“I am, too.”
Tae held up a hand. “He’s a . . . a . . . lover of men.”
Warmth flooded Subikahn. At least, his father seemed to have grasped the most important point, to have accepted the once unacceptable. “Fine, I’m a man-lover, a sodomist, a daisy. Call me what you want, but I’m done sleeping with women. It’s . . .” He could not think of a suitable word, so he resorted to childish slang, “. . . bleffy.”
“You tried?”
“I did, Papa. Many times.” A terrible thought occurred to him. “You could have an illegitimate grandchild out there somewhere.”
“And you’re still . . .”
“. . . a lover of men.Yes, Papa. It’s not something I can change any more than I can my parentage. I’m stuck with you as a father, and you’re stuck with me as a . . .”
“. . . son?” Tae inserted.
“As a bonta.”
“Stop saying that!”
Subikahn took the sober route this time. He had had enough fun at Tae’s expense. “It’s just a label, Papa. Like prince. Or Easterner.”
“Except that label is punishable by execution.”
Subikahn leaned forward. “As opposed to . . . Renshai? In some places, it’s a crime just to speak the name. They consider us anathema, to be killed on sight.”
“Not in the East, anymore. Weile repealed that law.”
Subikahn stared at his father, wondering how long it would take Tae to see the obvious solution now that he had practically spoken it.
“I still think we can fix you, Subikahn.”
“No, Papa. I’m not broken.” Subikahn resorted to Kevral’s words, “It’s the way the gods made me.” He noticed the cat staring at him, waving her tail fiercely, demanding more pets.
“The gods, Subikahn, are not infallible. They make babies without legs sometimes, with extra fingers. I once saw a stillborn with two heads.”
“Fine.” Subikahn saw no reason to argue the point. “Perhaps they made a mistake with me, but it’s not something that needs ‘fixing.’ I like being a . . .”
Tae winced.
“. . . lover of men. A lover of one man in particular.” The image of Talamir sent a wave of comfort through Subikahn. He pictured the blond in his mind: strong, confident, handsome, with blue eyes a man could get lost in. “Papa, you know what it’s like to be in love. The kind of love that overwhelms you, against which you measure every person, every emotion, that crosses your path. Imagine if Kevral had chosen to marry you. Talamir—”
Tae made a gasping sound that completely upended Subikahn’s thoughts.
“What’s wrong?”
All the color drained from Tae’s face.
Subikahn sprang from his chair. “Are you choking? What can I do?”
“Talamir,” Tae said. His voice sounded feeble, but not gravelly or breathless.
Subikahn tried to guess the source of Tae’s abrupt discomfort. “He didn’t rape me, Papa. I swear it. I initiated the . . . the contact. He was nothing but sweet and gentle and loving . . .”
Tae only looked more uncomfortable. Subikahn took several nervous steps backward. He’s going to die. He’s going to die right in front of me. “Matrinka’s right outside the door. I’ll get her.”
“Just give me one last hug.” The words came out hoarse, painful.
Matrinka’s words echoed in Subikahn’s head: “. . . be sure you leave something undone or unsaid . . .”
“The hug can wait.” Subikahn started for the door. “I’m getting Matrinka.”
Imorelda yowled and sprang from the bed.
“No,” Tae said. “I’m not dying right now. At least not any faster than a moment ago. I need to tell you something; but, once I do, I won’t have any right to request another hug. Ever.”
Subikahn turned and studied his father. Tae looked awful: skin drawn over bones, sallow and sunken; but the eyes still contained plenty of life. The sound his father had made in his throat had nothing to do with breathing, only desperate concern that his son would judge him harshly. About what? Subikahn had a sudden, gripping feeling in his chest. He did not want to know, but he could stand the suspense even less. “What?” he asked carefully.
Tae gestured him closer, demanded the embrace.
Subikahn obliged, but he found it difficult to put much emotion into the gesture. If he squeezed too hard, he might worsen the injuries, and worry about the forthcoming news made him tentative. He stepped back. “Now, tell me.”
“Subikahn.” Tae’s voice emerged surprisingly clear now, as if the embrace itself had cured him. “My one and only son.”
Subikahn gritted his teeth but refused to speak.Words would only prolong the already interminable wait.
“Sentence was pronounced on Talamir.”
All thought drained from Subikahn’s head. “What?” The world seemed to disappear around him: sight, sound, touch. All that remained were the smells: blood and herbs, sickness and the aroma of flowers on the breeze from the windows. “Sentence . . . for what? What kind of sentence?”
“Talamir confessed to the rape, Subikahn. Freely and without coercion. In front of the entire court.”
“Confessed?” The word confused Subikahn further. “But he didn’t—” Subikahn tried again. “Tally didn’t rape anyone; he couldn’t. Why would he . . . ?” Nothing made sense.
“Then, he mutilated two elite guardsmen and attempted to kill me. High treason, Subikahn. The sentence—”
Subikahn knew the obvious sentence, for either crime. What he could not grasp was Talamir admitting to having done such a thing, Talamir losing his sanity in the courtroom. Subikahn’s mind drifted back to the fateful night that seemed so long ago. “If your love is real and strong,” Tae had said, “it will survive two years of separation.” Subikahn clung to that. “But you promised, Papa. You said that I could come back to Tally in two years, if our love survived.”
Tae sighed. His head seemed to collapse into the pillow. “I’m sorry, Subikahn. Talamir is—”
“No!” Subikahn could not bear to hear the last word. “No!” The agony that descended upon him was so raw it pained him worse than any physical wound. “No! No! No!” He whirled without thinking, wrenched open the door, and darted from the room, nearly colliding with Matrinka. Without so much as a mumbled apology, he burst through the hallways, down the staircases, in a blind, deaf fog of anguish. He did not stop running until he found himself outside, with no memory of opening any doors or facing any guardsmen. There, he threw himself into the grass, alternately sobbing and screaming, ranting and melting, until all understanding became buried in a dark morass of impenetrable grief.
CHAPTER 45
A reasonable plan executed now is better than a perfect one next week.
—General Santagithi
A SCARLET EDGE OF sun burst over the horizon, its color bleeding across the dawn sky and blending through the rainbow spectrum to a dense and savage blue. The blare of horns greeted the new day, their notes crisp and triumphant, a battle cry from the once silent ships.
A smile eased onto Subikahn’s face, the first show of emotion Saviar had noticed since his twin’s return that night. The swollen, red-rimmed eyes had said enough, and the desperate violence that characterized his svergelse. Renshai vented with sword strokes instead of blustering or shouting or tears.Tae, Saviar surmised, was not doing well; and Subikahn had the look of a man prepared to die in glorious combat, more eager than ever to find Valhalla.
Saviar would have liked to discuss the situation with his twin, but circumstances did not allow it. Subikahn had nothing to say, and Saviar found himself tied up trying to explain the generals’ strategy well enough that the Renshai would not spoil it. It simply called for the infantrymen to pause long enough from engaging to allow the bowmen a few rounds at the enemy as they scrambled from their ships. But Ra-khir and Saviar both knew the futility of asking Renshai to hesitate in battle.
Saviar was not sure it mattered anyway.The Renshai had
no bows, no cavalry per se, though they did keep some horses. They might foil the shots of the bowmen stationed in the armies on either side, but no arrows, bolts, or quarrels should spring from directly behind them. Saviar hoped that would work well enough. Ra-khir would have no more luck restraining Renshai than he would the wind itself. And Saviar the Volcano Tamer doubted he could do much better.
The Aeri soldier waited for the blare of horns to die to echoes before addressing Valr Magnus. The general stood at the back of his infantry, watching for Archer-Captain Sivaird to give the signal. “Sir, we found young Treysind bound hand and foot. Shall we release him?”
Magnus had to suppress a laugh. “Tied him up, did he? That’s one way to keep a small brother safe.”
“Sir?”
“Have someone nonessential take Treysind to whoever’s guarding the children in Béarn.” Magnus watched the enemy pour from their ships with astounding precision. They moved in an orderly fashion, perfectly coordinated. This did not bode well. “Have them tell the women in charge to keep both eyes on him. Otherwise, he’s going to run to the thickest part of the battle, swamp his brother and others around them, and get his fool self hacked to bits.”
“Yes, sir.” The soldier rushed to obey.
Valr Magnus wondered why the archers had not yet fired. He trusted Captain Sivaird to know the precise moment, yet the sooner they did so, the more rounds they could get off before the infantry engaged. The various cavalries waited, bunched just behind the beachhead, to catch any pirates who scythed their way through the soldiers on foot.
Valr Magnus turned his attention back to the enemy, finally finding the reason for Sivaird’s hesitation. From nearly every massed army on the shore, infantrymen charged the pirates, disobeying the commands of red-faced, screaming commanders. Damn! Magnus’ own army held firm, aside from one man who stormed down the sand with the ferocity of a she-bear protecting cubs.
“General!” Captain Alsmir shouted.
Magnus did not need an explanation. He had weathered enough war to know this might happen. “I see them!” The best laid plans are more often thwarted by inexperienced allies than enemies.
“What do you want me to do?” the archer’s captain called down from the ridge.
Captain Alsmir rode off to bunch his men, making sure that the remainder of his charges obeyed orders and did not break ranks to follow the one.
Valr Magnus looked from the growing battles on the beaches to Sivaird. He could order them to sacrifice the one disobedient man, to pepper Calistin with the same barrage as the enemy. He dismissed the thought the instant it arose; it was a cowards’ way out, ethically and strategically wrong. “Use the Strikers.” Magnus referred to the most competent archers, the specialists reserved for specific targets. “Take down the ships, if you can. Leave the shore-bound for the infantry. The reservists need to switch to handheld weapons, and the designated bowmen . . .” He could think of no specific use for them but hated wasting their skill. “. . . use your judgment. If you can get a clear shot without jeopardizing any of our men, take it.”
Captain Sivaird saluted and rushed to reorganize. Flaming arrows flew toward the ships. Only three hit their targets, but all of the others crashed safely into the sea. Smoke rose from one of the ships, then burst brilliantly into flames. One down. One seemed so few.Yet, even that small triumph brought them one step nearer to victory. “Again,” he said beneath his breath. And Sivaird complied. Another wave of flaming arrows flew from the ridge, accompanied by a tight barrage of quarrels over the heads of the massed infantry on the open portion of beach.
All up and down Béarn’s beaches, of ringing steel, battle cries, grunts, and screams filled the air with the familiar sounds of war.
Another ship went up in flames, then another, and a few more up and down the ocean from other units. Then, the pirates swarmed the beach, and Captain Alsmir released the infantry. Valr Magnus freed his sword and raced to join his men, reminding himself not only to watch for the familiar uniforms of his unit but for the various and sundry other continental warriors, the random clothes of volunteers and conscripted soldiers, the homespun farmers. He need not have worried. To a man, the enemy sported the same leather armor, helmets, and shields; and it became easier to target them and protect every other.
Bodies fell around Valr Magnus, flesh yielding to his sword, steel slamming against his blocks and parries. Several of his own men had fallen amongst the enemy, each blood-splattered aqua-and-bronze uniform a painful reminder that not every man would return. He set his sights on allowing as few pirates past him as possible, easing the burden on the cavalry farther up the beach. They were the last resort for the women and children of Béarn, the city, the castle, and all the lands beyond.
Piles of bloody bodies formed on the beach, and Magnus found himself shifting slightly southward as he cleared the area around him. At length, he found an unexpected partner behind him, a man of such skill and ferocity that the general was incapable of not trusting that his flank was safe. Without intention or planning, the two men merged their personal strategies to become a single fighting unit. The dead all but surrounded them, and they had to move together across the beach to find opponents as the pirates deliberately avoided them.
All up and down the beach they fought without pause, no breaks for what felt like half a day or longer, their skin, clothing, and hair spattered with enemy gore.Valr Magnus felt fatigue press him, but he banished it through willpower. His arms and legs kept moving long past pain and weariness. He dared not stop, not break even for a moment, worried that doing so would allow exhaustion to finally catch him. Once stilled, he might not find the strength to move again. And, luckily, his partner remained with him.
It did not occur to Valr Magnus to wonder who fought the battle with him. Knowing the truth would ruin everything, would force him to contemplate an intolerable situation, would shatter any illusions left from centuries of stories, legends, and history. Subconsciously, Magnus knew his benefactor was the archest of nemeses, that he threw his lot in with a Renshai sworn to kill him. Yet, he would not allow that thought to come to the fore. He could not remember the last time he had fought a battle with such an aura of faith at his back, at the side of an ally who matched or exceeded his own talent. It was a joy he would not allow something as mundane as reality to destroy.
Ra-khir swiftly realized that it did not matter if he served as the Renshai’s only cavalry. Nobody made it past the world’s most skilled swordsmen. All up and down the beach, pirates slipped through the knots of infantries to the horsemen stationed beyond them. He could see the knights’ white chargers plunging behind Erythane’s infantry, saw one occasionally veer off to assist among the golds, browns, and grays of the other troops. He, alone, had no one to chase. It all seemed a cruel joke. A battle of this magnitude, and I’m actually bored.
Ra-khir did wander right or left at times to catch a charging pirate or assist other horsemen, but he did so at his own risk. The Western army to his south worked as a well-rehearsed team. To the north, he discovered more leeway, but he also found himself moving in that direction to back the Renshai. As the pirates fell or tried to find easier routes up the beachhead, the Renshai had to shift as well. And, like a golden tide, they rolled casually northward.
As Ra-khir rode the dunes for a better view of the battle, several things became clear. The abilities of the continental armies varied greatly, while those of the pirates seemed nearly identical. Early on, this favored the pirates, who could fall back on consistency and drive into the weaker areas of the allies’ defenses. But, as the weakest and least experienced fighters fell, the pirates found themselves facing a tougher defense, with a higher percentage of trained soldiers who gradually learned to exploit their enemy’s unwavering style.
Suddenly, two Renshai broke from the chaos to charge up the beach, as if fleeing the battle. Ra-khir knew better. No Renshai would ever display such cowardice. Those two had other reason for rushing toward him. Saviar and
Subikahn, he assumed. And they’ve seen something.
Ra-khir reined Silver Warrior into their path and nudged him into a ground-eating canter. The looseness of the sand slowed the stallion into a rolling slog, but he soon met up with the twins. They looked frightful, their arms, hair, and clothing striped with blood and spotted with bits of unidentifiable gore. Their swords dripped crimson circles into the sand. Saviar’s expression appeared worried, his pale eyes crinkled and his forehead lined; but Subikahn looked positively corpselike. His eyes had sunken into pools of pained darkness, his cheeks drawn.
“Papa,” Saviar shouted as soon as they drew close enough to hear one another. “Look there.” He used his sword to point toward the pirate ships.
Ra-khir had looked there a thousand times in the past several hours, but he dutifully followed Saviar’s gesture. Most of the ships still remained at anchor off the coast, bobbing gently in swells that made a strange and peaceful contrast to the raging battle on the shore. He could see some bubbling and movement in the water where sharks had discovered bodies. Otherwise, nothing appeared to have changed. “You mean the sharks?” He wondered if the boys had some strategy that involved driving the pirates into the jaws of the savage fish. “Because I don’t think anyone’s going to let themselves—”
Saviar shoved the hilt of his sword against his father’s fist, which startled Ra-khir. No Renshai, not even his son, ever willingly handed over his weapon to someone outside the tribe. Cautiously, he wrapped his fingers around it.
“Look again.”
Ra-khir kept his eyes in the direction Saviar had indicated. At first, he saw nothing unusual. Then, a shimmer drew his attention slightly to the right where he discovered a ball of light that seemed to hover over the deck of the central ship. “What’s that?”
“It’s an aura,” Saviar explained, snatching back his sword.
The glow disappeared, at least to Ra-khir’s eyes.
Flight of the Renshai Page 69
