Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 (73 page)

They would... they would burn their own village?
 Adria bolted forward, but the woman in crimson turned away as the flame took, then ran to the next building, her flame held high to catch its roof as well.

Adria was caught between chasing her and trying to douse the flame, or else trying to find which houses contained the villagers, to warn them anew.

It was a bizarre half-chase, as the woman alit from hovel to hovel like a fairy of flame, and Adria ran behind, shouting “fire...” and “run...” as loudly as she could, beating on windows and doors, swinging them wide, one after another.

And then she realized, even as the last of these was lit, and the woman in red stopped to replace her torch upon its bracket, pointlessly. 
There is no one fleeing... No one screaming...

“There is no one here,” she whispered, and shook her head slowly in wonder as the barefooted woman smiled thoughtfully, turned, and vanished into the ghosts of smoke and fog along the river.

“No children crying out, no animals… This village is empty,” Adria blinked. “It was all... a gambit.”

Adria followed her, crouching low to avoid the smoke, careful of falling ash and embers. Paper leaves.

How could they have escaped and no one have noticed?

In a moment she cleared the smoke, and before her the riverside held no one — neither in red dresses, nor in peasant rags, nor in tabards or surcoats of violet and black. Adria stilled, then rose and turned back, watching dumbfounded as the mill itself began to blaze. Its wheel still turned, and she wondered if, after its moorings were ash, it would roll along down the river and to the sea, taking the bridge with it as it went.

A great wheel burning.

And as Adria watched the village burn, she knew the truth of things. The moment she had drawn her blade before Tabashi... no, as he had said earlier, the moment she had sought the ghost of her uncle, it had all been decided. 
There were coins in both his hands, coins upon our eyes.

There is no victory here, or at the fort. They will win this. Palmill is the beginning of an endgame that we cannot hope to play out. We cannot defeat the enemy, even if we become them.

“It... it has all been decided,” she repeated aloud, shaking her aching head sadly, wondering where and when she might have acted, and not reacted. The smoke followed the river east, but if she skirted the edge of the water, she could still make it back to the bridge.

Still, Adria stood there in indecision, held her breath as long as she could, and forced her eyes to stay open. Finally, she shook her head slowly again, her eyes blinking away tears from the heat and smoke, and she started along the river.

If I can only react, then at least let it be the best I can imagine.
And Adria Idonea decided.
To quench four hundred hearts of fire, I need only drown the first.

A Wheel of Fire

T
he rhythm of the battle changed, like the swelling and subsiding of the water and the wind. Those aboard The Echo now had to stand and fire at a steeper angle, and it proved more of a hindrance than Adria might have guessed. Her shot felt a bit unsteady, but the narrowed distance between the ships allowed her to keep her mark.

When she fired her second arrow, it had company. Meynard, whose crossbow already came with a dispensation, apparently also felt dispensed from his firing orders.

They exchanged a look of mutual estimation as their shots proved true, but neither gave a sign to the other.

A contest?
Adria wondered. 
Or can he simply not keep pace with his fellow bowmen, and does not wish to fire alone?

The rest of the Knights released again, at Wolt’s command, and then Josson and those sailors who had not gone below continued their bow fire and their shanty.

“She’s a little outta trim but a kindly one,”

“And we’ll roll on out with a grin ‘n some.”

Falburn stayed course this time, and after the men on the galley recovered from the staggered waves of arrows, they launched their own. Adria could see that at least two oars had hung limp, those who had manned them wounded or dead. They nonetheless kept a brisk pace, and served an impressive volley.

Falburn again turned in, to minimize the breadth of The Echo, and sailors and Knights raised their shields. Adria huddled against the railing, feeling a little fear for the first time, and Elias and Hafgrim held their shields together to give her better protection. 
But an arrow can often pierce these, she knew, and held her breath.

The whistle of the arrows was as intimidating as Hafgrim had suggested, then the sound as they struck water, wood, metal, flesh...

I can never get used to this,
Adria thought, even as she realized she felt no pain. The shields above her parted and she felt the sun again, and exhaled.

One of the sailors stood, mute, staring at his boot pinned just as surely to the planking, and the blood which ran from it. One of the Knights seemed to have taken an arrow through the arm, and those nearby were trying to help him remove his shield, now pinned to his flesh, as he cried out. Others checked themselves over for similar wounds, finding nothing more than tears in cloaks and half-pierced shields, and praising the One in their good fortune.

Adria reached over the railing embrasure to pull an arrow out of the hull of the ship, fitted it to her bow, and fired. Again, Meynard on the main deck released, and again their shots were both good.

“Stone...” came the cry again, then the sound of the onager and its shot.

I am going to dream of that tonight,
Adria thought. The sound of that machine, the eyes of that girl, and flying... drowning...

Falburn did not bother to change his course. This shot, which looked to be the final one, rose higher than the rest, and yet still overshot the ship by many yards.

“We’ve crossed out of its range,” she said.

“There’s the first great danger passed,” Elias nodded, “So long as we keep at this slant until the hull is patched.”

“They still have arrows...” Hafgrim frowned.

“And a ram,” Elias added grimly. Obviously, he considered this a worse danger.

The rhythm went on more cleanly for awhile, as Falburn turned only for the arrow exchanges, still moving toward them to keep inside the limited range of the onager.

Those ship’s boys who were not managing shields kept the sailors well-supplied with arrows, either from the secured barrels or, like Adria, plucking those of the enemy from the deck, to return them to their source.

There were casualties on both sides — two more sailors of The Echo fell, one from the height of the topcastle, his impact with the deck killing him where he might have survived the arrow.

A Knight, hunched over beneath his shield on the main deck, found his mail less protection than he might have wished. An inch short, and it would have glanced off his helm. Instead, it shattered chain links and pierced deeply into the flesh of his back, where it found even less hindrance.

Still, the tide of battle, if not the tide itself, looked to be turning in favor of The Echo. Intentional or not, Adria’s sense of rivalry with Sir Meynard grew. His off hand did seem almost unusable. He balanced his crossbow with his forearm, rather than gripping its stock as one normally would. When he reloaded, he pulled the catch back with his better hand, and balanced the bow with one foot.

It looked awkward, but he managed it with little loss of speed, and after the third round of firing on the part of the Knights, he managed to quicken his pace, shooting out of turn more often than not, and without reprimand from Wolt.

After a few rounds, it became clear to all that they were both remarkable archers, and some of the sailors even sent up a cheer when their shots landed.

Under different circumstances,
Adria thought. 
There would likely be a wager.

“She’s a’wet in the waves and a tricka time,” Josson sang. Adria wondered if the sailors had more verses or arrows, though, judging from the nature of the lyrics, it might not be a difficult matter to improvise.

“An hour luff ‘n touch ‘er, ‘n an hour full and by,” the sailors answered.

“‘til she’s all in the wind ‘n ‘er aft to the sky,”

“While we roll ashore with a grin ‘n some.”

Adria also kept an eye on both Hafgrim and Elias, and though she could not be sure of the accuracy of their individual arrows amidst the swarm, their technique and focus seemed to suggest a respectable competency.

Soon, the ships were near enough that a high firing arc was no longer required. The accuracy of both sides improved, though the arrows proved generally less powerful, and found more hull than flesh. It was now obvious that the galley, rowers excluded, had both fewer hands and bows.

“They are desperate, to take this much fire and not retreat,” Elias nodded.

Adria agreed. “Perhaps they are desperate enough to make mistakes.”

He shrugged. “Once they are engaged, their kind always fight for their lives. It is a way of life... their desperation will only lead their captain to persevere. If he does not, he will be replaced.”

Adria rose up and took a shot. “A mutiny?”

Elias smiled and shook his head. “Not really... such things are not like they’re written in books. Their captain is most likely elected. If a majority would choose another, they will. Poor leadership will not see a captain walking the plank, only demoted.”

“How egalitarian,” Adria considered, then nodded and smiled. “You know, it occurs to me that you know a bit more about pirates than one might have guessed.”

He smiled and shrugged as he rose with the others to fire, the Knights now again following Josson’s song along with the sailors.

“Then I haul every inch, hook the cat, ‘n g’bye,”

“With I wink at ‘er wear ‘n ‘er siren cry.”

As the Knights and the sailors finished their shots, Falburn looked up at his sails and over at the enemy, and nodded.

“Save yer arrows for a pass,” he called out. “Take cover and brace ‘til we pull alongside ‘er. Those a ye’ can shoot, ready to shoot. Those that can’t, jus’ keep mannin’ yer shields.”

It was a strange proclamation, and followed by silence, except for the normal calls to turn into the galley. But this time, Falburn turned a bit more, aiming the prow of the Echo straight into the enemy.

“We’re going in?” Hafgrim asked. “This doesn’t look like a pass, but a collision.”

“It seems so...” Adria nodded hesitantly, glancing over at the captain, whose eyes were straight ahead.

Elias mopped his forehead with his gloved hand. “I’ve seen sailors gamble before, but... if that ram strikes us... we sink.”

“Their ram doesn’t look too effective,” Hafgrim said. “It’s much too high. It’ll only tear through the railing.”

“The one above... she’s for looks, and not much else,” Elias replied, shaking his head and motioning. “But there’s one below the water to match, and that’s the one that would sink us.”

Adria took a closer look then. The prow was tipped in bronze and carved in the shape of a beautiful woman with golden hair and half-folded wings, holding a basket of golden apples to her breast.

Perhaps some goddess once or still popular in the Northlands?
 Adria wondered idly. 
How many peoples wield their gods as weapons? To bludgeon, to sink and destroy in the name of... whomever.
 Of course Adria didn’t know the name, certainly not now that gods’ names where out of fashion.

And she could also see a sweep of bronze running down from the prow into the water, and a bit of what lay below. She looked to the rest of the ship. “Half of their rowers are gone... we could surely outrun them now.

“Yes...” Elias nodded, then frowned. “But then we would have to face the onager again, and for much longer, if they give chase. Falburn probably doesn’t want to risk it.”

“So... what then?” Hafgrim laughed grimly. “We have to destroy them all? Is that the plan?”

“Perhaps not,” Adria answered. “I think the good captain has something more of a plan.”

“What plan?”

Adria frowned, uncertain, but the most obvious answer was best, and might quiet his concerns somewhat — and hers. “Like he said, ‘Those who can shoot, prepare to shoot...’ Ready your bow, Brother. And, I daresay, brace yourself.”

He turned to watch the stalwart captain, then back to Adria, and nodded silently.

Adria returned the nod and added a small smile, thinking, 
Wait for the call…

She met him upon the bridge, where the ghosts of smoke and fog were one. Nothing stood between them but a few feet of shallow water washing over half-rotting planks.

She imagined them breaking, and one or both of them being swept away. She imagined them drawing their swords, knee-deep in the current, fighting to the death for a point of honor she only half understood.

This far, and no further,
she might demand. 
You cannot cross this bridge.

She didn’t know what she would truly say. She no longer knew if he would understand, now that his game of kings was no longer a game, but a new first battle in another War for Union, another War of Scars.

This game is one of logic…
 Her father had told her once.

“Adria,” he shook his head. “What happened to the village?”

He might have been disappointed, might have been hopeful. It didn’t exactly matter to her anymore.

“
It was all a trick
,” she answered in Aesidhe, loud enough for those who followed closest to him to hear. “
They evacuated, long before we even took the field. They left just enough people to call this a slaughter. And they burned it themselves.
”

It occurred to her then that he might suspect that she had warned them — perhaps even that she had left the Runners even earlier than she had appeared to, and then waited for the Hunters to arrive. She might have spoken of Tabashi, of the woman in red, but knew it would sound silly.
Like children and dragons, a fairy tale for a wayward princess.

“
Still, they will see the smoke for many, many miles,
” Preinon said after a moment, nodding. “
The People will know this as a victory, and the Others as a loss.
”

Adria waited a moment out of respect before answering, “
You did not hear me, Uncle? It was a ruse.
”

He nodded. “
Does it matter? It will bring many more to our cause.
”

She swallowed heavily, but her voice remained strong. “
It is
your
cause,
Atuteko.
And it is the cause of whoever leads the Others.
”

He did not take her meaning at first, and then he pursed his lips and nodded his understanding. His eyes said, 
You stand before me and against me?

Aloud he said, still too calmly, but in Aeman again, “I only want to save the People...”

And she knew the battle was still in him. In his mind, he was already marching beyond her and on through the smoke and the fire to the forts which symbolized his return from exile.

Wounded and haunted,
she thought, now well resolved, though her head pulsed with the expectation of what she must do. 
The true ghosts are not the spirit divided from the body, but the fear divided from the memory.

“You want to save them, but you fear to leave them,
” Adria said as she stepped closer to him, carefully balancing as the bridge shifted, the current swept over her boots. “
You fear to leave them, so you try to lead them.
You become what you would kill. The true Hunter lives by his will, not by his weapon. You trade your soul for steel.”

“
Calm yourself,
Pukshonisla.”

“No…” she cried, lapsing a moment into Aeman, pointing beyond her to the long row of Hunters beginning to cross the bridge. “Let them all know what we have known.
Let them see who we truly are, who they will become. The great white duke, come to lead the noble savages. You’ve made the Hunters into Hunters of Men.
”