Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 (56 page)

Adria sighed, gave a silent prayer to the Spirit Helpers, and descended her perch carefully.

She followed him in parallel. At first, she did not plan to go far — partially out of caution, and partially because she knew he could not have traveled far himself, but nonetheless she hesitated. It was unwise for her to leave the area without anyone knowing.

The man’s trail could easily be found and followed later, by any of the Hunters, so Adria allowed herself a few minutes’ pursuit, on the chance that there was some particularly immediate danger.

Is this a scout? 
Adria wondered. He does not even bother to conceal his passage. Even I could trace his path later.

She followed just at his blind point, the space he most often ignored — not directly behind, but behind and to his right, where his eyes never long strayed.

Even should he grow wariness or good sense, his eyes would not be as keen as any elk. There was plenty of ground cover. Should Adria still herself, he would likely find her invisible. She kept her bow ready but undrawn, and made enough of a path for any Runner to find and follow quickly, but with little risk that one such as her quarry could easily trace.

She had learned much from Mateko in recent months. Though not a Runner herself, of course, he had taught her more and more of their skills — those he was particularly adept at — and she was now rather thankful.

Adria’s confidence and curiosity overwhelmed her caution, and she continued her pursuit after the point she knew she should probably turn back.

If it is the Knights, surely they have better scouts than this... but then... why should they even bother?
 She realized. Why should they even care if they are discovered, when the People retreat at every sign of advance? They want the land foremost. And i
f we simply abandon it, then they might as well march with flag and bugle.

Unless...
She considered after a few more steps.
Unless they know of our growing resistance, of Preinon’s new army...

Now, her imagination began to carry her onward, and then there was a sound of some sort, louder than the man’s passage. As the stag had before, the man startled and turned his head, but he could not seem to find the source of the sound.

It gave Adria hesitation, as well. It was something large, for certain. A bear? More elk? she wondered. Or another clumsy man? The man picked up his pace, then, and Adria found herself rushed to follow him and yet stay reasonably quiet, to not leave a too obvious path.

I’m not ready for this,
 she thought, but even then did not turn back. There was another noise —
chopping wood?
— and the man moved even faster, his hand on the hilt of his sword to steady it. She could see him from the corner of her eyes as she picked her way quickly through the brush, her eyes now on her own hands and feet.

Then the forest opened into a small meadow full of sunlight and wind, and Adria blinked away the light and cursed herself for her unwariness. The man cleared it just a moment after, and hailed someone ahead of him, at the far edge of the clearing where a small camp lay, maybe thirty meters away.

This one wore a coat of mail and a surcoat of violet and black, and saw Adria even as she saw him. He dropped the ax in his hand and reached for his bow.

At the sight of the colors and the reflexive motion of defense on the part of the Knight, Adria’s caution left her completely.

Again time seemed to slow for her.

By the time he raised his bow and fixed its arrow, she had sent three of her own — one to either side, and the third into his shoulder. His arrow flew wild, and he fell.

To her left, the man she had followed drew his sword as he turned, crying out, “By the One...”

Adria dropped her bow, drew her own blade, and ran. She closed the distance swiftly, trying to get too close for him to give his sword any real strength or speed.

He retreated, one step at a time, trying to gain an opening, but Adria closed too swiftly, making small strikes to keep him wary, leading him to the nearest obstacle.

He stumbled upon the stump of a tree, then caught himself... but it was too late.

The first blow disarmed him, the second brought him to his knees, and the third left him lying across the stump.

He breathed, as loudly as she, and met her eyes, and they were locked in the struggle that had not quite ended. His fingers groped for his sword or at his wounds, but without real awareness.

He blinked, and his pupils unfocused, and blood cleared his lips and bubbled from the wide gash in his neck with each next breath.

Time and her heartbeat resumed their normal pace, and she knelt down, or perhaps fell. Her strength was gone, and she fought to keep her blade in her hand, even to raise it.

Adria wept, and shook her head, and whispered, again and again, “I’m sorry... I’m sorry... I’m sorry...”

She blinked and blinked, struggling to keep her eyes open. It took both of her hands, and all of her will, to end his life completely, even now that she saw her father’s colors at the hem of his shirt, where it had found its way beyond his leathers.

Mercifully, Adria allowed her eyes to close, and her breath was alone.

Others broke into the clearing soon after, but she could tell they were her own. When her uncle approached, only moments later, Mateko trailing distantly behind him, Adria was not surprised, and she did not bother to hide her tears.

“I am no Hunter, Uncle,” she said, speaking to his footsteps, neither raising her head nor opening her eyes.

Distantly, she marveled, 
I have learned them by their sounds.

Aloud, she continued, “I wounded him three times before he fell… Even then, I hesitated.”

“I know,” he said simply.

“No... Look at me, a child... crying.”

“Listen...” and he turned her face away from the Knight. “That is no weakness... cry for an enemy’s death as you would a friend. They both have a spirit. They both are a life lost. Mourn even for the elk you bring down to feed the people. You must always mourn, must always value the life you have taken, no matter its virtue.”

She nodded and looked around. She could see that Mateko was already stripping the body of the other Knight. The one beside her, she knew, must be hers to deal with.

Another red bead,
she thought.

But she nodded, whispering, “Zho wateko limiyati, Amaksho.”

“It is good you understand,” he sighed, and he knelt down beside her, began to straighten the man’s body, and folded his hands upon his chest, over his sword hilt.

“Once more for the crows,” Adria whispered, and Preinon started at the words.

“Where did you learn that?”

Adria blinked at her tears. “It is something… something Matron Taber said once.”

“I see,” he nodded. “It is an old saying. The Hunters have a saying, a prayer… one we say for the dead who our not our own, for the hunted. Would you like to learn it now and say it for the soul of this man?”

Adria nodded. “Please teach me, Uncle.”

Mateko, having finished gathering anything of use, returned. The three of them gathered around the body beside her, knelt, and spoke the words slowly, so that Adria could learn them for her own.

Before she rose, she wiped her blade on the man’s surcoat, and managed to look him in the face again, realizing she would remember it for the rest of her life. Then, when she arose with them, she arose as one of them — a Hunter of Others.

Adria awoke suddenly with a sense of danger, though none seemed apparent. Her blade still lay beside her, beneath the fingers of her stronger hand, and her bow was in easy reach, and these brought quick comfort as she replayed the last several days on The Echo in her head, ending with Elias and the letter of warning.

Despite the lack of a window to tell her the hour, she knew that she had slept a full night’s rest, an unusually long period for her — but then she had slept so little in the past weeks.

And I’ll likely get little on our mission in Kelmantium,
she thought as she shook her head to clear the sleep away.
Especially if I cannot trust those around me.

On deck the night’s mists had cleared with the sunlight, and the sky was a cloudless and brilliant blue. Ahead and to port, the tip of one of the Northlands was just visible, its hills still beset with snow, though Adria guessed that this far north such snows may never melt, even so close to the sea.

Elias guessed right,
she thought idly.

She turned and took the stair up to the forecastle at the prow of the ship, where a Knight whose name she had not yet learned kept watch. There was nothing to see ahead, but Adria could tell now what their route most likely was as she traced maps in her head.

We’ll be turning more to the south soon, to more open seas, to avoid the eastern islands of the Northlands,
 she thought. 
The locals are not so friendly there. That will put us four or five days out from the coast of Numinon, if the wind holds, but then it will be another three or four days to the Kelmantian port closest to the inland capital.

She sighed, “More than a week out.”

“The wind has been slow, they say,” the young Knight beside her remarked with a neutral tone. “It should not take more than a week if it picks up. We’ve been unlucky so far.”

“Have you sailed before, Brother?” she offered aloud, equally neutral, but at least a question. Perhaps she could get something from him, and maybe give him a little more respect of her presence.

He sighed a little and nodded. “Before my knighting, yes. My father is a fisherman. I assume that is why I was chosen.”

“Then you were chosen well,” she nodded, hopeful it did not sound either too complimentary or too false.

He turned to her then, just a moment, and for the first time seemed to appraise her. But he said nothing more, and turned back to the sea.

His stance is weak, though he can walk the deck.
Adria observed.
His eyes are uncertain, his mind without concentration. He may have some knowledge of the sea, but he does not understand it like the sailors. He places himself above the sea now, and will be cut off from it. And on land, should we come to conflict, this one will fall as easily.

Adria thought a moment of Hafgrim’s assurance that they were better protected than it seemed, of Elias’ assurance he would see them to Kelmantis.

Assassin
, she thought, the note folded into the back of her belt pouch. She turned herself fully to lean against the railing, looking for any eyes that might have challenged her, a little surprised to find those of the green-robed Novice, standing alone beside the main mast.

The girl tilted her head a little, without expression, and her dark hair, loose, wandered upon the wind, but too slowly, as if adrift upon the water and not the air. And then, for a moment, it seemed to still entirely.

Adria slowly shook her head, and blinked her eyes, and all returned to normal. She sighed, and realized only then that she hand been holding her breath.

Part Seven

Divided Minds