Beyond Ragnarok

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Kedrin rose and approached the bars. “Are you well?”

  The question seemed every bit the banality Ra-khir was struggling to avoid. “Me?” he managed, incredulous.

  Kedrin’s chuckle broke the tense hush that should not exist between a father and son who loved one another as much as these two. Ra-khir rushed forward, placing his arms between the bars. They accomplished an embrace, metal boring into shoulders and rust smearing otherwise spotless silks. “I appreciate what you did for me,” Kedrin said softly to avoid the echoes that would publicize their conversation. “Don’t ever think otherwise.”

  Ra-khir clung, nodding, though the bars scraped his cheek. The vision of his proud father moldering in this awful place would never leave him, and he had already begun to wonder whether death might not have proved the better choice. His father did not fear dying or what lay beyond for men of honor, and Ra-khir could not help worrying that he had condemned his father to a lifetime of suffering out of his own selfish need to keep the man he loved alive.

  “What really happened?” Ra-khir asked, believing he knew but needing confirmation.

  But Kedrin shook his head. “Perception of truth becomes truth. What others choose to believe is all that matters. What you believe is your own personal truth.”

  The words made no sense to Ra-khir, and the evasiveness irritated him. He pulled free, though he remained close to the bars so he could speak as softly as possible and not lose the one audience he wanted. “‘It’s not your affair’ would have sufficed as answer, though you’re wrong. I deserve at least to know whether or not my father committed treason.” He intercepted the response he suspected he would receive but did not want. “And the king’s judgment isn’t good enough. I need the truth.” He gazed earnestly into the blue-white eyes. “I need the truth.”

  “Look to your heart. The truth is there.”

  “Yes,” Ra-khir admitted, tears of frustration welling in his eyes against his will. “I already know the truth, but I need to hear it from my father.”

  The knight-captain’s strange eyes seemed to bore through his son’s head to read the extent of that need. “I am innocent of any wrongdoing. I would do nothing to jeopardize Béarn, and neither must you.”

  Ra-khir breathed a deep sigh. Just as Kedrin had said, Ra-khir had known the truth; but his father’s admission freed something primally necessary. He dropped his voice to a whisper, though the low tones they had chosen already protected them from prying ears. “Father, there is no heir to Béarn’s throne. Is there?”

  Kedrin stiffened, shocked beyond reply. The composure that followed came too late to convince Ra-khir that his question had struck far from the truth. “Why do you ask such a thing?”

  Ra-khir glanced behind him to make certain the guard had not come to end his visiting time, though the click of mail and slam of bootfalls would surely have reached his ears long before anyone appeared. “I’m guessing. Based on information my friends and I pieced together.”

  Kedrin shivered at the implications. “Let’s hope others have not come to the same conclusion.”

  Ra-khir doubted it. Most commoners and nobles had no reason to consider such a thing. Few knew that the staff-tests had occurred, and even most of the Renshai guardians did not know if their charges had passed or failed. “No one has the assortment of friends I’ve made.”

  “Like Darris.” Kedrin studied his son, obviously remembering earlier talks.

  “And a Béarnian heir.” Ra-khir added without trying to hide his distaste, “And her Renshai guard.”

  Ra-khir’s aversion did not go unnoticed, though Kedrin misinterpreted it. “I didn’t know you disliked Renshai.” He frowned. “They lack honor in its pure form, but their loyalty to Béarn’s heirs is unquestionable. For that alone, they deserve our support.”

  Ra-khir dismissed the unnecessary lecture. “I have nothing against Renshai as a race. I just don’t like this particular Renshai. He belittled my honor, and I believe he plans to embarrass me in front of my friends.”

  Kedrin nodded, accepting personal hatred where he had not tolerated prejudice. “I’m sure you’ll deal honorably with the situation, even if he does not.”

  “I will,” Ra-khir promised, realizing as he did that Kedrin had neatly circumvented his question. “But I still need to know. Are there any heirs to Béarn’s throne? Ones that passed the test?”

  The knight-captain kept his voice as low as his son’s. “I can tell you only that there may be.”

  “May be?” Ra-khir glared at his father. “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s the only one I can give you.”

  “Why?” Ra-khir demanded.

  Kedrin smiled. “It is the only answer there is.”

  Ra-khir mulled over those words. A vast difference existed between the response his father gave and the one he could have. If Kedrin had claimed that castle security forbade an answer, as he had when it came to defending himself from a crime he had not committed, Ra-khir would have learned nothing. Now, however, he knew an heir to Béarn’s throne might exist; but his father did not know for certain. Ra-khir tucked that clue away, needing to reconcile it with others he and his friends had accumulated. Understanding that his time with his father was limited, he came to the crux of the matter. “The caravan east. That had something to do with an heir to Béarn, didn’t it?”

  The grin wilted from Kedrin’s face, and he studied his hands, flecked with rust from the bars. “My vows to Béarn and its council forbid me from answering that.”

  Ra-khir hissed in frustration, then immediately wished he had not. He braced for a lecture about respect and honor, but it never came. Kedrin continued to stare at his hands, and a desperate struggle creased his handsome features. The first stomp of the guard’s footsteps carried up the corridor.

  Kedrin’s hands snaked between the bars, and he seized Ra-khir’s wrists in clammy fingers white with strain. He whispered, “Béarn will fall without the proper heir. Someone or something is trying to make that happen, and they will destroy whoever obviously stands in their way. If the caravan doesn’t return within the month, act wisely and in secret. Youth may succeed where formal diplomacy fails.” He released Ra-khir, who staggered backward, as much from surprise as confusion.

  The bootfalls drew closer, accompanied by the jingle of mail.

  Ra-khir whispered urgently. “Act? What do you mean act?” He had to know now. Another month would pass before Baltraine allowed him to visit his father again.

  Kedrin closed his eyes; obviously torn between his vows to the council and his loyalty to son and kingdom. “Think. I have faith in you. Just keep Béarn safe . . .”

  The guard drew too close for further privacy.

  “. . . and stay true to your honor.”

  “Time to go.” The Béarnide addressed Ra-khir, avoiding Kedrin’s stare. Clearly, he could not reconcile this meek prisoner with the respect for the Knights of Erythane trained into him since infancy. Or, perhaps, he suffered the feelings of betrayal that all guards must feel when they realize even the most slavish devotion to their country cannot assure protection from a fall and its subsequent punishment.

  “I will,” Ra-khir said earnestly, only partially understanding what his vow entailed. Soon he would meet with Darris and Matrinka again. Together, he believed, they would find answers.

  * * *

  Summer breezes tossed the treetops and branches into playful, rustling dances and rained seedpods on the Fox-meal Clearing. Kevral remained attentive while her companions discussed their various findings, her ears tuned as much to the natural sounds of the forest as to the conversation. In their immediate vicinity, she heard only the rattle of leaves in the wind. A squirrel skittered beyond the clearing, its light step and quick bursts of movement unmistakable. Occasionally, birds alighted on branches that bowed beneath their weight. Otherwise, nothing disturbed their solitude.

  A poor sentry lowers his guard for something as fleeting as safety. Mentally, Kevral
quoted Colbey Calistinsson as she usually did aloud. Since infancy, she had taken all lessons of the Renshai seriously, but none more so than the teachings about the Renshai hero turned god. In his day, and some said forever, no swordsman had matched his skill or his dedication to his people. From the moment she first heard tales of the great Renshai warrior, at an age younger than she could recall, she had emulated his life, his speech, and his style. Once, she had vowed to become as accomplished as he. That dream had grown. Some day, she swore, she would surpass him.

  Darris opened the conversation by addressing Ra-khir, the last to arrive. “How’s your father?”

  “As well as one could expect from an honorable man imprisoned in a dark, cold hell for a crime he didn’t commit.” He smiled weakly, apparently realizing that his sarcasm was misdirected. “He’s taking it very well. Obviously, better than I am.”

  Matrinka placed a comforting arm on the knight-in-training’s shoulders, and Ra-khir relaxed visibly. Not for the first time, Kevral marveled at her charge’s ability to heal with kindness as well as herbs. Mior twined around Ra-khir’s legs, rubbing and arching against his sweat-darkened breeks.

  Kevral noticed all these things and more. Although she knew logically that Ra-khir could have no designs against the princess, she watched his every movement, seeking the telltale stiffening that would herald violence. Enemies most dangerous dwell in the least likely places. She had tested his skill before and found it no match for her own, but it did not require ability to slaughter a princess who so willingly placed her person in harm’s way. She wondered if Matrinka realized how unnecessarily difficult she made her guardian’s job.

  Darris grinned at Ra-khir’s halfhearted attempt at a joke. “You’re doing fine.”

  “We’ll see how I handle the month that passes before I get to see him again.”

  A sympathetic silence followed, one that only Ra-khir could break.

  “I talked to my father. I put him in a bad position.” Then realizing the irony, he added. “Worse, I guess, than the one he’s already in. When honor comers him, like at the trial, he tends to speak in riddles. Drives me about insane.”

  Matrinka drifted away from Ra-khir, to Kevral’s relief.

  Darris encouraged his friend. “Tell us what he said. Perhaps we can help you interpret.”

  Ra-khir gestured his thanks, shaking his head simultaneously. “Not necessary. I was up all night thinking about the situation and his words.” He added as an aside, “You really had to be there. And know my father.” He continued, “I think I’ve got it reasonably figured out.”

  Even Kevral eagerly awaited the answer, though she did not show it.

  Ra-khir tossed the initiative to the others. “What you’ve learned will help a lot.”

  Darris obliged, hazel eyes shining beneath the dark curls that obscured his forehead. “To thwart suspicion, Matrinka and I have been working separately on the same sources. All heirs are still in Béarn. No potential king or queen traveled with the envoy, so we can’t explain the Renshai who accompanied them that way.”

  Kevral saw her opening then, but Matrinka spoke first. “Neither of us managed to find a single heir who passed the test. Not everyone would tell us, and some we didn’t dare ask; but none of the ones we missed seemed a likely ruler.”

  Darris nodded vigorously, the lute on his back swaying with the movement.

  Kevral could not help smiling. As Darris implied, Matrinka’s description was gross understatement. Two of the unquestioned heirs had attempted suicide, a sure sign the staves had found them unworthy. Another had placed the comforts of ale above responsibilities to her husband and children.

  Matrinka wrung her hands at the news she had needed to deliver, and the princess’ alarm killed Kevral’s smile. Ra-khir pursed his lips, green eyes reflecting anger and concern. He glanced at Kevral as if doing so was a chore he would rather forego.

  Amused, Kevral gave Ra-khir a brazen grin. “The only Renshai who seems to know anything about this is Chieftain Thialnir who attends the council. He won’t tell me anything, though he did pointedly discourage me from asking questions. Of anyone.” Another understatement. As she recalled, his precise words were: “Quit stirring up trouble, or I’ll hack you into bits for the practice and serve you up as tomorrow night’s supper.” Had the warning been overheard by the few people who still believed Renshai drank blood to remain eternally young, it would have fueled ancient prejudice properly defunct. Kevral, however, knew the threat was idle, though she did consider taking his challenge just to prove herself the better warrior. In the end, common sense prevailed. Many of her people already considered her too cocky. The younger ones reviled her need for perfection, not only with a sword, which all Renshai strove for, but with such minutiae as languages and history. She had earned the nickname Kevral the Overconfident, unfairly to her mind. Kevral the Confident suited her better, and she refused to make excuses for her self-assurance. No one ever became the best by hiding behind a mantle of false modesty.

  Kevral finished with a shrug of forbearance. “Rantire went on a mission to Santagithi. An heir has to be directly involved. That’s all I can add.”

  That proved enough for Ra-khir to place the pieces together neatly. “All right. Here’s the story as I see it. Stop me if something doesn’t fit.” He cleared his throat, glancing around to assure their privacy.

  Kevral gave an “all clear” signal, though Ra-khir did not bother to glance at her to receive it.

  “Someone or some group wants to destroy the line of high kings. I don’t know who or why, but bear with me. All of the heirs get tested—”

  Matrinka broke in, “—so we know who to protect from the assassin.”

  “Right,” Ra-khir acknowledged. “No heir passes the test, but somewhere east of here—”

  “—Santagithi,” Matrinka inserted.

  “Not necessarily.” Ra-khir combed back red hair slick with sweat from his morning practice. Kevral caught herself studying the casually handsome features and hated her lapse. Oblivious, Ra-khir explained. “They might have claimed to be going there since it’s a long-allied kingdom. For all we know, they might be headed for the East.”

  Darris squinted, dubious. “Why east?”

  “East. Not east.” Ra-khir shrugged. “The location isn’t important. What matters is what they’re looking for.”

  Darris spoke the answer just as Kevral drew the obvious conclusion. “An heir.”

  Ra-khir smiled.

  “A missing heir?” Matrinka said thoughtfully, then frowned. “Not very likely. Why would an heir leave Béarn?”

  “I don’t know,” Ra-khir admitted. “But it’s the only thing that makes sense. My father’s words implied that no one tested by the staves had passed but that there still might be one or more yet to face the test.”

  Darris’ features remained scrunched. “We’re making assumptions here. There doesn’t seem to be any motivation for any of it. Who would want Béarn to fall? Why? How could they have nearly succeeded? Who is this heir? Why would he or she have left Béarn?”

  “I told you I don’t have all the explanations,” Ra-khir replied. “I’m just putting together the ‘whats.’ The ‘whos’ will have to come, and the ‘whys’ may never be learned.”

  “You’re talking like your father,” Kevral said, not caring that her words irritated Ra-khir. “But you’re right. Rantire could only have gone to accompany an heir. Since none went with the envoy, it only makes sense that one is supposed to come back with them. Mystery solved. So how does this involve us?”

  Ra-khir’s green eyes riveted on the Renshai with all the intensity with which they had avoided her in the past. “If I have any say in it, it won’t involve you at all. As for the rest of us, my father believes the diplomatic party won’t survive to return the missing heir, that it’ll get waylaid by the same assassin who slaughtered some of our heirs. I don’t know why he believes this, but I trust his judgment implicitly and he has information that we don
’t.” He examined Matrinka, Darris, and Mior in turn, “If I’m reading my father right, he believes we might quietly succeed where open diplomacy fails.”

  “Meaning what?” Darris said before Kevral could spit out the same question using invective.

  “Meaning that the three of us working quietly and independently of the kingdom might be better able to find and return this heir than an obvious diplomatic envoy that no assassin could possibly miss seeing.”

  Ra-khir’s words caught Matrinka by surprise, and even Darris seemed stunned by the implications. The Renshai, however, accepted the suggestion easily. The combination of her own stalwart faith in herself and the adolescent belief in one’s own immortality made her certain they could succeed. The knight-in-training’s assertion that she would not be a part of this was too ridiculous to bother her in the least. She would not leave Matrinka’s side.

  “Us?” Matrinka asked, shocked.

  “Us?” repeated Darris. His lips framed a thoughtful smile, and Kevral doubted this was the first time Darris had considered having a hand in the affair. He relished it, as she did. She guessed his reasons would prove different but did not care. She liked him for the eagerness the others did not share. Ra-khir would act from duty rather than the thirst for adventure that marked a true warrior, at least in Kevral’s mind. Matrinka would need to think long and hard about her role in such a thing, and Kevral’s involvement would depend wholly on her charge’s decision.

  “Why not?” Ra-khir said.

  “Why not, indeed.” Darris took Matrinka’s hand, and she smiled at him. The love they shared seemed raw and obvious to Kevral, though neither of them would admit it. Matrinka had called Darris her platonic best friend so many times it seemed more to Kevral as if the princess needed to convince herself. Silly. Kevral dismissed the matter. Colbey had turned eighty before finding his wife, and Kevral could wait as long. Until then, relationships could only take away from her sword time.