The Last of the Renshai

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Bel startled backward with a strangled noise. Mead sloshed over the pitcher’s lip, drenching Sterrane. The big man moved aside with surprising speed and grace as mead plastered his hair to his forehead and dripped into his beard.

  Arduwyn wanted to laugh but could not do that any more than he could speak.

  Bel’s expression changed from startlement to pleasure.

  Arduwyn grinned. His mind began to function again, and he rose to sweep Bel into an embrace. He managed only a single word, but that seemed enough. “Bel.”

  Bel’s smile disappeared. Her eyes went cold. “It’s not my table.” Whirling on her heel, she stomped back toward the bar, leaving Arduwyn staring, gape-mouthed, at her retreating back.

  CHAPTER 17

  Sterrane the Bear

  “Bel?” Sick with grief, Arduwyn started after the fleeing woman. Every patron in The Hungry Lion turned to stare, from the families at the surrounding tables to loners and couples at the bar.

  Sterrane’s mead-sticky hand clamped on Arduwyn’s arm, stopping him. “She not want talk you.”

  Arduwyn watched Bel disappear behind the bar, irritated by his companion’s interference. “Damn it, Sterrane.” He shook free of the huge man’s grip. “You can’t possibly understand.”

  Sterrane jutted his lower lip, looking hurt.

  Mitrian answered for him. “No, but I can. You come in here after a year, catch her wholly by surprise, then expect her to throw herself into your arms? She cares for you. That’s obvious. Just give her a chance to calm down.”

  Arduwyn frowned, unconvinced, but he recognized the need to collect his composure. Sterrane can’t know anything about relationships, but Mitrian does. And she has to have a better understanding of women than I do. Reluctantly, he sat, but his gaze tracked Bel as she cornered the other serving girl, a teenager with straight, dark hair that swirled to her waist. An animated discussion followed; Bel’s arms waved wildly throughout it, then she ended with a jerk of her thumb over her shoulder toward Arduwyn’s table. The younger girl stopped to gather four mugs into one hand and a pitcher in the other before heading in the indicated direction.

  Arduwyn paid the newcomer no heed; his attention remained fixed on Bel. He watched her stack and brace five bowls of stew in her arms and head toward one of the other tables without giving Arduwyn so much as a sideways glance. Still, a stiffness in her gait betrayed that she was rattled, and the uppermost bowl teetered dangerously.

  Arduwyn held his breath, fighting the natural urge to dash over and help Bel. By the time he arrived, it would be too late, one way or the other.

  Bel adjusted her balance expertly. For an instant, the bowl hovered. Suddenly, it toppled, dragging over two others beneath it. Hot stew sloshed over a middle-aged man, who was eating with his wife and two children. The bowl rolled, clattering across their table. A mug of mead crashed to the floor, ringing. Belatedly, the man sprang backward. His chair bashed into Bel, jarring the last bowls from her grip. She juggled them as she fell, but managed only to send one into a back spin that splashed its contents over her. Patrons at nearby tables scattered awkwardly out of the way while the stew-splattered man swore violently in the Western tongue. Apologizing profusely, Bel gathered the bowls.

  Caught up in the drama unfolding behind him, Arduwyn did not realize the younger serving girl had addressed him until Garn elbowed him in the ribs. More startled than pained, Arduwyn whirled back to his companions. Four mugs rested on the table, one before him and each of his companions. Mitrian’s and Garn’s lay empty. Sterrane’s held some of the same brew that Bel had spilled on his head. The girl waited at Arduwyn’s right, the pitcher in her hand poised tentatively over his mug. “Mead?”

  The word did not register. “Huhn?” Slowly, Arduwyn pulled his senses back to reality. “Sure. Yes. Thank you.”

  The serving girl poured, biting her cheeks to keep from laughing.

  Realizing he was babbling, Arduwyn said to Garn and Mitrian. “Aren’t you having any?”

  The pair exchanged looks of revulsion, Mitrian replied, “Neither of us cared much for it at that tavern in the Northlands. We’re having wine.”

  Arduwyn glanced back toward Bel. The nearest tables had been edged away from the yellow-brown mess splattered across the floorboards. The patrons had returned to their meals, aside from the stew-stained, family man who was walking back to the bar with the stout, blond proprietor of The Hungry Lion, presumably to wash. Bel knelt, scrubbing at the spilled stew with a rag. It pained Arduwyn to watch Bel mopping someone else’s floor, but he knew an offer of help would only make things worse. For now, she seemed in no danger, so he forced his attention fully on his companions.

  Raised in a city where sewage tainted the drinking water, Arduwyn had grown up on beer, ale, and wine, plain or liberally mixed with water. He knew that adults who tried beer for the first time often found it vile, but he also knew Mitrian and Garn would either need to acquire a taste for it or frequently go thirsty.

  The serving girl had just turned to leave. Arduwyn touched her arm. “Why don’t you pour them each a mug at my expense. Bring the wine, too, just in case.”

  The girl turned, looking askance at Garn.

  Arduwyn explained. “Don’t judge all beer by Northern brew. Northman’s beer is as harsh as its soldiers. Beer of any kind takes some getting used to, but it’s worth it. You’ll like mead. It’s honey-based.”

  Garn peered at Arduwyn, skepticism plainly etched on his face.

  “Trust me.”

  Garn nodded his acceptance, and the server poured mugs of mead for him and Mitrian.

  Not wanting to further discomfort Bel by staring, Arduwyn promised himself to take three full swallows before twisting his head to watch her again. Attempting an air of calm detachment, he curled his hand about his mug and drew it to his mouth for the first sip.

  “Where do we go after here?” Mitrian asked, gazing uncertainly at the drink the serving girl had poured.

  Arduwyn swallowed without tasting the mead, his thoughts still distant. “An inn. We’ll need a place to stay until we can find more permanent shelter. If we’re in Pudar longer than a couple weeks, it’ll be cheaper to buy a cottage, especially at marketplace prices.” Forgetting his vow, Arduwyn sneaked a peek at the floor where he had last seen Bel working. Bel and the spilled stew had vanished.

  Alarmed, Arduwyn glanced around the tavern until he found Bel near the bar, engaged in a conversation with the proprietor. The man’s jowly face was pinched, covered with clusters of blood vessels that curled from central cores like spiders. Shortly, Bel wandered off to tend a patron, and the proprietor headed toward Arduwyn and his companions. Cued to trouble by the proprietor’s flushed cheeks and stomping, directed walk, Arduwyn set aside his mug and waited.

  The proprietor came up beside Arduwyn, the blond’s tall, broad figure dwarfing the scrawny archer. He jabbed a sausage-sized finger at Arduwyn’s chest. “You’re going to have to leave. You’re . . .” He broke off, apparently noticing Sterrane’s gigantic bulk and Garn’s shorter but distinctly defined musculature for the first time. The proprietor’s tone changed from belligerent to polite efficiency. “. . . upsetting one of my serving girls, making it difficult for her to do her job. Whatever you’ve eaten so far is on the house, but you’re going to have to go.”

  A frown creased Sterrane’s features, and he looked wistfully at the mug from which he had taken only a single sip. He pouted, a crinkled expression that Arduwyn realized might look menacing to a man unfamiliar with Sterrane’s gentle manner. “Me hungry. Not want go.”

  Garn glared, prepared to press the issue.

  Arduwyn played diplomat. He spoke soothingly, though the proprietor kept his attention on Garn and Sterrane. “I didn’t come to upset Bel. I’m not going to hurt her. I just want to talk.” Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a fistful of coins and pressed them unobtrusively toward the proprietor’s hand. “If I can talk her into leaving with me, could you do without he
r for the evening?”

  The proprietor glanced down to Arduwyn’s hand. Identifying the offering as a generous mix of silver and copper, he accepted the coins. “Fine. So long as she goes willingly, she’s yours.”

  “Thank you.” Arduwyn reveled in his minor victory. “Please. Send her over.”

  The proprietor hesitated, as if to suggest Arduwyn should coax Bel back to the table himself. Then, realizing the value of keeping the matter private rather than encouraging Arduwyn to chase Bel around the tavern, he nodded, turned, and headed back to the bar.

  Bel met the proprietor near the cook fire. Arduwyn watched their soft exchange, too distant to catch a single word. Suddenly, Bel looked over.

  Feeling stupid to be caught gawking, Arduwyn glanced quickly back down at the table. He heard Bel’s gentle step on the floorboards.

  Bel drew up beside Arduwyn. “Carlithel said you refused to leave until I told you to go.” The anger in Bel’s dark eyes seemed to burn through him. “Fine. This is from me, Arduwyn. Get the hell out of here.” She spun on her heel.

  Caught off-guard by Carlithel’s lie and Bel’s hostility, Arduwyn stammered. “W-wait! Bel, please. Can’t we talk? Please?”

  Bel froze. She did not meet Arduwyn’s gaze, but she did not leave either. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Bel, please.” Arduwyn was pleading now. “I don’t understand. At least let me know why you’re mad. Let’s go someplace private where you can hit me if you want to. I just can’t deal with this without talking.”

  “Go someplace? Go someplace!” Bel fumed. “You want me to just drop everything and go someplace?”

  Every head in the tavern jerked toward her.

  Not wanting to make a scene, Bel lowered her voice, but the malice remained. She snorted. “Same Arduwyn. Don’t you see that’s exactly the problem? You act like it’s fine to just up and leave anything at any time. Well, I have a job, the best I’ve had, and I’m not going to lose it to run off and talk. Especially with you.”

  Arduwyn’s salesman mentality thrilled that Bel had chosen an argument he could counter. He smiled. As long as she kept talking and listening, he still had a chance to win back her love. “I didn’t forget the importance of your job. Carlithel agreed to give you the evening off.”

  Bel opened her mouth, but no words came out. Arduwyn’s statement obviously caught her unprepared, and he could almost see the rage draining from her as surprise replaced it. Suddenly, she stiffened again. Her eyes narrowed, and she virtually hissed her reply. “I don’t care what Carlithel agreed to. I have three children to feed, not to mention the pay I’ll get docked for that incident.” She made a wild motion toward the location where she had spilled the stew. “I can’t afford to lose my tips.”

  Bel had walked right into Arduwyn’s grasp, and he knew it. His grin broadened. He slipped his fingers into his pocket, tightened them over the garnet and pulled it free triumphantly. “Will this cover tips?”

  Shock etched deeply across Bel’s features. Her hand drifted toward the gem, then stopped, hovering.

  Arduwyn watched in silence, glad his friends had contributed nothing to a conversation in which only he and Bel had a stake. He hated to force her to sort need from pride, but he saw no other way. He could deal with that matter later. Unless she agreed to talk privately with him, he had no chance at all to mend a relationship he now knew he desperately needed. It made little sense to him. Not since his banishment had taken him from his family had he managed to dedicate even as much loyalty to people as he had to his three companions. He had not known love strong enough to match what he felt for Bel since the day of his father’s death. Distance had diluted his affection for her until he had forgotten how powerful love could seem. Now with her again, it all washed back, and more strongly for the time lost.

  Bel snatched the garnet from Arduwyn’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  The sudden movement and Bel’s voice jolted Arduwyn from his thoughts. Firfan, what kind of monster am I? My best friend is dying, and all I can think about is how much I love his wife. Guilt tightened Arduwyn’s gut. His single swallow of beer went sour in his stomach. “Mitrian, Garn, Sterrane,” he said, as much for introduction as to gain their attention. “You stay and get some food. Don’t go anywhere else. I’ll meet you here.” Rising, he waved Bel toward the door, then followed her into the street.

  The cobbles lay, flat and dull in the dusk, and the cooling night breezes blew Bel’s long brown hair into Arduwyn’s face. The strands smelled pleasantly of cook fire smoke and beer. He caught up to her. Side by side, they walked down Pudar’s road in a silence that seemed not the least bit awkward to Arduwyn. Just being with Bel was enough. He let her choose the route, never noticing whether other pedestrians passed. He waited to catch the first whisper of Bel’s words or intentions. One part of his mind just wanted to understand, aware that only with knowledge could he hope to salvage a friendship and a love he cherished. But in another portion of his thoughts, he wished they could continue, never speaking, forever in the simple hush of being together. As long as no one spoke, he could pretend everything was all right.

  Still Arduwyn and Bel continued walking. The sun dipped lower, plunging the market city into a grayness that left the buildings in encasing rows of shadow. Bel turned a corner. Shortly, the road circled an oval-shaped park with a central stone basin for watering livestock. Bel took a series of shuffling steps that put her ahead of Arduwyn. Suddenly, she whirled, her heels pressed to the basin rim. “Why did you come back?”

  Despite his preparation, the abruptness and hostility of Bel’s question caught Arduwyn completely by surprise. “What?”

  “Why did you come back?” Bel rolled her eyes to the heavens, as if beseeching gods rather than addressing Arduwyn. “Why did you come back to Pudar?”

  “I,” Arduwyn started, knowing the answer was simple, but trying to gather his scrambled wits, wishing he had a clue as to what Bel wanted to hear. “Kantar sent a message, and . . .”

  “Kantar is dead.” Bel met Arduwyn’s doelike gaze directly. Her eyes went moist.

  Misery tightened Arduwyn’s throat, and he found it difficult to breath. Speaking came even harder. “I’m sorry,” he managed. The words did not seem like enough, gross understatement at a time when he needed to console. “Kantar was my closest friend. I loved him, too. You know that.” He came forward to embrace her.

  Bel recoiled. Already against the basin rim, her foot mired on stone. She overbalanced backward with a cry of alarm and threw her weight gracelessly forward to counter.

  Arduwyn raised his hands in a gesture of peace, waiting until she regained her equilibrium before backing away to give her the space she required. He did not want to make amends by driving her into the trough. “From his note, I’d thought Kantar had years. I planned to see him before he died. You have to believe that.”

  Bel’s voice had grown tiny, almost unrecognizable after her previous outspoken bitterness. “It happened fast. I don’t think he ever knew how sick he was.”

  “I’m sorry,” Arduwyn repeated.

  Strained silence followed his words. Arduwyn had mourned his friend’s death too many times to lose his composure now. Instead, he struggled with a thought he tried unsuccessfully to suppress. Somehow, he could not banish a spark of hope and joy, the realization that, without Kantar, Bel could become his. Bel. He would never have wished ill luck on Kantar, least of all death, and the realization that he was looking upon his best friend’s demise as an opportunity made him sick with guilt.

  Arduwyn avoided Bel’s gaze, too uncomfortable with his own emotions to deal with hers as well. “I’m sorry,” he said again. Realizing he had stupidly restated the same platitude for the third time, he winced. “How are you doing?”

  Bel sighed, the sound heavy over the slosh of wind through water. She caught Arduwyn’s dark gaze with her own as if daring him to look away. “Kantar was a good provider while he was well, but there wasn’t any extra. I have th
ree children. The eldest girl is only twelve, too young to marry even if she had a dowry. How do you think I’m doing?”

  Arduwyn lowered his head, avoiding Bel’s eyes, unable to keep from taking the responsibility for her hardships onto himself. I should have come sooner. She needed me. They both needed me, and I wasn’t here. “I want to help. Bel, I wasn’t being completely honest. I came because of Kantar’s note.” He forced himself to meet her gaze again. “But I also came because I wanted, no, needed, to see you. I love you, Bel.” Again, he moved toward her.

  This time, Bel raised a hand to halt Arduwyn. “Thank you for the money.” She fished the garnet from her apron. “I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate it, but I can’t take it under false pretenses. If you go with it, I can’t take it.”

  Arduwyn blinked, uncertain what to make of the statement. He made no move to take the stone. “I don’t understand.”

  Bel balanced the garnet on her palm. “I mean, I can’t take your money if you expect me to accept your presence with it.” Despite her firm insistence, she did not extend her hand, as if she unconsciously hoped he would let her keep it.

  Bel’s rejection stung. Arduwyn bit his lip, fighting tears. “You hate me, don’t you?” Fishing for any way to salvage the situation, he grabbed for the only reason he could find. “If it’s because of what we did before I left, that one night of passion, I’m sorry. It was a mistake. I never meant to hurt you or Kantar and . . .”

  “I don’t hate you, Arduwyn. I love you.”

  Surprise silenced Arduwyn.

  “I’ve already put the mistake to rest.” Bel sat on the basin ledge. “It was a stupid accident. I was as much to blame as you were. I learned from it; it couldn’t have happened twice. Kantar and the children never knew. It’s as good as forgotten.”