Flight of the Renshai

by Mickey Reichert

  Tirro frowned and shook his head.

  Apparently catching his neighbor’s reaction from the corner of his eye, Eshwin amended. “Well, a pittance compared to her initial price, anyway. A quality broodmare is worth so much more than a plow horse, but nothing if she can’t conceive.”

  A pause ensued, and Kedrin filled it. “You were both content with this initial agreement?”

  “Yes, sir.” Tirro bobbed his head dutifully.

  Eshwin’s lips twisted. “Not exactly thrilled, Captain, but resigned. A horse breeder is nothing without foals, and it would take me years of odd-jobbing to raise the money for a new broodmare. At least, this gave me a start.”

  “So,” Kedrin clarified. “Not a happy contract, but a legitimate one.”

  This time, they both shrugged, nodded.

  Saviar clung to each word, nuance, and demonstrated emotion. Thus far, he had heard nothing that required judging. He hoped his silence made him look wise and pensive rather than terrified.

  “Until the birth of the filly,” Eshwin said.

  “Ah.” Apparently, it all became clear in that moment to Kedrin.

  Saviar needed more. “So she was not barren after all.”

  “No, sir.” Eshwin glanced sidelong at his neighbor. “I feel the foal should be mine. Without my stallion, she would not exist; and I sold the mare for the price of a barren horse.”

  “She’s mine,” Tirro said. “I bought her mother for a fair price we agreed upon. I owned the mare at the time of the birth, and the filly was born on my farm.”

  “At the least,” Eshwin added, “he should pay a studding fee.”

  “Should I pay a studding fee when I never contracted for a foal? I didn’t want her.”

  “Then give her to me.”

  The neighbors glared at one another as they veered onto old ground. They had clearly argued these same points, without acceptable compromise.

  Replacing his hat, Kedrin turned his attention to his grandson. “It would seem, Saviar, that the time for judgment has arrived.”

  Saviar swallowed hard and dismounted. He executed both gestures as delay, but they gave him too little time to think. His legs ached from the long ride. He wanted to make a just decision, to please his father and grandfather; yet he also worried that he might thwart the law or make a grave mistake. “I . . .” he started, pacing to avoid looking anyone in the eye. “. . . believe the law sides with Tirro. With ownership of the mare goes possession of every internal working part of her.” He stopped to glance at Eshwin. “One does not sell a chicken and expect to get back the eggs.”

  “But . . .” Eshwin started, forestalled by Kedrin’s frown and Saviar’s raised hand.

  “However . . .” Saviar felt sweat trickle down the front of his tunic. “Laws are constructed to handle general cases and cannot consider every specific to which they might apply.” He finally dared to look at Ra-khir who showed him nothing. At least, he did not look aghast. Saviar stopped in front of Tirro. “You care for your neighbor, don’t you?”

  Tirro’s eyes widened, and he nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes, sir.”

  “You know Eshwin sold you the mare only because he believed her barren. Can you not forgive him his mistake?”

  “Forgive?” Tirro blinked, clearly befuddled by the wording. “It is not a matter of—”

  Saviar did not allow him to finish, turning instead to Eshwin. “And can you understand why your friend claims the foal as his?”

  “Of course.” Unlike the farmer, Eshwin showed no confusion or hesitancy. “She’s valuable. An unexpected windfall.”

  Saviar turned his back for a moment to consult the knights. Both watched with expressions of mild curiosity and nothing more. Apparently, they wanted him to handle the judgment on his own; and they would not interfere, even with subtle hints.

  As Saviar expected, the farmer defended himself from the suggestion of a selfish motivation. “No. He has it wrong. It’s not the money I’m after, not really.”

  Like Saviar, Eshwin turned his full attention to the farmer. Clearly, the breeder had either never heard the upcoming explanation or had never truly listened.

  “It’s just that giving birth puts my plow horse out of commission for at least six weeks. I’ll need the money I get selling the filly to rent another plow horse.”

  Saviar started to speak, but Eshwin interrupted. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

  Tirro stiffened, clearly startled by the question. He turned toward the horse breeder. “Of course.”

  Saviar glanced at the broken wagon, then at the horse, grazing placidly on roadside brush. Sunlight sheened red highlights from well-groomed chestnut fur, and its long tail and clipped mane looked combed and clean despite the journey. It had a thick chest and muscled legs. “Whose horse is this?”

  The two men’s gazes followed Saviar’s.

  “That’s my stallion,” Eshwin said with clear pride. “Beautiful, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Saviar agreed, an idea coming to him suddenly. “Handsome. And mannered, too.”

  Eshwin fairly beamed.

  “Can he . . . pull a plow?”

  Eshwin made a dismissive noise. “Of course he can pull a plow. He can do anything.” Suddenly realizing where Saviar was going, he smiled at Tirro. “Would you . . . ? Would you like . . . to borrow him?”

  Tirro continued to study the stallion. “You . . . would let me? He’s your pride and joy.”

  “I can spare him for six weeks or so. He’s a good, calm horse who will do as you ask.”

  Saviar glanced at Ra-khir and thought he saw a slight smile playing at the corners of his father’s lips. Is it a grin or a grimace? Doubt assailed Saviar, but he refused to show it to the strangers. “It seems we have found an equitable solution, then. The filly belongs to Eshwin at the moment of its weaning, and he will provide for any upkeep beyond mother’s milk prior to that time. In exchange, Tirro will get full use of the stallion for his farm until the mare can return to work. In the future, you may wish to make mutually agreeable arrangements for breeding the stallion and mare again.”

  Saviar waited in a tense silence that seemed to stretch into an eternity. The solution appeared fair to him, but he might not truly understand enough details of farming or breeding to see a glaring problem.

  “Thank you, young knight-in-training!” Eshwin said with clear enthusiasm.

  Tirro took a bit longer to decide whether or not he liked the compromise, then finally smiled crookedly. “Supremely fair, young man. You’ll make a fine knight some day.”

  Saviar’s cheeks reddened at the compliment. “You’re welcome, kind sirs.” Uncertain what to do next, he half-walked, half-backed to his father and accepted a hand up to the charger’s rump.

  The knights’ horses took off at a gentle lope, soon leaving the farmer and breeder behind. Saviar cringed, awaiting his father’s assessment. The neighbors were happy with his ruling, but he had no way of knowing whether or not he had found the right solution by the rigid moral code of the Knights of Erythane.

  Ra-khir gave his son nothing. They traveled in a silence broken only by hoofbeats, birdsong, and the occasional animal snort. Finally, Saviar could stand it no longer. “Did I handle that . . . well enough?”

  “You did fine, Saviar,” Ra-khir said without zeal. “You did very well.”

  Kedrin cut in, his tone filled with all the excitement Ra-khir’s lacked. “What your father means, Saviar, is you did a magnificent job.”

  “Captain,” Ra-khir said warningly.

  But Kedrin ignored his own son to continue lauding Ra-khir’s. “You knew the law and cited it, but you also realized that the men in this case were bound by it only if they could not agree on another solution. Then, you steered them toward one that worked.”

  Ra-khir spoke his piece, “A bit too directly, though, Captain, don’t you think?”

  Kedrin laughed. “Maybe. But this was Saviar’s first judgment, and he handled it very well. Had this been a
test, he would have passed.”

  “Yes.” Ra-khir’s tone remained flat. “Had it been.”

  Saviar remained as quiet as possible, certain he had no direct role in this discussion, even though he was the subject of it. The two older men had always seemed perfect friends as well as father and son, closely allied in word, thought, and deed. He had never heard them argue.

  Kedrin went straight to the point, “What’s bothering you, Ra-khir?”

  Ra-khir considered his reply. Behind him, Saviar saw the stiffening of his back and shoulders while he thought. Then, Ra-khir spoke with measured caution, the hostility leaving his tone. “Are we talking captain to subordinate? Or father to son?”

  Kedrin reined his mount directly beside Silver Warrior, and they walked along in tandem. “Father and son, then?”

  “Fine.” Ra-khir continued to look straight forward, toward the mountains that defined the city of Béarn. “Papa, with all due respect, I don’t wish to talk about it now.”

  “Ah.” A smile played across Kedrin’s lips, and he winked at Saviar. “Then, perhaps, Sir Ra-khir, we had best go the captain to subordinate route.”

  Ra-khir finally turned his gaze to Kedrin, and his posture further stiffened. Saviar wished he could see his father’s expression. “Captain, with all due respect, I don’t find this subject appropriate for children.”

  Kedrin threw glances in every direction. “And I, Sir Ra-khir, don’t see any children.”

  “Saviar—”

  Kedrin interrupted, a rudeness he rarely indulged in.“—is of age, Sir Ra-khir.”

  “Not by the tenets of his own people.”

  Saviar bit his lip and scowled. The reminder hurt.

  “We,” Kedrin said with clear warning, “are not Renshai. By our standards, and those of the kingdoms we serve, Saviar is a man.”

  Ra-khir did not argue. Not only was Kedrin’s point undeniable truth, it would gain him nothing. “Yes, sir. But I don’t feel this is a topic appropriate to discuss in his presence.”

  “I want to hear it,” Saviar blurted out, immediately cursing himself for the indiscretion. His best strategy was to remain silent. Better to look the fool, an old Erythanian proverb stated, then speak foolishly. He tried to fix the damage. “If it involves me, I should know.”

  Kedrin inclined his head toward Saviar without losing the rakish angle of his hat. “The young man has a point, has he not?”

  Ra-khir’s words emerged stilted, clearly spoken through gritted teeth. “It is not always in a man’s best interests, Captain, to know every word spoken about him.”

  Saviar no longer thought it best to keep quiet. He knew he could gain the advantage with appropriate outrage. “You mean you’re going to speak ill of me? My own father?”

  “No, no,” Ra-khir cringed, half-turning in his saddle. “Saviar, I wouldn’t ever speak ill of you. There is nothing ill to speak. You’re a boy . . .” He amended, “A man of great talent and caring nature. I am proud of you every moment of every day.”

  Saviar hammered the point home. “Then why can’t you speak freely in front of me?”

  Cornered, Ra-khir groaned politely. “Very well, Saviar. Captain.” His shoulders slumped ever so slightly, as if he wanted to collapse but could not because it might belittle the uniform of the Knights of Erythane. “I just feel Saviar gets enough pressure from his mother without us adding to his burden.”

  Kedrin urged gently, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean she’s always after him to perform his best, rain or shine, day or night, well or sick.”

  “What’s wrong with that, Sir Ra-khir?”

  It was not the question Saviar expected. He stared at his grandfather, who presented him with another wink.

  “Nothing, in theory, Captain. But it’s a lot of stress for a child, especially when he’s always getting compared with a brother who has the—” Ra-khir stopped with an uncomfortable suddenness. “—who has a unique amount of . . . uncanny . . . natural . . . ability.”

  “It is the life you chose for him, Ra-khir.”

  Saviar mulled his grandfather’s words, his brow knitting. They seemed to hold an inordinate meaning for the knights that he did not understand. He supposed it referred to his father’s decision to marry a Renshai, yet Ra-khir’s prolonged hush made it appear to carry even more weight.

  “Yes,” Ra-khir finally said. “And I knew there would be times when I regretted it. Yet . . .” Now he gave Kedrin his full attention. “. . . I don’t think, Captain, that we should add to the boy’s . . .” Again, he corrected himself, “. . . the young man’s burden by expecting him to mimic the accomplishments of an immortal.”

  “Ah.”

  “Especially Colbey Calistinsson, who didn’t even undergo the intensive training of the Knights of Erythane, in addition to those of the Renshai.”

  “Do you think he couldn’t have?”

  “I don’t know, Captain. I doubt he would have spared the time; but that’s not my point.” Ra-khir dropped a hand from the reins to smooth the fabric of his knight’s tunic. “I just think we should allow Saviar to relax on the rare occasions we manage to pry him off the Fields of Wrath.”

  Kedrin chuckled.

  The sound seemed so out of place, Saviar jerked his attention fully to the Knight-Captain.

  Ra-khir tensed again, looking askance at his father. “Did I say something amusing, Captain?”

  “Indeed, Sir Ra-khir. Did you think a journey to console the siblings of a lost young prince could be seen as a pleasure outing?”

  Saviar saw the grim humor in the situation, and he knew Ra-khir must, too.

  “Well, no, Captain,” Ra-khir admitted. “There is that aspect of the trip. But I rather thought . . . I mean I wanted . . .” He seemed unable to complete the thought.

  So Kedrin helped him. “We can learn from every experience, no matter how small. Don’t you want the chance to guide your son on different paths than just the one his mother chose for him? You lose that if you decide only to play with him, to avoid the difficult events and discussions in his presence.”

  Saviar realized the conversation had progressed to levels he did not quite understand. The words conjured only images of Tae’s relationship with Subikahn. In his youth, Saviar had envied the playfulness of his twin’s father, how Tae had turned every interaction with the boys into a merry game. In the Eastlands, they had had no worries, no responsibilities. If anything negative ever happened in that kingdom, the twins remained blissfully ignorant. Tae seemed steadfast in assuring that nothing of import ever troubled his only son, nothing disagreeable ever marred their perfect bond. Now, Saviar eagerly awaited Ra-khir’s response; but, when it came, it surprised him.

  “This isn’t about me and Saviar anymore, is it, Captain?”

  Saviar’s muscles locked in spasm. They read my mind.

  Kedrin, too, looked taken aback momentarily, then smiled. “I suppose there is a bit else mixed in there, Ra-khir. We are a product of our experiences, no matter how hard we try to escape them.”

  His grandfather’s words cued Saviar to the realization that they were referring not to Tae, but to Ra-khir’s clownish stepfather.

  “Biased or not, my point is still valid,” Kedrin insisted. “Every life experience changes us. Why shouldn’t I want the best for my grandsons?”

  “You should, Captain.” Ra-khir continued to emphasize the knightly relationship long after they had already reverted to a father/ son conversation. “But is overburdening him with options and decisions really ‘best’?”

  Saviar felt the need to cut in. “I’m not overburdened. I want to know what it’s like to be a Knight of Erythane in training.”

  “Did you like it,” Ra-khir said stiffly, “when your grandfather asked you to make a judgment in the king’s place?”

  Saviar flushed, then told the truth. “It scared me to death.” He added quickly, “But I’m used to getting put in difficult situations, and I felt great when I realized I actuall
y . . . handled it . . .” He turned to doubtful questioning. “. . . all right? Didn’t I?”

  Kedrin reassured. “You handled it very well. In fact, you demonstrate an impressive natural kindness, empathy, and sense of fairness. You have great potential for knighthood.”

  Ra-khir’s stiffness became so intense it looked painful. He might gainsay his father but never his captain. “Please, Captain. Don’t encourage him.”

  “Why not?” Saviar and Kedrin said in tandem, though the knight tacked on a “Sir Ra-khir.”

  Ra-khir sighed deeply, then shook his head. He drew breath, and Saviar awaited a lecture. Surely, his father would remind him how exhausting Renshai or knight training was on its own, how few managed either. He would have to pass his Renshai testing before he could even consider becoming a knight-in-training, and none of his Renshai peers could possibly understand why he would attempt both. They would tease him viciously; and even the knight-apprentices might ostracize him.

  But Ra-khir did not lecture; he did not need to. “You say I’ll understand when I’m a grandfather? I’ll truly understand?”

  Kedrin only laughed.

  CHAPTER 7

  Babies are born innocent, without preconceived notions or prejudice. They have only needs. They love the ones who satisfy their needs, their parents. Blood does not become significant until their minds become warped by societal bigotry.

  —Sir Ra-khir Kedrin’s son

  DEW COATED THE HEDGE of prickles, the sawgrass, and the random array of rocks and twigs that littered the central courtyard of the king’s palace in Stalmize. Prince Subikahn leaped and danced through obstacles that made the gardeners shudder every time they had to tend the area. His sword cut bold arcs through the air, leaving a wake of flashing silver. Silently, his torke, Talamir, watched every movement, his expression unreadable.

  Subikahn drove into the last maneuver, his sword low, his legs flexed. Silky black hair spilled into eyes nearly as dark, with just a hint of his mother’s blue. The sword made a shining contrast against the deep olive of his skin. He held the position for what seemed like forever, waiting for his torke to speak.