She frowned with a little indignation and embarrassment in equal measure. Half of her was doing just as he said. But the other half is one of them. The other half speaks on their behalf. The voice of many in one.
“You think I am afraid...” Adria said.
He looked at her for the first time since they had arrived, and she resisted the urge to look away.
“There is a bridge you haven’t crossed,” he said. “You are well strong enough to face the enemy in the passion of the moment, as you have shown. But you fear you are not strong enough to face them in the open, with a plan, and among your brothers. You are not strong enough to lead. You don’t know if you have the will to lead, and you don’t know if you have the will to leave.”
It took a few beats of her heart to realize that although she was certain her own argument was just as strong, the threads of it fell away as the truth of his overcame her. Even if he is wrong, and this war is a foolish measure, he wages it, in some part, to show me how it is done. He doesn’t test my loyalty... He tests my resolve and my skill, just as he does this enemy.
Adria swallowed. “It is true.”
“This is why I unshackled you, Adria. Why I offer you a sword, and offer the enemy your name. You cannot remain divided. If you will not decide, life will truly be decided for you. Soon.”
Adria nodded. “It is true.”
They were both startled by Shísha’s voice. “You two have found a beautiful view.”
It took a moment for Adria to realize the joke, and she could not help but smile.
“You have arrived in time for the sunset, Holy Mother,” Adria said as the Lichushegi approached.
“It seems I have,” she stopped beside Adria, then, her eyes with their unfocused watchfulness. Not like she is looking... like she is inviting the world to look at her.
Adria felt some discomfort standing between them, in the new silence, knowing that Shísha and Preinon had not personally spoken together since the Lichushegi had rejoined them on the border.
She knows that I have failed, Adria thought. She has come to appeal to him, where my own words have proved unworthy of her trust.
Filled with embarrassment and a touch of indignation once again, Adria realized that she should leave, no matter how much she wanted to learn from their conversation.
“I will help our People prepare the meal,” she said, as gracefully as she could manage. “I will leave you to the sunset.”
Preinon nodded as she turned, and Adria left with no more resolve than she had begin, and a much greater sense of urgency.
A great wheel turning. Paper leaves dying, arrows rising, a black tree burning. Flying, falling, drowning. Again, and over and over again.
Tonight we are Hunters…
Once more for the crows…
A rapping on the door…
Adria awakened at the third knocking, dreams already fading.
“All on deck….” a boy cried from the hallway. Adria rolled from her bunk, buckling her belt and taking up her pack from the table even as her other hand found the door latch.
On the stern castle, both Captain Falburn and Chief Mate Josson stood at the helm, shading their eyes in the early sunlight. Others had gathered around them — Captain Wolt and several of the Knights, as well as the Sisters’ young Novice, whose eyes immediately fixed on Adria as she rose the steps to join them.
The silhouette of a distant ship broke the dawn horizon.
“What is happening?” Adria asked. “Do we know who she is?” Squinting, she could see that the single sail was marked, but could not discern the color or insignia.
“No,” Captain Falburn replied. “Our man up top spotted ‘er before dawn, but she was headed due south. Not too long after, though, she turned. Even then, she did not seem a danger. And now...”
He squinted his own eyes, nodded slowly, and sighed. “We’ve got speed on ‘em. We could turn starboard, and run on the wind, and maybe outmaneuver ‘em. They couldn’t follow us too far out, and can’t run far windward without luffing. But... these are fickle seas. If the wind slows up much, or turns too far astray, she may still serve us up a fight.”
“We are close to the Northlands,” said Hafgrim, having just risen the port stair. “It is likely one of their ships on patrol. Surely they would not dare to engage us.”
“If she were an official ship of the kingdom, perhaps, Highness,” Falburn nodded. “But she’s not marked.”
Adria asked, “Could she be a... merchant, in need of aid, perhaps?”
Falburn nodded his head. “She’d fly a distress flag, Highness, and would not move to intercept, but wait. And besides, in these waters, merchants and pirates are much the same.”
Hafgrim looked up to the masts, asking, “They can see our standard?”
“They can read us, I warrant,” Josson answered “Our colors’re clear enough. They know we serve Heiland, and they mean to engage.”
“Aye,” Falburn agreed. “And we’ll let ‘em know we’re no easy pick. Ready arms and take positions — and send our best eyes up top.”
This seemed to galvanize everyone aboard. Falburn called out, rolling the wheel as sailors adjusted the sheets and trimmed the sails, and soon the Echo had turned almost full away from the other ship, running half into the wind.
By then, all of the sailors and Knights had gathered on deck, many of them blinking dazedly after sleep’s recent interruption, and reeling as the ship listed to port.
The revelations rippled among them even as Sir Josson and Captain Wolt began giving orders to their respective men. Sir Josson used language Adria still only partially understood, pointing sailors to various positions with the first two fingers of his strong hand, his other on the hilt of his sword.
Most of the sailors were set to handle any number of duties — to man the lines of the sails for any maneuvers or changes in the wind.
The ship’s boys went below, to return with bundles of bows, barrels full of arrows, and long pole axes in case a boarding was attempted.
Sailors dedicated as bowmen took position on the forecastle to give their arrows more distance. A pair with sharp eyes and strong stomachs climbed to the castle at the top of the mast, a placement Adria did not envy.
The whole arrangement seemed an impressive sight to Adria, for none of them hurried or expended their energy needlessly. With or without orders, they all seemed to know their place.
They have drilled well — or fought well — many times, Adria nodded.
When it seemed most of the sailors were arranged, Knight Captain Wolt commanded his Knights to take archery positions as well — most of them on the main deck where there was more room. Adria and Hafgrim remained on the stern castle along with several other Knights, none of whom were known to Adria by name apart from Elias, who soon joined them, looking a bit ragged for his late watch and little or no sleep thereafter.
In a moment, one of the ship boys — perhaps only a dozen years of age, but strong as a man — brought up a tall square tower shield, like those often used to protect siege engineers in large land battles. He stood beside the helm, ready to shield the wheel and its captain from enemy fire.
There was still no sign of the Sisters, but the Novice remained near Falburn on the sterncastle during the preparations, unobtrusive but watchful, meeting Adria’s eyes when observed, without expression. No one else seemed to pay her any heed.
Adria could now see that the wait would be long. Though tense, the captain and his crew were well used to such a scenario, and prepared for the possibility of battle with steady assurance. Adria’s own experience had bred her with similar patience, the knowledge of a Hunter whose quarry might arrive in minutes, hours, days — or not at all. She knew the distance at which her bow would find its mark, and had neither a great desire nor a reluctance to let her arrows fly.
This game is on
e of logic, her father told her once, or perhaps her uncle. If you play filled with wrath for your enemy, or with the fear of loss, you will hesitate to do what is necessary, and you will fulfill the prophecy of your own emotions.
The Knights, for the most part, had no such patience, and their want and worry of battle intermingled on their faces, in their motions, and stiffened their movements.
They will half wear themselves out before even knowing if they have to fight. Adria frowned. No wonder they are taught obedience above all. If they had to choose each engagement for themselves, an elk could likely rout them in their zealotry.
She smiled only a little then, but beside her Elias, obviously having made a similar observation himself, raised his chin to point at the chief mate, who was now adjusting his sailors’ position to better accommodate the Knights’ own arrangements, and murmured just loudly enough for her to hear, “They will decide this battle, I think...” he sighed. “And we are fortunate in this one grace, at least.”
Adria had claimed a strong position — at the corner juncture of the stern and starboard railing, with Elias beside her. She demurred, “Then perhaps we’ll sit this one out, and see if we can find that drink you owe me.”
“Why not?” he shrugged. “Or perhaps we should send everyone else below, and you and I can take turns picking them off?”
“You’re that good yourself, are you?” Adria smiled.
“In truth,” he shook his head modestly. “Only adequate, Highness. I prefer to have any enemy at arms’ reach, or sword’s reach, anyway.”
“I see,” she said, feigning disappointment. “Then I shall handle all of the archery, and you can swim across when you get bored and finish them off.”
He smiled. At this point, Hafgrim had ordered the Knights nearby to their places, and now began to set up his bow beside Adria, opposite Elias. It might have been with the intent of listening in, but Adria thought it more a simple sign of independence from the other Knights and from Wolt, who Adria noticed had hesitated, and then failed, to give either Hafgrim or Elias orders.
Adria hoped the proximity would not develop into a rivalry with her brother, and she decided to test his mood.
“Have you trained your archery much...?” And then, with sudden embarrassment, she wondered how to address him in the presence of others. As a child, it had been mostly of small consequence. They were both before their majority and of equal status, and only a formal pattern of speech between peers had ever been required.
But now that he is a Knight, and presumptive heir, and I have exiled myself... but he was already responding, her hesitation seemingly unnoticed.
“Not as I would like,” and he used no title for her, either, nor her name. “I have enjoyed a good deal of hunting, as time permits, but the custom is as much for the exercise of the hawks and dogs as it is the hunter.”
“Ah,” she smiled. “Treed, cornered, or dead before you even get there?”
He nodded, sighing a mild, amused regret. “Not as much chasing the stag as I would like, nor drawing aim.”
Elias began stringing his bow with none of the urgency the Knights exhibited. The railing was fortunately enclosed and with embrasures, though even the upraised portions of the planking were less than the height of a man. They would have to remain kneeling to gain full protection from these — and would have small protection from above if they bore no shield.
That, at least, is where the Knights may have some advantage, Adria realized. Removing her pack, she sat down, her back against the corner railing, and arranged herself.
She separated her quiver from the pack, and removed all but one of the arrows, which she kept tightly bound to reduce their noise. She unbound them and spread them out before her to check for bent shafts or damage to fletching or binding.
“Aesidhe arrows?” Elias asked, looking them over.
“Some,” she nodded, and lifted one for him to examine. He turned it in his head, checking its fletching and the shaft for curve, then smiled at the broad arrowhead. “Excellent metal work...”
Adria smiled a little, wondering if he suspected that the arrow heads came from the Moresidhe and not the Aesidhe. She did not answer him, regardless, and he nodded at the quality as he replaced it upon the pile.
“Others were taken from the Aeman and dyed to match,” she said quietly, as she gathered them all up and returned them to her quiver beside the one which always remained wrapped and bound — the arrow which Mateko had given to her on her First Moon.
Hafgrim, now fully prepared, seemed to relax some, and watched the distant ship with his arms crossed. After a moment, he shook his head with uncertainty. “I am not convinced they will catch us at all.”
Elias and Adria turned to check the enemy’s progress as well. Adria could see that it was at least keeping pace, but Falburn was even then calling to the men at the sails and adjusting the rudder, turning The Echo to eke out any last bit of advantage from the crosswind.
Adria’s eyes fell upon her bow then, lying in its long bundle at her feet. She considered unwrapping it, but decided to wait until the last moments. She was uncertain of it, still, even after three years.
As Elias had, she stretched each of her limbs in turn, and flexed her arms many times, finally holding them until they shook with the strain, and she considered how much strength they had developed.
She had outgrown three bows among the Aesidhe, and even her last, which she had left among them, was as strong as any among the Runners — perhaps overly so for their rapid style of shooting. But she had known she would have to adopt the Aeman style of archery for this weapon at her feet, still sleeping in its cocoon of hide and fur.
Shoot to kill, without wasting a shaft, for there is no way to recover, no camp nearby with Moresidhe arrowheads.
The Novice of the Sisters now hovered at the edges of her attention, the bright green of her robes a startling contrast to the other darker colors on display. Adria turned her head to examine the girl again and was surprised at her calm. She stood with demure grace, her hands clasped together loosely before her, and she showed no signs of anxiousness or fear — a quality few on board could now match.
Again, the girl’s eyes met Adria’s, and the corners of her lips turned up only a fraction. Adria beckoned her over, and she approached within a respectful distance before bowing.
“Tell me your name, Novice,” Adria said, her tone half command, half request.
“My name is Emoni, if it pleases Your Highness.” She bowed perfectly, and her voice had a musical lilt, which she emphasized with small changes of expression and movements of her body as she spoke.
“Have you informed the Sisters of our situation, Emoni?” Adria asked, searching for any hint of the Sisterhood’s motivation. Is this battle a part of their plan, somehow... or Taber’s at least?
Adria had always dismissed such rumors of prophecy, but perhaps merely out of prejudice. What she had seen among the Aesidhe eventually dissuaded her from any full denial of such phenomena. Still, she hesitated to imagine these three Sisters sharing the ability of one such as Shísha.
“They are aware, Your Highness. They are reluctant to visit the deck and risk the sailors’ distraction.” Emoni blinked, slowly and beautifully. Her eyes, a striking mixture of blue and brown, had an almost violet cast to them when turned to the light. She seemed conscious of this effect, and of her other subtle mannerisms, using them as punctuation or distraction. A slight raising of her shoulder here, a turning of her ankle or a tilt of her head there... almost imperceptible, and certainly not enough to betray any nervousness or inattention on her part.
Calculated to seem natural, accidental... and Adria understood at once that, though younger and of lesser rank, this girl was already trained far better than the three Sisters she now served. She has a purpose apart from theirs — and it is a superior purpose.
Adria merely
nodded in response, and Emoni returned to her place beside Falburn, the green of her skirts catching in the cool salt winds, and she seemed to slow a moment, as she had when Adria had first seen her. And this triggered an earlier memory, somehow, but fleeting as morning mist.
A dream...? A dream of... drowning?
Blinking away and shrugging off the impression, Adria rose onto her haunches to survey the forces gathered on The Echo’s decks. She had to admit that, now settled into positions, they made an impressive enough display.
The sailors, sun-seasoned and confident, stood at ready for any eventuality, bows or lines in hand, some with bucklers strapped to their arms to catch any arrows from above. Their faces bore no hint of cowardice, even the younger ones, now readying shields for linesmen or set to run arrows or bring up buckets of water from overboard, should the enemy choose to resort to fire.
Even the Knights, Adria had to recognize, looked more imposing once fully prepared. Their tabards and plumes waved and fluttered, the sharp lines and colors of their shields shone black and violet, and their mail glittered in the bright light — and now Adria was glad even of their armor, if only for what it might say to the enemy in all its gleaming.
Perhaps that will give them some pause...
“Not so bad, yes?” Hafgrim nodded, following her gaze.
Elias nodded. “Battles at sea are rare. Few risk the danger to themselves, unless they have an easy majority. It is difficult enough to risk an army to battle, but to risk an entire ship is generally foolish. There is no real hope for retreat, no viable defeat. Any rout is final.”
“They are pirates,” Hafgrim shrugged.
“Most likely, Highness,” Elias nodded. “But such pirates usually ply shipping lanes, and have a good idea what cargo a vessel carries before they attack. Unless desperate, these will likely see our forces arrayed and take flight.”
Only then did Adria notice an oddity among the two lines of Knights on the main deck — one of them bore a crossbow instead of a longbow, though such a weapon was ill-favored by the Aeman, and by the Knights of Darkfire in particular, as she remembered.
Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 Page 54