Ra-khir smiled. "I'm a Knight of Erythane married to a Renshai. I live for difficult positions."
Saviar also grinned. "Clearly." He loved his mother with all his heart, but he also knew how challenging she could be, especially for a man of such high and exceptional honor. As his own thoughts began turning to women, Saviar had taken to wondering how Kevral had managed to entice not just one good man, but two, to care so deeply for her. Subikahn's father had also once proposed, and the rumor was that she had so badly broken his heart that he refused to court again. Only the Renshai trained its women, as well as men, to warcraft; and the ferocity of Renshai women confused and frightened most ganim, the word Renshai used to refer to outsiders.
The enduring relationship between his parents confounded most people, but never Saviar. Usually a relentless taskmaster of a torke, Kevral softened visibly in Ra-khir's presence, and he never failed to make her smile. In the privacy of home, and on voyages beyond the Fields of Wrath, they held hands like adolescents in the throes of first love. The knight still called his wife the most beautiful woman in the world, with clear and undisputable sincerity, no matter how sweaty and dirt-streaked she appeared. The looks they gave one another defined love in its purest, rawest form; and it spilled out to encompass their entire family.
"So," Ra-khir pressed, not as easily sidetracked as his son. "What about Calistin changed your feelings?"
Saviar knew generalities would not suffice. His father would need some indication that he had thought through the matter and had a legitimate concern. "I guess it's his decision to keep smacking me in the head-and not just with the flat of his sword. He actually uses his accomplishments to… to demean me."
"Is it possible you think Calistin does well only to make you look bad?"
Saviar did not believe it had become so specific and personal. Sometimes I wonder if he doesn't do well just to make everyone look bad.
He kept the thought to himself. Voicing it would make him sound petty and childish. "Not at all. I don't even mind him crowing about his achievements. It's not modest, it's not what an honorable man does, but he earned them."
Ra-khir leaned forward and nodded encouragingly.
"But does he really have to tack on how little I've accomplished in comparison?"
"Of course not."
"I'm trying to concentrate on the maneuvers I need to know for my testing. If he would at least distract me in ways that help me perfect what I need to know, instead of constantly trying out his new inventions and interests or things to improve his own swordwork." Saviar studied his father's features to ascertain how Ra-khir was handling this information. As he appeared reflective and interested, Saviar continued, "Under the guise of helping me, he's only helping himself. And undermining my confidence."
Ra-khir wiped his forehead with the back of a gloved hand. Like all of the knights always did, he wore the blue and gold of Bearn as well as the black and orange of Erythane. "Have you told Calistin this?"
Saviar turned his gaze to his own hands, the nails filthy and broken. Blood traced the creases of his right palm. "I've tried." He sighed. "Papa, I love him because he's my brother. But, if he weren't, I don't think I'd even like him."
"Does anyone? Outside of our family, I mean."
The question caught Saviar off his guard. He looked up to meet his father's emerald gaze. "They all think he's awesome. The ultimate Renshai. The Colbey Calistinsson of our time."
"But do they like him?"
"I…" Saviar did not know how to answer. "I… don't… really know." He tried to divine his father's purpose in asking such a question. "Does it matter?"
Ra-khir's brows rose. "To Calistin, it probably does."
"Maybe." Saviar was not so sure. Calistin did not seem to care what others thought of him personally, so long as they envied his sword skill. "Papa?"
"Hmmm?"
"How can two brothers be so completely and utterly different?"
Ra-khir laughed. "How similar are you and Subikahn? And you're twins."
Ra-khir had essentially made Saviar's point. "Subikahn and I are half brothers, actually. And, yet, we're still more alike in personality than either of us is to Calistin. And we're close enough in age to practically be triplets."
Ra-khir shrugged. "Look at the princes and princesses of Bearn. They're as disparate as Bearnides get."
Once again, Ra-khir appeared to be arguing the wrong point. "But, Papa, they have three different mothers. And some have a different father, too."
"What?" The word was startled from Ra-khir.
"Prince Barrindar and the princesses, Calitha and Eldorin are King Griff and Xoraida's children. Princess Ivana Shorith'na Cha-tella Tir Hya'sellirian Albar…" Saviar prided himself on knowing and pronouncing the full elfin name, though the populace knew her only as Princess Ivana. "… is the offspring of King Griff and his elfin wife. Princess Marisole, Prince Arturo, and Princess Halika are Queen Matrinka's children. All three of them were clearly sired by Bard Darris."
Ra-khir's tone turned stiff. "That's not common knowledge, Saviar."
"I'm not speaking it commonly."
"You won't?"
"Of course not. Was I raised by fools?" Saviar turned his father a wicked grin.
Ra-khir released a pent-up breath, ignoring the question. Addressing it would require him to defend or damn his own intelligence. "Who told you?"
Saviar rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of the query. "Anyone with a reasonable education knows how the bardic curse gets passed. The bard's heir is always the firstborn child of the bard. In this case, Marisole." He shrugged. "Once I realized that, I started looking. Only Halika didn't inherit Bard Darris' snout-"
"That's not nice, Saviar."
Saviar ignored the interruption to finish his reasoning. "-and she's too normal-sized to be the product of two massive Bearnides."
"Queen Matrinka is not massive. She's-"
"-big-boned and curvaceous," Saviar finished. "My point stands." Suddenly realizing his father had sidetracked him, Saviar added, "Both of them. Brothers of full blood should not be as different as Calistin and me."
Ra-khir said nothing for several moments, which surprised Saviar. The older man could easily argue that the physical resemblance between Saviar and Calistin was real enough that complete strangers sometimes recognized them as relatives. Saviar knew plenty of examples in his own life of siblings who bore few or no similarities in appearance or temperament. An intelligent boy with a dupe for a brother. A runaway-wild girl with a painfully timid sister. Saviar even knew a set of twins, one with striking dexterity, the other laboriously clumsy. Mothers seemed to love comparing their children to one another, sometimes labeling them as the pretty one, the obedient one, the nice one. Siblings often turned out remarkably different, yet Ra-khir did not resort to these familiar examples. Either Saviar's deduction about the royal siblings utterly disarmed him, or he was hiding something else.
The latter thought raised Saviar's suspicions. "You know something about Calistin, don't you?"
Ra-khir answered with a touch of defensiveness. "I know everything about Calistin. He's my son."
"Something," Saviar pressed, "that you haven't told either of us."
"I have told you," Ra-khir said in a flat tone, "everything I can tell you."
He was hiding something, yet Saviar knew no amount of weasel ing or cajoling would bring it to the fore. Ra-khir's honor would never allow him to do anything his word bound him against. Continuing in this vein would only upset Ra-khir at a time when Saviar wanted his father's assistance and empathy. Instead, he found himself uttering a self-imposed secret he had never spoken aloud, "Papa, sometimes I wish, I mean, I think I wish, I wasn't… Renshai."
Ra-khir closed his eyes. The words clearly hurt him.
"Are you all right?"
Ra-khir's lids snapped open, and he smiled, though it looked forced. "I'm fine, just worried about you. You're unhappy with the life your mother and I chose for you?"
> Saviar hurried to undo the damage. "Not unhappy, Papa, no. I mean I love the swordwork, the religion, the history. I just… sometimes… I'd just like to do… other things." He added belatedly, "… too." He laughed at his own suggestion, dismissing it. "Ignore me. It's the intensive training that's made me what I am. I just want it all, I guess. No one could become a knight and a Renshai."
"A knight?" Ra-khir's forced grin turned genuine, almost wistful. "You want to be a Knight of Erythane?"
Saviar laughed again. "Silly, huh? The huge amount of training involved in either would preclude the other."
Ra-khir gave no answer.
"Right?"
"Well," Ra-khir said hesitantly. "I would think so. And yet…?"
"Yet?" Saviar encouraged.
"There is someone who is both."
Startled silent, Saviar stared. He knew of no other Renshai who would even consider the staid, stuffy life of a knight, filled with long-winded ceremony, multiple weapons' training, and stifling ethics. His father's use of the present tense, however, suggested the man he spoke of currently lived. It was not some hypothetical historical figure. "Who?" he finally managed.
"You've clearly studied," Ra-khir said, finally regaining the upper hand. It was also a subtle, probably unintentional insult to Calistin. The youngest son, bound to a life of relentless swordwork, would never manage more than a basic education, mostly Renshai language, history, and tradition. "This one, you'll have to figure out for yourself."
CHAPTER 3
Biases are always justifiable when they're yours.
-Sir Ra-khir Kedrin's son
Bard Darris squirmed in his seat at King Griff's right hand, attentive to every movement in the courtroom yet bored by the seemingly endless procession of nobles, merchants, and complainants down the woven-wool carpet. The inner court guards surrounding them managed to look fresh and eager despite the length of the proceedings. Darris envied their ability to at least appear to maintain their alertness indefinitely, even if it was a farce. He wished he could have retired with Queen Matrinka hours earlier; but his main duty as bard was to serve as primary bodyguard to the king of Bearn.
At Griff's other hand, Guard Captain Seiryn stood as often as he sat, assisting in those matters that involved the guardsmen of Bearn no matter how tangentially. His gaze swept the dwindling audience of nobles and commoners seated on chairs on either side of the aisle-way. His watchful eye kept the inner court guards vigilant and the sentries escorting the various visitors and prisoners mannered and within protocol. He had no authority over Bearn's bard, however, and paid no attention to Darris' progressively drooping posture.
That left Darris free to brood and dream, his mind slipping always to Queen Matrinka: her soft brown eyes, the thick ebony hair that his fingers captured, her gentle loving features, and her plump Bearnian body still soft from the three children she had borne. Darris had loved her since adolescence first turned his thoughts toward women; and she loved him, too. When the populace demanded she wed her first cousin, King Griff, to keep the bloodline strong, Darris had thought his heart would shatter like a glass figurine. As always, Griff had found the simplest solution, one designed to keep everyone happy. It was Griff who married Matrinka but Darris who shared the queen's affection. The resultant offspring, Marisole, Arturo, and Halika, though sired by Darris, belonged to the king and queen by law. Ignorant of, or deliberately blind to, the arrangement, the people of Bearn accepted the prince and princesses without question.
Bearnian law allowed and encouraged its kings, and only its kings, to wed many times to assure the birth of at least one heir who could pass the gods' test. Griff next married his elfin sweetheart, Tem'aree'ay. Darris smiled at the memory. He had played an important role in that. Obsessively rereading and reinterpreting ancient Bearnian law, Darris had found what was needed to allow that union despite the many strict rules that governed who could marry an heir to Bearn, the same ones which had kept Matrinka and himself apart. With help from the populace and his Council, Griff had selected a third wife, Xoraida, who met the bloodline criteria for royalty. She, too, had borne him a son and two daughters.
The double doors at the end of the room crashed open, sending the banner behind the thrones into a fluttering dance and drawing Darris' full attention. A Bearnide entered the courtroom without escort, wearing the on-duty uniform of the guards. A blue-and-gold tabard speckled with dirt lay twisted over his mail, the rearing grizzly on the front still vividly clear. His thick, black hair sat on top of his scalp in a frizzy, uncombed ball, and he clutched his helmet in his hand. Every eye followed his walk down the golden carpet, and Darris noticed that he left muddy footprints in his wake.
As he approached the dais, the guard looked nervously at Captain Seiryn, then bowed deeply.
Griff studied the guard with a kind expression devoid of the curiosity that plagued Darris and every other member of the audience. Like all of the god-sanctioned rulers of Bearn, Griff was neutrality incarnate, the very fulcrum of the world's balance. Enormous, yet uncomplicated, the ruler of the West's high kingdom seemed more like a massive, bearded child than an absolute commander-in-chief. He looked at the guard through coarse, ebony bangs and smiled. "Hello, Lazwald. What news have you brought me?"
The guard rose, dark eyes darting nervously, clearly startled that the king knew him by name.
Darris nodded encouragingly. The king made it a point to recognize as many of his citizens as possible.
"Sire, your presence is requested in the Council Room as soon as possible."
The corners of Darris' lips slid downward, though the king's expression never changed. The Council rarely interrupted court. Most of their affairs involved protocol, law, and state, matters that required mulling. It also bothered Darris they had sent a guardsman rather than a page, which suggested they had gathered hastily and dispatched whoever had brought them the news that resulted in their sudden need for a meeting. Information from guardsmen, when important enough to disturb the king, was rarely good.
King Griff gave no sign he had made the same intuitive leap as his bard. "Very well, then. Court is dismissed for the day. Anything remaining will hold over until tomorrow."
The audience rose from their seats, muttering amongst themselves as they headed down the carpetway toward the double doors. Darris leaped to his feet, pausing to execute a bow before stooping to retrieve the lute beside his chair. His liege rose stiffly from his padded throne to tower over his escort. The inner court guards filed out the back exit, leaving only the king, his captain, and Darris.
Bearnian big, burly and massively boned, the other two men towered over Darris, whose Pudarian origins seemed obvious in their presence. Pure-blooded Bearnides sported thick bristly black hair, coarse features, fair skin, and brown eyes. A tall, sturdy lot, nearly all the men wore heavy beards. In contrast, Darris had a slender, average build. Soft, mouse-brown curls framed a delicate face with thin brows, an overly large straight nose, and broad lips.
Those differences might have singled him out enough, without the bardic curse, passed to the oldest child of his line for millennia. Though imbued with insatiable curiosity, he could impart what he learned only through song. As such, he usually carried a mandolin or lute in addition to the sword at his belt. Now, he slung his instrument onto his back, running verses of courage and hope through his mind. He might need them at the Council meeting.
As they trod through castle corridors replete with animal-shaped torch brackets trailing strings of gems, carved and painted statues, and vast murals encompassing the doors and windows into their art, Darris mulled the possibilities through his mind. He had practically memorized the artwork; his inhuman inquisitiveness had forced him to study every nuance in the past. Now, his focus narrowed to the reason for the abrupt meeting. Surely, it had something to do with the pirates on the southwest coast. Bearn currently had no other significant enemies. Friends now ruled the vast Eastlands, and trade with the reclusive Northlanders had become one-
sided in the North's favor. The many and varied countries that made up the vast territories of the Westlands, though essentially under Bearn's rule, were mostly left to govern themselves. King Griff kept his touch and taxes light; and, consequently, heard few complaints.
A pair of guards clutching polearms stood at the Council Room door. Both bowed as the trio approached, and one opened the door with a grand and practiced gesture as he did so. Darris peeked around him into the familiar, austere room. It contained nothing but a long, rectangular table, and the members of the Council seated around it, who rose at the king's approach. The walls were kept symbolically bare, to emphasize the importance of the discussions occurring there. As the three men stepped through the entrance, the door whisked closed behind them.
Darris assessed those present with a glance, nodding at each in turn as the king claimed the head seat, leaving the one at his right hand for Darris. As usual, Captain Seiryn chose a position standing near the door. Though an official member, he carried no noble blood and deferred to the men and women he considered his superiors.The oldest, seventy-nine-year-old Minister of Courtroom Procedure and Affairs Saxanar, looked grim. Fanatical about protocol and grooming, he wore his colors fastidiously. Not a single white hair lay out of place, and his deep brown eyes held a glaze of pain.
Beside him, Prime Minister Davian kept his head lowered, hiding his scarred features beneath a curtain of salt-and-pepper hair. Once a peasant carver, he had earned his title by leading the band of renegades who had helped reclaim Griff's throne from usurpers. His no-nonsense cleverness had won over even stodgy Saxanar, who had made it known in the past that he believed only blooded nobility made for proper councillors.
Another former leader of the renegades, Minister of Internal Affairs Aerean, also held an honorary title.Though rapidly approaching forty, she still maintained the boundless energy and enthusiasm that had irritated Saxanar since her appointment. Though primary nobility, Minister of Household Affairs Franstaine had a habit of vexing the staid, older ministers nearly as much as Aerean. An in-law uncle of Griff's mother, he was as notorious for his strange sense of humor as his seemingly limitless patience.
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