Beyond Ragnarok

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Kevral sheathed her swords even as Matrinka emerged from the sickroom to answer the summons her engrossed companions had ignored.

  Matrinka pulled open the door to reveal three men dressed in the tan uniforms of Pudar’s guardsmen and a fourth in dirty homespun. The guards appeared robust, muscles defined against linen tunics. One had sandy hair that fell to his shoulders, and the other two had darker locks in shorter cuts. One sported a beard and mustache. The fourth man seemed the piece that jarred. His black hair and swarthy features evoked images of Béarn, but he lacked the usual bulk. He wore a beard but no mustache. “That’s them,” he said before the door swung fully open.

  Kevral smoothed her hair back into place and wiped away dribbles of sweat from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Ra-khir examined the newcomers.

  Matrinka curtsied a polite welcome. “Good day, sirs. What can we do for you?”

  The mustached man glanced at Kevral and Ra-khir but addressed Matrinka. “Are you the companions of an Easterner by the name of Tae Kahn?”

  “Why, yes. Yes, we are,” Matrinka replied before Kevral could think to stop her or say otherwise. A frown deeply scored Ra-khir’s face, but he did not contradict Béarn’s princess.

  The guard made a wordless noise deep in his throat. “Are you relatives?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Matrinka responded, glancing at her friends.

  Ra-khir took over, apparently concerned about the information Matrinka might naively reveal. “Certainly not, good sir. He’s an orphan.” As politeness demanded, he answered the question before launching into the proper introduction that should have occurred first. “My name is Ra-khir—”

  “And I’m Kevral.” The Renshai jumped in before Ra-khir could continue his lengthy title. The recognition of a Knight of Erythane in Pudar would spark questions that might jeopardize their mission. “I’m afraid Ra-khir and Tae never got along very well.”

  Ra-khir opened his mouth again, and Kevral cringed at the thought that his honor might drive him to finish his name regardless of the conversation’s turn.

  But Ra-khir apparently accepted Kevral’s less than subtle hint. “Is Tae in some sort of trouble?”

  Kevral pursed her lips, as committed as Ra-khir to making certain Tae’s trouble did not become their own.

  The guard’s features hardened, and his pale eyes flicked from Kevral to Matrinka to Ra-khir. “He killed the heir to Pudar’s throne. Is that enough trouble for you?”

  Stunned silent, Ra-khir did not answer.

  Matrinka’s expression went from openly startled to bunched and skeptical in a moment. “Oh, no,” she said with amazing calm under the circumstances. “A terrible mistake has been made. Tae would never do such a thing.”

  Kevral did not feel nearly so certain of their onetime companion’s innocence. A chill traversed her. She knew little of Pudar’s law, but she guessed she and her companions would need to choose their words and actions with care. Matrinka’s candidness and Ra-khir’s honor required a monitoring Kevral did not feel qualified to handle, at least not without some prior discussion about control. “As you can see, we’ve got a mixed group here.” Explaining the oddity seemed a better strategy than trying to pretend it did not exist. She looked fair enough to pass for a Northerner, and Ra-khir’s features and coloring could come of any Western background. Matrinka typified Béarn. “We decided to travel the world and thought it best to have a well-rounded team. We didn’t have an Easterner, so we hitched up with Tae. He didn’t work out, though, so we left him behind way back in the woods.” She gestured vaguely southwest. “We didn’t even know he was here in town.” Kevral glanced at her companions for confirmation.

  Matrinka said nothing. Ra-khir frowned, presumably to register his disapproval of Kevral’s lie, but he did nod once to indicate the appropriateness of her last statement.

  One of the guards made a wordless noise, and all three exchanged glances. The Easterner accompanying them shook his head gently to and fro, a glower scoring his features.

  Kevral studied the Pudarian who had, thus far, done all of the talking. Impatient and feeling persecuted, she concentrated on keeping her hands away from her swords.

  Ra-khir cleared his throat, and Kevral stiffened at what he might say. “Good sir, we’re extremely and truly saddened by the news of the crown prince’s demise. We’re horrified that we might have once known the assassin. We will, of course, assist you in any way possible. But we and Tae parted company some time ago. What exactly can we do for you?”

  The onus returned to the guards, and Kevral studied them for evidence of threat. Their tenseness had been apparent from the start, but she saw no specific movements to indicate impending violence. Suddenly, she appreciated Ra-khir’s breeding. He had phrased the matter well, better than she could have hoped to do; and he ended with the very question plaguing her.

  The mustached guard spoke again. “We thought those who knew him might find a reason for such senseless brutality. And we need to find the killer’s relations. There’s blood price to pay.”

  The request seemed reasonable to Kevral, but she still believed it best to discuss the matter privately with her companions before trying to assert their ignorance. She seized on the ensuing silence to find an excuse. “Tae tended to talk more when he was with only one other person. Perhaps Matrinka, Ra-khir, and I can piece together the things he told each of us. Among us, we may find out where he came from and where his relations live. But I don’t think we can do that with people standing over us.” She raised her brows slowly, giving the others time to digest her words. “Could you come back in a day or so?”

  The guards withdrew for discussion. Kevral examined the Easterner in their absence, but he avoided her gaze. Before she could contemplate why, the guards returned. “Be at the castle by sundown, and don’t go anywhere else in the meantime. Until such time as the king decides, you may not leave Pudar.”

  Anger boiled up in Kevral, and she tasted acid. She tensed, prepared to express her opinion of their ultimatum in words she would surely regret.

  Sensing Kevral’s rage, Ra-khir spoke first. “Thank you, good sirs. We will do as you say.” He bowed.

  The guards returned the formality, and one opened the door.

  Before they could leave, however, Matrinka voiced her concern. “You don’t need us all to come to the castle, do you? We have a sick friend who needs tending, so one of us must stay here.”

  The speaker of the guards bowed again, this time toward Matrinka. “One or two will do. So long as the others don’t leave town.” Without further exchange, they headed outside. Matrinka closed the door behind them.

  Kevral waited only until the latch clicked before releasing pent-up breath in a furious hiss. “How dare they tell me where I can and can’t go!”

  Ra-khir rolled his eyes. “That’s just formality.” The words sounded odd from one dedicating his life to similar formalities, equally idiotic to Kevral’s thinking. “I knew Tae would get us in trouble.” He added thoughtfully, “You don’t suppose he did this to get back at us, do you?”

  Kevral’s laugh shattered the tension that had filled the room since the arrival of the Pudarian guards. “Of course he did. He was mad at us, so he decided to murder someone we don’t know and guarantee himself a slow, painful death. That’ll teach us a lesson.”

  “It’s not funny!” Matrinka shouted, her voice pained and tearful. Her uncharacteristic loudness silenced both of her companions, and Mior peered into the room from her vigil at Darris’ bedside. “A man is dead. A prince. That alone is reason for somberness.”

  Kevral lowered her head, ashamed.

  “Now,” Matrinka continued. “I know Tae didn’t kill the crown prince of Pudar. I think you both realize it, too.”

  Kevral considered Matrinka’s words. Mior padded to her mistress and rubbed against her legs. Ra-khir gently took Matrinka’s hand. “My lady, I know it’s hard to imagine someone we once considered a friend doing something so horrible. B
ut we all know Tae is capable of evil.”

  Matrinka did not back down. “We’re all capable of evil. But Tae didn’t kill the crown prince of Pudar.”

  Matrinka’s resolute certainty intrigued Kevral. “How do you know that?”

  “It’s not in his nature.”

  Ra-khir sighed, obviously daunted by the need to demonstrate a bad side invisible to his more innocent companion.

  “I think it is,” Kevral returned simply.

  “That’s because you think we parted ways with Tae when Ra-khir sent him away,” Matrinka announced cryptically, hefting Mior.

  The implications intrigued Kevral. She kept Matrinka too closely under watch for clandestine meetings with an exiled companion. “We didn’t?” Kevral asked carefully.

  Matrinka stroked Mior, shifting to give the cat access to her shoulders. “Who do you think has been buying our food? Why do you think the fruit-seller has been so generous? Where do you think the money we keep happening upon comes from?”

  “Luck?” Ra-khir tried. “Coincidence?”

  “Maybe,” Kevral said, the amount of both generous for chance but certainly not impossible. Until now, she had accepted good fortune as fact and considered little else.

  “Tae.” Matrinka answered her own question the way neither of her companions would.

  The last of Kevral’s anger dispersed, leaving a bitter aftertaste.

  Ra-khir furrowed his brow. “I think you’re making assumptions here. There are more plausible explanations.”

  Although engaged in conversation with her companions, Matrinka kept her attention on Mior. She fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable. She stiffened suddenly, clearly making a difficult decision, and her jaw set. Now, she met Ra-khir’s gaze directly. “There are other explanations, but they are wrong. Tae has been helping us. It is simply the truth. And a man who anonymously assists those who abandoned him would not murder a prince . . . at least not without just cause.”

  The sureness of Matrinka’s proclamation resisted denial. Not even vague doubt tinged her tone. Only the most devout priests could match the strength of those words, their faith a steady flame that could resist the tempest of uncertainty. A chill invaded Kevral. “You talk as if you saw these things.”

  “I didn’t,” Matrinka admitted. “But Mior did.”

  Kevral froze, torn between pity and laughter. Ra-khir’s brows rose, but he covered all other reaction with masterful ease.

  “Yes, I know it sounds silly. And, yes, I know you don’t believe me. But Mior watches, and she tells me what she sees.”

  “We believe you,” Kevral said carefully.

  “No, you don’t,” Matrinka denied the possibility with an insightfulness that did not suit the absurdity of her previous claim. “You don’t believe me, but I can prove it. And I will.”

  “That’s not necessary.” Ra-khir looked sidelong at Kevral, his glance suggesting the need for caution. Obviously, he also believed the stress of their mission, combined with Darris’ injury and the current situation, had proved too much for Matrinka’s sanity.

  “It is necessary,” Matrinka insisted. “Without proof, you may humor me, but you won’t truly believe. Tae needs your faith.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Kevral asked, knowing Matrinka too well to believe her capable of a trick, yet too linked to reality to trust such a story.

  “You can test it however you want,” Matrinka said. “If you work out the details, you’re more likely to believe the results.” She scratched Mior’s ears and under the chin while the cat purred.

  Ra-khir cleared his throat. “Just hearing her say something would be enough for me.” He seemed uncomfortable with even acknowledging Matrinka’s suggestion.

  Kevral nodded agreement.

  Matrinka sighed. “She doesn’t talk out loud. It’s a mental thing. And it’s not in exactly specific words, either. It’s hard to explain. The best test would be to have me leave the room. You do or say something in front of Mior, and I’ll tell you about it.”

  “Oh,” Ra-khir said. “Well.” He looked at Kevral.

  Kevral obliged. “How about if I whisper a number in your ear and Mior taps out the right amount with her paw?”

  “Back paw,” Ra-khir added.

  “All right,” Matrinka said with apparent reticence. “But that’s awfully easy. You might be more convinced by something complicated.”

  “That’ll do,” Kevral insisted, seeing no reason to humiliate Matrinka in a grand fashion.

  “Yes, it will,” Ra-khir affirmed.

  Matrinka helped the calico down from her shoulder. “Mior, go sit in one of the corners near the door.” She resisted the urge to point the way, but Mior still padded to the indicated position.

  Though impressed by the cat’s obedience, Kevral made no judgments yet. She had seen many dogs who complied with more complex commands, though her limited experience with cats suggested they were not so easily trained. She approached Matrinka and whispered “seven” into her ear.

  Matrinka did not bother to face Mior. The cat tapped out seven beats with a hind paw, then calmly sat and cleaned her whiskers.

  Kevral stared in silent wonder.

  Matrinka turned to Ra-khir. “Want a try?”

  “All right,” he said slowly and came to Matrinka’s side. He hissed something Kevral could not hear.

  Again, Matrinka did not bother to look at the animal, though a small smile crept onto her face. Mior delicately raised and lowered the back paw twice then lifted it and kept it dangling. Her yellow eyes fixed directly on Ra-khir, and she wore an almost human expression of impatient questioning.

  Ra-khir made a noise to indicate both awe and satisfaction. “Two and a half. Who’d have believed it?” He stepped away from Matrinka to take a stand at Kevral’s side. “Tell her she can put it down now.”

  Mior delicately lowered her foot to the floor, then sat expectantly.

  Matrinka frowned. Since she had obviously convinced Ra-khir, Kevral guessed her reaction was aimed at the cat, apparently in response to something unspoken.

  “What did she say?” Kevral asked, skepticism turning to curiosity.

  “It wasn’t polite,” Matrinka admitted. “She doesn’t understand human needs sometimes, but she’s willing to appease them. At least yours. Now, what are we going to do about Tae?”

  Mior rose, stretched with dignity, then trotted out of the room, presumably to tend Darris again.

  Kevral watched her go, still puzzling over the cat after the subject had changed to more pressing matters. “For one so intelligent, she doesn’t even acknowledge us.”

  Matrinka looked after her pet as she disappeared through the door. “She’s a cat, not a four-legged human. She’s better with emotions than words. And she can’t count well, by the way. I had to help her.”

  Kevral remained silent, still marveling at a form of communication she had dismissed as nonsense moments ago.

  Ra-khir pushed red hair from his forehead and away from his eyes. “From talking to Tae, I’m not sure if he’s an orphan or not. He never said for sure. But I’m still not as convinced as you about his innocence.”

  Kevral sucked air through her nose and let it out slowly through her teeth, an adjunct to a relaxation technique that served as part of her Renshai training. Focusing on Mior, and Matrinka’s strange relationship with the cat, had allowed her to shove aside consideration of Tae for a few moments. Dread trickled through her, sending her heart into a wild thumping that pounded in her head. Matrinka’s stunt had reestablished a relationship Kevral had forced from her mind for more than a month. The vilified version of Tae that her thoughts had drawn crumbled. She pictured the quick, dark eyes that seemed to catch everything and the black hair worn too long. Unkempt and unruly, it gave him a look of danger reinforced by features full of life and intelligence. “I believe he may be innocent. I want to hear his side of the story. And the other side, for that matter.”

  Ra-khir’s green eyes roved over Kevral
’s features, as if to read past her words. “Perhaps it would be best, then, if you went to the castle. I will accompany you, if you wish.”

  Kevral took another deep breath then shook her head. “Matrinka and I will go.”

  Matrinka opened her mouth as if to protest, then glanced at Kevral and closed it again. Even through the weeks of restless waiting and worry over Darris, Kevral had never allowed Matrinka to go farther alone than into the other room of their rented cottage. “All right,” she finally said.

  Ra-khir nodded once, without protest. He had long ago learned the futility of arguing with Kevral when it came to matters of Matrinka’s welfare. “Be careful,” he admonished. “And look to Matrinka for appropriate decorum in the castle.”

  Kevral shrugged off the insult. She had spent enough time in Béarn’s keep with her charge to understand, as well as despise, the formalities of royalty. She retired to Darris’ room to change clothes and ready herself, drawing energy together for a discussion that might try her nerves to the point of breaking. She promised herself she would keep her mind open, listen to all the facts, and avoid making judgments based on emotion. If the proof convinced her of Tae’s guilt, she would lobby for a painless execution. If she became certain of his innocence, she would fight a desperate battle for his freedom, if necessary. He would not die a silent scapegoat of a tragedy not of his making. Kevral would see to that. And only her need to guard a princess of Béarn would take precedence.

  * * *

  Pudar’s cool air and empty streets seemed a pleasure to Kevral after far too much time cooped up in a cottage while Matrinka tended her wounded charge. Curtains shivered aside as they passed, and people tracked their progress down cobbled streets filthy with foot tracks and chipped by the wheels of merchant carts. Pyrite and quartz glimmered like tiny stars in the cobbles, a detail the hordes of shoppers had obliterated in the past. Guards marched along the through-ways at intervals, their tan uniforms, weapons, and sharp demeanors unmistakable. These studied the pair of women headed toward the castle, then ignored them or nodded an acknowledgment of their right to traipse the streets at a time all others were held at bay.