"Something good," Saviar insisted. "It can't be that hard."
"Talamir…" Subikahn fairly choked on the name, and Saviar thought he saw a welling tear. "He… he said I would definitely pass my tests of manhood."
Not wanting to ruin the moment, Saviar did not mention that it no longer mattered; they had both become men through warfare. Instead, he glommed onto the positive. It was the most words Subikahn had strung together since they had started on this journey. "Mama said the same to me."
"Mama did?" Subikahn's brow furrowed, and he shook his head dubiously. "Mama? Not a chance."
Saviar stopped walking to confront his brother directly. He felt the familiar ire rising, the one he thought he had finally fully shaken. The last remnants of his forced good mood drifted away like smoke. "What do you mean, 'not a chance'? You think I'm lying?"
"I just can't see Mama saying it. No maneuver in the history of Renshai was ever done well enough to please Kevralyn Tainharsdatter."
They both added simultaneously, "Unless Calistin did it."
Stilted laughter followed. Saviar could not remember the last time he had found anything funny; but, oddly, even sharing a joke with his twin did little to lift his slumping spirits. The anger he had kept suppressed for two days seeped out, no longer containable.
Subikahn added soberly, "Well, he really is pretty amazing."
"And he's the first to admit it," Saviar could not help growling. "Damn it, now you've wrecked my mood."
"Sorry," Subikahn said, not sounding it at all. "But it seems to me you started this conversation."
"Yeah," Saviar said, not bothering to track the thread all the way back to its beginning. "I told you what Mama said, and you called me a liar."
"I didn't," Subikahn protested. "I merely stated that Mama was never, shall we say, 'free' with her praise."
"But she did believe I'd pass my tests."
"All right."
"She did!"
Subikahn snapped, "I'm not arguing with you."
"No, but you don't believe me."
"If you say it happened, it happened. Saviar, I've never known you to lie."
At the moment, no words would have soothed Saviar. He fumed, for reasons he could not wholly explain. "You think you're a better swordsman than me. Don't you?"
Subikahn stopped walking to study his brother. "I'd be a poor excuse for a Renshai if I didn't believe I was a better swordsman than everyone."
"You don't think you're better than Calistin."
Subikahn smiled. "Well, that would just be stupid."
Saviar could not understand why this conversation bothered him so much. He thought he had overcome his rage against his family, his belief that all of them had gone insane.Yet, he still found Subikahn's words an irresistible challenge. "Oh, but it's not stupid to think you're better than me?"
Subikahn heaved a deep sigh. "Look, Savi. We're both blooded, pretty much at the exact same moment. We're men now, tests or no. What does it matter who's better than who?"
"I don't know!" Saviar admitted, still shouting. "I don't know why it matters, but it does. It matters."
"Not to me."
Saviar turned away. His own irrationality frightened him, but it refused to go away. "So Talamir said you'd pass?"
"Virtually assured it."
Saviar grunted. "Well, if he's such a great torke, where is he? Why isn't he helping the Renshai when they need every sword arm?"
Subikahn's jaw set. "Leave Talamir out of this."
"Why?"
"Because I said to." Subikahn's tone went dangerously flat.
Saviar knew he had gained the upper hand, and he found himself incapable of not exploiting it. "Why? Was he detained by a phalanx of Eastern girls? Is he too much of a coward to face real Northmen?"
"That's it!" Subikahn threw up his hands. "Draw your weapon, Savi."
"Did he get waylaid by a terrifying band of roving squirrels?"
"Draw!" Subikahn hollered.
Saviar turned away, that gesture alone an implicit declaration of war. "If you'd just tell me what's going on instead of leaving me-"
"Draw, you obnoxious lumbering bastard, or I'll cut you down where you stand."
Saviar whirled back to face an angry Renshai with sword in hand. Subikahn's face had gone red as brick clay, his knuckles white around his hilt.
They had sparred before, of course; but always under the watchful eye of a torke, who could step in if a wayward stroke began to fall. Realizing he had gone too far, Saviar relented. "I'm sorry, Subi. I didn't mean any of it. It's just I'm so sick of-"
Subikahn was not so forgiving. "Draw, you sniveling coward. Or are you afraid to face a man half your size?"
"Fine." Saviar could no longer back down without appearing craven. "But, if I win, you have to tell me everything."
"All right!" There was acid in Subikahn's tone. "But, if I win, you have to shut up about Talamir. And about my having secrets."
"Fine!"
"Forever!"
"Forever?" Jarred completely from his rage, Saviar stared. "You mean, you'll never tell me anything?"
"Maybe never. If you lose." Subikahn added in that same searing tone, "You're just worried because you know you're going to lose, aren't you?"
"Not a chance!" Saviar drew his swords and lunged at his brother.
Subikahn met the attack with a deft in-and-out dodge and parry maneuver that put Saviar instantly on the defensive. Saviar freed his left sword and threw up the right to catch Subikahn's blade. Steel rang against steel, driving the birds into sudden silence and sending the squirrels scampering.
Saviar threw off Subikahn and stepped back to realign. Suddenly realizing they had never chosen an end point, Saviar announced, "It's first would-be fatal touch that wins it."
"Agreed." Subikahn dove in with a vicious offensive that left Saviar scrambling to defend. He met each blow with a block, dodge, or parry but did not manage a single riposte. Finally, an opening presented itself, and Saviar thrust for Subikahn's gut. He met empty air as the smaller man skipped aside, then disappeared into the brush.
Surprised by his brother's odd, hiding tactic, Saviar spun to prevent an attack on his flank. "You're running away, you coward? Come out and face me like half a man."
No reply followed, and Saviar abruptly realized he had absolutely no idea where his brother had gone. He lowered his body weight, moving constantly, graceful but erratic. He did not want to leave any openings for Subikahn to catch him unaware or from behind. Though rarely invoked, the Renshai maneuvers did include stealth and forest movement, lessons Subikahn had nearly single-handedly revived. Where in Hel is he?
The answer came as a blazing kidney stroke that Saviar barely dodged. For an instant, he lost his balance. A flurry of sword strokes followed as he sought to regain it, wedded only to defense until he was back in control. The strategy paid off. Soon, Saviar found himself not only stable and ready for attack, but in the superior position. Now sword to sword, he used a deadly combination of quickness, agility, and strength to batter at Subikahn, herding him steadily backward toward a waiting clump of nettles.
Now, Subikahn found himself wholly on the defense, only dodging the lethally accurate hammer blows of his twin because blocking sapped his strength. Pounded, his expression turned from cocky to concerned. Only his lithe movements spared him from two well-aimed blows, one to the side of the head and another to the throat.
Only then, as Saviar bore in one more time, did Subikahn blaze in a thrust for Saviar's gut. He moved like lightning, but his foot mired in detritus, slipping. His stroke went low, opening his upper defenses. Saviar slapped a triumphant, side of the sword "killing stroke" against Subikahn's ribs with bruising force.
Then, agony seared Saviar's left thigh as flesh parted before a line of exquisitely sharp steel. Against his will, his leg folded under him. He rolled from instinct, stopped short by pain so achingly intense it stole all focus. He found his swords raised in his defense without any
conscious memory of hefting them, and Subikahn stood over him with an expression of helpless terror.
"Modi!"Trained to wall up pain and keep fighting, Saviar struggled to a stand. Subikahn's left-hand sword skewered the outer part of his thigh, resting solidly against the bone. "Mooodi!"
"I'm sorry," Subikahn said. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-"
They had both seen many wounds before, as well as death itself. Yet, the image of his own leg encasing a sword, knowing his brother had inflicted the injury, left Saviar stunned for several silent moments. "Get it out," he finally said.
"But-" Subikahn started. Renshai training included only enough herbal lore to help prevent infection. They battled to the death, and survivors' scars were considered badges of honor. Nevertheless, they both knew to leave a penetrating object in place. Its removal would start bleeding they might not be able to staunch, the usual cause of death in combat.
Saviar did not care. The pain encompassed his entire being, and the area where steel wedged against bone was so excruciating it made coherent thought impossible. "Pull it out, damn it! Pull the damn thing out! Pull it out!"
"Savi, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I swear I didn't mean to-"
Saviar found himself incapable of concentrating on words. "Pull… it… out!" He braced his hands on the protruding hilt, his breathing turning to ragged gasps of anguish, "Subikahn, pull it out, or I'm killing… both of us."
"All right. Lie down." Subikahn gave his brother a light push.
It proved too much for Saviar's delicate balance. He collapsed, and the impact sent another shock of pain through his thigh. He tried to shift position, but his injured limb would not obey. "Gods! I can't move my leg."
Subikahn dropped to the ground beside Saviar. "Of course, you can't move your leg. It's pinned to the ground."
Pinned… Realization struck Saviar in a jolt. The blade had not just penetrated his thigh, it had run him through completely. His fall had buried the point in the dirt, fixing it in place.
Subikahn knelt over his fallen brother. "Savi, you know we're not supposed to remove-"
Saviar had taken all he could stand. He lunged toward his brother, seizing the fabric of his tunic, near the throat, in both hands. "Pull it out, Subikahn; or I'll pulverize you!"
Apparently wise enough to shut his mouth, Subikahn did not mention that, affixed to the ground, Saviar could not pulverize a butterfly. "All right. Just let me prepare some bandages to stop the bleeding."
"Hurry," Saviar growled, releasing his brother. Torke's lessons had often left him with a myriad of bruises and contusions; but, all of those together did not equal the pain he suffered now. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of cloth tearing and rustling, invoking the Renshai mind techniques that usually allowed them to fight past the agony of even a fatal wound. "Hurry," he whispered.
"Ready," Subikahn announced. Something cold and sticky flooded the wound, its sting a welcome contrast to the blaring, biting agony. Then, the pain intensified, and Saviar felt steel slide backward through his thigh. The sword clanged against rock or wood, freed from his leg, and the sound shocked Saviar into opening his eyes.
Subikahn took no notice of this new distress. Instead, he stuffed wet rags into the hole in Saviar's leg, then wrapped it around with bandages so suffocatingly tight they rivaled the pain already in his thigh.
Saviar glanced to where he had heard the noise. Sure enough, Subikahn's sword lay in the dirt. The sight scandalized Saviar, even through his pain. "Your sword is… it's on the… ground."
"Yes." Subikahn acknowledged the most terrible crime in Renshai law. "I thrust it through my own brother. Nothing could dishonor it worse."
Subikahn had a point. He already needed to atone to the weapon, yet he made no move to do so. It was a process that would take weeks or months. Hoping to speed it along, Saviar sat up and said softly, "If it helps, I forgive you."
"You forgive me?" Subikahn's eyes were hollow, empty.
"I forgive you."
Tears glazed Subikahn's eyes into black marbles of self-loathing. "Well, I don't forgive me. I can't ever forgive me, and I doubt the gods or my sword can either." He caught Saviar into a frantic embrace. "I'm sorry, Saviar. I'm so so very sorry."
"I know you are." Saviar wrapped his arms around his brother. "But it's just as much my fault as yours. We knew better than to spar in anger, without torke present."
"But what if…" Subikahn could no longer hide the tears; they came out in his voice, even muffled against Saviar's tunic. "… what if I've… killed you?"
"Killed me?" Saviar remained in position, knowing Subikahn needed the contact. "Do I look dead to you?" He answered more from bravado than truth. They both knew what happened to badly wounded warriors, in spar as well as battle.
"What if I can't stop the bleeding?"
Saviar examined the bandages. "It's not soaking through. I don't see any red at all." Only then, he noticed scarlet splashes across the fallen leaves and a small puddle where he had lain. "Except what's already on the ground, and that's not a lot."
"What if it gets… tainted?"
Saviar knew the only possible reply and spoke it without need for consideration, "Then, I attack you, and you finish me off so I can die in battle and find Valhalla." He tried not to dwell too long on that point. Punctures, it seemed, nearly always infected; and the deeper the wound, the worse the outcome. He had never seen one all the way through a limb before. Those Renshai dying of disease or illness nearly always came to Calistin, trusting him to end their suffering in a way acceptable to the Valkyries.
"What if," Subikahn started in a voice so small Saviar had to strain to hear it, "I can't do it."
The suggestion was sacrilege. "Then," Saviar said firmly, disengaging from his brother, "you doom me to Hel." Not liking the turn of the conversation, he staggered to his feet. His left leg ached with the slightest pressure, and the muscles felt lax as winter weeds. He limped toward a sturdy mirack trunk, seeking a branch that could serve as a crutch.
Subikahn remained on the ground, looking as pitifully wronged as his sword. And sobbed.
CHAPTER 26
It is heroic and glorious to die for one's country. But, whoever has seen the horrors of a battlefield knows it is far sweeter to live for it.
-General Santagithi
As the miles disappeared beneath Silver Warrior's hooves, Ra-khir's thoughts gave way to a new cycle of worry. Now that he had received the warning, he could see the myriad boot and hoofprints stamped into the road. A large group of people had recently passed. He doubted the prints belonged to the Renshai, who had more likely forsaken the easy roadway for the deeper cover of the woods.
The sun stood high in the sky when Ra-khir discovered an enormous break in the foliage where a regiment of men and horses had broken through it. Leaves and twigs splashed across the roadway, and broken branches clung to shattered new growth trees and vines. Notches in the trees revealed where wild sword or ax slashes had injured them as men hacked through the undergrowth. Hoofprints packed down the brush to make a new and obvious opening into the forest.
Ra-khir followed, with trepidation. He heard no horn blasts or screams, no chiming of weapons slamming against one another. If a war had occurred, it was finished now, leaving the woods eerily silent. Still, he could not help wondering if he was about to enter combat. He did not fear it; he could hold his own in battle. The Knights of Erythane trained daily and to a superiority that any but a Renshai would envy.
A battle of this sort would also place Ra-khir in a precarious position. Assuming the situation was exactly as it appeared, if the Northmen had tracked down the fleeing Renshai and attacked them, Ra-khir had every right to join the cause of his sons. However, it seemed unlikely he would have such clear-cut answers before the situation forced him to take a side. He would not fight against Calistin and Saviar, of course; but killing Northmen while in the direct and on-duty service of the kings of Erythane and Bearn could have serious diplomat
ic consequences as well.
A more religious man might have prayed, but Ra-khir put his faith in himself and the rigid moral code he had vowed to follow. When he encountered the situation, his honor would tell him what to do.
All too soon, Silver Warrior whinnied a warning as they walked through a shattered copse of thistles to reveal the remains of a war. Crow wings thundered as they abandoned their feast, cawing angrily at the interruption. More patient, a buzzard looked up and studied him, beak trailing a string of bowel. Blood striped the weeds and trunks, and sword cuts gouged the bark. Bodies lay motionless, flopped across the ground in various positions. Some looked as natural as sleep, while others lay with eyes wide open, staring in rage, determination, or stark terror.
For an instant, nothing registered. Ra-khir slid from his horse's saddle and examined the dead without a hint of understanding or emotion. The buzzard finally conceded, its enormous wings slapping the air, sending an icy chill through Ra-khir's suddenly clammy skin. Then, details filtered into his consciousness. Most of the dead were Northmen: hair yellow as butterflowers or as red as his own. Others had the blander look of Erythanians or central Westerners. Many had lost their eyes to the birds, but the ones remaining looked nearly as pale as their bloodless skin. No one could mistake the scene for a mass poisoning. Sword wounds marred every body, a few missing limbs or heads, many still wearing bits or hunks of armor, even helmets.
"Oh." The word slipped past Ra-khir's mouth unbidden. "Oh, gods." His gaze became frantic as he studied the corpses, looking for anything familiar. Though he did not discover a single Renshai corpse, there could be no doubt who had fought this battle. Few swords remained, those inferiorly crafted weapons thrown haphazardly around the battlefield; but other types of weapons, valuable armor, and jewelry remained with their previous owners. Only the Renshai would overlook the inherent worth of such items while the Western world suffered from a shortage of iron ore. These were, to Renshai, items of cowardice and beneath their dignity even to touch.
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