Mitrian lied to me. She supports Renshai, even claims to be one. Why do I care what happens to her? He whipped his cloak over his shoulders, clutching it tight against the rain. Mitrian’s garnet lay, a smooth bulge in Arduwyn’s pocket. It inspired a sense of responsibility he could not shake, and the realization that he liked this woman he scarcely knew bothered as well as pleased him. I can’t let Sterrane hurt Mitrian. And I can’t be responsible for sending a stranger, more boy than man, to his death. Arduwyn quickened his pace.
But Sterrane glided like a shadow through the darkness, his long strides outdistancing Arduwyn. Soon, even the watery glimmer of moonlight on the ax head disappeared, and Arduwyn found himself wholly alone. I don’t believe this. What have I done? As his eyes readjusted to the gloom, he quickened his pace, striding across the stone ledges he had fled across only a short time earlier. Thoughts tumbled through his mind. How much damage can one or two Renshai cause? The image of Colbey formed in Arduwyn’s mind, a lethal fascination, a single wolf in a world of sheep. But whatever else Colbey is, he’s not a rampant killer. It’s been sixteen years since word of Renshai has reached me, and a swordsman of his talent does not go unnoticed. If I’m still alive, it’s only because he wanted me that way. Arduwyn burst into the sparse woodlands, only slightly more secure amidst the familiarity of trees and brush. I need to know Colbey’s intentions before I panic the Westlands. And I have to get Stubs.
Recalling that he had given Sterrane no real directions, Arduwyn gained ground by cutting through the scrub. He no longer heard even faint sounds of the hermit’s passage. Still might get there ahead of him. Maybe I can prevent a fight. Responsibility turned the berries sour in Arduwyn’s gut. His mother’s training had made him touchy in social situations, given him an urgent need to be liked and an intuitive feel for other’s moods. But his overwhelming love for the forests had ruined every friendship he ever made, save one. And that one he had betrayed when he slept with Kantar’s wife.
Memory flared to guilt, but a glimpse of the pale flush of a campfire through fog dispelled Arduwyn’s train of thought. As he pushed closer, he discovered three shapeless blurs seated near the flames and the larger shadows of horse and donkey some distance away. Three people. Thank Firfan, holy god of huntsmen, Sterrane hasn’t arrived yet.
Even as the thought came to Arduwyn, Sterrane’s fur-clad figure burst from the woods. Swearing, Arduwyn raced for the camp, nearly at the border before he realized Sterrane had his ax slung across his shoulder in a peaceful, carrying position. Of the three around the fire, only Colbey rose to meet the stranger. Stepping back into the brush, Arduwyn unslung his bow, watching and waiting.
“You Renshai?” Sterrane said in his childlike, prattling manner.
Unable to see the Renshai’s eyes, Arduwyn could not tell how Colbey was reacting to the new arrival. His head did not move, and his stance remained casual, his hands still at his sides. Near the fire, Mitrian and Garn regarded Sterrane and Colbey, their exchanged glances revealing curiosity.
Arduwyn slipped closer in silence.
“I am.” Colbey admitted easily.
Arduwyn’s hand clenched on his bow’s rest.
“Me Sterrane.” The hermit made a broad gesture of greeting. “Me go with you.”
Shocked, Arduwyn nearly missed the slight stiffening of Colbey’s demeanor that revealed he was as surprised as his companions by Sterrane’s sudden appearance and strange demand. Several moments passed in a silence broken only by the swish of rain-wet leaves in wind and the water’s hiss against the flames. Colbey stroked his chin with a finger as he contemplated a statement that seemed illogical to Arduwyn. Apparently finding the answer within himself, Colbey nodded. “Very well, Sterrane. Welcome.” He twisted toward Mitrian and Garn. “Give Sterrane that rabbit we saved for Arduwyn. There’s something I need to do.” Without further explanation, Colbey headed into the woods.
Arduwyn hesitated long enough to see Garn reaching to honor Colbey’s request and Mitrian looking rapidly from Colbey to Sterrane, as if seeking some deep meaning in their brief exchange. Arduwyn suspected she echoed his thought. Why would Colbey allow an armed stranger to join his companions without a single question or warning ? And what reason could Sterrane have for doing such a thing ? By the time Arduwyn turned to follow Colbey, the Renshai was nowhere to be seen.
Damn! Arduwyn whirled, aware Colbey could not have gotten far. Using his usual combination of speed and stealth, he brushed through the trees, as always attuned to the rustle of movement. No matter his grace and skill, Colbey can’t walk more quietly than a fox.
A sound to Arduwyn’s left startled him. He shied as Colbey swung around a tree directly into his path. The Renshai’s black tunic and red breeks made a rosy contrast to eyes as stark and hard as grains of ice. A slight smile played across his features, revealing personal triumph. “Arduwyn. I thought I’d find you behind anyone who knows what I am.” No emotion accompanied the words.
Arduwyn back-pedaled, beyond sword range. From habit, he traced Colbey’s route from the camp, discovering it went nearly straight. Apparently, Colbey had stood motionless behind the tree, waiting for Arduwyn to find him. Recognizing the simplicity of Colbey’s plan eased the hunter’s mind and made him bolder. “I want my donkey.”
“Take it.” Colbey shrugged. “It’s yours. Why would I keep it from you?” The Renshai’s gaze drifted to the bow in Arduwyn’s hand, and he frowned disdainfully. “But I do want to know why you’re leaving.”
Arduwyn’s victory seemed almost too easy, and the answer too obvious to speak aloud. “You’re Renshai.”
Colbey remained silent, as if waiting for further explanation. When none came, he nodded in understanding. “I see. You’re a racist.”
“What?” The question was startled from Arduwyn. “No.” Words failed him, and he stammered. “That’s insane.”
“Is it?”
Arduwyn regained his powers of speech. “The Golden-Haired Devils weren’t a race. They were a band of mass murderers.”
“Oh.” Colbey accepted the news as if hearing it for the first time. “I see.” He looked pensive. “And you’ve seen me murder? Have you seen me commit any crime at all?”
“No,” Arduwyn admitted reluctantly. He kept his gaze on the Renshai’s hands, alert for any hostile gesture. He would not be caught off-guard by conversation. “But Garn told me you killed nine Northmen.”
Colbey leaned casually against the tree. “Did he also tell you he and Mitrian killed?”
“In self-defense, yes.”
“And mine was other than self-defense? I didn’t even draw my sword until I was attacked.”
“You killed nine men.”
“So, because I’m competent, I should let nine Northmen kill me?”
“You instigated the fight.”
“Only by being Renshai. I was perfectly polite. They were just racists, too.”
Annoyed anew at the insult, Arduwyn raised his voice nearly to a shout. “Damn it. It’s not racism to hate proven enemies.” Seeing the trap he had neatly walked into, Arduwyn groaned.
Colbey delivered the coup de grace. “But we’ve already determined I’ve done nothing to make you see me as an enemy.” He smiled. “Besides, I was there. Of all the Westlands people, the Renshai respected and befriended the high king, Valar, in Béarn. The king’s city and its sister, your own Erythane, were spared our attack.”
Though startled by Colbey’s knowledge of his birth home, Arduwyn tussled with the anger and frustration of his exile; he pined for the Erythanian forests he knew and loved more than any person and could never see again. “I don’t have loyalties to Erythane or her allies.” How could Colbey possibly know where I’m from?
Colbey plucked at a loose curl of bark, addressing Arduwyn’s unspoken question rather than the one he had express aloud. “Once the Béarnides and Erythanians had nothing to fear from Renshai, they found an understanding for our culture and our honor. The King of Béarn even came to w
orship our gods, and . . .”
“That king is gone,” Arduwyn reminded. “His direct line purged.” But even he realized Valar had been a far kinder ruler than the brother who had murdered and replaced him.
Colbey continued as if Arduwyn had never interrupted. “. . . unlike our women, who respected our line too much to bring foreign blood into the tribe, our men would leave their seed behind. The Erythanian women were particularly attracted to our few redheads. Like it or not, Arduwyn, your grandfather was probably Renshai.”
Arduwyn smoothed his spiky, copper-colored locks self-consciously. The image jarred too much to fit into his well-ordered vision of reality. “If he was, my grandmother was raped.” All the more reason to hate Renshai.
Colbey rolled his eyes, as if to suggest that the assertion fell too far beneath his dignity to grace it with a reply. “Renshai don’t rape allies. Why would he have needed to when so many Erythanian women were willing? If you’re too narrow-minded to consider the truth, take your donkey and go. I won’t stop you.” He stiffened dangerously, and his tone became menacing. “But if I catch you telling anyone that we’re Renshai, I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”
Renshai justice was cruel but seldom swiftly finished. Arduwyn shivered. He wished Colbey’s threat could rouse him to anger, but he felt only a cold dread. He avoided Colbey’s stare. “It sounds to me as if you want me to stay with you. Why? Is it because of this Renshai blood I might carry?”
“No.” The corners of Colbey’s mouth twitched, and he fought back a laugh. “Bloodline is insignificant. You can never be Renshai, and, without a truly odd set of circumstances, neither can your line.” This time, a grim smile slipped past Colbey’s defenses. “You were traveling with Mitrian and Garn before I met them, and they allowed you. I have to assume you all did so for a reason. I came to train Mitrian, not to interfere with her choice of friends.” Colbey straightened so that his weight no longer rested against the tree. All amusement left him.
“There’s more,” Arduwyn pressed.
“There’s more.” Colbey agreed. “You know the stories that the Renshai ravaged the West simply because they didn’t know how to hunt for food?”
Arduwyn nodded.
“Lies,” Colbey said. “The Renshai ravaged the West because they love war.”
Arduwyn stared, surprised by the strange turn the conversation had taken. “Oh, well, thanks. Now I feel much better about them.”
Colbey raised his hand to indicate he had not finished. “Some Renshai do know how to hunt. But I’m not one of them. I don’t think Garn can either. Sterrane doesn’t have a bow or spear. And, even if Mitrian can hunt, and I doubt she’s had much practice, she won’t have the time.”
Arduwyn kicked at a granite outcropping, gaze fixed on Colbey. “So you want me along to feed a gang of enemies.”
“Not at all. I don’t care whether you come along or not. I have enough knowledge of plants and medicines to barter food for healing. I’ve done it before. But I may be too busy teaching Mitrian to take the time. Or the West may have a healthy year. If it comes to starving or killing, I’ll gladly choose the latter. If nothing else, war is only an extension of Mitrian’s sword practices.” Colbey shrugged, as if he had said the most natural thing in the world. “Think of yourself as Renshai insurance for the West. I won’t attack unless provoked.”
Arduwyn considered. “I have your word on that?”
Colbey hesitated long enough to assure Arduwyn he took his vows seriously. “Fair enough. You have my word. So long as we have the basic necessities and no one tries to harm us, I won’t be violent.”
Arduwyn pressed his advantage. “And you won’t tell anyone you’re Renshai.”
Now Colbey grinned. “You drive a hard bargain, archer.”
“Hunter,” Arduwyn corrected. “And?”
“I won’t tell anyone we’re Renshai.” Colbey added. “So, you’ll join us?”
The image of Bel came to Arduwyn’s mind, her simple dress baggy over plumply rounded curves. Behind her, he saw Kantar’s handsome features and winning smile. He tried to picture his best friend in a sickbed, but the image would not come. “I don’t know. I have to get to Pudar.”
Colbey’s brows raised, as if to question Arduwyn’s reasons for wasting his time with promises. “I should think Garn and a pair of Renshai should be able to escort you safely to the Trading City.”
Arduwyn met Colbey’s severe, blue-gray eyes. “You’d change your course for me?”
Colbey laughed. “What course? I can train Mitrian anywhere. I had an overwhelming feeling we should stay in the Granite Hills for a time. For whatever reason, that premonition has gone. For my own purposes, I’d like to go to the Western Wizard’s cave. Pudar is on the way.”
What reason could a Renshai have for seeing the guardian of the Westlands? Arduwyn’s eyes narrowed, but he did not challenge Colbey’s intentions aloud.
“Of course, we’re going to travel slowly. I’ll take as many hours a day as I can for practice. I’d like to reach Pudar in about eight months, just in time for Mitrian to have the baby.”
Arduwyn pondered the words. Kantar’s illness was fatal but slow, and Arduwyn could use the time to sort through his own tangle of emotions. An excuse for delay seemed like a godsend, but Colbey’s plan confused him. “All right. But wouldn’t it make more sense to stay in one place for seven months and spend the first or last traveling.”
“Not exactly.” Colbey’s gaze probed the trees between their position and the camp, though surely he could see nothing through the darkness. “I need to hire you for something else.”
Arduwyn waited, uncertain whether to encourage.
“We are being followed. Or will be.” Colbey interrupted himself in explanation and defense. “Don’t ask me how I know. I just do.” He continued in his normal tone. “He’s a young Northman called Rache. I want you to see to it he doesn’t catch up to us.”
“No!” Arduwyn backed away, his hand falling to his bow. “I told you, I’m a hunter not an archer. I’ll kill men if I have to, but I can’t be hired to do it.”
“Kill Rache?” Colbey looked genuinely startled. “I doubt you could.” His gaze rolled to the bow in Arduwyn’s grip. “At least, not in a fair fight.”
The insinuation that a bow could not be used in an honest fight made Arduwyn glower.
Colbey did not address Arduwyn’s annoyance. “I’d sooner have you kill me. I’d just like you to keep track of Rache’s location, to give me plenty of warning so we can move on before he finds us.”
It seemed a strange request. “Why?” Arduwyn asked suspiciously.
“You’re just going to have to trust me.” Apparently realizing the unlikeliness of his suggestion, Colbey explained further. “Even I don’t understand the details, but I know a lot of things I shouldn’t. For Rache’s sake, he can’t find us. And you mustn’t let Garn and Mitrian know about Rache following us. Garn would hunt him down. Mitrian would insist we let him catch us. Don’t tell Sterrane either. I doubt he could keep a secret.”
Aware Colbey either could not or would not explain further, Arduwyn followed the turn of the conversation. “And Sterrane? Why did you accept his presence so easily?”
“I’m not sure,” Colbey admitted. “He asked, and it just felt right. Besides, Mitrian’s training will change her. A lot. Swordcraft, killing, and Renshai philosophy always do. Usually, the amount of teaching I’m going to give her in eight months occurs over the same number of years, along with the social and moral training that comes with experience. With enough dedication, my teachings can be compressed; experience can’t. Mitrian’s going to need all the gentle, compassionate examples she can get. For whatever reason Sterrane wants to join us, he can fulfill that purpose.”
Colbey did not mention that Arduwyn could do the same and better; the hunter’s experiences were accompanied by a social grace Sterrane could not possibly possess. Again, Arduwyn studied Colbey. Arduwyn still felt an odd combination o
f awe and terror in the Renshai’s presence. He suspected Colbey knew more than he admitted, and the Erythanian felt certain Colbey hid much about his motivations. But other things seemed undeniable. The West is safer with someone who can move quickly and silently watching this Renshai. I can’t stop Colbey training Mitrian, but I can see to it his cruelty is balanced by reason. “Agreed. I’ll come and do these things for you.”
A tight smile formed on Colbey’s face. “Good. Perhaps we can get you over your racism problem, too.” Turning, he headed back to the camp.
“Arrogant bastard,” Arduwyn mumbled to himself.
Colbey’s answering laugh rumbled among the trees.
* * *
Mar Lon Davrinsson perched on a stone warmed by the late summer sun. In Mizahai’s Tavern, the constant reek of alcohol had worn on him, a stifling, endlessly unyielding reminder of his failings. He had sought the solace of fresh air and sunshine on a poorly maintained road that ran between Rozmath and the royal city of Stalmize. The ribbon of pathway wound through dirty towns and muddy farm fields pale from erosion. And Mar Lon had found a quiet sanctuary on which to compose and perfect his newest efforts, an immovably large rock on the road’s boundary. The lonriset lay in a crevice, supported by a rounded ridge of granite.
A figure appeared in the distance. Mar Lon raked a twig from his straight, brown hair, watching the stranger from the corner of his eyes. He had little to fear from the main body of Eastern citizenry. From a quick glance, most would dismiss him as one of their own. And since his presence had required permission from the same king whom the citizens worshiped as Sheriva’s chosen one, Mar Lon doubted anyone would challenge him. Still, he did not fully let down his guard.
Soon, the Easterner became clearly visible as a boy in his early to mid teens. He dragged a dilapidated cart partially filled with stones plucked from the harvested field. A scraggle of coal black hair fell across his forehead, sweat soaked into a clump. His small eyes, equally dark, studied Mar Lon quizzically, and he stopped several arms’ lengths from the boulder. “Hello,” he said, the greeting more curious than polite.
The Last of the Renshai Page 37