Beyond Ragnarok

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  “I cut my finger,” the Renshai insisted. “And what matters is that I didn’t dishonor the sword.”

  “Dishonor the sword?” Matrinka found herself caught in a pattern of repeating the Renshai’s words, stunned. “Who cares about the stupid sword? You almost lost a hand.”

  The Renshai met Matrinka’s gaze coolly, as if trying to teach lofty concepts to a drunkard on Pudar’s streets. “Fingers heal. Dishonoring one’s sword is intolerable, especially when wielded by one worthy of respect.”

  “Worthy of respect? Me?” Matrinka shook her head. “I hereby grant you permission to let any sword of mine touch the ground anytime it means taking a chance at injuring yourself to catch it.”

  The Renshai snorted, twisting her right hand to remove a packet from the pocket on the same side. She opened it one-handed to reveal a standard salve that Matrinka recognized by its color. “Honor is internal. Anyone can give me permission to violate it, but no one can make me do so.”

  “Don’t use that.” Matrinka opened the top drawer of her dresser and retrieved a vial of crushed drilstin stems that she had picked in the gardens months earlier. “This’ll work just as well, but it won’t scar.”

  The Renshai unwrapped the bandage quickly, smearing on her own medication before retightening it. “Scars are a warrior’s badge of honor.” She smiled, obviously trying not to offend. “But thanks.”

  This time, Matrinka refused to allow the dismissal. “Is that part of your honor, too? You have to make certain all injuries, no matter how stupid, turn out with the worst possible outcome.”

  The Renshai raised her brows at the impropriety.

  Matrinka did not back down. Two months with various Renshai guardians had taught her that they admired strength and courage above all else, even if it took the form of standing up to Renshai. She remained in place, hands on her hips, gaze directly on the Renshai’s face.

  “No,” the Renshai finally admitted. “If you really wish to tend the wound, you may; but if you ever try to help me at a time when you’re in danger . . .” She let the threat hang, there being little she could add without sounding either contrary or foolish. “Just don’t. I already warned you what could happen if you learned to like me.”

  “Fine.” The whole seemed ridiculous to Matrinka. Aside from about one day a week when different Renshai relieved this one from her duties, they spent day and night together. It seemed unthinkable to Matrinka that two people could spend so much time side by side without becoming attached. “Does it make you feel any better to know I’d do this for anyone?”

  “Much.” The Renshai offered her finger, watching curiously while Matrinka gathered soap, scissors, needle, and thread, a clean bowl of water, and several fresh pieces of cloth for bandaging. She watched every movement, even when Matrinka cut away skin edges to make them approximate more evenly and sutured the cut. When she finished, blood stained the water and the desktop, but the end result was a cleanly bandaged injury that would probably heal without infection and with minimal scarring.

  Though pleased with her handiwork, Matrinka gathered her tools in silence, not caring whether or not the Renshai appreciated her labor. The joy came from the good feelings it brought her. It was the first time she’d felt positively about herself in a long time.

  The Renshai examined the bandage, then tested the use of the hand. Matrinka had deliberately wrapped it so that she could still grip a sword in either hand, and the hilt fit as smoothly as the princess expected. “Nice job,” the Renshai admitted grudgingly. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Matrinka fairly beamed.

  The Renshai spoke thoughtfully. “I know a bit about taking care of injuries. It’s part of our training. We work with the sick and wounded to assure no one dies of infection or illness rather than in valiant combat.” She raised the bandaged hand. “But I’m impressed. Did you ever think about becoming a healer? It might better suit you.”

  A healer. Matrinka’s mouth fell open. Of course. Once spoken aloud, the idea that she had never considered it before seemed patently ridiculous. “That’s a great idea.” She added carefully, “Except . . .”

  “Except what?”

  “Except it’s not enough to have tutors come up here and tell me what plants to use for what. I’ve read enough books about that. I’d have to get out of this castle to gather herbs.”

  “So?”

  That being the last thing Matrinka expected to hear from her guardian, she stared. “So, I’d have to go outside the castle walls.”

  “Yes,” the Renshai confirmed. “Is that a problem?”

  Matrinka blinked, confused. “Well, yes. Since I have a constant guardian Renshai who won’t let me go.”

  “Me?”

  “Who else?”

  The Renshai shook her head. “Who said I wouldn’t let you outside?”

  Matrinka froze, not daring to believe she had spent the last three months of her life desperate for a glimpse of the gardens she could have visited any time she wished. “You rarely even let me see my grandpapa.”

  The Renshai frowned. “That wasn’t because of me. The ministers and healers rarely let anyone see the king. You’re one of the few who has. And when did I ever forbid you going outside?”

  “I never asked,” Matrinka realized aloud. “The others wouldn’t let me, and you seemed . . .” Unable to find a word that would not sound insulting, she followed a different course. “I just assumed—” Again, she broke off, suddenly realizing she might convince her guardian to retract a course of action she had pined after for months. Instead, she channeled her energies to this new pursuit that seemed perfect for her. “I’ll need to see the master healer for guidance about books, tutors, and apprenticeship. But first . . .” Matrinka smiled broadly, “a walk in the courtyard, if you please.”

  Despite her insistence on preventing a friendship, the Renshai’s expression and demeanor revealed satisfaction at the change that came over Matrinka in a matter of moments. Despair had finally given way to a realization of self-worth and dignity, despite the deep scars of the gods’ judgment. A simple walk outside might do them both good.

  * * *

  Baltraine tromped the castle halls toward the meeting room, his features locked into a scowl and his black hair streaming behind him. Scarcely two months had passed since his confrontation with Kedrin in the hallways, and already the knight-captain had seen fit to undermine his command. Kedrin had initiated the council which Baltraine had needed to hurriedly drop affairs of state to attend. And Kedrin would pay for that mistake.

  As Baltraine neared the meeting room, he eased the taut expression from his face to leave the measured mask of a politician. The walk had given him plenty of time to plot his vengeance. The details had not yet fallen into place, but the immediate generalities seemed obvious. He needed to anger Kedrin into doing something stupid, or at least into the appearance of preparing to do so. Though wedded to honor, Kedrin was still a warrior, with a swordsman’s temper and approach to problems, not the wiles of a diplomat. How easily a man’s honor can be turned against him.

  That thought buoyed Baltraine’s mood, allowing him to cast aside his own rage for the calm detachment he would require to run a meeting, save face, and cast suspicion on the captain. Opening the door, he smiled at those already in place—Kedrin, old Abran, and minister of the court Weslin—then remained standing as the others entered. The usual assortment of ministry and security filled their accustomed seats around the table before Baltraine took the floor. “Friends, I apologize for the prematurity of this meeting.” He glanced at Kedrin not-quite casually. The more intentional his jabs, the quicker he might incite the captain, but he needed to appear natural to the others in the room. He had dedicated a lifetime to cultivating trust and hiding disdain.

  Kedrin’s eyes narrowed, but he showed no other reaction to the insult. He shifted restlessly. Convention demanded that Baltraine immediately give the floor over to him as the one who had called the meeting.

>   Baltraine deliberately discarded the rules, certain the rest would not notice the difference. Some did not know Kedrin had called the meeting. Others would be ignorant of the rarely invoked protocol; not since long before Baltraine had taken his position had anyone but the prime minister initiated the assembly. Baltraine trusted that the routine of him running the meetings would prove enough to make his doing so seem natural now. He was reasonably certain only Kedrin would take note of his impropriety. Even if any other did, he or she would dismiss it as unimportant. Only the knight would take offense. “As all of you know by now, our first messenger to Santagithi never returned. We sent a second, both to accomplish the same task and to discover the fate of the first. We expect him back within the next two weeks or so.”

  Kedrin immediately made the subtle gesture that indicated he wished to speak. Baltraine glanced in his direction, smiled briefly and privately, then continued. “Though all seems well, I recommend we form a diplomatic party. If the scout returns with good news, and we have no reason to suspect otherwise, this group could escort our prince back to his kingdom. If the scout does not return, we could send this larger, better armed group to try to deliver the message our scouts could not, as well as to escort the prince to the castle. Does anyone oppose this suggestion?”

  No one did. Each man or woman nodded in turn, though Kedrin did signal his need to add his piece. As before, Baltraine ignored the knight. “Very good, then. I’d like to discuss the composition of this group.”

  Limrinial broke in. “Surely, we need competent warriors. I’d suggest a mixture: a pair of knights, perhaps. Some Béarnian guards. Maybe a Renshai, since there will be an heir along on the return trip.” The homely minister of local affairs threw the opening to the military leaders across the table.

  Thialnir spoke first. “Of course, a Renshai. Two or three if you feel the need. We would not think of leaving any heir unprotected, especially this one.”

  Guard-Captain Seiryn raised his brows, offended, though he had become accustomed to the Renshai’s blunt manner. “I would hardly call the company of Béarnian guards ‘unprotected.’ I would send a regiment, if appropriate. What, besides the defense of the kingdom, of course, could compare to this?”

  All attention turned naturally to the last military leader, and this time Baltraine acknowledged Kedrin, trusting propriety to hold the knight to the topic. To backtrack or move on would not suit his honor. Like a cornered rat, he would have no choice but to respond to the question on the floor before considering other courses of action. The frustration of claiming the floor only to have to relinquish it before making a long-held point would surely fuel Kedrin’s anger. “As you know, a dozen Knights of Erythane directly serve Béarn at any time. In order to continue to maintain the kingdom’s defenses and demeanor, I believe not more than six and no fewer than two should become a part of this mission. That is my opinion, of course, and I will bow to the better judgment of this council should they find more or fewer appropriate.” He hesitated, lips pursed and pale eyes locked on Baltraine’s face; but, yielding to ancient protocol, he sat without adding more.

  As the minister of internal affairs, Fahrthran would decide the final division based on the advice of his peers. He cleared his throat carefully and spoke in the clear voice that had come to define the undeserving, newer nobility in Baltraine’s mind. “Abran, how do you assess the disappearance of at least one messenger? Do you have any concerns about the kingdom to which we sent them?” Before committing himself, Fahrthran threw the issue to the aging minister of foreign affairs.

  Abran took the floor. “Santagithi and Béarn have been at peace for as long as I or history can remember. We can’t wholly discard the possibility that their king has designs on Béarn, but it seems distinctly unlikely. They could never hope to win a straight-out war against us, though they do have allies in the north. More probably, our messenger fell prey to accident or footpads ignorant or heedless of the law. Or to whomever harmed our heirs.”

  A general mutter followed, accompanied by bowed heads. The investigation into responsibility had yielded no answers, and there remained no further leads to follow. No theory grounded in logic could explain how someone had sneaked live bears past dozens of Béarnian guards nor timed their attack so perfectly. No clues remained from probable murders previously attributed to illness, accident, or suicide. Since the staff-test, one heir required constant intervention against taking his own life, and they had lost another child to the paralytic illness the healers had finally learned to treat, if not to explain.

  Abran nodded to Fahrthran to indicate he still held the status of speaker. The internal affairs minister laced fingers through his beard, Eastern-dark features thoughtful. “I think we should keep the party reasonably small but strong. We haven’t lost any heirs to attack since the Renshai began guarding them. That suggests a limit to the enemy’s numbers or power. If we send too many, not only do we increase travel time but also open the way for accidents and delays.” His black eyes squinted as he considered further. “If we send too many, Santagithi may feel threatened, and its king might prove less kindly disposed to talk. We can’t afford to make a mistake. Also, the fewer of our people who know about the heir, the less likely the information falls into enemy hands.” He glanced about, finding every gaze on him, and continued. “My suggestion: two diplomats fluent in the Western Trading tongue, two servants to attend animals and one for the prince, two Knights of Erythane, three to four guards, and one Renshai should prove enough.”

  Prime Minister Baltraine took over to turn the suggestion into a motion. “Anyone object to this distribution?”

  The question drew no obvious concerns from the ministers. The Renshai sat in stony silence, and Seiryn nodded and shrugged simultaneously. He would do as the ministers decided, trusting their judgment more in such situations. Kedrin mulled the matter, chewing his lip. Apparently, he would have chosen a different composition, yet he gave this one, and its explanation, fair consideration.

  Despite protocol, Baltraine did not wait for Kedrin to gesture agreement before considering the motion passed. “All right, then. We continue our investigation. We continue encouraging marriages and births among the heirs. We assemble the envoy party with the hope of good news from the second messenger. Then, if our second messenger has not returned one month from today, we send the envoy anyway.”

  The knight-captain’s features flushed scarlet, and he again made the gesture for acknowledgment, this time with far less subtlety.

  Baltraine pretended not to see, beginning the sequence that would adjourn the meeting.

  Driven to desperate measures, Kedrin forsook the honor of meeting rules, apparently for one he considered larger. He stood. “Just a moment.” He added, as if in afterthought, “Please.”

  Politely, Baltraine quit, mid-word to emphasize Kedrin’s rudeness. Out of spite, he did not make the ancient gesture to indicate the knight held the floor, though everyone studied Kedrin curiously.

  The knight-captain’s face was a study in rage, the myriad insults by Baltraine now taking their toll at once. “The messenger could have made it back today but didn’t. I see no reason to wait another moment before sending the envoy. In fact, we should have done so after the first messenger didn’t return, rather than wasting the life of another man.”

  Baltraine blinked, feigning surprise at the hostility of Kedrin’s presentation. “It’s a long, difficult journey, especially on the messenger line. It seemed logical to assume our first only got delayed. Since we selected a courier the first time, I assumed it made sense to send another before resorting to armed expeditions. I picked speed over strength. If I chose wrongly, I apologize deeply.” He locked a sad, sincere expression on his face. “Knight-Captain, if you had concerns about my decision, why didn’t you voice them then?”

  Kedrin froze in place, astonished beyond words.

  Baltraine seized on the knight’s startled pause. “All settled, then. I suggest we meet—”

&
nbsp; This time, Kedrin made no attempt to wait for the end of a sentence, obviously aware Baltraine would find a way to make him sound insolent regardless. “First, let the record show I did object to sending a second messenger when an armed group would serve better. Second, I don’t believe the matter of time has yet been resolved. I suggest we send the envoy as quickly as we can muster it.”

  Prime Minister Baltraine glanced sidelong at several of the ministers, silently registering his concern about stress and its effect on Kedrin’s manners and sanity. “I apologize for disagreeing, Knight-Captain; but I believe neither the records of our last few meetings, nor of the court, will reveal any evidence that you objected to my plan to send a second messenger. As to the matter of timing . . .” He shrugged. “. . . I see no reason to panic. We don’t have aeons, it’s true. But even should King Kohleran pass away, may the gods prevent it, we would still have enough time to send an envoy there and back. If we send it prior to the return of the messenger, we have no way to relay any conditions the king in Santagithi might make. Worse, we may violate some tenet he insisted upon. Better to give the messenger another month.”

  “Excuses.” Kedrin caught and held Baltraine’s gaze. “The king in Santagithi will see our need and understand. He’s never balked on details before. Should we lose the king, we might barely have the time to send an escort there and back in time. Any delay is intolerable.”

  Baltraine shook his head to indicate he found the argument beneath contempt. He used a patronizing tone, pitched to break the knight’s precarious control. “Sir Kedrin, I’m afraid you’ve let the seriousness of the situation addle you.”

  Kedrin’s fingers balled to fists on the table. “Don’t equate taking action with addling. Perhaps the blame lies with the delaying party. What do you gain from holding things back, Baltraine?” He let the words glide in a question that made everyone curious.

  Baltraine took a step backward, as if menaced, though a table stood between them. He let the pause hang, hoping Kedrin would prove fool enough to make a witnessed accusation that would pass for treason. When he did not, Baltraine responded. “I gain only the time Kingdom Santagithi needs to state their wishes and for our messenger to find his way home.” He gave the only response he could, though the truth dawned more slowly. Already I’m making many of the king’s decisions, and I’m good at it. What’s wrong with wanting to rule while I can? It’s not like I could ever become king. Baltraine could see the advantage to making himself and his family an integral part of castle procedure prior to the young heir’s arrival. Slightly alarmed by the turn of his own thoughts, Baltraine shoved them aside. He was an excellent regent with a superior eye for justice. Having anticipated and, to some extent, steered Kedrin’s words, Baltraine leaped upon the opening to place himself in the position of apparent compromiser. “But if you truly believe that sooner is better, I’ve always thought highly of your ideas. We can strike a bargain. Two weeks seems a reasonable compromise between one month and no time. Would that suit the council?”