As they drew closer, Silver Warrior's gait grew increasingly slower until each hoof fall landed with a singular, unrhythmical thump. The crowd stood in silent contemplation. Even the children went still, some to stare and others to hide behind parental legs. Finally, Ra-khir drew his steed to a halt in front of the line of waiting people.
A long silence followed. No one seemed to know what to say or do. Finally, Ra-khir executed the most formal bow he could from atop his charger, flourishing his hat in a genteel motion.
Applause followed Ra-khir's bow, gracious and loud. One man stepped forward and also bowed, his head nearly touching the roadway. "Welcome Knight of Erythane. Thank you for gracing our town with your presence."
A cheer went up. Rags of various colors fluttered through the air, and the bolder children screeched excitedly. Others peeked out from behind their parents.
This is for me? Shocked, Ra-khir could think of nothing to do but introduce himself, "I am Sir Ra-khir Kedrin's son, Knight to the Erythanian and Bearnian kings: His Grace, King Humfreet, and His Majesty, King Griff."
Cheers and more applause followed his pronouncement, as if he had performed some spectacular feat. Embarrassed by their attention, Ra-khir found himself staring at the blue-and-gold ribbons braided into Silver Warrior's snowy mane. Knightly honor decreed he remain properly dignified and in control at all times. He had not done that over the last week; but he had, apparently, managed to maintain the image.
The spokesman smiled. "Welcome to Dunford, Sir Ra-khir. Have you time to join us for a meal? Our inn is not fancy, but the food is better than tolerable."
The entire group seemed to hold their breaths collectively, awaiting his answer.
Though desperately hungry, and even a bit tired, Ra-khir wanted nothing more than to find a few answers and move onward. However, his honor as a knight would not allow him to insult good people who, he now realized, had gathered solely for him. "I would love to join you all for a better than tolerable meal."
Another cheer went up from the crowd. They stepped aside to allow Ra-khir to pass.
Ra-khir dismounted in a single, fluid motion. Flicking back his cape, he seized Silver Warrior's wide leather bridle by the cheek strap spanning between decorative conches. He flipped the reins free and gathered them into his gloved left hand.The horse regarded its master through one dark eye, its delicately arched neck sheened with foam and sweat. "Hey, old boy," Ra-khir whispered, and an ear twitched sideways to listen.
With his hands full of bridle and reins, Ra-khir could spare nothing for his clothing. His tabard hung askew, his black silk shirt lay wrinkled and sweat-plastered to his chest, and the angle of his broadsword was completely wrong. Knight-Captain Kedrin would verbally flay him, but the citizens of Dunford did not even seem to notice.
The speaker and two others led the way. Everyone else walked alongside Ra-khir in a great band, chattering amongst themselves. Ra-khir tried not to listen, but he could not help overhearing parents telling their children the significance of a knightly visit.They spoke of ancient legends and how the word of a knight should be trusted implicitly. To hear them tell it, the Knights of Erythane were the human incarnations of honesty and honor, and their word was absolute law. They pointed out his colors: the blue and gold of Bearn and the black and orange or Erythane, worn at all times by every knight. The children ogled the broadsword at his hip, and some reached out to touch him or his horse as though such a thing might heal them of afflictions.
For the first time since leaving Erythane, Ra-khir secretly wished his father had let him quit the knights. The attention, though kind, unnerved him. He would rather ride off immediately with a handful of jerky and a few answers. Though accustomed to dreary, long-winded formality, he found himself saddled with all-too-human impatience. Yet, he had no choice but to display the honor of his kind, to weather the hospitality of his hosts, and to hope the Renshai did not get too far ahead of him meanwhile.
Though large for a village inn, the building could hold only half the residents at one time. The women and children veered away from the mud-and-stone building, pausing only to well-wish, curtsy, or touch their guest. Obliged to respond to each and every one, Ra-khir bowed what seemed like a million times, spoke several hundred thanks, and granted all verbalized requests for light contact. Some simply touched a sleeve or a glove, others kissed the hem of his cape or tabard, while the children seemed to favor a stroke of Silver Warrior's lathered chest or flank.
At length, only the men remained, streaming into the inn or talking in small groups. A stable boy approached Ra-khir and lowered his head.
Ra-khir granted him a grand bow, which brought a smile to the young man's lips.
"Beggin' youse pardons, sir. May I tends to youse horse?"
Ra-khir pursed his lips. The vast majority of the knight's chargers got their care from grooms, but Ra-khir had always insisted on tending Silver Warrior himself. In this circumstance, however, it seemed insulting to put the horse before his many eager hosts. Reluctantly releasing the bridle, he nodded. Worried they might not allow him to pay for anything, Ra-khir slipped the boy a couple of silvers. "He's very special." A whole litany of needs sprang to his tongue, but he knew better than to speak them. This youngster knew exactly how to treat a fine animal, and the payoff would see to it that Silver Warrior received the best of care. "But getting a bit long in the tooth."
The stable boy pocketed the silver and nodded. "I'll sees ta it the ol' boy gits plenty o' lovin' cares."
"Thank you."
Several men gestured for Ra-khir to enter the building, and he did so at their urging. Afraid to cause a pile-up at the entrance, he walked the length of the common room to a large, round table in the farthest corner. The instant he chose a seat, the men of Dunford rushed to fill the nearest ones like children playing one-chair-less. Soon, men filled every position, scooting chairs and tables, while others found the best places to stand.
Though uncomfortably closed-in, Ra-khir suffered in silence. His honor prevented him from demanding breathing room or, even, from shedding a cape or tabard from his oppressive amount of clothing. He did, however, remove his hat and gloves, as was proper inside any establishment. "Hello," he said.
A hundred hellos answered him, like a loud, uncoordinated echo.
Ra-khir cleared his throat, feeling it impolite to rush right into business. The gesture resulted in a painful cough, his throat dry and dusty from travel.
In an instant, a barmaid appeared at Ra-khir's shoulder, clutching a mug of light-colored ale. He had no idea how she had negotiated the crowd so quickly. "Here, sirra," she said, placing the mug in front of him on the table. "This is for you, courtesy of Lenn." She gestured toward the bar. "He said to tell you the house special is on the way."
Ra-khir followed the movement of her arm to a portly, middle-aged man wearing an apron over his linens. He threw a friendly salute toward the knight.
Ra-khir returned the salute more grandly and briskly; he knew no other way. "Tell him, thank you. And to keep track of my tab."
"He said to tell you…" The girl took a deep breath, clearly trying to quote her boss exactly right, "… if you try to pay, he'll break your arms."
"Ah!" Ra-khir could not help smiling. "How can I refuse such a gracious invitation?" He sifted a few coppers from his purse and pressed them into her hand. "Did he say anything about not tipping the staff?"
Her fingers closed over the coins, and she threw a surreptitious glance toward Lenn.
"Don't tell him, eh? I like my arms the way they are." Ra-khir distracted Lenn by rising and making a formal bow of appreciation in his direction.
Lenn bowed back, then turned and disappeared into the kitchen. Other serving girls pressed through the crowd, amid a sudden flurry of drink and food orders throughout the common room. Apparently, serving the knight cued the others. Had Ra-khir known that bit of etiquette, he would have ordered before entering; his throat felt parched, and his stomach rumbled.
; "Thank you, sirra," the girl whispered before diving into the crowd to take her share of orders.
Ra-khir remained stiffly formal, as his title dictated. He glanced at the faces around his table: sunburned, dust-etched, wrinkled, nodding to each in turn before asking, "I wondered if a group of warriors preceded me to Dunford, about three hundred strong and in need of supplies."
Murmurs ran through the crowd, denying such a sighting. Only after the noise died did one man speak alone, "Sir Knight, I did not see such an army. But, only two days ago, I sold my wares to the beams to a group of five men who packed out my cured and fresh meats in a horse-drawn cart. Every one of them wore a sword at his hip. They could be feeding a multitude like you describe."
"Aye," said another. "And they bought out my cheeses, didn't care the type."
"And my vegetables," piped in a third.
Suddenly, every memory was jogged, and several started talking at once about the clothing, foodstuffs, and other necessities they, a wife, or a friend had sold to this apparently enormous group.
Ra-khir had no doubt they spoke of the Renshai, glad the tribe had shown the sense to mostly remain in hiding. Even smaller villages did not take well to the sudden appearance of a militia.
A man swaggered up to Ra-khir's table, ignoring the elbows jabbed at him by his peers. "Sir Knight," he slurred, huffing fetid breath on all of those around him. Clearly, he had started his drinking hours earlier. "There were Renshai in the woods. A friend of mine barely escaped with his life."
"Ignore him," those nearby suggested. "He's always-"
But Ra-khir could not afford to dismiss him. "Renshai, you say?"
"Renshai," the man repeated. In some parts of the world, it was considered a swear word too vile to speak. "They all carried swords, even the women and the tykes, he said."
"That sounds like Renshai." Ra-khir had no choice but to encourage him. "Are you certain they attacked him, though?"
"They're Renshai," the man reminded, as if this was enough to guarantee violence. "He barely escaped with his life."
"So…" Ra-khir tried carefully, "… they wounded him."
"Cor, no!" The man made a wild gesture that sent others ducking and scurrying to avoid getting hit. "Renshai don't wound. They get holt of a man, they kill him… brutally."
Ra-khir heaved a large sigh. It seemed unnecessary to point out the ludicrous flaws in the drunkard's statement. If three hundred Renshai wished to catch a man, he would be caught. And, if they intended him harm, he would be harmed. "I do not believe your friend was ever in any danger."
The drunkard froze in his strange and awkward position, arms akimbo. Whispers spread through the common room, then died to silence. The group hung on Ra-khir's next pronouncement.
"It is true that Renshai are skilled warriors and that their women learn warfare alongside their men."
The crowd did not discuss Ra-khir's words, clearly awaiting the "but" that had to follow.
Ra-khir did not disappoint. "But… in all other ways, they are like every Westerner."
"Westerner." The word swept the room. One man finally addressed Ra-khir directly. "You consider them Westerners, Sir Knight? Like us? Our allies?"
Ra-khir could scarcely believe they did not. "Of course, the Renshai are Westerners. They have lived in the West for centuries and have wielded their swords in defense of Bearn's heirs. They are more than our allies. They are… us!"
Now conversations flared like fires throughout the common room. The drunkard toddled off, shaking his head. The serving girl seized the sudden lull to slip through the crowd and deposit a plate of food in front of Ra-khir. The tantalizing aroma of roast pork and roots, boiled greens and brown bread tickled his nostrils. Dirt-specked saliva filled his mouth, lubricating his throat.
Cautiously picking up a steaming root, Ra-khir took a small bite, closed his mouth, and savored the sweetly starchy flavor. Luckily, it was not hot enough to burn his tongue, and he followed it with a swig of what turned out to be excellent ale.
By the time Ra-khir swallowed, the first question reached him.
"Knights of Erythane cannot lie, can they?"
Though more interested in his food, Ra-khir knew the conversation had to take precedence. He had an obligation to help a society overcome ignorant bigotry, especially against his family. "It is against our code of honor to do so.The Order would never maintain a knight who had knowingly spoken falsehoods."The explanation seemed unnecessary. Even if knights spent their entire existence spewing lies, anyone answering such a query would say nothing different than Ra-khir had. "A knight would willingly die rather than forsake his honor in such a way."
Again, the common room buzzed with conversation, this time accompanied by nods. Ra-khir pounced on the opportunity to eat and drink, cursing the deeply ingrained manners that forced him to do so slowly and with decorum. He wanted nothing more than to tear into that food, without having to worry what dripped down his chin, what soiled his uniform, or what noises accompanied his feast. But, ever the proper knight, Ra-khir attended to every manner as the men in the common room came to a consensus. His father's words, an echo of his own, haunted him. Remember this: anything you say or do reflects back on the Knights of Erythane, on King Humfreet and on King Griff, who you represent.
At last, the largest man at his table, who now also nursed food and ale, spoke. "Sir Ra-khir, we have been taught since infancy to dread Renshai. They are the demons who steal away naughty children in the night, the cause of every inexplicable death because they need to drink our blood to keep their youth and vitality. But none of us has encountered a Renshai, at least not that we recognized as anything but another man. If a Knight of Erythane swears that these self-same Renshai are our fellows and our allies, we have no choice but to believe and trust you."
Ra-khir nodded with respect though his thoughts raced. He could scarcely believe he had solved a centuries-old problem with a single proclamation. Is it really this easy? He knew the truth, had witnessed it in Bearn and in Erythane, where they knew firsthand that the Renshai served as faithful bodyguards to the princes and princesses, where Renshai assisted them in every skirmish. It did not take much to scrape off the veneer of tolerance and find a teeming mass of festering hatred beneath it. Still, a surface layer of forbearance was a start. "Leave them in peace, and the Renshai will not bother you. Ask them for assistance in wars and battles, and they will happily provide it."
After that, the male citizenry of Dunford dug into their repasts, and Ra-khir finally got a chance to eat-unhurriedly and with proper etiquette.
CHAPTER 24
Hundreds of years have not bred the ferocity out of wolves, nor Renshai either.
-Councillor Zaysharn of Bearn
Ra-khir shoved his wishes to the back corner of his mind, choosing instead to spend the night at the inn in Dunford. His heart told him he could survive days without sleep, that need would keep him moving long after his limbs collapsed and his eyes refused to remain open. But Ra-khir knew better. Whatever he might find himself capable of tolerating, he could not inflict that nightmare on Silver Warrior. He needed information as well as speed, to spread the true word about the Renshai, and to get enough rest to handle all situations properly. Whatever else he wanted or needed, he was a Knight of Erythane first. Sleepless men did not make the best or most rational decisions.
The familiar work of readying Silver Warrior soothed Ra-khir. He tended every hair with curry and brush, though the young groom had already done an impressive job for him. He rewove the blue-and-gold ribbons through mane and tail, his thoughts directed and certain. He knew which route the Renshai must have taken. Banned from the West and North, they could only go eastward. Reins in hand, Ra-khir cinched the saddle into place, gave Silver Warrior a solid affectionate pat with his gloved hand, and prepared to mount.
A man standing nearby sidled closer, just enough to violate Ra-khir's personal space. Without a hint of discomfort, Ra-khir turned.
As the knight's g
aze swept him, the man's face turned from pale pink to blushing scarlet. "Sir Knight," he blurted out. "I… I don't know if this is significant…"
Ra-khir smiled and nodded encouragingly. "Please tell me."
"Well, the night before the… the Renshai visited, a man came all the way from Erythane."
"Another knight?" Ra-khir puzzled over the news, seeking its significance. He knew of no one who had made the journey.
"Not a knight, a plain middle-aged man. He carried a pocket load of Northern coins." The Dunforder shook his head, "Several gold pieces, more silver and copper. He bought a round for the regulars in the name of a nephew who he said had been murdered."
Ra-khir's brows beetled. Killings happened in a city as large as Erythane, and sometimes relatives attributed foul motives to even the most accidental of deaths. "What name was this?"
The man's shoulders rose and fell, accompanied by a small huff of breath. "I don't recall. But he spent quite a bit of money on gewgaws and trinkets, women and luxury clothing, including a pair of silk shoes and a pointed cap with an enormous tassel. When he left, though, he was still a wealthy man."
"Hmmm." Ra-khir had no idea who this man might be, nor if the information held any importance, but he appreciated knowing anything out of the ordinary. "Thank you for letting me know, kind sir."
"You're quite welcome."
Ra-khir flipped the reins over Silver Warrior's head and prepared to mount again, only to be interrupted by another man.
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