For reasons Subikahn could not explain, he felt a twinge of jealousy at the remark. He had no sexual interest in Chymmerlee, nor in any woman, but the frequent comments about his twin's remarkable appearance wore on him. "He looks just like his mortal father. Even more like his mortal grandfather."
Chymmerlee shoved the berries into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. This time, she swallowed before continuing. "Have you ever seen your brother do anything that seemed miraculous?"
"You mean other than attract every female on the continent?"
Chymmerlee giggled.
Subikahn thought it best to stick as close to the truth as possible when it came to Saviar. The knight's son had great difficulty lying, a weakness his twin did not entirely share. "He said he saw a Valkyrie once."
"Gosh." Chymmerlee absorbed that information.
Subikahn did not mention it had appeared at their mother's death. Valkyries chose only warriors, and only Renshai regularly allowed females to fight. "But that's the only 'miraculous' thing I can think of. He's a nice, scrupulously honest, irritatingly polite young man with some decent sword skills; but I consider him as normal as any brother." More normal, in fact, than Calistin.
"You mean, he's sweet, too? And kind?"
Subikahn sighed, feeling like a go-between in a cruel game of puppy lust. "Well, he is, after all, my twin brother whom I love and who, up until a moment ago, was just about dead." I almost killed him. Guilt flared anew. "I could hardly say he was an evil bastard, now, could I?"
Chymmerlee laughed. "No, I don't suppose so." Her expression turned thoughtful, and she cocked a brow. "… but is he…?"
"… sweet and kind? Yes." Subikahn responded honestly. "A young lady's dream. The perfect man."
Chymmerlee studied Saviar in the firelight, speaking softly, almost to herself. "It's a shame one like that came so close to death… might still…" She trailed off, but Subikahn got the message.
As opposed to an ugly, worthless oaf like me. Under ordinary circumstances, Subikahn might have made a sarcastic comment about how the beautiful naturally deserved longer, fuller lives than the plain, how their deaths were so much more undeserved, so much more poignant. But, at the moment, he suffered too much guilt for his role in his brother's predicament to belittle it. Instead, he only nodded. And suffered in silence.
Rain pounded the Western forests, turning the ground into a leafy, muddy soup. Silver Warrior and Darby's chestnut gelding, now named Clydin, stumbled through the muck at a pace resembling that of a mired turtle.
His silks soaked through to the skin, his hair hanging in wet red strings, Ra-khir did not bother to complain. He had known more than weather would keep him from following the three boys' trail directly. He had minimal tracking skills, and the young Renshai would surely stick to the deep woodlands now that they no longer traveled in a large group. Without horses, they had no need to follow roadways instead of picking their way through forests, and the latter probably seemed safer. Ra-khir had never intended to track them by sign but rather by information gleaned in nearby Western towns.
Darby, who had remained silent prior to meeting the Renshai, now had a million questions. "Those were real Renshai, weren't they, sir?"
"Yes, Darby, those were Renshai." From habit, Ra-khir rubbed at a dirt spot on Silver Warrior's neck but only managed to spread it further. "Your first encounter, I presume?"
"They didn't have horns or tails or anything! And they didn't even try to kill us."
Ra-khir smiled. In some ways, Darby seemed so mature for his age, but this had clearly rattled him. "Renshai aren't demons, Darby. They're human, just like you and me, except for their thorough devotion to the sword."
"And their Northern origins," Darby added.
Ra-khir nodded. "And their Northern bloodlines, though those have become diluted since they've lived in Erythane for centuries." He wondered how long it would take before the Renshai simply became a known staple of the West, without the need for clarification. Millennia, maybe? Certainly, not within Darby's lifetime.
"Centuries? Really?"
"Really." Ra-khir appreciated the opportunity to teach. Though he preferred doing so through deeds, right now he cherished the distraction from the cold discomfort of the rain and the knowledge that he currently looked very un-knightlike. His father would have given him a dressing-down if he saw the disheveled face he presented. Luckily, he had no intention of entering any inhabited places until he got his appearance back under control. "Renshai denounced the attacking of innocents for sport at least three hundred years ago, long before the birth of any of those now alive." Except Colbey. Ra-khir did not add the thought aloud. He did not want to get bogged down in a discussion of ancient Renshai history but rather in the more recent facts that no one seemed to know or teach.
As Darby looked interested and curious, Ra-khir continued.
"To my knowledge, they have never broken that vow. Since then, they have served as the bodyguards to all of the Bearnian princes, queens, and princesses. Even the current king has a Renshai bodyguard, in addition to the traditional bard who has always held that position. When wars blossom, the Renshai stand with the West, because it is their homeland as well. Or was."
"Was?"
Ra-khir wound between copses of thistles. "Until recently, when the Renshai lost a challenge to Northmen and were banished from the North and the West."
Darby nodded his understanding, and dislodged rainwater rolled down his forehead. "So that's why they're here. Headed eastward."
"Right." Ra-khir looked ahead, trying to anticipate an easier route through the brambles that would not get them trapped in impassable foliage and deadfalls. He hoped they'd find a manufactured roadway soon. Once the rain stopped, the moisture would draw the blackflies and mosquitoes in droves. "And they have harmed no villages or towns. Their only battle was the one where you and I came upon the results."
"Northmen attacked them." Darby had obviously listened to the Renshai over dinner the previous night, though he had spoken very little.
"Right."
"Why?"
Ra-khir hesitated. He could not get inside the heads of Northmen, but the answer seemed obvious nonetheless. "Their hatred is strong, Darby. When generation after generation has distorted history far beyond truth and made it seem as if aggressors were victims, it can spawn a hatred so intense that it defies any logic. As a group, Northmen have intended to exterminate each and every Renshai for so long it has become a part of their national psyche, their day-to-day obsession. They spew this vitriol to their innocent children, telling them a special place in Valhalla exists for slayers of Renshai, no matter the means. To die killing Renshai is their ultimate honor."
"Because they also believe Renshai are demons?"
Ra-khir shook his head. "I don't think so, Darby. Deep down, they know Renshai are humans. They bleed like humans; they die like humans. But it suits the Northmen to spread the stories because superstitious Westerners believe them. And, the more support they garner for their hatred, the more they justify and spread it. Someday, they hope, the entire world will hate Renshai as much as they do."
Darby nodded ever so slightly, surely contemplating what he had learned about Renshai in his own upbringing. At least, he seemed fully willing to discard the stories on the word of a Knight of Erythane. That boded well for the West and the Renshai.
If Darby is representative, then we knights have a duty we have neglected for far too long.
"So why do the Northmen want the Renshai in the Eastlands?"
Again, Ra-khir had to speculate. "I don't think they necessarily do. First, the Northmen simply drove the Renshai from the North; but that didn't work. The Renshai returned. Next, they confined all the Renshai to one island in the North. That might have worked, except the Northmen reasoned that while they had all the Renshai in one place, it would prove easy enough to annihilate the entire tribe in one enormous battle."
"It didn't work."
"It nearly did. A
s history tells the story, only two Renshai survived. And they were both males."
Darby stared. "Two males cannot reestablish anything."
"Especially," Ra-khir continued, "when one died young and the other was infertile. But it turned out that a few Renshai had not actually returned to the North. And, though the Renshai who did originally deemed them traitors, it was through them that the current line was established. Less purely, of course, but the sword training mattered as much as the bloodline. However, because the Renshai tried to maintain both, it has taken them centuries to get their numbers back into the hundreds. Because, for a half-blood Renshai to receive any training, his non-Renshai parent has to be deemed worthy at the time of his birth. Renshai standards are near-impossibly high, so that happens only rarely."
A light appeared in Darby's eyes. He had made the connection. "And you were deemed worthy, so your half-blood sons are Renshai."
"Yes," Ra-khir admitted. "Though I'm still not entirely sure how. Renshai do not have the same opinion of knights that the remainder of the Westlands does."
Darby studied Ra-khir with an expression akin to worship.
Suddenly, Ra-khir wished he had not broached the subject. He had not meant to brag. He dropped the tangent to finish his point. "The Renshai's numbers have apparently gotten large enough to bother some Northmen. As near as I can figure it, they intend to get the Renshai banished from every part of the world. That would put every world leader in the position of having to execute any Renshai they found. One by one, the Renshai would get killed or go into hiding, which would make it unlikely they could find one another. The ultimate hope would be that Renshai parents would not train their children for their own safety, and the race would die out entirely."
"That's…" Darby sputtered. "That's… just… evil."
"It is."
"We should help them. We should attack the Northmen and-"
"No." Ra-khir knew lack of experience, not morality or intelligence, sent Darby toward thoughts of war. "Hatred cannot be combated with more hatred, and not every Northman is to blame. While a large majority do hate Renshai only because of lies their parents taught them, there are still some who see no problem with peaceful coexistence or have even managed to overcome their learned prejudice. What good would come of slaughtering the good with the bad?"
"But-"
Ra-khir had not yet finished. "Also, the Northmen have done such a thorough job spreading their lies and prejudice, that most Westerners have lost their objectivity. Even when the Renshai do nothing more than defend themselves, they are seen as the aggressors and condemned. Even when they do nothing whatsoever, it is said that they stole the land they occupy and they should be driven from it."
Darby's mouth remained open, but no words emerged. His expression mingled rage with bewilderment.
"It's a tricky problem, one Renshai and logicians have struggled with for centuries. You and I are not likely to solve it in a fortnight, let alone a single discussion."
Darby closed his mouth. "So what can we do?"
"We do," Ra-khir said calmly, "exactly what I've just done. We change the minds of people slowly, one by one, if necessary. We do it morally and honestly, for a single lie would betray us. And we hope that, eventually, right prevails."
CHAPTER 30
One man cannot be skilled at everything; each has his own special excellence.
-General Santagithi
Thoughit meant falling farther behind, Ra-khir took the time to dry out and neaten himself, his steed, and his gear before riding into the first Western city he and Darby came upon. He had no way of knowing exactly what route his boys had taken, but it seemed logical to ride straight northward and ask about them as he traveled.They would stand out in the small villages and towns, not only for being strangers but for the oddness of their trio: one enormous redhead, one wiry and dark, and the last childlike and as golden-pale as any Northman; and yet all brothers. Their obvious weaponry would also draw attention, and Ra-khir knew no Renshai would ever hide his swords.
As promised, Ra-khir never forgot that he represented the Knights of Erythane. By the time they found the first small village, he had combed his hair, washed out every stain, straightened each bit of his clothing, groomed his steed to gleaming white, and properly worked the ribbons back into Silver Warrior's mane and tail. Darby watched each chore with fanatical interest, as if to memorize not just the actions but Ra-khir's individual movements and even his breathing. That Darby's intentions were sincere, Ra-khir never doubted, and he promised himself not to let circumstances drive him to irritability. Darby meant only well, and his intensity would make him not only a bother, but an excellent knight candidate.
Forest gave way to farmland, which opened onto a quaint little village. Though it was broad daylight, few people walked the streets, still muddy from the rain. Water dripped from the thatched roofs of myriad cottages, and the people Ra-khir passed seemed not to notice them at all. They kept their eyes downcast and conversed only in ragged whispers.
For the first time since leaving Erythane, Ra-khir made it all the way to the central tavern seemingly unnoticed. Intending only a short stay for information, he hitched Silver Warrior to a nearby railing, tended briefly to the animal's comfort, then waited while Darby did the same for his mount. Almost immediately, the stallion dropped his head, eyes closed, to nap.
Ra-khir held the door open for Darby but entered first, as good sense warranted. More trouble lurked in unfamiliar drinking places than on quiet village streets, and he had a duty to protect his smaller, younger charge.
The door opened on a warm tavern with only nine tables, all but one unoccupied. A few more stools stood empty around a rickety, wooden bar. A dying fire flickered in its grate. Though stale, the odors of last night's dinner and spilled ale piqued Ra-khir's hunger. Travel rations could not compare with a home cooked meal, even if it only consisted of cold leftovers.
Since he needed information, Ra-khir chose the barstool nearest the occupied table. Four men sat around it, talking softly in a huddled mass. A stout barkeep approached, his beard outlining a face filled with a combination of discomfort and outrage. He leaned on the counter, which groaned under his weight, and displayed flabby, freckled arms. "Good day. What can I get for you men?"
Darby grinned as he took the stool beside Ra-khir, clearly pleased at being addressed as a man.
Ra-khir hated to spoil Darby's thrill, but it needed doing. "We'll have two plates of whatever you have, please. Some ale for me, and a bowl of goat milk for the boy."
The barkeep turned, muttering something under his breath, of which Ra-khir caught only the word "boy."
Believing he would get more information from the gathered men than the prickly barkeep, Ra-khir turned toward them and waited to catch one's eye.
It took longer than he expected, but a burly, coarse-featured man finally looked his way.
Ra-khir smiled. "I apologize for interrupting, but I wondered if any of you gentlemen might have seen three young strangers pass through here recently?"
Heads shook, a few mumbled words passed between them, then the one who Ra-khir had addressed finally answered. "No groups of strangers, sir. Only one."
A younger man covered in dirt added, "Aye, one we wish had never come." He squinted, studying Ra-khir. "Pardon me, sir; but are you a knight?"
Ra-khir rose from his seat as courtesy demanded and gave his familiar introduction with a bow and a flourish. At the conclusion, he had the full attention of all four of the men.
"Pleased to meet you, Sir Ra-khir," the burly man said. "Pardon us if we wish you could have gotten here a few nights earlier."
Ra-khir could only give the men an empathetic gesture and his attention. He had had no way of knowing they had need for a Knight of Erythane. "Oh? What happened then?"
"Stranger came in here." This time the eldest at the table spoke, a squat man with sagging, weather-beaten skin in faded leathers. "Not much more'n a boy, really. Challenged one of o
ur best farmers to a duel, which he naturally refused."
As the speaker paused for breath, the first man took over the narrative. "But the stranger wouldn't stop badgering him until they had that duel. And the boy butchered ol' Karruno right out there in the street, then walked away like it weren't nothing."
Ra-khir's throat squeezed. He had to know. "Was this stranger a childlike blond with absolutely no sense of humor and two swords at his hips?"
All four men stared. At length, one spoke. "Sure was. Is Erythane looking for him?"
"No," Ra-khir said honestly. "But I am. Personally. He didn't happen to leave his name, did he?"
"I heard he did, sir," the younger man said, putting his ale aside. "But no one remembers exactly what it was. They say it started with Cal, sir."
Ra-khir only nodded as thoughts raced through his mind. Calistin had come here alone, causing trouble.Thialnir was right, Calistin did need the wisdom of his older brothers; but, apparently, they had not caught up with him. At least not as of that previous evening.
Darby watched the exchange in total silence. Ra-khir appreciated that he did not blurt out anything regarding Renshai or Ra-khir's direct relationship to Calistin. He already felt responsible.
"Does Karruno have a widow? Children?" Ra-khir knew money would not make up for such a loss, and it would seem crass to offer; yet the man's family would need something to tide them over until they found relatives to assist them. If he gave his coinage directly to them, no one would know.
A few of them chuckled. The first man replied. "No, sir. A lot of women was interested, but he wasn't ready to settle down."
The news relieved Ra-khir of some of his burden, but he still felt responsible for the tragedy. Relatives or other farmers would take over Karruno's property and deal with his crops and livestock, but no one could ever truly replace the man himself. He looked at Darby, making no effort to hide his pain.
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