Treysind spoke from the shadows. “Hero, I thinks ya should let ’im go.”
Calistin did not care what his little companion thought. He had been promised five to six fighting men and got the equivalent of three.
Treysind added, “He ain’t worth bloodyin’ yas sword.”
Calistin shook the blade, dislodging a clot of gore. “It’s already bloody. And what’s it to you if he lives or dies?”
“It’s not nothin’ ta me,” Treysind had to admit. “But I feels sorry fo’ ’im.”
Now, Khalen intentionally stepped in front of the brawly, though he did so nervously. The top of his head barely reached the young man’s chin. “Hero,” he said, using Treysind’s name for Calistin. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but it’s over. Someone has to clean this mess, and it’s certainly not going to be you.”
“I’ll do it,” the brawly chimed in. “I’ll handle the bodies. I’ll fix every table and wash every scrap of fabric.You can kill me if I don’t.”
Calistin weighed the promises against the satisfaction of cracking open the young man’s skull.
Treysind did not wait for Calistin to reply. “Settled, then. Yas fix up Khalen’s shop perfec’, an’ he don’t kill ya.” He indicated the merchant, then the Renshai, in turn. “Ya’s not workin’ or tries ta run off, he kills ya.”
Calistin ground his teeth but did not speak. Once again, Treysind had dared to barter for him, and he did not like it. Griping about it, however, would only diminish him in his opponent’s eyes. He could easily lunge around tables, Treysind, and Khalen to kill the brawly in an instant. He would be done before anyone figured out his intention.
“I’ll work hard, you’ll see. You’ll never have seen a man work so hard.”
Khalen turned his attention fully to the young man. “You do as good a job as you’re saying, you’ll have a job and a place to live when you’re finished.”
Calistin sighed, knowing the situation had gone way beyond him. Suddenly gripped with the need to honor his sword, he pulled a cloth from his pocket and set to work.
Someone pounded on the door, and a muffled voice penetrated the panel. “Khalen, are you all right?”
Treysind unhooked the door and opened it to reveal several merchants, the grocer at the front. Most were unarmed, though a few carried notched swords, cudgels, or pointed sticks. They all cast glances, wild-eyed and speechless, around the fabric shop.
“He’s dead,” one said hopefully, then added exuberantly. “Savage is dead.”
Several whooped or cheered, but most simply stared.
The grocer stepped inside. “Thank you, Treysind.” He turned toward Calistin. “Thank you, Cali-Stan.”
The Renshai restored the inflection. “Ka-LEES-tin. My name is Calistin.”
“Thank you, Calistin,” several muttered, stepping inside. They seemed more stunned by the carnage than appreciative, but Calistin did not mind. He had done it for his own reasons, not to earn their adulation. Without looking up, without replying, he continued tending his swords.
Once again, Treysind chose to answer for him. “Ya’s welcome. He’s glad ta do’t, he is.”
The rest of the conversation flowed past Calistin, unheard, as the need to put his swords right became the sole focus of his universe. Should anyone or anything threaten, it would draw his full attention in an instant; but anything less did not deserve his notice. Treysind could and would handle it better.
CHAPTER 34
Skill is enough.
—Kevralyn Tainharsdatter
TAE LUXURIATED IN THE plush chair set especially for him in Matrinka’s personal quarters, Imorelda snuggled and purring in his lap. King Griff perched on a similarly comfortable seat, while Rantire, the Renshai, hovered over him. Darris stood near the window, and Matrinka sat cross-legged on her canopied bed, surrounded by sleeping cats.
Tae had known the moment his message, through Imorelda, had reached Matrinka. The guards had released him, bowing and scraping in apology for the way they had treated him. He had been allowed free access to every room of the castle, and his escort to the queen’s very bedroom remained reverential and gracious.
“I think,” Tae said with utmost caution, “we need to consider releasing our two prisoners.”
Griff ’s brow knitted. Darris’ eyes closed in consideration, while Matrinka nodded broadly. She replied first. “They can tell the other pirates we’re actually intelligent beings. Then they’ll leave us alone. Right?” She glanced around the room, eyes shining.
Tae heaved a deep sigh. If only it were that simple. “Matrinka, deep down, I think most of them know we’re human. By now, those who have directly fought us have to realize it, even if they won’t admit it, even to themselves. In war, one always demonizes or belittles the enemy to ease the guilt of what otherwise feels like unmitigated murder. They’re not really killing us because they think we’re animals; otherwise, they’d slaughter our cats, rats, and fish with equal enthusiasm.”
No one could get a question out faster than Darris. If knowledge existed, he had to possess it. “So why are they killing us, Tae? Did they tell you that?”
“They did.” Tae leaned forward. “They want—I should say, they feel they need—our land.”
“Land?” Griff blinked several times in succession. “How much do they need?”
Tae smiled, certain the king of Béarn was generous enough to bestow a barony on the pirates, if they only asked politely. “It’s not a matter of need, Griff. They want it all.”
“That’s unreasonable!”
Tae would not allow himself to laugh. He loved the simple generosity of the royal Béarnides, especially Matrinka’s sweet naïveté. “Of course, it’s unreasonable. War is always unreasonable.”
Matrinka tried again. “But if they all knew they were trying to steal that land away from other humans. Wouldn’t that make a difference?”
Darris patted Matrinka’s arm in sympathy and also as a warning. Even the gentle king knew the answer to her question.
Tae explained anyway. He had not yet told them everything he had learned. “The pirates aren’t doing this for themselves, Matrinka. They’re doing it for their Kjempemagiska.” He used the pirate’s own word, then explained, “For their masters.”
Curiosity piqued again, Darris abandoned Matrinka to shift nearer to Tae. “Their Kjempa . . . their masters?”
Tae knew Darris would need to get the word right, so he pronounced each syllable distinctly. “Kee-yemp-eh-ma-jee-ska. Giant beings, maybe twice the size of humans, with powerful magic. The nearest thing we have are—”
“—gods,” Darris filled in, with obvious awe.
“Yes. But our gods don’t normally walk among us. Or meddle daily in our affairs.”
“Theirs do?” Griff asked the obvious question.
Tae tried to explain what he knew from the information the captured pirates had given him and from the mental communication that had occurred during their conversation. “From what I understand, the Kjempemagiska could easily massacre or enslave the pirates, who call themselves alsona. Which, as far as I can tell, just means ‘people’ or ‘humans.’ Instead, the Kjempemagiska live mostly in peace with the alsona. The trade-off is when the Kjempemagiska want something, such as new territory for their expanding population, the alsona do exactly as they are told or suffer torture and death of themselves and loved ones.”
Tae fell silent, allowing the information to sink in all around him.
Matrinka broke the hush first, with a suggestion clearly phrased so as not to make her sound foolish. “So, if we offered our extra land to the alsona, that would open more room for the giants. And everyone would be happy.”
*She’s so cute,* Imorelda sent. *I’d love her, if she hadn’t just tricked me into doing something hateful.*
“A clever idea.” Tae knew Matrinka meant well. “Unfortunately, the giants don’t want a piece of our world. They want all of it. They don’t wish to live without their so
ldiers and servants. The soldiers don’t wish to leave their homes, for the most part. And, if the alsona fail, the Kjempemagiska will become our next opponents. When they don’t get what they want, they’ve been known to rip humans in half or kill dozens with a single spell.”
As Tae expected, the news did not go over well. Matrinka gasped. Darris seemed to be desperately searching for alternatives. Worried creases marred Griff ’s face, and Rantire paced furiously back and forth, as if already protecting Griff from the gods themselves.
No one asked what to do next; they had no choice but to gather every ally in the known world to repel the invaders. Because everyone, from the farthest corner of the Northlands to the deepest part of the Eastlands, had a dire and personal stake in winning this war.
Griff ’s soft voice punctuated the silence. “We’ll need the elves, too.”
Elves, immortals, the gods themselves.
Rantire made a point even Tae had not considered. “If these magical giants are anything like demons or gods, only certain weapons can harm them. And, as far as I know, our world’s only bewitched items are all in the hands of Renshai.”
“Renshai.” Griff managed a crooked smile. He had never wanted to banish his allies, and the idea of calling them home clearly pleased him as nothing else spoken in this room had done. “Call them,” he ordered. “Call everyone in every part of the world. I’m declaring this an all-out war.”
Though many of the merchants of New Lovén offered a comfortable bed, Calistin and Treysind spent the night in the forest. Calistin preferred the solitude and worried about growing too soft. The concern about highwaymen and Northmen kept him sharp and might give him the opportunity to hone his sword arm again.
Treysind laid out a veritable feast, complete with fresh vegetables, soft brown bread, and even a bit of butter. “I knows why ya wants us here ’stead a nice, warm beds.”
Calistin walked over and crouched in front of the food. A cyclical hum of crickets hung in the night air, occasionally pierced by the whirring call of a fox. Since Calistin already knew why he had made his decision, he did not press for an answer.
Treysind continued anyway, “Ya don’t like talkin’ ta pee’ple. Ya ain’t no good at it, an’ ya don’t wanna take tha time ta learn.”
Calistin reached for the bread, topped with a smear of butter. He tore off a hunk. “Most people aren’t worth talking to.”
Treysind ripped off a smaller piece of bread and popped it into his mouth. He spoke around chews. “All pee’ple’s wort’ talkin’ ta, if ya knows how ta do’t. It jus’ takes pra’tice gettin’ good at it.”
Calistin took a bite off his piece of bread. It tasted freshly baked, with just a hint of some sweet spice, and the butter made a perfect contrast. He savored it, swallowing before speaking. “Why should I waste my time talking to people who don’t matter? What possible good could come of that?”
“Ya might find out where all tha bestest West fighters is at.”
Calistin rolled a bright orange root from the pile. “I’m finding that out just by asking. I’ll talk long enough to learn what I need to know.”
Treysind fished out his own root, shook off the dirt, and took a bite. It crunched loudly between his teeth. “But if theys don’t trust ya, theys don’t tell ya nothin’ useful.”
Calistin snorted. “And if they do trust you, they yammer at you ceaselessly. Nothing more boring than that.”
“Ain’t there?”
“No.”
Treysind grinned broadly and kept the expression on his face even as he ate.
Calistin ate, too, savoring the silence for several moments before curiosity got the better of him. “What are you so happy about?”
Treysind swallowed a mouthful of root. “Tha way things turnt out. I’s happy.”
Still irritated by the end result, Calistin could not help saying, “You’re happy I left a dangerous punk alive.”
“Yup.”
“Even though he’ll probably regather the gang and start harassing merchants again.”
Treysind grabbed another root and another piece of bread. “That ain’t gonna happin.” He sat back, his grin broadening. “He’s gonna do’s a great job cleanin’, which is gonna make Khalen verry verry happy. Then Khalen’s gonna hire ’im. They’s gonna work tagether till they gets ta bein’ bes’ frien’s. Evensh’ly, they’s gonna be like father an’ son.”
Calistin stared, scarcely believing what he had just heard. “For a street punk, you sure are sunny.”
Treysind shrugged. “Hain’t nothin’ sunny ta it, Hero. I’s kin tell jus’ by talkin’ ta ’em.Yas could tell, too, if yas tried.”
Now it was Calistin’s turn to shrug. “Why should I try? I don’t care what happens to them.”
“An’ ’stead a makin’ mo’ en’mies fo’ yaself, ya maked some frien’s this time.” The smile seemed to take over Treysind’s face completely. “Tha merchants was grateful ’nough ta give us lotsa stuff.” He patted the fat backpack, then opened it. “ ’cludin’ these, which ya def ’nit’ly needs.” Treysind tossed a set of clean britches and tunic toward Calistin, who caught them from habit. “Plus, a man what’s needin’ he’p in his shop gotted some, an’ a boy what’s needin’ parents and direc shuns gotted ’em. An’ ya learnt ya don’t gotta kill ever’one ta make a diff ’rince.”
Calistin snorted, twirling a root between his fingers. “I didn’t learn anything like that.”
Treysind studied his food. “Well, ya shoulda. ’Cause it’s true.”
Calistin felt the heat of rising ire; but, before he could vent it, Treysind spoke words that caught his attention completely.
“An’, by talkin’ ta pee’ples, I’s finded out where all tha bestest West fighters is at.”
Calistin straightened. The root stilled in his hand. “You mean you weren’t just talking hypothetically about that?”
“Hypo what?”
“Hypo—” Calistin knew Treysind would never get the word, just as he would never properly manage the Renshai’s name. “There really is a place where the best Western fighters go?”
“There’s a school,” Treysind explained, still eating. “Kings an’ gen’rals sends they’s men there fo’ trainin’, an’ others go jus’ ta learn. It ain’t far from here.”
Calistin’s heart rate quickened. He found himself smiling as fully as his companion.
“See, talkin’s good fo’ somethin’ ”
Though grudgingly, Calistin had to admit it was. “Anyone could have found that out by asking the right question.”
“No, Hero.” Treysind’s grin vanished and he leaned in, as if discussing something of utmost importance. “Ya can’t ask tha question if ya don’t know what question ta ask. This comed out talkin’ ’bout other thin’s that we wouldn’t a been discussin’ if we dint start discussin’ nothin’.” He threw his hands up as if making a brilliant point.
Despite the strange delivery that did not make much sense, Calistin took home the point. “So, tell me about this school.”
“I’s gonna do better’n that,” Treysind declared. “I’s gonna take ya there.”
Taking Calistin to the warrior’s school proved more difficult than expected. Treysind disappeared repeatedly to cast about and regain his bearings; and the Renshai took advantage of the wasted time, venting his frustrations in wild flurries of svergelse.
Finally, Treysind plopped down on his backpack in a thready roadway and stared sullenly into the distance.
Calistin studied his companion. He had never seen such a sour expression on the boy’s face. “Any luck?”
“No, I ain’t gotted no luck!” Treysind snapped. “If I’d a got luck, wouldn’t I been takin’ ya there?”
Calistin’s eyes widened. The Erythanian had never used that tone of voice on him before, and he did not know how to react to it. “Treysind?” he said in a flat tone full of warning.
The boy looked up, his expression going from sullen to horrified. “I’s sorry, H
ero. I’s rilly sorry. I shouldn’t never talk ta ya like that.”
Calistin had not really minded. It felt oddly good for the boy to treat him like a person rather than an idol for a moment.Yet, he did not feel comfortable encouraging disrespectful behavior in a companion either. “I understand. I’m frustrated, too.”
“There’s supposed ta be a big ol’ twisted herbont tree nears a west-way path, but I ain’t seein’ it. I’s thinkin’ maybe we’s did go tha wrong way at tha las’ crossroad.”
Irritation flashed through Calistin, then disappeared as quickly. It seemed impossible for him to be upset at the same time as his companion. Someone had to keep a calm head. “It’s not that far back. Let’s take the other fork.”
Calistin’s reasonability seemed to have a positive effect on Treysind, who sprang to his feet, shouldered his overstuffed pack, and waddled back the way they had come.
Calistin followed, a nasty thought occurring to him. “Treysind, you don’t suppose those merchants were having a bit of fun with us.”
Treysind did not look backward. “Whatcha mean?” he called over his shoulder.
“Maybe there is no school. Maybe they just told you that to get us . . .”
“. . . losted?” Treysind finished. “No, sir, Hero. They’s wouldn’t a done that. They’s too grateful, Hero.”
Calistin was not so sure. “Maybe they were having fun at our expense. Or telling you what they thought you wanted to hear.”
Treysind turned to face Calistin but continued walking . . . backward. “No, sir. They wouldn’t a done that, Hero. I kin usual tell when pee’ple’s lyin’. They wasn’t. Jus’ like I knowed that brawly wasn’t lyin’. He’s gonna turn hisself aroun’ an’ work honest.”
Calistin never doubted the sincerity of the young street tough, only how long that attitude would last after his companions’ killer left New Lovén. Once the danger was gone, the fear would lessen, and he might well revert to his old, vicious tactics. Treysind was right about the merchants, however. They had no reason to mistreat their saviors, other than the destruction of the fabric-seller’s shop.
Flight of the Renshai Page 51
