“I’ll do my best.” Colbey winked. “But only because you asked.”
Captain did not share the humor. “If it’s possible, you’ll manage.”
A moment later, Colbey disappeared, and a mood hung in the wake of Captain’s words. For the first time in over three hundred years, he was clearly worried about Colbey’s ability to handle the problem. And, Kevral believed, Colbey shared that concern.
CHAPTER 4
Alone Again
Always the last
Even your die is cast
Your skill at my side in the War.
—Odin to Colbey Calistinsson
AT the edge of Béarn’s woods, Kevral wove and pranced, swords carving crisp arcs and spirals. For nearly an hour, the svergelse had occupied every part of her mind and imagination. Her subconscious had registered the movements of Tae and Subikahn nearby but rejected them as harmless. Though she had watched them much of the time, she could not recall anything except the violent prayer she had offered to the god and goddess of Renshai. She launched into a final sequence, a savage flurry of thrust, twist, and charge, ending with a high, spinning kick and slash designed for combat against horsemen. Landing, she ended the session, exertion leaving her panting but enlivening her spirit.
Kevral hauled a rag from her pocket. She wiped cloudy condensation and streaks of splattered sweat from the steel, oiled the blades, soaped the split leather grips, and returned them to their sheaths. Brushing aside strands of hair plastered to her forehead, tugging her plain tan tunic and breeks back into place, she headed toward the spread blanket where she had left the babies and their fathers.
Late-autumn sunlight gleamed from Subikahn’s slick, black hair. He sat alone, propped against a twiggy branch, hands pressed together. His dark eyes glimmered, and his lips pursed into pudgy creases.
Finding her not quite four-month-old untended, Kevral suffered a twinge of annoyance that swiftly rose to anger. She hurried toward the child, cheeks hot, red, and slick with sweat.
Before Kevral arrived, Tae emerged from the tree shadows. “So you see, little hunter, darker . . .” He caught sight of Kevral. “. . . khafarat teh hirot pithrikent.”
All of the rage rushed from Kevral in an instant, and she smiled. “I wish you’d stop doing that.” She wiped moist palms on her breeks.
Tae hefted Subikahn, tickling the tiny belly. The baby giggled, then loosed a high-pitched squeal. “I’m just doing what Thialnir asked. Teaching stealth maneuvers.”
“I was talking about the two of you switching into Eastern every time you don’t want me to hear.” Kevral winked to show she was joking. “It’s gotten to the point where I don’t understand anything he says.”
“Me either.” Tae hugged Subikahn, and the baby seized a handful of his father’s hair. “I assumed he was speaking Renshai.” The speed of his speech increased, revealing excitement. “Do you know there’s a Renshai technique called brunstil?” The word literally meant “brown and still,” and Kevral had learned it years ago. “Learned from barbarians.” He attempted to lower the baby. As the tension increased on his hair, he stopped, wincing.
Kevral pulled the rag from her pocket and mopped her face. Dropping it onto the blanket, she unwound Tae’s locks from Subikahn’s grip. “How do you know that?”
Tae waited until Kevral freed him before skittering beyond sword range. “I could tell you, but you’d probably have to kill me.” He tossed Subikahn gently, catching him amid a startled baby laugh.
Kevral worried only a moment for the Renshai’s secrets. She recalled the sage’s paranoid precautions and the file Tae had stolen from his tower. No information was safe from the Eastern prince. “Climbing Béarn’s castle. Endangering my child. Baiting Renshai.” She shook her head. “You used to have a survival instinct.”
“I still do.” Tae shrugged. “I’ve just learned to ignore it.” Holding Subikahn near his face, he added something in Eastern that included a slight incline of his head toward Kevral.
“Hey. Isn’t it the parents who’re supposed to have a language the children don’t understand?” Even as the words left her lips, Kevral wished she had not spoken them, a cruel reminder that Tae did not live with his son.
But Tae took the comment in stride. “Pick one,” he said.
Kevral laughed. As a Renshai, she learned her native and the closely related Northern tongue. Like all Westerners, and most Easterners and Northmen, she knew the common trading language. She had deliberately taken up Western, Erythane’s native speech, as well. She had met Ra-khir while trying to refine the dialectal nuances, a perfectionist at everything she attempted. Aside from Renshai, which the tribe never shared with ganim, Tae knew all the languages she did plus Béarnese and his native Eastern. She wondered how long it would be before he picked up enough Renshai from his son to enrage the tribal leaders.
The pounding of hoofbeats interrupted Kevral’s thoughts. She glanced up as Tae unconsciously melted back amid the shadows, Subikahn’s fusses and coos giving away his position.
A moment later, a massive white stallion galloped into view, hooves drumming the leaf-strewn ground in solid, patterned beats. Its coat gleamed. Spotless blue-and-gold ribbons streamed from mane and tail. A wide bridle with decorative conches set off the wide brow and graceful, triangular head. Ra-khir rode at a dignified crouch that placed his weight solidly over its withers. His hair fluttered, entwined with his cape. As he drew closer, Kevral recognized the red flush of exhilaration on his cheeks and the baby lashed with two blankets to his chest.
Ra-khir reined in the charger a safe distance from Kevral. The animal’s powerful legs brought them to a rapid stop; and it stood attentively, ears briskly forward and neck delicately arched. Ra-khir leaped from the saddle, one arm further supporting Saviar. The baby lay limp inside the pack, one arm trailing down the front, head flopped forward, and honey-colored hair with a hint of red dribbling down his forehead.
Flipping the reins over the horse’s head, Ra-khir approached Kevral. “I’ve found the secret to getting the boys to sleep.” He waved in the general direction of the stallion. “Works better than ten lullabies.”
Kevral smiled. “If only we could get the horse to fit in their cradles.” She gave him an affectionate thump on the shoulder.
Ra-khir caught Kevral into an embrace, careful not to crush the baby. “Frost Reaver’s unbelievable. I still can’t believe Colbey left him with us. Or that my father let me ride him.”
Kevral ran her hands along her husband’s back, loving the solid feel of him. She did not savor too long, however, worried for Tae’s feelings. “Why not? Colbey let you ride him.” During their quest to locate and restore Griff, Kevral had suffered a poisoned arrow. Seeking an antidote, Ra-khir had ridden desperately through enemies, and Colbey had provided Frost Reaver for the mission. “The other knights let grooms and stable hands handle their mounts. You rarely do. Who better to exercise an immortal’s horse?”
Ra-khir returned to Frost Reaver, rubbing a hand across the sweat-darkened fur of its chest.
“Were we expecting company?” Tae asked from the opposite side of the animal.
Kevral followed Tae’s gaze to three dots appearing from the direction of the castle. Her brow furrowed. “Who do you suppose?” Her hands drifted naturally to her hilts, though she anticipated no trouble.
Ra-khir glanced at Saviar, then turned Frost Reaver to face the approaching figures. He remained at the stallion’s head, reins loose in his gloved fist. Tae placed Subikahn back into his makeshift chair and returned to join the others. By then, Kevral could make out three horses with riders, two brown and the other as broad and white as Frost Reaver. The rider of the latter wore a plumed hat, and an indigo blanket trimmed with gold tassels fluttered beneath the saddle.
“A knight.” Ra-khir absently placed a hand against Saviar’s back, attention still fixed on the horsemen.
Recognizing her misplaced caution, Kevral removed her hands from her weapons. Gradually, the rid
ers grew from shapeless blurs to definitive forms. The rigid male on the charger could represent any Knight of Erythane. A Béarnide rode in the center, the lack of a mane revealing her as a female. The last sported the slighter figure of a non-Béarnide Westerner.
“Matrinka.” Tae recognized first.
Ra-khir stiffened, shuffling his tangled locks with his fingers and pressing wrinkles from his clothes. It would not do for a knight to appear disheveled in front of his queen.
Once Tae had identified the Béarnide, the others came easily to Kevral. “Darris and your father.”
Ra-khir mumbled something incomprehensible, of which Kevral gleaned only the lament that Kedrin appeared whenever Ra-khir became the most unkempt.
For Tae’s sake, Kevral resisted jokes about someday discovering her father-in-law in their bed. She glanced at Saviar, sprawled and snoring, and decided not to take him. The movement would awaken the baby, and Ra-khir had a right to relax with his family while off duty. More than once, she had caught Kedrin in compromising positions, entertaining or crooning baby talk to his grandson.
The three horses drew up in front of Kevral, Ra-khir, and Tae, and the men dismounted. Both started toward Matrinka. Kedrin deferred, allowing Darris to assist the queen from her horse while he merely held the reins. Matrinka clambered down, rearranging her skirts and hiding a wince. It took courage for the queen to ride so soon after childbirth.
Ra-khir executed as grand a bow as the tethered baby allowed, ignoring Matrinka’s frown. She despised formality, especially from her friends, yet surely understood Ra-khir’s dilemma. To treat her with anything but the utmost respect in his father’s presence would earn him a severe tongue lashing, possibly suspension or dismissal from the Knights of Erythane.
Everyone yielded to Matrinka to speak first, as convention required. Kedrin’s presence demanded manners they would otherwise forgo at Matrinka’s insistence.
Matrinka cleared her throat, then gestured toward Kedrin. “Please explain, Captain.”
“As you wish, Your Ladyship.” Kedrin swept off his hat and also bowed, then looked toward Kevral and Ra-khir without obvious judgment of his son’s appearance. In direct contrast, he wore an immaculate tabard and colors. “The nine missing pieces of the Pica have gone to worlds beyond our own. The elves can send a group of up to eight to retrieve them. The council has met, and the constituency of that group was discussed.” He looked at each of his companions in turn. “Two elves, a knight, a Renshai and one representative from each of the following areas: Béarn, the East, the North, and the West.”
Excitement quickened Kevral’s heart rate, and she fought it away. Memories crowded in, of the worrisome days and nights on the road, pursued by Béarn’s enemies and Tae’s as well. Nothing in her life had seemed more right than her moments in real battle. Yet, she knew better than to hope Kedrin would send his pregnant daughter-in-law on such a mission while still nursing twins.
The knight’s captain looked toward Matrinka, but she motioned for him to continue. He did as she bade. “King Griff appreciates the sacrifices you made to return him to his throne. He believes your group, with a few additions, best suited for the job.” If Kedrin held any doubts about Griff’s decision, he made no sign. It would violate his honor. “He left the choice to you.”
Yes. Kevral resisted the urge to shout her answer. To blurt out a commitment without at least a few moments of consideration would make her look unworthy. Besides, she had others to consider, her children as well as her companions.
Finally, Matrinka claimed a floor rightfully hers. “The council refused my participation.” She added with a trace of shame, “Had they not, I probably would have withdrawn myself.”
Kevral nodded encouragingly. Matrinka had made the right decision for her. Marisole was newly born and Matrinka still recovering. The battles they had fought, against one another and against enemies, had frightened and wounded Matrinka. She could serve Béarn better here. Kevral also realized that the group Kedrin had described did not allow for both Matrinka and Darris. Only one could represent Béarn.
Matrinka smiled at her consort. “But Darris agreed to go.”
Like anyone could stop him. Kevral knew the bardic curiosity would drive him every bit as hard as her Renshai lust for battle.
“I’m the only Easterner in Béarn,” Tae pointed out, rocking Subikahn.
“And, if you accepted, you’d have to leave before messengers could request and return your father’s consent.” Kedrin’s expression turned more serious, if possible. “That’s a lot to ask of a prince.” He fidgeted, uncharacteristically. Tae’s refusal to respond to titles clearly agitated him, though he duly respected Tae’s wishes.
Tae continued swaying. “I’m going.”
“Me, too,” Kevral said. From the corner of her eye, she could see Ra-khir stiffen. She wondered whether he worried for her or for his honor-bound need to stay with the twins when adventuring would suit him better.
Kedrin did not wait for Ra-khir’s reply. “You all worked well without responsibilities to weigh you down. We can’t guess the dangers you might face, but they’re likely to include battles and magic. Do you believe you can work without distraction?” Although he did not verbally direct the question, his gaze settled on Kevral.
Kevral met the pale eyes steadily. “Renshai have been having babies and fighting wars forever.” She braced for verbal warfare, unwilling to budge from this position. If the child inside her could not survive the rigors of her life, it would prove too frail for the life of a Renshai. She deliberately pushed away the realization that Pudar would claim the baby as its own.
To Kevral’s surprise, Kedrin did not argue. “The queen and Marisole’s attendants agreed to watch the boys. Also, your parents will gladly watch them.” A smile eased onto otherwise somber features. “They promised to spoil them so rotten you’ll never want them back.” Turning his attention to Ra-khir, he added carefully, “Assuming you wish to go as well.”
Ra-khir made a stiff gesture of respect. “I do. If you can spare me, Captain.”
“You’re off duty, Ra-khir. ‘Father’ will do.”
Ra-khir arched his brows. “But I know you can spare me as a son. It’s as a knight I’m concerned.”
“Our king selected you from my men. His judgment is always perfect.” Kedrin’s grin slipped. “As a son, I can only spare you temporarily.”
Ra-khir studied his own child, saying nothing.
“Settled, then.” Handing the reins of Matrinka’s horse to Darris, Kedrin headed back to his charger. “Any difficulty meeting in the morning in the red strategy room?”
“No, sir,” Ra-khir said, while the others quietly shook their heads.
Kedrin replaced his hat and mounted. “We’ll have travel gear packed and ready. Bring whatever else you feel you need. If there’s anything you don’t have, Darris and her Ladyship can see that you get anything within reason.” With a brisk wave, he headed off the way he had come, leaving the five friends to converse.
Kevral watched him go, face aglow. The excitement of new worlds and battles beckoned.
* * *
Even after three centuries, Colbey admired Asgard’s everpresent sunlight and the balmy temperature, maintained by puffs of wind. Sparkling, emerald grasses flattened beneath his feet, then sprang back to attention as he took each next step. He whisked past perfect trees, heading for the monstrous, golden building that represented the gods’ meeting hall. The magnificent changelessness of Asgard, once a blessing, now irritated the Lord of Chaos. The staff tapped at his mental barriers. Grudgingly, he winched one down a crack, admitting its counsel.
*They won’t listen to you,* the Staff of Chaos insisted.
*They never do.* Colbey accepted the assessment without dispute. *But I have to try. I need their assistance.*
*If you bind, you’ll need nothing but me.*
Colbey ignored the tired argument, allowing his mind wall to close without reply. The staff was right. United
with the primordial chaos, he could confront the Dh’arlo’mé/Law entity with all the might of a god. Yet then Colbey would cease to exist, a cog in the nearly invincible machinery of chaos. The decision had haunted him since their first meeting. Always before, he had handled even the most formidable of tasks, never worrying for the death in battle he had sought since his childhood mind could conceive of its permanence. This time, so much more lay upon his decision. His enemy far outpowered him, but binding would even their abilities. If he continued to refuse, every world might shatter into oblivion for his mistake and he would lose the very wife and son for whom he had, so far, resisted.
The gods’ meeting hall gained proportion as Colbey strode toward it. The sun struck multicolored highlights from myriad gems embedded in the metal walls. Constructed from the sacrifices of worshipers, its gaudiness surpassed any other object on the worlds of gods and men. Always before, Colbey had despised its blazing ostentation. Now, he found beauty in the randomness of its jewelry and the fragments of rainbow reflecting from every nearby tree. He lowered his head. I’ve not escaped chaos wholly unchanged.
The thought brought a cascade of others. Early on, chaos had slowly infused him, attempting to trick him into an insidious and ignorant binding. He had nearly succumbed to its gradual trickle, abandoning ancient honor and nearly alienating his family. Ravn’s and Freya’s tough stance against him had brought the problem to his attention, and his regained allegiance to them had carried him through a direct confrontation with the primordial chaos. He had triumphed, winning a control that astounded. Once fatal to any creature of law, Chaos World had become his to shape and mold, its reality whatever he chose to make it. The discovery that his work there remained true even on the worlds of law, the gods’ Asgard and the humans’ Midgard, had shocked him. From that moment, he had deliberately kept his touch light.
Arriving at the Meeting Hall, Colbey loosened his sword in its scabbard before seizing the knob. Braced for hostility, he opened the door. Sunlight flickered over a brace of diamonds in the jamb, shattering shadows through the contrastingly austere interior. A massive, brass-bound table served as the only piece of furniture, surrounded by deities. A candelabra heavier than five humans hung from the ceiling, its many candles lit.
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