Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 (62 page)

“What did they find? Did they survive?” Adria pressed the issue, though by Preinon’s tone it was obvious he was reluctant to take this conversational path too far.

“Up and until the war, the Wenish believe so. But that area has been much troubled since. A duke rebelled against the King of Somana, his own brother, and the area has remained in contest.”

“Pentaros.” Adria remembered, thinking this story much like Preinon’s own. Even Preinon had slowed as he spoke, seemingly just then realizing what he had said. Adria smiled a little. “Then perhaps our situation is not so unique, and there is hope.”

“Perhaps.” Still, this did not seem to interest him.

He is so focused on his Hunters, on turning the tide against the Knights,
 she realized. 
He is closing himself off to other possibilities — any which might mean retreat or compromise. The Aesidhe were wounded by the treachery of one of their own tribes, but Preinon was wounded even more.

Adria nodded. “But you did not follow the trail of the tribes, regardless. You sought out the Wenish themselves, because of the aid they gave the People in the past?”

“I wished to gauge their sympathy and the strength of their resolve. Both are worth consideration for the future. I had also hoped to negotiate some sort of trade agreement, but we have been better served by the Moresidhe thus far — certainly as long as our focus remains this far north. In time, though, this may change.”

“Soon…” Adria frowned.

He nodded, but said nothing more to deny or affirm, and they spoke of other things.

“How long have I been here?” she asked. For awhile she had counted the months, but now, her sense of time had changed, and she had to find a new way of adding it up.

“Two years,” he said, even as she arrived at the number. “A little more than.”

She nodded. “How old am I... sixteen?”

“I believe so,” he agreed, and they sat in silence for awhile.

“We spoke before,” she began again. “About... leaving the Aesidhe in order to save them.”

He said nothing, but waited for her to continue.

“You have people watching Windberth,” she said, only half a question.

Preinon nodded. “We do.”

“Not Runners... not Aesidhe. Moresidhe, perhaps, or old allies... you are reluctant to mention them, I know... and it doesn’t matter just now, anyway.”

Again, he said nothing, and allowed her to formulate her thoughts. “Regardless of the source, you will know when Hafgrim is knighted.”

“I will know.”

Adria nodded. “Then I would know, as well.”

He sighed his understanding, or at least the understanding he thought he had. “If you had been born male, you would likely be knighted this spring.”

Adria shrugged. “That is not what I want, Uncle. Not anymore. Not why I ask.”

“I know,” he nodded. “And I understand. You miss your brother.”

“I do.” And she hesitated. “But that is not what I mean to say, either. I did not tell you of something, for it once seemed remote, and now it seems merely foolish.”

Again he waited her out.

“I made a promise to Hafgrim, when I left, that I would return to him when he was given his first duty as a knight. Now, I feel I have pledged myself to our enemy, out of childish sympathy for my brother’s equally childish hurt feelings.”

After another long silence, Preinon simply smiled a little and nodded. “I understand.”

They said no more of this, though Adria realized, despite the tension growing between them, that he spoke the truth.

Adria watched as Preinon taught the new Hunters to fight, or allowed those who had served them to teach them. A rank hierarchy slowly began to form, and soon Preinon named some of those who had begun to command as lieutenants, calling them Shémaphho Chetopaya, They Stand Above.

Preinon never showed the abilities he and Adria shared to anyone else, and did not attempt to teach these to either Hunter or Runner. And though they had not discussed it, there seemed an implicit assumption that Adria would not either.

She did not even properly understand it, though she sensed, somehow, that such ability was not meant to be used lightly.

“It may be something in our blood,” Preinon reasoned as they spoke together quietly after a day of marching and training. “Something in the blood of kings.”

Adria nodded.
Perhaps it gives some reason to the Sisterhood’s obsession with our family, with family trees. Something that Taber knew in my father, my uncle, and fosters in Hafgrim and I.

“The Mechushegiya think of time as a river,” Preinon continued. “It is always flowing, but not always at the same speed, or with the same force. And although it is always easiest and often best to flow along with the river, still it is possible to row, to move more swiftly than the water alone, or even to turn against it, and slow the pace, and more clearly see the distant shores.”

He paused, then smiled a little. “I have heard them say it better, in Aesidhe.”

That is… a remarkable explanation…
Adria nodded. “So they can do as we do? Shísha?”

“I… really do not know.” He sighed thoughtfully. “Not in the same way, I don’t believe. It is something that is taught to them, I know, by Elders among them, or by Spirit Helpers. Sometimes they use certain foods to bring it about. It is nearly always used for healing.”

“We use it for harm,” Adria nodded. “That is why you have not spoken of it directly with anyone, not even Shísha.”

He motioned with his hands, an Aesidhe way of shrugging, almost. His mood seemed amicable, receptive. And yet, Adria was not quite ready for the conflict she knew must come. She looked about at the army camped all around them, already nearly two-hundred strong, and shook her head.

“What is it?” he asked her.

She smiled and shrugged. “
I was only thinking of
Shísha,” she half lied. “
She should be here with us.
”

He nodded. “
I miss her too, but she has her own path.
”

Adria nodded as well, thinking, 
Yes, and I must be the one to walk both webs at once. A Hunter and a Healer.

It felt like small moves on a grand scale.

The Runners stayed their course, scouting within and at the edges of the borders, watching for what now seemed only subtle signs of enemy movement.

The Hunters in Rows moved more slowly, from camp to camp, from cache to cache. They gained more fighters by the pair or the handful, and where they did not hunt, they brought supplies out of the ground where Runners had left them in seasons before.

Preinon brought forth enemy swords from these caches, and awarded them to his lieutenant Shémaphho Chetopaya, and to the best fighters among the Hunters, and trained them in their use. This caused some envy among the Hunters, but Preinon assured them, “
What we do not find in coming camps, we will take from the hands of the slain.
”

Always, they took part of what was buried, but not all. And Preinon taught Adria how to remember each of them, much in the same way she had learned many of the games of chess with her father.

Slowly, a broad map of the Wild filled in blanks of the image of Heiland already in her head from her education at Windberth. The image once dotted with Aeman towns and roads and rivers broadened to include camps, caches, and the ever-shrinking borders which contained them.

Closer to the wilderness edge, Runner scouts brought more accurate and recent word of the Knights’ movements. As Preinon drew their position in the earth beside the fire, he showed only confidence, but the look of his eyes as he examined upon the ground what was clearer in his head betrayed his concern, and Adria realized why as she followed his movements and her memory.

Despite all he has done, it is still only the opening of this game of chess,
 she thought. 
No one makes forward motion... they only reposition themselves behind their lines for better advantage. He is ready for an offensive, and there is none yet to be made.

“We are waiting, Uncle?” she said, ambiguously.

He said nothing as he erased lines in the earth with his foot and turned his face to the fire. But in a moment, he nodded, his jaw set, before turning to other concerns.

There were no legions of Knights, no great clashes, no glorious battles to whet the new blades of the Hunters.

Mateko was one of those who had last returned from the border, and Adria had some difficulty restraining herself from an embrace in the presence of others, of her uncle.

“
Even with the other Runners here, it has not been the same as before,
” she confided in whispers as she walked him to his tent in the Runners’ camp. “
Tension grows worse between the camps. And Watelomoksho… does not see so clearly. Without Sh
í
sha...
”

“
Every camp needs its
Mechushegi,” he agreed.

“
But not every army?
” she shrugged. “
Is this why she is not here?
”

He half shrugged, frowning. “
They cannot be healed who did not wish for healing.
”

She nodded. “
This I understand, but what of the Runners? Why can she not stand with them?
”

Mateko raised his hands in a sign of surrender, and offered, in broken Aeman, “Shísha... stony... makes.”

“Yes... Shísha plays stubborn with Uncle,” she agreed. “
It is their battle of wills, and the rest of us are caught between.
”

“
They are two spiders in one web.
”

Adria sighed to hear her name and purpose echoed again, but she nodded at his wisdom, and bid him goodnight, with just the hint of a kiss, and with great reluctance.

Mateko was gone the next morning, making Adria’s hasty good night even more painful.

When she learned he was under the orders of Watelomoksho, she did not even bother to hide her anger.

“Why did you send him away?”

Preinon blinked and shook his head swiftly, “Do you mean Mateko?”

It was an honest question, and a sincere reaction, and Adria felt immediately ashamed, especially since there were others around. “
I am sorry, Uncle. I mean
Mateko. Yes.”

He nodded, waving his hand in his own apology. “
I had need of a messenger, and he is the best for this task.
”

“
I understand
.” Adria sat beside him as he ate his breakfast, and adopted a more serious tone. “
What is this message?
”

He paused, then said simply, in Aeman, “I have sent for Tabashi.”

Adria swallowed, and a nervous sensation climbed up her spine. She had visions of arrows at cross purposes, and her hand moved to the scar on her breast. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and allowed herself to resettle for a moment before continuing. “
You will barter with him again?
”

“
If he will come, I will.
”

“
You would bring him here, after everything?
” she asked. “Are you so able to trust him again?”

“Certain, no…” he shrugged, and turned his head to face her. “
But it is time we have a better vision of things,
Mélitali.”