door. “They are… sleepers,” he sighed. “I can’t really say more just now.”

Sensing his mood beginning to sour a little, Adria brightened and changed her tone.

“Well, you have accepted the task, so it will have to be done, Sir Knight.” She smiled at him and regained his attention. “Tell me... how does it feel to wear the shining armor at last?”

“I am satisfied to at last be of some use.” A faint smile crept across his lips. “The walls of the citadel seem to close in a little more each year.”

“You seem rather better schooled than I remember,” Adria nodded. She did not wish to make any response which might draw more attention to her absence. Instead, she said, “I hope you have completed your training to your satisfaction.”

“Yes,” he nodded, brightening a little more. “I redoubled my efforts after... you left. You would be surprised at the extent of my education, once I allowed myself to focus.”

“I can see that,” she agreed, a little stiffly. 
Just what has Taber made of him? He was always easily led, or easily provoked... Has she led him down our father’s path, hoping for a better ending?

“Hafgrim,” she asked, sighing. “I must ask. What has happened to father?”

“You saw Father?” He was not surprised, but it was a real question.

Adria nodded. “Yes.”

He shook his head, expressionless, his eyes again upon the door. “Taber says his spirit is at war... that he is battling demons the rest of us cannot see.”

Adria did not know how to respond, then she realized she could respond with the truth, though any point of agreement she shared with the Matriarch discomforted her. “She may be right, though I am uncertain as to the nature of these demons.”

“How the mighty are fallen...” he said, sipping his beer. “Or... however that goes.”

“Yes,” Adria agreed. She did not want to challenge Hafgrim yet, but she needed to test him around the edges, at least. “Our father was not always a... balanced man, perhaps, but now he is… absent. Something has happened inside him, that is plain, or something has been made to happen to him. What do 
you
 think?”

“I think that the wars were at last too much for him,” Hafgrim suggested. “I think that all of the responsibility he had to endure, for Heiland, for us… I think it wore him down, finally. It cannot have been easy to forge a nation out of all the parts leftover from Aeman and Somanan colonies, exiles and savages. He had to make choices others could not. He led as far as he could, and it has been the duty of others to take up the reins.”

“Others? You mean Taber?”

“Not Taber alone...” he shrugged impatiently. “The whole of the Sisterhood, the Knights, and there are still functionaries at court, of course.”

“All newly appointed by Taber, it seems.” But now her tone was a little too strident, and Hafgrim could not ignore it.