Beyond Ragnarok

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  “What changed that?”

  Kevral swirled the wine in her cup and studied the golden sparkles the sun drew in their wake. “Tolerance. I let understanding of others in, and I learned to love them. I still want his skill and insight—better! Over time, I’ll surpass him; and I’ll revel in the effort and the challenge. But I want to live my life and get to know the people in it.”

  Captain grinned again, his smiles so frequent Kevral did not know how to interpret them. But this time, his stance revealed genuine delight. “I’m as pleased to have talked with you as I was with Colbey. And nearly as surprised by the outcome.”

  The compliment warmed Kevral, and she returned his smile. Encouraged by the exchange, she took it one step farther. “With Colbey’s help, and yours, I’ve faced my blind spots. Now, I hope I can lead you to your own.”

  “Mine?” Captain laughed. “I’m many thousands of years old, and I’ve spent whole millennia more alone than in company. Do you not think I’ve had more time than I can stand exploring my thoughts?”

  “I know only what I’ve heard and seen: an elf staunchly defending change as a savior for humans yet discarding it for the elves he claims to love. I’ve listened to you embrace the cause of personal freedom yet deny individuality for your own.”

  Captain smoothed his tunic and britches against the wind. “Elves are different than humans. The same rules do not apply.” He opened his mouth to say more, then shook his head sadly. “I can’t explain in an evening what it took me centuries to understand.”

  Kevral quoted Colbey, “Age, by itself, doesn’t make a man clever. Elders only become wiser if they seek experience and wisdom.”

  “What are you saying?” Captain set his goblet down, clearly offended.

  “I’m saying that if you’ve truly explored a matter to its finest details, you should be able to sort the significant from the extraneous. An expert can teach in an evening what it took him years of study and experience to learn.”

  “You’re tough,” Captain admitted.

  “I modeled myself after a competent Renshai.”

  “And quite effectively.”

  “You’re avoiding the topic.” Kevral remained relentless. The lives of all mankind might depend on it.

  “I hope it will suffice for me to say that change has brought only harm to the elves. They fell prey to human bitterness, and it may destroy them. Had the elves remained as they were, we could have lived happily on our own, with or without interaction with humans.”

  “So elves have already changed.” Kevral set her goblet beside his.

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “And you want them to revert back.”

  “Not necessarily,” Captain defended his position. “Change isn’t always bad, of course. I just don’t agree with the direction our race is taking now.”

  “But you won’t stand against those currently in power, the ones dragging your people in a dangerous direction.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You mean you won’t.”

  “I can’t,” Captain reaffirmed. And there, at the same impasse, the conversation ended.

  * * *

  Through the long night, the party sat on the aft deck discussing strategy while Captain manned the tiller. The ocean became a flat black expanse, and the Sea Seraph bobbed on otherwise invisible swells. Moonlight glittered off the water churned up by the ship’s movement, leaving a long spray, like diamonds, in their wake. Captain answered questions and entered comments about how the elves would respond to various approaches. Kevral established that they lived on an island undiscovered by humans, probably because of its location. Those with enough money for ships would have no cause to search off the coast of a barren wasteland. Captain claimed two hundred and thirty elves inhabited the island, of which, strangely, only six were children.

  Captain described the general layout of the village. The elves lived in three communal buildings of flimsy and temporary construction. They had learned architecture from spying on human dwellings with magic, which gave them little understanding of basic framework and structuring. Before they came to man’s world, elves had lived without weather, insects, or violence. They had needed no shelters on Alfheim. The prison stood in the center of the triangle formed by the dwellings, and a fence surrounded all four.

  Having learned all of that, the party discussed methods for dealing with the elves and their magic. Captain’s clarity disappeared when he detailed the latter. “There are no specific things they can or cannot do with magic. It comes of shaping chaos, and elfin society leans farther toward chaos than humans’ anyway. We act as a unit, so there is no need for laws. Since long before my birth, magic simply was a part of us. We never used it in a structured manner, only to enhance our play. We never tried to control it.”

  Captain’s marblelike eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “I worked for the Cardinal Wizards. They fashioned spells only rarely, turning chaos into a power for law. Using chaos in this manner always created unintentional side effects, some of which proved more dangerous than the reason for casting. That’s why the Wizards rarely used any but the most basic powers, those magics their bodies tuned to naturally. The elves have taken to casting as a unit, a jovinay arythanik. As the magic channels through the group, each controls that part of the spell most closely attuned to him. The use of an assemblage adds size and power, too. It allows us to work more difficult spells without those side effects that so limited the Wizards. A single elf may or may not be able to cast spells, and power varies with the individual. The danger lies in their collective chanting.”

  Tae stood with a hand on the aft rail, his face hidden by dark hair and shadow. “I’ve experienced their magic and their chant. It’s not pleasant.”

  Kevral recalled Tae’s description of the incident on Pudar’s streets. “How can we fight magic if we have none of our own?”

  No answers followed. Even Captain offered no solution. Kevral’s mind conjured one. She needed to stop the chanting before the casting. She imagined her sword dancing through lines of elves, and the image soothed frustration momentarily. A solution that seemed best to her would serve only as last resort. She had promised Captain and, ultimately, Colbey Calistinsson.

  Matrinka finally broke the hush. She sat on the deck, Mior in her lap, and stroked the cat until its hair stood on end. “If we parlay well, we’ll have no need to counter magic.”

  To Kevral it seemed a naive answer, but Ra-khir and Darris nodded thoughtfully in response. From there, the conversation turned to approaches. Each time a party member proposed a method of bargaining, Captain described the effect it would have on the elves. He returned possible replies that ranged from polite refusal to attack, but not one of the possibilities suggested seemed adequate.

  Kevral disappeared from the discussion after the first two recommendations. Her mind turned to the violence the others avoided. No matter how hard they tried to find a peaceful solution, they failed. The elves would not compromise, and they could not afford to do so. Eventually, she felt certain, it would all come to war.

  As the night wore on, first fatigue, then total exhaustion, overtook the party. Matrinka surrendered first, excusing herself politely to go below decks and sleep. Tae followed shortly after, and even Darris could not keep his eyes open. After falling asleep twice on the deck, and with obvious reluctance, he sacrificed the chance to learn more and dragged himself to the cabin. Ra-khir’s stamina impressed Kevral. His knight’s training had included formal bargaining and negotiation, but even his flowery words proved no match for the hostility of the elves Captain imitated. Soon, Ra-khir, too, fell prey to weariness and went below.

  Gradually, through the night, Kevral had channeled energy from body to mind. Even so, the edges of her thoughts dulled, and the image of the cots in the Sea Seraph’s impossibly large cabin beckoned. She yawned. “Elves don’t sleep, do they?”

  “Some do now,” Captain returned softly. “But I don’t.”

  Kevral yawne
d again, trying desperately to remain awake and cursing herself for not leaving with Matrinka. She had added little to the exchange, and exhaustion tended to deepen sleep, making guarding more difficult. “Well, I do. Thanks for all your help, but I have to go now.”

  “Wait,” Captain said softly.

  Kevral let her eyes sink closed, but she remained in place.

  “I’m going to tell you something in strict confidence. Can you keep it that way?”

  “Yes,” Kevral managed, too tired to speculate.

  “Imagine for a moment that Renshai glory came from dying of age rather than in battle.”

  Kevral shook her head, forcing her eyes open a crack. “You’re asking the impossible.”

  “All right.” Captain changed tack as easily with words as he did with his ship. “Imagine then that the Renshai were keeping a man hostage, not realizing that doing so heralded their own doom. You, alone, of the Renshai understand, but the others won’t listen to you.”

  Though difficult, Kevral believed she could handle that rhetorical situation. “Imagined.”

  “You agree to bring a group of elves to your people in the hope that they can free the prisoner.”

  Without opening her eyes, Kevral snorted. “I’m not that tired. I see the resemblance to your situation.”

  “Bear with me. I’m not finished.” Captain hesitated a moment, presumably gathering his thoughts to build the proper analogy. “Time is running short. Exploration of all possibilities reveals two effective methods: Either the elves can wade in and battle Renshai to the death.”

  Kevral smiled.

  “Or they can cast a spell that puts all the Renshai to sleep, then kill them one by one.”

  That last sparked an anger that lent Kevral a second wind. Her eyes shot open, and the wreckage of the envoy filled her memory. She relived the grief and the fiery hatred against the cowards who had killed Renshai, knights, and Béarnides in their sleep, without a chance for Valhalla. “I would tell them that that choice is no choice. Renshai must die in combat.”

  “And if they chose the latter method?”

  Kevral’s eyes narrowed again, this time due to emotion, not exhaustion. “I would have no choice but to attack the elves. And kill them all, if I could.”

  Captain took a stride that placed him directly in front of Kevral. No joy touched his features anymore. Even the smile wrinkles seemed to disappear. “That is the position you may place me into.”

  Alarm flashed through Kevral, dampened into a shiver by fatigue. “I don’t understand.”

  “This is the part you are not to repeat to anyone. For, if humans know it, they may use it against my people. Swear by Colbey it goes no further than you.”

  Kevral would not allow the conversation to end there. “So sworn.”

  “When an elf dies of age, his soul is free to be reused, and an elfin child is born to replace him. If he dies violently, his soul dies with him. Kevral, every elf who dies at your hand brings us one step nearer to extinction. In all my millennia, I have never killed for any reason. Not humans. Not animals. Not insects. I’ve lived on man’s world most of my life, as a servant to Wizards. I don’t need chants to work my magic. If you force my hand against you, believe me, you’ll die in neither glory nor battle. A cause that so needs you, the one Colbey placed into the hands of you and your friends, will die with you.”

  Kevral blinked in thoughtful silence, separating emotion from fatigue. She could not help prizing his spirit as well as his honor, though it vastly differed from her own. Few had the courage to stand within a sword stroke of a Renshai and threaten her life, and most of those were spurred by stupidity rather than boldness. Respect for the elf blossomed in an instant. Colbey had always admired boldness, in his students, his friends, and his enemies. Kevral found herself as pleased by it as her hero. She could not help quoting him, “There is more to Renshai than killing.”

  “That’s true,” Captain said. “But diplomacy isn’t one of those other skills.”

  Kevral shrugged. “I’ve got friends with me better trained in parlay, but I don’t believe words will convince the elves.” She added deliberately, “And you don’t believe it either.”

  “I believe,” Captain said slowly, “that you’ll have to find those words. The fate of the world, including that of elves, hangs on freeing Béarn’s heir. But saving the rest of the world means nothing if the elves are already dead.”

  Kevral tried to think, struggling through the thick blanket of weariness. Discovering a loophole, she clung to it. “You left out one option in your imagined scenario. I might have allowed the elves to put the Renshai to sleep if it meant they slipped past, did their work, and left my people alive.”

  “I thought of that.” Captain returned to the tiller, making a minor adjustment. “It’s not a perfect analogy.”

  Kevral found a near equivalent. “If words fail and if we’re forced to face off with the elves . . .”

  Captain shook his head.

  “Hear me out,” Kevral persisted. “If I could get the elves out of commission without killing them, would you allow that?”

  Captain went still, wind ruffling strands of mahogany hair, revealing glimmers of gold and silver among the fine locks. “You could do that?” It was as much statement as question.

  Kevral did not know for certain. Knocking humans unconscious required a finesse most could not achieve. Differences in human constitution foiled even the most skilled. A head blow that enraged one man might kill another. She felt confident of her ability to disarm, but surrounded by enemies, the instinct to dispatch them might thwart her attempts to harmlessly keep them at bay. It might not prove beyond her patience to parry killing strokes and not return any of her own, but it might prove beyond her ability to fight two hundred and thirty without a single fatality. “I can try.” She studied the elf’s delicate frame and features doubtfully. “I don’t suppose there’s much room for error when it comes to sapping without killing elves.”

  Captain laughed. “Elfin fortitude might surprise you. We don’t get sick, we don’t grow feeble with age, and we don’t die by accident. I’ve seen elves fall from trees onto their heads, then sit up and join the laughter. Brenna gave Dh’arlo’mé’s torturer a hit that would have fractured a human’s skull.”

  Excitement helped Kevral hold hovering exhaustion at bay. “Then we’re agreed. If words don’t work, we’ll try non-lethal attacks.” She met Captain’s strange, amber eyes. “If I promise to do my Renshai best to kill no elves, will you accept it if one or two die?”

  Captain stiffened. “Not well, but it won’t be automatic grounds for slaughtering all of you.”

  Kevral suspected she would get no better compromise. Sleep beckoned urgently, but one detail still bothered her. “Who is this Brenna you’ve mentioned twice?”

  Captain’s fingers tightened on the tiller, and he looked taken aback. “Are there so many Renshai you no longer know one another by name?”

  “Brenna is a Renshai?” Kevral did not bother to address the query directly.

  “And a prisoner. About this tall.” Captain indicated the level of his nose. “Yellow-brown hair. Gray eyes.” He considered, probably seeking other details that might differentiate her from other Renshai rather than other humans. “Taken from amidst a group of Béarnides just outside the city on the Road of Kings.”

  Kevral put the whole together. “That’s Rantire! She’s alive?” She cringed, sharing Rantire’s shame. No Renshai would allow herself to become a living prisoner, although the elves’ magic surely explained the lapse better than cowardice.

  “Last I knew. I’m not exactly sure how much time’s passed since my banishment. Weeks to my reckoning which usually corresponds to months in yours.”

  Someday, Kevral hoped she would have the time and alertness for an explanation of that oddity. “Are there other prisoners?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Kevral yawned. “I’m sorry. I’d love to talk all night. But
if I don’t get some sleep, I’ll be worthless tomorrow.”

  Captain’s blank mask revealed nothing of his thoughts, though having placed herself in his position once that night, she guessed at the ideas taking shape in his head. Likely, he saw the positive side to her exhaustion. It meant security for his people. With that in mind, his words amazed her. “Sleep, then. If promises mean as much to you as they do to Colbey, and I believe they do, I’ll trust my loved ones to your judgment.”

  Kevral stood, rooted in place. She recognized a compliment as significant as an “excellent swordsmanship” from Colbey. Yet fatigue blocked her ability to appropriately acknowledge his charity. “I won’t betray you,” she promised.

  And meant it.

  Chapter 44

  Nualfheim

  The victor is the one left standing after the battle.

  —Colbey Calistinsson

  Tae Kahn awakened to darkness. The lantern in the Sea Seraph’s cabin had burned out, but his internal clock told him midday approached. He listened for his companions, identifying them from the familiar patterns of their breathing. They all slept.

  Tae lay still on the floor, seeking seams of light and adjusting his vision to them. Gradually, he gained enough sight to distinguish shapes. Matrinka and Kevral used cots, Mior curled at her mistress’ feet. Darris and Ra-khir had settled on the floor, leaving the last of the cots free rather than appear impolite. Tae stretched muscles cramped by the hard, wooden floorboards and rubbed at the impressions the wadded blanket had left on his face. He had chosen his place on the floor, believing himself most accustomed to the discomfort of sleeping without a bed. Had he known they would waste his generosity, he would have spent the night in comfort.

  Quietly, Tae rose and dressed, without awakening his companions. He climbed the steps to the hatch and pushed it open. Sunlight funneled through the gap and struck his eyes, blinding him. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, he clambered onto the deck and replaced the hatch. The sun had drifted almost overhead, sheening from the handrails and illuminating sheet clamps among the riggings. Tae glanced upward. The mast would prove an easy climb, barely worth his effort, but he felt safer in high places. People tended to look down or at eye level. Few bothered to learn to scale anything more challenging than a ladder. Treetops and roofs had occasionally proved a haven for Tae in his youth.