Beyond Ragnarok

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  “Onward,” Darris said to indicate his support.

  Kevral and Tae simply nodded. Despite her soft-spoken manner and quiet apprehension, Matrinka was the party leader. She just did not realize it.

  “Onward,” Ra-khir repeated, mind immediately returning to memories of the attack. It would occupy him for most of the trip, he felt certain, and probably most of his companions as well.

  Kevral interrupted his musings as they continued forward. “You know, if you spent more time practicing and less complaining about my need to stop . . .”

  The cycle began again.

  Chapter 17

  Words in the Dirt

  The enemies of my brother are my enemies already.

  —Colbey Calistinsson

  Books and scrolls lay scattered across the sage’s table. The old man hovered over his treasured knowledge, one hand twisting and plucking at his tunic, the other trapped in his pocket as if he feared it might act of its own volition. Prime Minister Baltraine studied laws and lineages until his buttocks ached from the hard, wooden chair and his elbows felt melded into the table. King Kohleran had lapsed into a permanent coma, unresponsive to anything but pain for more than three weeks. Rulership of Béarn had fallen completely into Baltraine’s hands; his “conferences” with the king had become nothing more than moments of silence after which he confirmed the actions he wished to take. And while the authority pleased him, it was only a matter of time before the secret of the king’s condition leaked or Kohleran died. In either case, Baltraine needed to find a successor soon.

  Baltraine sighed, poring desperately over information he already knew by heart. Even the oldest of the sage’s notes failed to reveal knowledge Baltraine did not already know. According to the writings of every philosopher and priest through the centuries, Béarn and the Westlands could only thrive beneath the rule of an incorruptible, neutral heir. He or she had to pass the gods’ staff-test, and only direct descendants or siblings of the king qualified as heirs.

  Still, Baltraine searched for loopholes, diligent and desperate. Each yellowed, brittle page yielded only dead ends. His own bloodline remained frustratingly outside the broadest definition of the royal line. His daughters could become queens only through marriage to Kohleran’s grandson once he took the throne. Aside from Griff, every conceivable living heir had failed the staff-test. The books gave no advice for such a contingency. They did take infertility into account, allowing the line to pass through rulers’ nieces and nephews in certain circumstances into which the present problem did not fit. Had Kohleran fathered no children, their heir-base would have become immense, even including Baltraine and his issue. But each book and every paper confirmed what Baltraine already knew: he had to bring Griff back to Béarn swiftly. And the young man had to pass the test.

  Baltraine closed the current book, shutting his eyes against the strain of reading for too long. His studies gained him nothing, not even the knowledge of the consequences of allowing the throne to sit empty, only vague, veiled warnings of an anguish that ranged from inexplicable danger to utter destruction of the world. Most historians agreed that the absence of an heir heralded the Ragnarok. And still no solution came to Baltraine. Two messengers and a diplomatic envoy sent for Griff had failed to return; and Baltraine finally, reluctantly had to agree that Knight-Captain Kedrin had been right from the start. Baltraine’s only chance at permanent power lay in gaining the trust of and marrying one or more of his daughters to Griff.

  Weariness crushed down on Baltraine as he rose from the sage’s table. The elder brightened, swooping down on the table and gathering his books and papers with the tenderness of a lover. Thoughts of bed and a good night’s rest replaced the intense inspection that had filled this day and several prior. Only then, as Baltraine’s mind turned to the mundane, his subconscious suggested a last, desperate measure. Nowhere in his readings did it say an heir could only take the staff-test once. Practice enhanced other skills, mental and physical. Why not the ability to pass the gods’ test?

  Exhaustion retreated before this new idea, and Baltraine’s thoughts churned with details. Though unprecedented, he would retest all of the heirs in the hope that one or more might pass on the second try. And this time he would meet no reluctance or resistance from Kohleran. Though temporary, being regent had definite rewards.

  * * *

  Sunlight struggled through the overgrowth to warm the forest in patches, and Kevral became accustomed to the alternating heat and shade that characterized healthy, Western forest. Though not her first, the battle in the clearing had shaken her more than she would dare to admit to her companions. Renshai revered combat, and she would not allow herself to show anything but excitement about the events of the previous night. She worked at trivializing her role in the conflict, though secretly pride gnawed at her self-assured front. She had battled three warriors at once and won. She had always believed herself capable of such a feat; yet this was the first chance she had had, outside of spar, to prove it.

  Fresh irritation rose at the realization that the battle had not gone as well as she believed it would. Always before, she’d trusted herself to handle such a minuscule threat with rapidity, dignity, and ease. Yet she had felt hard-pressed battling three, keeping track of six, and guarding Matrinka all at the same time. She had taken no injuries, had never believed herself in personal danger, but two of her opponents had managed to escape to gather allies. And that mistake might cost them dearly.

  Tae returned from one of his scouting forays, riding directly to Kevral’s side. He spoke an awkward rendition of the Northern tongue, guessing rightly that only she could understand him. “Trouble. Princess should see not.”

  Kevral’s hand fell naturally to a sword hilt, the other remaining on the reins. She stuck with the Northern language, certain Tae would not choose it on a whim, especially when his awkward mastery of it made him sound silly. Always before, he had made painstaking efforts to appear slick and in control. “More enemies?”

  Tae apparently understood more than he could speak. “No. Dead.” His brow furrowed as he considered his next words. “Our dead.”

  Kevral tried to piece the message together. “You found dead bodies? Béarnides?”

  “Mostly,” Tae confirmed. “And allies. Maybe even Renshai.” He sighed heavily, realizing he could not find the words he needed in Northern. He lowered his voice, seeking the privacy of a whisper where language failed him. “The envoy, I think.”

  Kevral huffed out an expletive, then translated the curse into Northern for Tae’s future reference.

  Tae repeated it, then continued. “Look things over, need. You and me? Princess not.” He added in trading, “I don’t think she could handle it.”

  Kevral suspected he deliberately avoided Matrinka’s name so as not to make it obvious he spoke about her, although Tae also had a habit of referring to people by features or nationalities for no particular reason. She could see Tae’s point. Sweet and relatively innocent, Matrinka might react poorly to seeing friends or kin dead, especially after escaping a similar attack unscathed. The Béarnide had still not recovered from their own struggle. Despite her brave insistence that they continue the mission, she had spent most of the morning ominously quiet, unsuccessfully fighting tears. Darris’ comforting had helped, but another shock now might erode her remaining confidence. “So you want to split the party?”

  “For moments, yes.”

  “Women go around and men explore.”

  Tae gave the suggestion less than a second’s consideration. “Better the others go around. You and me explore.”

  Kevral frowned, immediately dismissing the idea of separating herself from Matrinka, though curiosity prodded her to view the remains of the envoy. She alone could identify a Renshai among them and administer the formal ceremony that would allow the soul to find Valhalla. “I stay with Matrinka,” she said with less insistence than she wished to convey.

  Tae blew out a heavy breath, as if preparing for a stru
ggle he would rather have avoided. “I understand loyal guarding thing. Sure can Red watch her little time.”

  “No!” Kevral returned, instantly angry. “I’m not leaving Matrinka in the hands of an incompetent.”

  Tae sighed again. “One dead man made words in dirt. Can’t read. Like Northern. Maybe Renshai.” He pulled at his scraggly hair, obviously frustrated by the limitations of his knowledge of the Northern language. “Need you. Princess, no.”

  Kevral pondered the situation in the light of this new information. “I’m not leaving Matrinka in the hands of an incompetent,” she finally repeated, but less emphatically.

  Tae motioned Kevral away from the others, obviously loath to continue a disagreement while unequally burdened by a language barrier.

  Kevral rode slightly away from the pack, pacing them at a perfect parallel.

  Tae blurted in the trading tongue, without preamble. “I think you’re being too damned hard on Ra-khir. He held his own pretty well in that fight.”

  “Not for a Renshai,” Kevral shot back.

  “He’s not a Renshai.” Tae pointed out the obvious. “And neither am I. Plus, I’m an Easterner and street slime. You don’t judge me as tough as you do him, and you don’t even know for sure if I’m on your side. Whatever Ra-khir’s faults, at least you can trust him.”

  Tae’s self-deprecation distracted Kevral from the brunt of her irritation. She studied him closely for the first time. As always, burrs and twigs twined through his thick, black hair. Though not classically handsome, like Ra-khir, his features bore a strength that made them not wholly unattractive, in a wild sort of way. Her need to guard kept her too suspicious to rely on him, but she had come to enjoy his blunt, sarcastic manner, his confidence, and even the danger he might represent. His easy confession amazed her. “You consider yourself street slime?”

  “Is that any different than you knowing you’re a blonde? Or the princess admitting her best friend is a cat?”

  “Yes. It’s a lot different.” Kevral searched for an analogy. “It’s more like me saying I’m a lousy swordsman. And I’m not, so I wouldn’t.”

  Tae denied the comparison. “No, it’s more like Matrinka saying she’s a lousy swordsman. And I’ve heard her do that, too.” He drew the conversation back, point by point. “First, I’ve been honest with you all. If you choose not to believe that . . .” he paused, considering. “. . . well, I probably wouldn’t either in your place. Second, you’re still being too hard on Ra-khir.”

  Just the mention of the Erythanian’s name reawakened Kevral’s annoyance. “And I don’t think I’m being hard enough.”

  Tae tapped his knee with a finger, several times in rapid succession. “I understand your problem. He didn’t take to me either. But I think there’s a normal man under all that armor and formality.”

  “The Knights of Erythane follow a rigid code they call honor. But, since they expect others to abide by their silly, inflexible ideals, they reduce their honor to a set of arbitrary rules. Real honor means sticking to combat morality even after your opponent has abandoned his.”

  “Ah,” Tae said, then laughed. “I suppose you just made that up.”

  “No,” Kevral admitted, irritation increased by Tae’s mirth. “I was quoting Colbey Calistinsson. The greatest swordsman who ever lived.”

  “Fine.” Tae shrugged. “I’m not going to argue with a centuries-old dead guy, though I will say that being centuries old and dead don’t mean everything you ever said is right.”

  Kevral opened her mouth to protest, but Tae swiftly and deftly returned to the original subject. “I still think you’re being too hard on Ra-khir. I’m sure he didn’t write the knight’s code. He’s just doing what he’s taught is right. Just like Renshai do. Just like everyone else does. You think your honor’s better. He thinks his is. I think you both limit yourselves too much, but no one bunch of people owns the truth.”

  Kevral did not agree; her loyalty to the Renshai and devotion to learning within her culture would not allow it. But she conceded Tae’s point about that for the moment. “So what’s changed? You teased him as much as I did before.”

  “I’m like that.” Tae untwined a stick from his hair. “I still enjoy bugging him, and I’ll probably keep doing it. But right now it’s getting in the way of our mission and breaking up the group. That’s not what’s best for any of us.”

  Matrinka veered, drawing her horse up beside Kevral’s and interfering with further private conversation. “What are you two talking about?” she asked with her usual politeness, but her tone revealed annoyance.

  Kevral smiled nervously. “Tae found something up ahead he wants me to look over.”

  “What is it?” Matrinka pressed.

  “Um . . .” Kevral did not have a ready answer. “He’s not sure yet. He wants me to help him figure things out.”

  Matrinka raised her brows, obviously not accepting the excuse. The overwhelming newness of travel and anxiety had caused her to take a passive role, just as politeness often did at home. Apparently, the attack had shaken her from her shell, and Kevral saw evidence of the sweet but stable princess she had guarded in Béarn. “You’re a bad liar, Kevralyn Tainharsdatter.”

  Irritation flared at the “lyn,” but Kevral suppressed it for the sake of a lame joke. “Lying’s not part of my training,” she said, uncomfortable hiding the truth from one she served and liked. She glanced at Tae who inclined his head to indicate he had no intention of assisting her.

  He followed with an explanation. “Don’t expect me to fix what you broke.”

  Darris and Ra-khir joined the others.

  Kevral resorted to truth, preferring not to mislead Matrinka, even for her own good. “He’s found the remains of a fight. Thinks it might be the envoy.”

  Matrinka’s mouth closed to a tight line, and color drained from her cheeks. Nevertheless, she maintained her composure. “We need to look.”

  Kevral glanced again at Tae, who shrugged, throwing the onus back onto her. She met Matrinka’s gaze next. “We thought maybe we could spare some of us from seeing the dead.”

  “Like me?” Matrinka guessed.

  That being the case, Kevral nodded.

  Matrinka sought confirmation from Tae who gave her a noncommittal gesture.

  “Thank you for your concern, but I can handle it. I’m a healer, remember? If there’s anyone who needs my help, I should be there.”

  Tae denied the possibility. “There’s no one alive. I’m sure of that.”

  The argument did not dissuade Matrinka. “Sometimes, it takes a healer to tell. At the least, I can certainly help find final rest for those I can’t tend.” She added emphatically, “And I don’t like the idea of splitting the party for any reason. Especially one as silly as sparing me from ugliness. I’m no innocent, naive heir. The staff-test already determined that.”

  Kevral sensed bitterness in Matrinka’s last point, but she kept the observation to herself.

  Tae accepted the change of plans without argument. “Very well, then. This way.” He headed into the lead again without looking back. The others followed closely.

  Ducking branches, bending spring growth, and trampling young vines and underbrush, the group worked a careful route to a packed earth road. Birds flitted ahead of them in the branches, occasionally calling sour notes to mark their progress. The announcements warned forest animals of human presences, keeping them well beyond sight and sound. The crash of hooves or paws through brush, night or day, made Kevral twitchy, so she appreciated the reprieve. Enemies would head toward them rather than flee, making the discrimination between natural and dangerous easier.

  Tae led his companions along the roadway for a time, a relief after nearly a week of breaking trail. Their need to remain unobtrusive had held them away from the more comfortable routes. Kevral had made certain that Tae kept them traveling always in an eastern and southern direction, as they had originally discussed. The sun and stars helped her with this task, though she h
ad no way to determine how far from trade routes he kept them. Now, she suspected, they probably spent most of their time paralleling the roadways.

  Tae took the party across the pathway and back into sparser woodlands on the opposite side. Though they had spent only a short time on the road, the switch back to trail-blazing drew a sigh from more than Kevral. Then, hooves, wheel ruts, and footprints drew her attention; and her own discomfort lost meaning. She could not mistake the evidence of a large group traveling with conveniences she did not know enough to miss. Surely, this could represent only the envoy or a wealthy merchant’s caravan.

  Kevral slipped toward the front of the party, immediately behind Tae. If it existed, danger would most likely come from whatever carnage lay ahead.

  Tae brushed first through the low branches blocking the deer trail that led to the fateful clearing. Kevral followed, shoving leaf-covered branches from her vision to reveal a mess of blood, bedding, and bodies for which Tae’s description had not prepared her. She froze, blocking those behind her from the sight, suddenly wishing she had been more persistent about sparing Matrinka from it.

  When Kevral did not move, Matrinka, Darris, and Ra-khir threaded around her, fanning into a quiet semicircle, locked into a silence that covered horror, shock, and rage. Broken, wheelless wagons lay sideways in the dirt, their Béarnian blue and tan unmistakable. Blankets slick with brown gore lay casually wrapped around or carelessly tossed over mottled corpses. No one spoke, but Ra-khir and Tae dismounted first, the former heading to the bodies with a stiff-legged gait that revealed grief and anger and the latter moving aside wreckage without outward emotion. Matrinka slid from her mount, saying something to Darris from which Kevral gleaned only “horses.” The bard’s heir tended to the animals while Matrinka hurried after Ra-khir.

  Steeling herself, Kevral searched for Renshai among the dead, aware two had accompanied Béarn’s second envoy. If they died in glorious combat, she would need to honor and celebrate their entrance into Valhalla. Otherwise, her religion allowed her to mourn their descent to icy Hel. Though unafraid, she investigated with trepidation. Her original glimpse had revealed many murdered in their sleep, and she hoped Renshai wariness had spared her people from this worst of all possible fates. Hoped, but dared not anticipate. From the corner of her eyes she watched her companions sort through corpses, identifying people and desperately searching for signs of life. Every one she saw bore evidence of a single, fatal injury delivered without warning or time for defense. And still, she searched for Renshai.