Beneath this, even stranger possibilities brewed, but they were faint wisps of imaginings, and she knew she needed to shift her focus to the immediate.
“He carries no weapon,” she noted, and then tried to remember if she had known this before. Her memory of him was wreathed in shadow, dream, tainábe.
“He never has,” Preinon said beside her. “Of course, he is unlikely to need one.”
“Is he so formidable?”
Preinon lowered his voice as Tabashi came within hailing distance. “The reputation of his race is so formidable. As for Tabashi himself...? You would know better than I.”
Adria stilled her thoughts and feelings, letting her eyes half close and her breath grow deep and even. The sky seemed to dim, and her vision blurred, and yet deepened, as she focused on the vague shape of the stony, long-armed figure rising up the hill.
“Like Shísha...” she murmured, seeing the brightness of the web that wove its way under Tabashi’s skin, and the light that rose around. Then she realized that the color seemed different, though she could not be certain it was color she was sensing, at all. Still, it was less blue-white, more purple.
Cerulean, she thought. Or azure...
And her eyes blinked, and she lost the image, even as Tabashi bowed lowly, to both of them in turn.
“Scion, I am grateful for your invitation,” he said, in his calm voice which now seemed a little unnerving to Adria. The image of his spirit made her anxious, she realized. But... not afraid.
For now, at least, he is not here to harm us.
“I am glad you received it, Moresidhe,” Preinon answered, bowing himself. “And honored that you have chosen to accept it.”
Tabashi inclined his head simply. His eyes were difficult to watch, behind the inner eyelids which seemed to protect from the sun somewhat. Still, he seemed to be resisting the urge to squint.
“Please, will you join us in my tent?”
When they were settled upon the furs inside, Preinon continued the formality of their conversation as Adria offered and poured mead into wooden cups for the three of them.
“It has been some time, Moresidhe” Preinon nodded. “I was worried you had found your home.”
Tabashi examined the honey wine, sipped. “I often wonder if I am ever bound to settle. I fear I will miss the open road.”
Preinon chuckled. “With that, I can duly sympathize.”
The Moresidhe nodded. “Your Mélitali has healed well.”
Preinon hesitated at his change of topic without a corresponding change in tone. He nodded. “She has, thanks to your skill.”
Tabashi inclined his head in recognition, but gave no appearance of pride.
So closed, his emotions, Adria thought as she sat and tasted the drink herself, toasting a little, though uncertain if that was a gestured Moresidhe followed.
“I thank you as well, Tabashi,” Adria said.
Tabashi turned a little, raising his cup, and the slightest of smiles appeared. “If only the uncle had healed as well, he would have little need of our long blades.”
Adria blinked twice quickly. Tabashi had spoken in Kelmantian, and though Adria was no master at the language, she was certain she had much more knowledge of it than her uncle — and obviously, so did Tabashi.
Preinon said, “What do you say, Moresidhe? I have little memory of the Eastern Tongue.”
“I say that the hands that heal can also harm, and that I am ready to bring you your blades.”
And it was a cunning alteration — close enough that, if Preinon had understood a few Kelmantian words, the false translation would likely convince him.
“You were forewarned...” Adria said, as she wondered at his choice of words, so easily did they echo Shísha’s, and her own. “This is why you are here?”
Tabashi said nothing as he turned back to Preinon.
“It is part of our purpose here, it is true. And I have an offer to make you in return, Moresidhe,” Preinon said evenly. “And I hope you will consider it carefully.”
Tabashi inclined his head a little once more.
Preinon nodded slowly before making his offer in Aeman. “I offer you the full knowledge of the whereabouts and safety of Adria Idonea, Princess of Heiland.”
Adria turned her eyes to Preinon, and then, realizing her mistake, immediately turned back to Tabashi, though she had already missed his reaction. Now, he merely blinked, slowly... measured, even.
He is so careful...
When he spoke, it seemed reasonably nonchalant, and without consideration of her presence. “Do you think this is not something of which I am already aware?”
Preinon nodded. “Of course, and perhaps even it is knowledge you have given our enemy. But what I offer is our recognition of it. This is now knowledge you may barter freely, and without fear of my reprisal.”
Now Adria did not know which of them she should be watching. If there were a language they knew which she did not, they might have been speaking it. Instead of watching them directly, again she half closed her eyes, and unfocused, and let herself breathe the world in a different way.
And it was beautiful, even terrible. Their spirits flared with light, as if a private war raged between them.
No... Adria realized as she returned to normal awareness. They are in strange concert... it is more like a dance.
“This is your offer?” Tabashi was saying.
“It is,” answered Preinon.
With a single nod, Tabashi rose, then considered Adria for a moment without expression. And then he turned away toward the tent opening, and made his way outside without another word.
Adria looked between the flap and Preinon several times, but could not fully understand what had just happened.
“You have felt that you are protected,” Preinon said, still watching the space the Moresidhe had departed. “You have felt controlled by everyone around you. You feel you have been denied the fullness of your existence, and the choices you have to make.”
She only nodded, feeling somehow ashamed, or guilty, or angry, and somehow also anxious, even exultant.
He nodded slowly, motioning to the opening. “There. I have bartered away your protection for freedom. Anyone with a secret may trade with the Moresidhe for yours. If they mean you harm, they will find you. If they mean you well, they will find you. You are free to live your life as an Aeman or an Aesidhe, as a Hunter or a Runner. What shackles of yours I might have claimed I now have traded. They are melted down for swords.”
She hesitated, still not really understanding all that her uncle meant. “Tabashi... he... accepted?”
Preinon rose and sighed, crossing his arms and considering her for the first time, before turning to follow the Moresidhe into the outside world. “It is not possible for him to refuse.”
It was not until he had left that Adria found something of the answer she was searching for, so she spoke it to no one instead. “What is my freedom, Uncle, when swords and shackles are nearly one and the same?”
Instead of sitting with Preinon beside the fire that evening, Adria followed Mateko as he took watch.
“You take orders from my uncle, Mateko. Will you take one from me?”
“I will not,” he answered. “But I will do as you ask, instead.”
She smiled apologetically, realizing her rudeness. “Thank you, Mateko. Will you follow Tabashi and deliver a message?”
He bit his lip and narrowed his eyes worriedly, but nodded.
“Tell him I wish to meet with him alone,” she nodded. “Tell him I have decided.”
Mateko nodded again. “It will be as you have asked, Pukshonisla.”
As he left, the seriousness of his tone settled in Adria, and the realization that he had used her full name, as if they had not been alone.
Falburn is right, Adria decided, the next t
ime she and Elias shared time on deck. I have already decided. Elias has given an oath to see us to Kelmantis, and I will take him at his word.
So she shifted in her place as he climbed the stair to the fore deck, her fingers on her belt pouch, considering whether even to reveal the warning to him.
What more could he add, she reasoned. And will he see this as a sign of trust, or distrust? Shall I show it to all on board, and wait for someone’s eyes to widen in panic?
Adria smiled a little at herself. Elias saluted her as he passed, then again saluted to a young Knight nearby who was now relieved of his duty and, from what Adria had observed, well ready for his rest.
As Elias took his place, the other Knight shuffled down the stair. He somehow turned a bit early, stumbling off of the last step, and then tripped over a sailor hunched near the railing.
She did not hear the initial exchange, but from the tone it seemed to involve surprised cursing on both parts. Adria stood straight and took a step forward to watch as the altercation developed.
Though Elias watched as well, he merely turned his head, leaning back against the railing without expression. Adria walked over beside him, where they could see to the bottom of the stair and hear clearly.
“Ye think me apologize,” the sailor protested. “Aye? Why that now?”
“You lurked too close to the stair, you idiot,” the Knight argued. “Apologize, and find a better place to sit idle.”
The sailor crossed his arms, shaking his head a little. “I’m the one bruised cause ye don’ know ‘ow to walk. Dressed alike yer off to storm the castle? It’s a wonder none o’ ya pitched over deck anow…”
“Is that a threat?” the Knight returned. “I’ll pitch you over the deck…”
Adria shook her head. “Ah, to be six years old again…”
Elias chuckled. “Perhaps this is some unrequited love between them.”
Adria smiled, but at this point the young Knight in fact lunged at the sailor, who easily avoided the attempted shove, and the Knight struck the railing hard. Thankfully, he did not topple, but when he turned, it was clear he was not about to calm.
Adria took a step forward, but Elias’ hand was in front of her. “Highness, if you will allow me this duty…”
She opened her mouth, prepared to protest, but Elias did not wait for a response.
The young Knight drew his blade. The sailor to his credit, raised his arms and backed away, making no sign of reaching for his own weapon.
“Come on…” the Knight shouted.
Several other sailors now gathered about him, but were also reluctant to draw, though a couple kept their fingers near their hilts.
On the aft deck, Josson hailed them from the wheel, but there was already more clamor than he could easily overcome, and the Knight was certainly not listening to anything beyond the circle closing about him.
The Knight threatened the sailors with his blade, even made a couple of tentative thrusts, but the sailors alternately laughed him off or tried to calm him.
“Come on, man…” and “Watcha tryin’ to stick wi’ that, boy?”
He thrust his way from the railing, as the sailors backed away but circled him. Elias looked for an easy opening to get to the young man, but now the sailors were focused on their game, even calling out an ad hoc shanty.
“Come on, man!”
“Soldier try to stick me…”
“Hey-o-ho, and a where ye try to go?”
This infuriated the Knight, whose half thrusts turned to wide, two-handed arcs of his longsword.
“Shut up, you pirate shites…” His voice sounded shrill, and it was clear now he was afraid. He cried out and spun, and found his blade stuck squarely in the mast.
The sailors’ song erupted into laughter, and finally Elias made his way through them. “That’s enough, lad. Leave it there and find your drink or your bunk.”
The Knight gave the older Knight only the briefetst glance before turning to wrench his blade free. He was shaking with rage and embarrassment, and it wasn’t clear if he was turning the blade upon Elias, but the latter didn’t wait to see.
Elias didn’t unsheathe. He managed two steps, and at once disarmed the young man, knocking him back against the mast like a pillow doll, and smacked him flat in the chest with the lad’s own blade hilt.
“I gave you good counsel.” Elias was calm, but his voice just loud enough for Adria to hear.
“You are not my captain,” the young Knight managed.
“I am not,” Elias nodded. “Perhaps I would be, if I hadn’t thrown a dozen like you overboard before they learned how to follow the good counsel of their elders.”
Elias was believable, and the younger Knight’s breathing slowed, the rage in his eyes softened.
“What do you want to do, lad?” Elias nodded, still not releasing his hold. “Cut me up and fight two dozen sailors? Sail the ship yourself to find your fortune? Swim to Somana and join the circus?”
He shook his head.
“Well?” Elias shrugged.
The Knight swallowed hard. “Maybe find some drink, or my bunk.”
Elias took a step back and offered the Knight his sword again. “That’s a good decision, Sir Gifford. I’ll buy you a pint in Kelmantis myself if you keep yourself alive that long.”
The altercation ended, Sir Gifford going below, the sailors returning to their places with an air of entertainment, and Elias rose again to take his place beside Adria.
If Adria had wanted to speak of assassins and unseen dangers and trust and distrust, the urge was now long gone.
“Well?” she asked simply.
Elias arched his eyebrows. “Well what, Highness?”
“Is that what I’ll have to do for you to buy a lady a drink?”
Part Eight
Hunters of Men
Stalemate
Tonight, we are Hunters...
She stood among flames, a great black tree unburned.
Tonight, we are Runners...
She wandered through smoke, yet breathed.
Tonight, we are Hunters of...
She fell into water, and the storm crows gathered around...
...and Adria’s dream dissolved in sunlight, as the flap of her tent was pulled away, and Mateko beckoned.
“Awaken, Lózha... I have been scratching at your door too long...”
She covered her eyes, blinking. “I... yes, I am with you.”
Adria tossed her covers aside, and followed Mateko through the Runners camp and beyond, where the Hunters in Rows were gathered around a pair of oaken crates, and her uncle motioned toward two of the stronger among those gathered.
“Tabashi has made good on his word.” Preinon nodded in satisfaction as the crates were pried open with Moresidhe daggers. The Runners had set their perimeter, the Hunters had set up their tents, and they had dug up the cache that had been left a season before. And alongside the expected water-proofed food provisions and seasoned firewood, they found the crates, filled with carefully wrapped swords.
They were only a mile from the border, where trees became clear cut wasteland, forts, and fields. All were anxious, hushed, Hunters and Runners alike, and this discovery only added to the expectations that had been building for a season now, even longer.
Adria shook her head in awe. “But how could he have buried all of these here in two days... without even disturbing the ground?”
“It is a point he likes to make,” Preinon smiled grimly. “Where the Moresidhe are concerned, you will always have more questions than answers.”
When all had settled and had their meal, Preinon gathered the Hunters, as well as a few of the more eager Runners, and ordered those who had trained with swords to train those who had not.
Adria had practiced a little with longer blades in the years before lea
ving Windberth, but only now realized that her more recent training was easily combined with what she had learned before. A longer blade felt natural in her hands, and she was surprised at the lightness of the Moresidhe steel.
I slew the Knights in Náme’s tent with a sword, she remembered.
And still she was surprised to soon find herself at the head of a small contingent, showing them adequate ways of fighting with their swords and long knives paired, or with swords and the rudimentary shields some had carved from wood in similar fashion to their canoes.
“Méneshno,” Adria said to one of the newer recruits as practice ended, now realizing she recognized him. “I… You have joined the Hunters.”
The Aesidhe nodded slowly, wiping his blade clean before sheathing it ceremoniously. “I swore to return, even before I found my empty camp.”
Adria nodded grimly, swallowing. One of only two survivors…
“It is good to see you, Méneshno.” She hesitated. “I… we found another survivor of your tribe. A child.”
He met her eyes. “I understand. I had no child of my own.” He paused. “It is best this child…”
Tears came to his eyes, and he looked downward.
She knelt beside him. “She has found a family, my friend. She will remember, and she will forget. She is home now.”
He nodded slowly after a long moment, and they did not speak of this again.
When they broke for evening, Mateko found the opportunity to join Adria and further the mystery of Tabashi.
“He told me that he would meet with you, as you ask.”
“That is good,” Adria nodded her head, frowning, though now the subterfuge began to seem a bit less pragmatic than she had first imagined.
The army had already moved from its prior camp. Still, Tabashi seemed somehow able to guess the army’s path, find its camp, magically produce and then bury several crates of swords, and finally disappear without a trace.
“When and where are we to meet?” she asked.
Mateko only blinked and shook his head. “That is all that he said.”
Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 Page 52