Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 (71 page)

He invokes Fire Heart...
 Adria blinked, amazed. 
He invokes the Sun Dance, the very white bones and black limbs that formed my bow.

She was thankful it was not there, thankful that he had not brought it with her sword.

“
They fear us,
” Preinon continued, now loud enough that the enemy could hear his tone, if not understand his words. “
They have feared us in the forests of our home, and so they turn us against one another, and raze the trees with fire, and they will not stop until there are only plains of ash as empty as this field.

“
It is true,
”
some among them said.

“
But I say we will stop them here. We will stand between them and the tree line. We will stand toe to toe with them. We will fight them on the empty plains, on grasslands or the open earth or fields of ash and blood.

“
It is true,
” more agreed, and louder.

“We will make them fear us under the open starry sky as they fear us under the green canopy. Only then will they stop the burning. They will stop the burning when they can no longer reach the tree line — when they fall to 
our line, to the spear points and the arrow heads of
the People.
”

“
It is true,
” they shouted, and Adria had never heard it said with such force. She stood, blinking and mute, in awe of their power and of his power over them.

He has them,
 Adria stared in disbelief, awe mixed with horror. 
He has made them into an army despite themselves, despite all of us...

“
We have been Hunters, all of us,
” Preinon said, a bit softer. “
And we have been hunted.
”

“
It is true,
” they returned, with no less strength than before.

He paused, nodding, pacing before the lines with the paint of his face shining in the perfect moonlight.

This is not just a speech,
she realized. 
It is a ceremonial. He would give them this in place of the Sun Dance they lost to my father. Here begins their true Path of Thorns.

“
Tonight...
” he shouted, and they shouted after.

“
Tonight, my Brothers and Sisters...
” he shouted, and they shouted all the more.

“
Tonight we are Hunters of Men!
”

The roar now was deafening, and despite herself Adria felt herself exultant, full of pride and guilt and anger as they all must be. Her arms shook, but without fear.

For the first time, she truly realized the power her uncle had at his command, the power that her father must surely share... that might yet sleep in her own bones. It was one thing to be formidable in combat, to face an enemy in the heat of passion to save herself or to save a child, and another to...

This is just what he had said,
she remembered, 
What he said to me. How can so many of those around me seem so right, and be so at odds with one another?

Adria watched her uncle’s army — her army — as their voices grew hoarse, their arms pierced the sky with swords and spears and arrow-points, waves of sharp Moresidhe steel. The ceremonial was complete, and for the first time, he had truly named them, in the way one would name a child, a man, and a Hunter. He had summoned them to him, one by one, and now they became his tribe.

“Shíme Kóneya Nistewela,” Adria whispered. “The Hunters of Men.”

And when he at last turned back to the enemy, and raised his spear to the stars, it seemed to Adria almost a banner. Though no pennant colors flew below its point, the Hunters would follow his standard nonetheless... in lines four deep and a hundred wide.

And then by thousands… and then by tens of thousands until the forest is emptied onto the world.
Adria closed her eyes in the moment of silence before the order was given, praying, somehow, that time would stop — that her moments with Tabashi had not drained her so.

He gave the command to draw, and the rear ranks set their arrows and held.

Please,
Adria prayed.
Spirit Helpers of the night and the wood and the stars and of everything... once more…

Please, all my ancestors and the ancestors of all the People and the Aeman... once more…

Please, White Wolf Woman and First Spider and even... even the One-who-Comes to end all wars... please, help me still the world again, just… once… more...

…for what?
 she answered herself.
Even if I can slow the river, their arrows and their hearts are set. I would not have to change time alone. I would have to change four-hundred hearts of fire…

“No...” she whispered, envisioning Preinon’s arm begin to lower. “Four-hundred and one.”

Adria counted her heart as it beat, matching her shallow breath. Beside her, she could hear the breath of her uncle, steady and slow. And behind her, to her sorrow, she heard the breath of the Hunters of Men, the crickets of the field and the night birds and wind in the trees. Everything was still but that which mattered most.

Time.

Then the order came, and Adria opened her eyes, all her fear and guilt and anger loosed with two-hundred arrows.

“…once more for the crows.”

Above the droning shanty of Josson and the crew, there was a crack of wood as the onager released, and then a cry from the top castle, “Stone... stone...”

“Bear a’port...” the captain shouted, turning the wheel as the sailors manned the ropes to bring The Echo about.

As the vessel lurched, Adria braced herself, thankful she was in the corner. Knights careened onto knees or elbows, arrows skittered across the wood, and Adria could not understand how the sailors kept their legs at all.

At the helm, Falburn leaned expertly with the motion as he turned the wheel, hand over hand over hand. His shield boy went to his knees, and jerked Emoni down beside him, to her mild surprise.

For a moment, Adria nearly forgot the present danger, as its direction changed dramatically. The galley now lay ahead and off the port bow, and above and between the two ships, the onager’s shot seemed strangely idle, wandering across the cloudless sky.

As The Echo’s sails gathered their full wind again sails full out, all eyes aboard watched the stone as it rose to its full height, then picked up speed as it fell the distance. Most held their breath, but those who knew how such things flew nodded in momentary satisfaction.

It cracked into the sea a dozen yards astern, sending a jet of water over the railing and onto the deck. While all others exhaled their relief, a Knight at the aft starboard was soaked, and cursed his luck.

You think
that
ill luck?
 Adria thought, imagining if The Echo had been a bit slower to react.

Beside her, Hafgrim finished the thought. “Better water than stone, Sir Aylard,” he nodded, walking over to the Knight and clapping him on the shoulder. Though a grim joke, it nonetheless produced some laughter, and Adria favored her brother with a small smile when he turned back.

Is he confident, or only trying to hide its lack with humor? The time we have spent apart is telling... I can no longer tell the source of his mood for certain.

The Echo flew almost with the wind now, a much greater speed than before she had turned. Falburn wasn’t aiming directly at the galley, but was on a course to intercept. Adria guessed, though, that if the wind arose a fair bit, The Echo could yet use it to outpace the galley. 
Still, we’re closing quickly.

“Not long before bow range,” Elias nodded.

“It’s hard to tell, with the wind and motion,” Hafgrim said. “We’ll look foolish if our first volley finds only fish.”

It took some time for the galley to reload and adjust for a second shot, and Adria could see that with the pace The Echo was making, the enemy would not likely manage more than three or four all told — at least in a single pass.

I should count the time it takes each shot to reach,
Adria thought as she heard the second thump, louder across the closing distance. She watched with a little surprise to see that the prow of the galley dipped precariously into the sea with the force of the onager.

Perhaps the machine will loose its ties and roll over onto some of the rowers.
 But then she realized that the rowers were probably slaves, and she regretted her hasty thought.

Even as the second warning cry came, Falburn turned the ship again, outward to starboard this time, but not nearly so extreme as before. Adria watched the path of the stone, unsure for a moment, but when it fell in its arc, she was again relieved. This one was short, and struck the waves to port, far short of the ship. 

There was an even longer pause, and no shot came, but still they were not in bow range.

“Perhaps they carried only two stones,” Hafgrim grinned slightly.

“They’re readjusting a bit more carefully this time, trying to second guess our captain,” Elias said. “The machine is powerful, but unwieldy at sea. Still, a single shot could cripple us, if aimed true.”

Adria eyed the distance between the two ships thoughtfully as Falburn turned The Echo a few degrees, and then again, trying to make their trajectory less predictable, but still keep it open to quick adjustments.

I wish I could read the wind like Mateko,
she thought. 
He could smell changes in the weather long before they happened.

With a slight smile, she thought of her last moments with him, and in a burst of inspiration, she unshouldered her pack and dug inside to pull out a bundle of black and violet — A Knight’s tabard.

She unbound it and let the wind catch it, then looped it over her head and tied the cords on the side. Its colors parted on her right shoulder and diagonally to well below her waist. It looked ridiculously large, and strange against her furs and leather. And the stitching where her arrow had pierced the tabard, almost at the center of her father’s silver hexangle, was still obvious at close distance.

When she looked back up, Elias’s face was impenetrable. Hafgrim’s, however, bore obvious surprise.

“Let them know all our colors,” Adria said, evenly and quietly. “The sea may not be under Heiland law, but The Echo is, and every life aboard is under the protection of the Crown.”

They might doubt my loyalty to their order and their faith, but they cannot doubt my blood. For all my rebellion and all my trials, my father’s colors are my own, as my path has been by his will.

Adria squinted across the sun-drenched water. She measured the distance to the enemy, the relative motion between the ships. She could see faces on the castles, individual but indistinct. She measured the apparent wind on her face, and the truer wind in the sails and the topmost flag, which she had studied now for days.

Adria rose to her full height, tested her bow at half draw a few times more, and drew bearing. Ignoring the looks of those around her, Adria prayed, as a Hunter and as her father’s child, her eyes half open, and the muscles in her arms fully taut.

“Friend, I am a Hunter who knows your worth, and I wish to give thanks for your sacrifice. May your Ancestors receive you in the Great Spirit as one of their own. You did not ask for your death, and I did not ask to be a hunter of men. But we are not enemies. We are part of the same. Do not be afraid, for this is a good day to die.”

She paused, and waited for the still between the wind and between heart beats.

It has been decided,
she assured herself, her arrow, and her enemy.

I have decided.

“Once more for the crows,” Emoni said, even as Adria released.

Preinon gave the order, and Adria opened her eyes, and all her guilt and fear and anger loosed with two-hundred arrows.

“This has already happened,” she whispered.

And then she didn’t pray anymore. She didn’t think in words or at all.

She ran.

The whistle of the arrows grew lower, like the rushing of the water beyond and below, and then quieted, even as she began to outpace them.