Chương 442: Someone Else’s Grave

Ch. 442 - Someone Else's Grave Meeting Varten wasn't something he'd expected or even planned for, and for a moment, Simon stood there frozen, unwilling even to turn around. He nodded, coughing before grunting, "A long time ago," in an attempt to disguise his voice as his mind raced. He stood to leave, but as he did so, he heard the sound of the boy dismounting. No, not boy, Simon corrected himself, man. It had been decades since Simon had left the Broken Tower. Varten was probably a little older than him now.

Suddenly, it all made sense.

Simon had heard people use the Raithewaite name the night before, but he'd assumed that it had referred to some distant cousin, or perhaps someone else taking up the name of the old leaders to make the transition easier. That hadn't been the case at all, though. It was obvious that he'd come back here if the Whitecloaks were done. That realization surprised him. He should have realized it before. After what he'd done, the order was finished.

Normally, that revelation would have merited a lot of thought, and maybe even a celebration, but right now, all he wanted to do was get away from Varten before the boy realized who he was. Still, he didn't get the chance. Even as he stood, Varten came and stood beside him, bowing his head in a silent prayer. That struck Simon as odd. It was probably the most humble thing he'd ever seen the boy do, which was saying a lot given all the menial chores he'd tasked him with as a younger man.

Simon took the opportunity to turn, but his way was blocked, not just by the baron's horse, but by the two men riding up to join them.

"Not so much as a 'by your leave, your Lordship'?" the first man asked as Simon went to move past him. Simon shook his head but wasn't tempted to respond. The less he used his own voice, the better.

"Ease off, Jimen," Varten sighed, turning toward the brewing altercation slowly.

"The man was just paying his respects. He's obviously traveled a long way, so he might not even be my subject, or even know who I… Enis? Sir Enis?" Simon's heart fell in that moment, as he thought of all the ways that this could go wrong. The boy was trained as a witchhunter for years, and there was no way he'd accept Simon's hand regrowing as a lucky break or a miracle. Worse, it wasn't like Simon would strike him down, even if given the chance.

He thought about all of that as Varten approached him with an expression of shock plain on his face, but mostly he thought about Nara. If Varten slew him, or worse, burned him at the stake, would the girl suffer for that? She will when they find my wands, he realized. He hadn't even thought about the consequences of leaving them in the inn, but now he couldn't think of anything else. Still, Varten stopped halfway to Simon, and said, "No, it couldn't be you, could it?

Sir Enis is dead, and if he were still alive, he'd be almost 60." Simon noted that he left out the extra hand, but said nothing. Maybe Varten didn't want to remember his old master that way. Simon didn't ponder what that might mean, exactly; instead, he felt a wave of relief pass through him.

"I mistook you for someone else," the baron said, still pale. In that moment, something clicked. Simon looked past the boy who had become a man, to the war memorial that stood behind him, and saw the monument for what it was. It was him. The statue of Simon outside the orphanage in Darndelle might be long gone, but someone had erected a cruder one of him here, at a battle he hadn't even fought. He felt a wave of vertigo then, as Varten moved past him, as he tried to connect those dots.

A boy who had become a man, but still yearned for the man that Simon had been a lifetime before, and then to meet him here, now. For a moment, the odds seemed impossible, but really, the only unlikely thing was that they met here at this grave. If Simon destroyed the Whitecloaks, then this was always where Varten was going to end up; if Simon thought it through, he would have known that from the moment he saved Nara, and gone south to the City of the Crossroads instead.

"He was my father," Simon lied. He wasn't sure why he did it. He could have left well enough alone, but he could see that Varten needed closure, and for whatever reason, Simon couldn't walk away from that. He owed his squire too much for that; he'd cut off Simon's arm and saved his soul in the process. That stopped Varten dead in his tracks, and he turned to face Simon again.

"Who was your father? The person that died, or Sir Enis?" the baron asked. Simon noted not just the touch of gray in Varten's thin goatee but the way his sharp eyes focused on him. This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. It's easier to be a good leader when you can detect who's lying to you, Simon reminded himself. Instead of answering and risking the lie, Simon nodded and pointed.

"That man," he said.

"The person who inspired this statue. He and I are related."

"That's just the watcher of the west wall," Varten's lieutenant answered.

"He was no knight, he—" The man stopped speaking immediately as the baron raised a finger, so Simon continued.

"I don't know that he was a knight either, not truly. I heard some stories, but there were so many secrets that…" Varten nodded.

"Aye, sir Enis was a man of many secrets," he agreed.

"I can't tell you all of them, or even most of them, but I can tell you that he was a knight. No, he was better than that. He was the best of us." Simon was touched by his old squire's words, but kept the emotions those words raised in him down as hard as he could. That wasn't just because it was the right move; it was because that thrill of connection and gratitude erased his sight for a moment.

Just keep him emotional, he won't be able to tell the truth from the fiction, Simon reminded himself, as the baron insisted that Simon return with him to Crowvar. Simon tried to decline the honor, but Varten wouldn't hear of it.

"You're the first person I've met to know Sir Enis in decades," he insisted.

"You're not leaving until I get stories about the man he was before he joined the… Well, before I knew him." Still, Simon tried to beg off.

"I only have memories of him from when I was very young," he answered, not sure the timeline even lined up for that to work.

"He was… Well, my mother said he was a good man, and there's a painting of him in our home to this day, so when a family friend… A merchant saw this memorial and said that both figures were one and the same. Well, how could I not come to see if it was true?" The lie was blatant, and silly even, but with all the emotions here, it was almost certainly undetectable. Better, though, it was so ridiculous that it almost had to be the truth.

If he were Enis's son, and he'd come from far away, then how else would he have even known about this statue? Varten didn't even question it. He didn't question anything at all. Instead, he clapped Simon on the back and apologized.

"He didn't fall here, or even recently, I'm afraid, but he lived a life worthy of being remembered, so I used him as a symbol, even if no one else will ever know his name." The baron shook his head ruefully.

"Well, no one but you and I, and I suppose your mother, if she—""She's gone," Simon hastily added.

"I'm all alone in the world now, except, of course, for the little girl I picked up on the road a few days ago. A refugee from a burned-out village." Varten shook his head. Simon had dropped Nara's identity very specifically to try to tangent the conversation, but Varten would not be dissuaded.

Normally, Simon was used to steering these sorts of conversations, but whether it was because Varten had spent years dealing with Simon's tactics as a child, or simply because he was on the back foot about this whole situation, he always returned to the topic at hand. Before they made it back to the baron's fortress home in the heart of Crowvar, Simon had been forced to invent a mother, anecdotes about his father from when he was very young, a few siblings, and a hometown only a few days' ride from the capital.

For the village he came from, at least, he picked a place where he was fairly certain he'd never taken Varten, but some of the other details got sloppy. He'd used the first woman's name that had come to mind, which had turned out to be Zoa. That was unfortunate, but what was more unfortunate was that it was foreign. Varten didn't balk at that either. Instead, he just nodded and said, "So he did marry a foreigner. I always wondered how he knew so many languages. That makes sense."

"It does," Simon agreed.

"Sim… Sir Enis is… was the only real warrior of our line, but I have ancestors that were merchants, healers, and travelers of every sort." When they reached the baron's manor, he was invited to sup with the man's family. Simon tried to beg off, reminding him, "I have Nara to fetch. She doesn't have anyone to care for her."

"I'll send someone to fetch her," Varten answered, "and see that she's given a good meal and tucked in for that night." That was the only reprieve that Simon got. He just waved him off and then introduced Simon to his wife and children. The woman seemed affronted that a commoner would share their table until Varten said, "He's the son of a dear, dear friend, and he's come a long way. He'll always be welcome here." That mollified her, and for a time, the conversation about Sir Enis decreased.

That was both good news, though, and bad. The good news was that Simon didn't have to keep talking about himself in the third person, but the bad news was that Varten was now much more focused on him, and on his answers. Worse, he didn't seem nearly as emotional as before, so Simon had to try to tell some version of the truth just in case. As the guest, Simon was the center of attention. So, he framed himself as a traveler who had been to many places. That was true.

It was even true that he was following in Sir Enis's footsteps. Only the children's questions made it hard to keep up for a while.

"You came all this way because you heard about a statue?" one boy asked.

"But Crowvar isn't even anywhere important."

"I've been to many less important places than Crowvar," Simon confessed. It was true, too. He could list off a hundred villages that he'd probably never visit again, but some places like this one just kept drawing him back in. History had a pull to it, and he and Crowvar had a lot of history.

"Why aren't you a knight like your dad?" the older boy asked.

"I'm going to be the Baron like my father." Simon smiled at that and congratulated him. In truth, both boys were spoiled, but not nearly so bad as Varten and his brother had been. The cycle had been broken, and for that much, he was grateful.