Flight of the Renshai

by Mickey Reichert

  “No, ma’am,” Ra-khir said emphatically. “These items belong to Darby, fairly won and scavenged. I just thought I’d see such a moral and enterprising young man safely home.”

  Tiega smiled sweetly at Ra-khir. “Thank you, sir. Your kindness is appreciated.”

  Ra-khir thought he saw a spark of interest, but he had to ignore it. It was too soon. His grief remained too raw and painful.

  Darby walked to his mother’s side to hold a whispered conversation. He pulled a handful of coins from his pocket and dumped them into her palm. She stared at the money, clearly shocked.

  The crowd began to disperse.

  Ra-khir cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve fulfilled my promise, so I guess I’ll be on my way.” He reached for Silver Warrior.

  “Wait,” Tiega said. “Can’t you stay for a meal, Sir Ra-khir? I can cook anything you like, so long as Darby can buy the ingredients here.”

  Ra-khir would have loved to stay. A home-cooked meal sounded wonderful, and the company of a handsome woman more so. “I’d like that, ma’am; but I’ve gotten behind on my mission already. I will return to see your new cottage.” He emphasized the phrase to remind the village men of their promise. “And I’ll have a warm stew, then, if you’ll prepare it.”

  “I will,” Tiega promised.

  Ra-khir hauled himself into the saddle.

  “Sir Ra-khir?”

  Ra-khir reined his steed to face Tiega directly. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I wondered if you might take Darby with you.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “As an apprentice, I mean. A squire.”

  Ra-khir hesitated. He had never considered himself an advanced enough knight to train an apprentice, though his rank and service time were sufficient. If Saviar had followed through on his interest, Ra-khir would have given him to someone else, worried about his objectivity and his relationship. He glanced at Darby.

  The boy stood with hands clenched with desire, his eyes nearly blazing. Only then, Ra-khir noticed they were the same fiery blue as his mother’s.

  “Becoming a Knight of Erythane takes many years of grueling work. It’s hard, it’s often tediously boring, and it requires a dedication to morality, to the Order, and to the kings that transcends logic, life, and family. Only the best are chosen, and most of them don’t finish the training.”

  Darby pursed his lips, nodding.

  “If you fail, you’ve essentially wasted that many years of your life you could have spent learning a useful trade.” Ra-khir saw no reason to mention that the time would not be wholly lost, as most of the dropouts had enough weapons training to become soldiers in the kings’ employ. “Darby, would you like some time to think about it?”

  Darby turned Ra-khir a look of seriousness so grave it transcended death. “I’ve thought about it all my life. I want to be a knight, sir. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “It’s a lifelong commitment.”

  “More’s the better.”

  “To accompany me, you’ll need a horse.”

  Darby motioned toward his haul. “I’ll buy one.”

  Ra-khir had not bargained on a companion, yet the idea did not bother him. He gave Tiega a hard look. “My mission is dangerous.”

  Though he had addressed the mother, Darby answered for her. “I know how to fight, Sir Ra-khir. And I know how to dodge.” He added with a conspiratorial smile, “If circumstances allow it, and there’s no dishonor in it, I can also hide pretty good.”

  “Pretty well,” Ra-khir corrected. Another feature of the knights was impeccable speech and diction, most of the time.

  “I can hide pretty well,” Darby dutifully fixed.

  “And his training will have to take place in Erythane and Béarn, which means that even if he survives the mission, you may never see him again.”

  “Oh, I’ll see him again, sir.” Tiega met Ra-khir’s gaze without a hint of fear. “I’ll move. I’d be gone from here already if I had the money for travel.” She smiled broadly. “And, now I do. By the time you come back through here, I intend to have all of this junk sold and have purchased more horses. If Darby has performed satisfactorily, we’ll all accompany you back to Erythane.” She added carefully, “Assuming you’d allow us to go with you, sir. Otherwise, Keva and I’ll get there on our own.”

  Still partway behind her mother, Keva nodded forcefully.

  The new cottage seemed moot now, but Ra-khir did not allow the village men off the hook. They should have assisted Tiega and her family from the moment she lost her husband. “What man in his right mind wouldn’t agree to ride with two beautiful women?”

  Keva giggled, and Tiega grinned. “Flatterer! And I thought Knights of Erythane weren’t allowed to lie.”

  “We’re not.” Ra-khir wheeled Silver Warrior and let the significance of the comment hang. “I meant every word I said.” He made a broad gesture at Darby. “Come on, apprentice knight. We’ve a horse to buy.”

  Darby charged to Ra-khir’s side, and the two men headed toward the center of Keatoville.

  Subikahn studied his sleeping brother in the light of the blazing fire. Snuggled near it, beneath every article of clothing not shredded for the bandage or on Subikahn, he finally stopped shivering. Still, he moved restlessly, moaning frequently and occasionally crying out in his sleep.

  With a sigh of painful resignation, Subikahn brushed away enough of the coverings to reveal the bandaged leg. Saviar twitched and muttered but did not awaken. His skin felt dry and remarkably hot. The lack of sweat told Subikahn his brother’s temperature was still climbing, and his agitation probably stemmed from the wild sort of dreams and nightmares that only fever can induce. What have I done?

  Terror seized Subikahn. He had lost his parents, his lover, and he had no idea where his younger brother had gone. He could not, would not, lose his beloved twin as well. The very thought threatened to plunge him into madness. Hold on, Savi. Hold on. Tears distorted the image of his suffering brother. It all seemed utter, impossible insanity, the whole scenario, itself, a torturous fever-dream. My mood started the argument. I demanded the fight. I plunged that sword into his thigh, and I ripped it free, filthy from the ground. Nearly paralyzed with guilt, Subikahn realized one thing more. If not for my selfish desire for solitude, we would be nearer a town. I could get him a healer, some herbs, some help.

  Subikahn’s gaze returned to the bandages. Blaming himself would not ease his brother’s misery nor help him treat the wound. He had to remove them, to gaze upon it, and to use the few tools in his arsenal to attempt to heal it. Still he hesitated, fearing what he saw might rob him of the last vestiges of hope. I’m a warrior. I’m a Renshai. Steeling himself, Subikahn gently unwound the bandages.

  Swollen red streaks appeared first, at the outer edges of the uncovered area. Subikahn sucked air through his teeth and forced himself to continue. Another few loops dropped to the ground, revealing more inflammation, puffier and angry in its scarlet hue. Then, the last hunk of cloth came undone amid a wash of blood-streaked pus. Subikahn gasped sharply and glanced at his brother, only to find Saviar looking back at him.

  Confusion and pain glazed the familiar blue-white eyes. Saviar’s cheeks carried ruddy circles. “I’m dying.”

  “No!” Subikahn shielded the wound with his body. Realizing he had answered too quickly and loudly, he sought the right words to reassure. “Your body’s just fighting to keep it from getting tainted. You’re going to be fine.”

  Saviar seemed not to hear. “I saw my pyre, and the cold lonely hill where the wind scatters the ashes. A voice told me . . . I’m all alone. Forever . . .”

  “Just a nightmare.” Subikahn turned his back on his brother to fully block his view of the wound while he worked. “A stupid, ridiculous nightmare.You’re going to be fine, Savi. Go back to sleep.”

  “No. Help me up. I have to die in combat.”

  “You’re not going to die!” It was more than a statement, it was admonishment and self-reassurance. If Sav
iar died, Subikahn would die with him. He could not go on alone. “Now stop this death talk, and go back to sleep.”

  Saviar swallowed hard. His eyes drifted closed.

  Subikahn sucked in a deep lungful of air; but, before he could release it, Saviar continued.

  “I’m cold, Subi. So very very cold. Hel is dragging me into her frozen realm. Please.” Just talking seemed a great effort. He licked his lips with a tongue that looked dry and swollen despite the copious amount of water he had drunk that evening. “You have to help me up.You have to help me commit tåphresëlmordat.”

  “Shut up!” Subikahn had heard all he could stand. “Shut up, Saviar ! You are not going to die. Not yet. Not for a very long time.”

  “I . . . Hel—”

  “If she comes, she’ll have to get through me.” Subikahn drew Motfrabelonning from Saviar’s sheath. “This is the sword that let you see the Valkyrie when Mama died, right?” He did not wait for an answer. “If Hel comes near, I’ll see her. She’ll have to battle through me to get you.”

  “Subi—”

  Subikahn would not listen to protest. “That’s it, Savi. Go to sleep. I will see you in the morning.”

  “I’m not dying?”

  “You’re not dying.” Subikahn did not allow a hint of doubt to enter his tone.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Subikahn said with all the certainty and finality in the world, though he experienced none of it. He knew only one thing. Saviar cannot die. His own heart could not afford the pain. When Saviar’s stopped, his did as well. If Hel came to claim Saviar, she would face a battle like none other, and she would lose. Subikahn would not stop until he spent every iota of strength, skill, sanity, and breath.

  Saviar drifted back into sleep while Subikahn carefully tended the wound, bathing it with water and, inadvertently, with tears.

  CHAPTER 28

  The warrior dedicated to death is all but unstoppable.

  —General Santagithi

  DARBY CHOSE A COMPACT chestnut gelding with an easy disposition, a decision that pleased Ra-khir. The boy had a reasonable eye for conformation, movement, and soundness; the chestnut would manage long distances at a comfortably fast pace. Its more subdued color would blend into background field and forest, though that seemed a minor concern given that he rode alongside the snow-white, beribboned beacon that was Silver Warrior. And a gelding would not distract the knight’s stallion with challenges or heat cycles.

  Though high summer, the day remained cool as they rode in silence along the packed dirt roadway, traveling ever eastward along the Southern Mountain range. It would take weeks to reach the passes that would bring them to the Western Plains, the ancient site of the Great War; and, from there, into the Eastlands.

  Hoofprints pocked the roadway, and the recent breakage of sideline foliage told Ra-khir they would not have to travel nearly that far. A large group had passed by recently, and he would have bet everything he carried that the sign was left by the Renshai. Like any crowd that included children and a limited number of horses, they traveled much more slowly than a pair of horsemen. And Ra-khir saw evidence that they’d stopped more than once to crash through the brush and, probably, practice sword maneuvers.

  Little conversation passed between them. Ra-khir saw no reason to burden Darby with his family problems, and the boy kept his curiosity well-hidden. It seemed better to Ra-khir to demonstrate the ways of knighthood to his new charge rather than preach them. Words had little impact compared to actions, and Darby would suffer enough long-winded speeches in his future to make up for every moment of blessed silence. The Knights of Erythane participated in the formal events of both kingdoms and had to learn to remain in position through the most pompous, boring, and repetitive proceedings known to humankind.

  Midday came and went, with Ra-khir choosing to remain in the saddle as they ate. With each hoof fall, they drew closer to their goal, and he would rather come upon the Renshai in twilight than darkness. Any one of them could make short work of the knight and his charge, and they would need little excuse to do so.

  The strategy paid off. Shortly past sundown, Ra-khir found a huge hole in the roadside plant life where a multitude had broken through, clearly to find a campsite. Bits of fur clung to thistles and branches, scraped from the flanks of horses. Motioning Darby behind him, Ra-khir plunged through, winding Silver Warrior between the tree trunks and copses. Soon, he could hear the sounds of muffled conversation, sword blades slamming together, and whetstones rasping against steel.

  Ra-khir found himself so focused on these welcome sounds that Darby’s whisper startled him. “We’re not going to fight this army, are we?”

  Ra-khir smiled. We wouldn’t last long. “No. These are friends.”

  Relief washed across Darby’s face, displacing a greenish tinge. “I’m so glad to hear that, sir.”

  As they drew nearer, Ra-khir held his stallion to a slow pace, kept his hand from his hilt, and made no attempt to hide or move quietly. He would give the Renshai no reason to assume he meant them any harm.

  Though he risked a kick, Darby kept his horse directly on Silver Warrior’s tail.

  Ra-khir brushed past a clump of thistles to get his first look at the camp. Renshai were scattered amidst trees and across a small field. Many were engaged in practice skirmishes with one another that looked deadlier than most wars. Others sat cleaning or sharpening blades.

  Ra-khir rode up to a relaxed group tending their weapons. They all certainly noticed him, yet they made no move to challenge him. Their composure sent a shiver through Ra-khir. Darby might see it as a strange and cool disinterest, but Ra-khir knew better. These Renshai simply did not see the two newcomers as a threat. Any of them believed they could dispatch the two horsemen without bothering to prepare.

  Ra-khir recognized all of them but remembered the names for only two of the five, a man and a woman of similar age to his sons. “Hello, Ashavir. Hello, Tarah. Hello, other Renshai.”

  Recollection flashed across their faces, and the two identified by name both smiled.

  “Well, hello, Calistin’s father,” Ashavir said in greeting. The Renshai often referred to him in this manner, and almost always in regard to Calistin rather than Saviar. Though it seemed disrespectful, as though his name were not worth learning, Ra-khir knew the Renshai intended it as a compliment, linking him with the Renshai’s greatest warrior. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

  “I’ve come to visit my sons.” Ra-khir also grinned, trying to make the request sound casual. He expected them to laugh. He had implied traveling an inordinate distance for conversation over tea.

  But the smiles faded from all of the Renshai’s faces. The ones not addressed returned to their business. Tarah glanced toward the center of camp, and Ashavir cleared his throat.

  Ra-khir’s heart seized in his chest. Their evasiveness suggested he would not find his boys here, and Ra-khir could think of only one reason why. Killed by Northmen? Both of them? He closed his eyes. Gods, no. Don’t let that be true. He had already considered the possibility, but he now realized he had never actually believed it.

  “You’ll need to talk to Thialnir about that,” Ashavir said carefully. “He’s center camp, working on a fire.”

  Ra-khir knew better than to question further. It would only waste time. His chest felt as if someone had filled it with boulders, and it took longer than it ever should to get Silver Warrior headed in the indicated direction. His thoughts narrowed to a single channel. Saviar, dead. Calistin, dead. Didn’t say “good-bye.” His heart already accepted the inevitable, its beat unsteady; but his brain would not allow him to believe until he heard those precise words.

  The fire was already blazing when Ra-khir arrived. Massive Thialnir stood among many other Renshai, surrounding the corpse of a deer. Several had knives in hand as they debated how and whether to take the fur off the beast before searing it. Under other circumstances, the conversation might have amused Ra-khi
r. The consummate swordmasters were hopeless when it came to such simple tasks as hunting and cooking. He wondered how they had even caught and felled the beast. Probably surprised it and fell upon it with swords.

  At Ra-khir’s approach, the Renshai turned toward him, en masse. Ra-khir dismounted and addressed Darby. “Show them how to skin a deer, would you please?”

  With a nod, Darby dismounted and headed toward the corpse. Ra-khir turned his attention to the Renshai. “I need to speak with Thialnir. In private.”

  The enormous leader of the Renshai seemed relieved to let a boy stranger take over his task. He rubbed his hands together, dislodging chunks of dirt, and walked toward Ra-khir.

  Swiftly, Ra-khir whipped the bridle from Silver Warrior to allow the hungry stallion to graze. He did the same for Darby’s chestnut before heading off to a secluded spot with Thialnir. “My sons . . .” he started, before they had even finished walking beyond earshot. “. . . are they here?”

  Thialnir did not make Ra-khir wait. “No, Ra-khir, they’re gone.”

  “Gone?” Ra-khir needed more. The Renshai rarely used euphe misms, especially for death.

  “Calistin rode north to demand the battle that should have been his to fight.”

  Ra-khir inhaled sharply in sudden understanding. “He’s riding into thousands of enemies to challenge Valr Magnus?”

  Thialnir smiled, which seemed inappropriate to Ra-khir. “Did you expect otherwise, Sir Knight? Pen-fruit doesn’t grow on hadongo trees, and aristiri hawks don’t hatch from lizard eggs.”

  Ra-khir managed only a slight upward twitch of the corners of his mouth. It was more of a tolerant smile than an amused one. “I get it. You’re saying Kevral was a maniac, so I should expect the same from my boys.”

  “Kevral?” Thialnir reared his head backward in exaggerated surprise. “Kevral was simply one of many brave and talented Renshai. The maniac, as you so eloquently put it, is Calistin’s father.”

  Me? Ra-khir did not know what to say.