“There was only one wolf,” the older sister said, seated to Adria’s right and until then quietly sharing a meal with a young man, perhaps her betrothed. “A winter wolf, alone. And it wasn’t afraid, even when Adselm aimed at… her. She just watched him. She watched us all, and she turned, and she… disappeared, just before….”
She stopped suddenly, with a quick side glance at Adria. She seemed to get younger as she spoke, though she was likely nearly old enough to marry. By the end of her story, she was almost pleading like a young girl accused of a lie.
Many around the table exchanged glances as she spoke, and by the end, everyone was less filled with humor, fallen into silence. The mood had changed, and Adria could not understand precisely why. Some superstition, after all?
“That is a strange story, Alice,” Sir Marbury said. He didn’t seem to know how to respond, and he looked to Adselm for any confirmation or denial of the girl’s tale.
“She was neither frightened of us, nor did she frighten the wildlife,” Adselm nodded.
“It is a strange wolf that does not fear men,” Marbury said. “Though a deer may fear many predators, ghosts least among them. Tell me, young lady, for you have long been among the great hunters of the forest... what ghosts might frighten the deer themselves from the wood?”
“There is one predator they fear above all others,” Adria nodded. “And it is neither a lone wolf nor a ghost.”
A figure in gray, Adria considered again. Following, fleeting, fading…
Sir Marbury nodded. “All this talk of ghosts and of Palmill... I am reminded of something from years ago... from the War of Union following the War of Scars.”
“Tell me, Sir Marbury,” Adria urged, before noting the look on Lady Marbury’s face. She glanced to the younger children, then to Adria, but said nothing.
“There was a time when the king still used his feudal armies after the Knights were formed but still few. This was after Highreach was conquered, though many in the south and Violet West still resisted. Whenever there was a particular difficulty with a still-rebellious lord, His Majesty would send the Knights in to some village under the protection of that lord. They would slaughter everyone they found and burn every building to the ground, until the lord was forced to meet them in a battle of the king’s choosing, or else to forfeit rule.”
Adria could see why the lady had looked uncomfortably to the children. Still, she bore no objection.
“It was a terrible affair,” Sir Marbury continued. “For which the Crown used the rest of us merely as carrion. After the Knights were finished with their destruction, we were sent into each village to strip it of anything of use which might remain. There was always very little, never enough to be worth our efforts. And so, we finally came to understand, in the end, that he was merely warning us, showing us the full... devotion… of his Knights of Darkfire.”
Now we see the root of his fear, Adria thought. He has earned it, likely more even than I. My father’s secret history. And my legacy, as heir or as enemy.
“But… in all of this there was something… odd that some of us noticed.” Sir Marbury took a sip of his wine, considered the cup thoughtfully. His eyes and thoughts were distant. “Whenever we arrived, there would always be small signs that someone else had been there already — after the knights, and before us. There could not have been many. They left no obvious sign of their passage, except for one — on the outskirts, or in some enclosed place where a building had not burned utterly, we might find a few sets of children’s clothing.”
This chilled Adria a little. Invoked memories from long before, and more recent ones with Preinon.
Sir Marbury nodded. “At first it seemed coincidence, but then we began to use dogs to search for survivors. Sometimes they would catch the scent on these clothes, and follow it away from the settlement for awhile, but we would always find nothing. And sometimes, wherever we thought they had lost the scent, they would stamp and growl, or whine, until finally we would lead them away.”
Adria could hear Peryna swallow loudly beside her. Adselm fidgeted again.
“Never once did we find one of these children who seemed to have fled, unclothed,” Sir Marbury went on. “The soldiers began to call them ghosts, or changelings — either the children, or that which had stolen them. Some more happily believed servants or angels of whatever god they followed had taken them, for had we found the children, we would have been forced to give them to the Knights, and whatever fate…
“At first, the commanders of the Knights were furious. They assumed we had hidden the children ourselves, somehow. But after Knight Captains led us on these searches a few times themselves, they fell silent about it. At season’s end we were released from our duties, and Heiland settled beneath the flag of Idonea.”
“My uncle...” Adria spoke before thinking. “He... was also a captain of men. He had similar stories, but I always thought they were merely meant to frighten children.”
Lady Marbury nodded. “Even the strangest of fantasies holds some truth. This land, as any other, has its share of ghosts. New cities are often built upon the ruins of old, and likewise we build our beliefs. Memories become myths, and those we should have buried become our ghosts.”
“Chushezogmeya-ogu at’e p’o pugalo choachowela. Washemame zhechetegma p’o zhepushepi choachowela.” Adria said. “The true ghosts are not the spirit divided from the body, but fear divided from memory.”
“Well said,” Sir Marbury chuckled. “But the intended moral of my story is more simple. I only mean to say that… despite what we may see or not see, hear or not hear, I have never found a deer or dog who did not know a man by scent alone.”
Adria hesitated for only a moment, though careless memories again crowded her thoughts: a white wolf, arrows frozen in flight, blades and blood on the snow, wood and thatch burning. She thought. Shísha was right…. I am still divided and afraid.
“I have only just first visited your land,” Adria said, and her voice broke a little. “But I know now that today I am your ghost. A test was set before me, I understand now. And I have failed.”
There was a moment of silence, and Sir and Lady Marbury exchanged a glance, a frown, and a nod.
“What is your name, child?” Lady Marbury said gently, and Adria knew that the lie was ended.
“Mother,” Adselm almost sputtered. “Each speaks for all... You cannot ask the name of a Sister…”
“I do not ask. I demand.” And she raised her voice a little, obviously at her son, for she softened when returning to Adria. “Tell me your name, so that I may ask you formally for an apology, particularly in regards to my eldest son, for you have played upon his sympathy foremost.”
Adria blinked twice, quickly, and to her surprise felt her face redden with shame. She had rejoined the Aeman under an oath to her brother, one which the Aesidhe would approve with absolute honesty. But to deceive in order to fulfill such an oath was a dishonor to this family, to her brother, and to the Aesidhe who she had needed to leave. She could not pick and choose the particulars of her honesty, not now.
I am acting like a spoiled Aeman princess, again… is this to be my fate among the people of my birth? I fear to reveal my royalty to these people, and at this moment these people are far more noble than I.
She rose, and Adselm half-rose along with her out of respect for her Sisterhood, until Sir Marbury smiled at him, shook his head, and motioned for him to be seated.
He knew, as well, all along. I truly have been a fool.
As Adselm sank back onto his bench, confused and embarrassed, his wife showed real surprise, and perhaps a little indignation because of the admonishment of her husband.
The children, for their part, looked as if a story had been changed upon them right in the middle, just when they thought they had it figured out.
How do I explain that I am not a ghost, not a werewolf,
and yet not reveal who I truly am? I may as well be such a myth... Adria breathed a full measure. A royal need never apologize, and an Aesidhe does not apologize lightly, for they rarely have to. The formalities of such are very clumsy in their language — they measure each word for absolute understanding, both for themselves and for whom they apologize.
“I have deceived you all, and out of simple fear, both for myself and for you.” Adria bowed her head a little.
Lady and Sir Marbury both nodded, solemnly but with some reassurance, and Adria raised her chin and turned to consider them all.
“I am not a member of the Sisterhood, though I was trained by them to great measure, and so have some of their knowledge, as I have shown.”
She paused again, and one of the younger children, her blue eyes wide with wonder and perhaps a little fear, interrupted the silence.
“Are you the White Wolf Woman?”
Adria could not help but smile, and others followed. They know this story...
“No, little one,” Adria smiled, then frowned and almost whispered, “I am Adria Idonea.”
There was absolute stillness, and then a stirring from nearly everyone. With a glance to his parents, then his wife, Adselm half-rose again, and knelt beside his bench. Others started to follow.
Adria shook her head, having first expected disbelief, but then realized that her story must have been as well known here as the White Wolf Woman, and one glance at Sir and Lady Marbury, nodding, confirmed. Adria would have asked them all to stop the absurd motion, but Sir Marbury cleared his throat first.
“Please be seated, all of you...” He motioned with his hands. “You as well, Highness, if you would.”
Adria’s face had flushed even more, her knees weakened, and she now welcomed the excuse to sit.
Sir Marbury leaned forward to clasp his hands on the table, still nodding without the slightest surprise. “Thank you for your honesty, and know at once that you are in no danger here. While you are within our house, you are our guest, and we will count you as a friend. Our son has invited you in as any lone traveler, whether you are a Sister or a ghost, highborn or outlaw. Though too many in our land have forgotten, I have learned that even the greatest of enemies, when treated with honesty and respect, may be made a worthy friend. And I would teach the same to my sons and daughters. It is not wrong to go to war for a just reason, but those who take up arms for the sole purpose of power forget that there are no ghosts in the wood save the ones we make ourselves.”
Adria’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You’ve spread no ashes at the edge of the wood.”
“For there are already far too many walls we have to climb in life,” Sir Marbury smiled. “Welcome home, Princess Idonea... though it is easy to see you’ve found another welcome these several years.”
“I fear I no longer understand my place within my father’s kingdom.”
He nodded, frowning, but it was the lady who spoke then. “Your Highness. You are the daughter of kings. It is for you to make your own place, or one will be forced upon you.”
“It is true, and I fear it dictates my haste. I have enjoyed your welcome and counsel more than I could have hoped, but... I must not delay my journey further. My brother will take his first duty soon, and I hope to see him before.”
“You are three weeks from the capital, even by road,” Adselm said. “And the danger to a woman alone, regardless of her position…”
“Two weeks,” Adria shrugged. “I walk swiftly. And I may just as well ignore the roads, though I am well capable of my own defense.”
“Look to the red beads in her hair, Adselm… these will prove her strength in battle as well as any knightly insignia. The Aesidhe do not deny a woman with skill at arms.” But Sir Marbury shook his head nonetheless. “Still, skirting the woods will cost you days, and I would not trust the open roads after dark. You must stay the night and avoid at least one.”
“And of course you will have an escort,” Lady Marbury insisted.
“Unfortunately, I am in as much need of haste as protection. An escort would only attract undue attention and slow my passage.”
“They might also... bear witness to your arrival at Windberth,” Lady Marbury agreed, words veiled a little. “Should this be unwelcome.”
Adria considered a moment. “Believe me when I say that reaching the gates of the citadel and passing through them are lesser in my concerns for safety.”
Sir Marbury waved away remaining objections. “Stay the night, and you will have the loan of a horse, with or without escort, as you wish. You can be there in six days, if you can ride at all.”
“I will repay your kindness when I can.”
“Your Highness, we owe you the better part of our labor as liege,” Lady Marbury smiled. “A meal and a palfrey are small duty.”
“Fealty or no, we are all beholden to each other, my lord and lady. This I have learned far better beyond my father’s walls and ashes.”
The first roads she took were little more than dirt paths, though thankfully dry. It was friendly enough land, riders or men driving wagons or working in the fields typically just waved to her as she passed. She received some ungracious looks from occasional passersby when they saw she was a woman in a man’s saddle, but no one accosted her in any significant way. She was glad of the relative speed the palfrey’s tack allowed, despite the relative insult to propriety. It was by no means her first transgression of masculine rights.
Adria’s riding returned to her swiftly enough. It had once been a favored activity, though she had only ever been permitted to ride within the citadel itself, her activity dictated by her father’s horse sergeant, whose will had had been harder to break than Adria’s horse.
Though Lady Marbury had offered her a full change of clothing, Adria had taken only a simple hooded cloak as an outer layer, both for warmth and for some small amount of disguise. What remained of her defiance convinced her to pass into the city and the citadel in the clothes of an Aesidhe.
Six more days of pride, and then…?
By the first afternoon, she was surprisingly hungry, worn, and sore in places she might not have named aloud if asked — except perhaps for the Somanan terms used by physicians. She was nearing a larger town, Sotower, and led her horse a little off the road before stopping to rest. She rubbed down the palfrey’s coat with a brush from the saddlebag before lying against an oak and enjoying the remains of the last evening’s meal. Peryna had offered it with a smile and a curtsey. “Only a little of it is meat,” the girl had said. “You’ll need it, even if you don’t prefer it.... Your Highness.”
“Thank you, Peryna,” and she leaned and embraced the girl about her shoulders, whispering, “And always remember that I was your friend before I was your Princess.”
When she continued, Adria was able to avoid the town, thankfully, walking the horse beside hedgerows between wheat fields and apple orchards. Heading north of the town, she found a somewhat truer road — stone tile paving, dangerously suffering from disrepair, forcing an even slower gait than she might have wished. The tiles were mostly uneven, and many were missing entirely, probably taken by local lords to reduce the cost of stone for some nearby keep or tower. “King’s Road,” a wooden post occasionally proclaimed.
“Fitting,” she sighed to her mount. “Falling to pieces… and not even given a name, just a title. Who can really know who rules the road of this land?”
Here also the King’s Road split. The older right branch went towards Highreach. There Adria could find a ship to take her to Windberth by sea, but depending on the winds and the tides, this might not save her any time at all. And should I risk trading saddle soreness for seasickness?
She sighed and turned left, continuing through the heartlands and towards the Werdstan Mountains far beyond. Two or three days... and home.
The road might have given the wheels of wagons a
nd carts a better ride — or at least kept them from sticking in mud, but it didn’t make riding any easier, even when the tiles were even. Wind rose from the west, before darker skies. The world trembled on the edge of a storm. A little fear, but more anticipation. Tips of trees and birds animated, and at the edge of her vision shadows again lingered, vanished with her attention. When it rained, she opened her mouth to the sky.
Those she passed were still unconcerned with her, and when she reached the next village, the local conscripts seemed only concerned whether she had the coin for their toll. As she passed through, she saw Knights in violet in a small palisade, but they left the grunt work to the townsmen — a laxness for which Adria was grateful.
Adria did not linger, and was gracious enough to not draw suspicion. The man counting her toll seemed less concerned with her odd dress, she realized, than with the shape underneath. He patted her knee before waving her through. Her face reddened.
“This is the way it works, then...” She said to herself. It could be worse, should they mean to take their toll in kind instead of coin.
The days passed mostly the same. Her anxiety at having to keep the horse at a walk was rapidly replaced by the agony of her riding muscles — every muscle, really, for even at a slackened pace, the hard unevenness of the road jarred her limbs to the bone.
More than once, as she had the horse lodged, washed, and even once re-shod, she nearly resolved to send her home early and walk the rest of the way. But after the third morning, in the north past Rightshaw and beyond the Steps of Amos, her subsequent awakenings were a little less stiff, and she set her jaw in stubborn defiance, her feet firmly in the stirrups.
Adria grew more careful with her coin as she went, and was astonished at the tolls collected at each settlement and bridge, even for someone with no cart or pack animals. They prepare for war, of course.
Occasionally, a Knight asked her a routine question about her identity or destination, but her fabrications were received with disinterest. None of them had the sense or intuition of Lady Marbury, although it helped that she spent her nights in places where she could hear the local speech, to better her accent the following day.
Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 Page 11