“And I never did tell you why I’m so upset.”
Tae gave in, allowing his lids to slide down, though he continued speaking in the dark. “I thought it was Mior . . .”
“Arturo is dead.”
Tae’s eyes shot open. “What?”
“Murdered by pirates. Then, I lost my best friend—”
“Lost your . . .”Tae refused to concentrate on the words and what they might mean. “I thought I was your best friend.” The joke was feeble, at best.
“Tae.”
Matrinka had his attention.
“Kevral . . .”
No.
“. . . is . . .”
No, no, no! Tae filled in every word he could think of but the right one: happy, different, Renshai, troubled, sick, hurt. He concentrated on an Eastern song, cycling it through his head, anything to blot out that last word.
“. . . dead.”
“No, she’s not.”
Matrinka set Imorelda on the bed beside Tae. “She’s . . . not?”
“She can’t be.” Tae heard his own words from a distance. He could not recall forming them, nor deliberately speaking. “It’s not possible.”
“Tae.” Matrinka took his hands. Her palms enveloped his smaller, finer fingers, soft against his calluses. “I saw her body placed on her pyre.”
“No.”
“She’s dead, Tae. Kevral is dead.”
Imorelda wove between their arms to climb into Tae’s lap, purring comfortingly. He did not ask any questions. He did not want to know.
But Matrinka told him what he needed. “In battle, of course. Against a Northman. The way she always wanted to go.”
Tae said nothing. His hands became dead weight in Matrinka’s grip. He lowered his head, lids gliding closed again. He wanted to sleep, did not care if he ever awakened.
Matrinka leaned in close. “And her death exiled the Renshai from the West, which is why I have no bodyguards but the men outside my door.”
Ordinarily, Tae would have a witty comment about how well the Béarnides had protected their queen from a prowler. He could have killed or kidnapped her by now. But words failed Tae utterly. Even coherent thought eluded him. Only the merciless exhaustion bearing down on him seemed real.
Imorelda stood on her hind legs and patted his cheek with a paw. She yowled. *Are you all right?*
*I will be,* Tae managed to send. *After I get some sleep.*
Matrinka got the message, too. “Lie down, Tae. You’re deadly tired.” She lowered him to the mattress, released his hands, then rearranged her blankets over him. “I’m so sorry I burdened you before you . . .”
Tae was asleep before she finished.
Treysind whirled, sword banging against his leg. “Hero’s goned.”
Saviar only nodded. That had become apparent quite some time ago, but the little Erythanian had insisted on checking the entire battlefield.
“He cain’t be goned. He wouldn’t—” Treysind looked to Saviar for help, eyes glazed with building tears, but the Renshai could supply nothing.
Saviar could only imagine the boil of emotion: sorrow and anger, worry and uncertainty. He shared only one, a welling sense of betrayal that did not originate with Calistin’s disappearance. The decision of his youngest brother to leave in silence only fueled his certainty that the gods had struck his entire family mad. You, too, Calistin?
“He sayed he talked ta . . . ta a god.” Treysind’s voice caught in sobs. “She tole him . . . he . . . dint got a . . . a soul.”
Cut by Treysind’s anguish, Saviar drew the boy close. “I’ve often thought he didn’t have a heart. Sometimes I’ve wondered if he has a brain. But a soul . . .” Saviar rubbed Treysind’s back instinctively as the boy sobbed into his tunic. “Everyone has a soul.”
Treysind sniffled, voice muffled. “Tha’s what I’s tole him.”
Abruptly, a memory popped into Saviar’s head. He recalled a day from his early childhood when he overheard his parents talking about Calistin, spiders, and someone who lacked a soul. They seemed serious and intent, but they stopped talking as soon as they noticed him. At the time, he had discarded the discussion as boring parent-talk. Now, he tried to remember exactly what he had heard in detail, without success. Is it actually possible Calistin lacks a soul? It would explain so much. Then, the deeper realization struck Saviar. No soul, no Valhalla.
Treysind yanked himself free of Saviar’s hold. “I’s gotta find him.” He threw his pack back onto his shoulder. It made him look smaller, more insignificant, if possible. “I’s gotta.” Without another word, he ran deeper into the woods.
Saviar did not attempt to stop Treysind. Wherever the boy went, whether or not he found Calistin, would be safer than remaining with the Renshai. Alone, he had a chance. With Renshai in a strange land hunted by enemies and without Calistin’s protection, his life was measured in days. For several moments, Saviar stood in uncertainty. His loyalties had always lain with the Renshai and with his family, but those two things no longer went together. Every member of his family had chosen a different allegiance that had little or nothing to do with the ties that had always bound them.
Saviar stared at the dark heavens, the crescent of moon, and the spattering of stars, dim behind a curtain of clouds. “What do I do?” he asked the gods but received no answer. That came from within. For, as irritated as he felt toward his father and grandfather, the lessons he had learned from them in better, wiser times prevailed. Whatever paths the men of his family chose, he would continue to walk the line of responsibility.
Head low, feet shuffling through leaves and mold, Saviar headed toward the odor of smoke, where he knew he would find freshly kindled pyres and the rest of his tribe. There was no good way to deliver the news he carried, so he dawdled, concentrating on how the leaves parted in front of him, on the Northmen’s bodies lying in grotesque poses, on the actual possibility that Calistin had spoken with a goddess. Under ordinary circumstances, he would consider such a thing insane.Yet, he still vividly remembered the Valkyrie at Kevral’s death. Calistin had seen it, too, and it did not seem that far a stretch that he might have interacted with a goddess, too. Especially on a battlefield, where so many of the fallen Renshai had called upon Sif. The Northmen, too, he supposed shouted out for the strength, wrath, and favor of their most beloved deities.
All too soon, Saviar located the main clot of Renshai, tending pyres, and found Thialnir in the mix. Each living Renshai he found filled him with relief. They might have lost fifty, but they remained two hundred and fifty strong and would never be caught off guard. Those who had died were mostly the weakest: the elderly, children, the ill, the lesser fighters. With each consecutive battle, the Northmen would take more casualties for every one they inflicted.
Thialnir greeted Saviar with a tip of his head.
Saviar walked over, dreading what he needed to say. Nevertheless, he blurted it directly; Thialnir had no patience for sugarcoating or pussyfooting. “Calistin has left us.” Even as he spoke, Saviar realized his words could be taken as a euphemism for death.
But, Thialnir knew exactly what he meant. He nodded thoughtfully. “I thought this might happen.”
Startled, Saviar shut his mouth with a click of teeth.
“And it is how it should be.”
“It . . . is?”
Thialnir watched sparks shoot up from a pyre in a line, the smoke winding toward the heavens. “He has unfinished business with the Northmen. That was his fight, not Kevral’s.”
Saviar had never thought of it quite that way. “Yes, but it violates our word, our honor.”
Thialnir smiled but did not turn his head. “Our word, maybe. Honor . . . is a subjective thing.”
No, it’s not! Strong as it came to him, Saviar did not speak the thought aloud. At the moment he had no intention of causing more strife. Also, he thought it wise to consider Thialnir’s words. For all of his apparent impetuousness, the leader of the Renshai often displayed a simple, underlying
wisdom that most did not take the time to understand. It occurred to Saviar that honor might seem rigid to him because of his upbringing by a Knight of Erythane. Despite living among Renshai, he had picked up more than a few lessons from Ra-khir. “I should also tell you, sir, that Subikahn will not be able to help us negotiate a haven in the Eastlands.”
“Oh?” Thialnir’s single syllable begged answers that Saviar did not have.
“All I know is that father and son are estranged.”
Thialnir made a thoughtful noise, finally looking at Saviar.
“I don’t know if that will affect the Renshai’s dealings with the kingdom.”
“It may.” Thialnir’s massive hand massaged the hilt of his sword. “It depends on whether the king attributes the problem to Subikahn’s Renshai training.”
Saviar grimaced. He should have made Subikahn tell him at least that much, but he had become too concerned about knowing it all to think of that possibility.
“But King Tae Kahn is a fair ruler. No matter the reason, he will give us the opportunity to talk, to convince him of our value to the Eastlands.”
Thialnir’s calm approach to the matter soothed Saviar’s tortured soul. If Thialnir could handle the loss of a sixth of their numbers, of their most skilled warrior, and of their only connection to the Eastlands with such grace; Saviar could weather the storm of his family as well.
“And you have my blessing to join either or both of your brothers, if you so choose.”
Saviar could only stare. “How did you know Subikahn . . . ?” Eager for the answer, he did not even bother to complete the question.
A smile cut Thialnir’s grim, weathered features. He ran a hand through sweat-darkened silver-and-gold locks. “I didn’t know. You just told me. How else could you have known about his problems with King Tae?”
“Well, yes, but . . .” Saviar hated revealing his twin, but he had had to let Thialnir know the danger. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“No. But it sounds like he might need you.”
Alone, apparently. Subikahn’s words returned to haunt Saviar. He expected me to join him, and I teased him instead. “I thought you needed me.”
Thialnir yawned, looking around the pyres. “I did, and I will in the future.You’re obviously responsible enough to return when your brothers’ need for you is no longer so urgent. Of course, we can use every sword arm, Savi. But, when it comes to talking to Tae, I can handle that alone. No procedure, no flowery words, no fuss. He’s as earthy as they come. We’ll get a yes or a no, without contracts full of twists, verbal or written.”
“And the Renshai?”
“Thialnir shrugged one massive shoulder. “Will do just fine. We always do. Not because we’re the chosen people of the gods, though we are. And not because we’re descended from demons, which we’re not.” He placed a fatherly arm across Saviar’s shoulders. “It’s because we’re talented, hardworking, and resourceful. And that’s the Renshai secret.” He ruffled Saviar’s hair with his other hand.
Saviar suffered a sudden and unexpected pang of homesickness. He not only missed the Fields of Wrath, but the loving father he had cursed daily since his mother’s death.
“Whether we land on harsh islands or barren deserts, we will thrive, as we always have. There will always be hordes of jealous people who resent our abilities and attribute our successes to dark magic, trickery, or deceit. But the truth of the matter, Saviar, is that we are willing to put in an effort most are not. Instead of complaining about our misfortunes, or blaming others, we work to turn them around. We do not wallow in self-pity, we fix the problem. In the last three hundred years, Renshai have never started a war, yet we finish all of them—and win, even vastly outnumbered. And, while people claim to love honor, to revere heroism; in actuality, they despise it because it reminds them of their own shortcomings, makes them feel inferior. And so, Renshai will always survive and always be hated.”
Saviar did not know what to say. He had never heard Thialnir speak so long, nor so eloquently. Obviously, and understandably, he had given the matter enormous thought.
“When people want to hate, they will find a way. It may require distortion of facts.They may have to rewrite history. But they will justify their hatred and still believe themselves to be good people. Unlike honor, truth is not subjective; yet even those who believe themselves most virtuous will find ways to rationalize their own prejudices, even while condemning others. Loathing Renshai has become so natural, so ingrained, that people don’t even consider it an immoral thought anymore. The more successful we become, the more times we survive, the deeper that rage grows. Otherwise decent people would side with Northmen who slaughter them simply because those Northmen are our enemies. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’ only applies when it doesn’t mean siding with Renshai.”
Saviar studied Thialnir’s craggy face. Who are you? “That’s . . . a very negative way to look at the world.”
Thialnir patted Saviar’s shoulder. “Trust me, Saviar. I’ve lived a long time, listened to a lot of morons in nobles’ clothing.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Saviar had enough problems without his leader heaping on more.
Thialnir removed his heavy arm, turned gracefully to fully face Saviar, and put a hand on each of the younger man’s shoulders. “Because you’re about to go among real strangers for the first time, and you need the tools to stay alive. Be proud of who you are, but there may be times when you want to hide it, even if it means lying.”
Saviar scowled, bothered on three counts. First, Thialnir simply assumed he had already chosen to chase his brothers. Second, his father had taught him to embrace honesty at all times. And third, the words sounded suspiciously like a slight to his swordsmanship. “I can handle myself.”
“You can defend yourself,” Thialnir corrected. “That is not the same as ‘handling.’ ”
“I understand diplomacy.You’ve seen me use it.”
“You’re fluid enough,” Thialnir admitted. “Friendly interference clause aside.” He rolled an eye in Saviar’s direction, then smoothly looked away. Clearly, he did not intend to blame, only to explore Saviar’s own emotions on the matter.
Thialnir’s last words hit Saviar like rocks, and that surprised him. He had gone over the wording of that clause in his head a million times, wrapping his thoughts around it, amending it in his dreams. He thought he had left the guilt behind, but it clearly remained only shallowly buried. He could not stop himself from answering defensively, “My clause wasn’t the problem. It was the ridiculous interpretation of it that lost the battle.” Saviar realized he had to convince himself more than he did Thialnir. He could never fully escape the worry that he had permitted the treachery against his mother and ultimately doomed the Renshai. “And don’t go telling me how fair and perfect my grandfather is.”
Still clutching Saviar’s shoulders, Thialnir fully met his gaze, brows rising. “I frequently disagree with Kedrin, including his interpretation of this clause. I didn’t bring it up to blame you for what happened, Saviar. It’s no more your fault than it was Calistan’s. I’m simply trying to make a point.”
“Which is?” Saviar prompted carefully.
“You’re still young and a bit naïve, though not nearly as much as either of your brothers. Just realize this: as a Westerner, you will be judged on the basis of your actions and character. As a Renshai, you will be judged on the basis of others’ prejudices. If a Northman dismembers you, those who know you as Renshai will find excuses to rationalize his behavior.”
Saviar rolled his eyes, tired of the speech. “But if I dismember him, they’ll punish me. Except, I wouldn’t dismember anyone, not even my worst enemy.”
“No, Saviar. You don’t understand.” Thialnir’s pale eyes seemed to bore through Saviar’s. “If you do nothing but defend yourself, you will be punished and despised. If you dismember him, they will not only slaughter you, they will use it as an excuse to condemn the entire tribe of Rens
hai.”
It seemed like rampant paranoia. “Really?”
“Really.” Thialnir released Saviar’s shoulders, but not his gaze. “The kings of Béarn are chosen by a fail-safe test. A ruler like Tae comes along once in a millennium or two, if the world is lucky. You will find the rest of the West’s leaders, and those of the North, as fallible, fragile, and opinionated as any of their followers.
Saviar nodded. He believed he understood Thialnir’s point and would take it to heart.
“Your brothers . . .” Suddenly, the words stopped coming so easily to Thialnir.
But Saviar appreciated the point. Despite his inhuman skill, though he had fought in the Pirate Wars, Calistin knew very little of societies and strangers. Subikahn had split his time between the Fields of Wrath, with its sole focus on swordplay, and his indulgent, royal father.
Thialnir finished lamely. “They need you, Saviar. More than I do.”
“I’ll do my best,” Saviar promised, wondering how he would find either of his brothers.The cares of the last few days, once overwhelming, now seemed petty in comparison. His mother had done what any Renshai would have. His father’s collapse spoke volumes for the love he held for Kevral; Saviar could only pray he found a woman worthy of such intense affection in his own life. Banished from the face of the universe, Subikahn had a right to choose which law he violated. And Calistin . . . was Calistin. Saviar saw no sense in trying to analyze someone, it seemed, he could never understand. Subikahn was right. It’s me, not the world, that went insane. “But I’m not a very good liar.”
Thialnir managed a single barking laugh. “That,” he said, “is not a flaw.” He headed back to help tend the pyres, without bothering to watch Saviar go.
Though it seemed futile, Saviar rushed back to the spot where he had left Subikahn. His twin had learned the art of concealment and silent movement, not only from the Renshai, but also from his father. By now, he was probably halfway to Pudar, flitting through shadows and cursing his brother with every step. Saviar had about as much chance of finding him as the most timid squirrel in the forest.
Flight of the Renshai Page 32
