Flight of the Renshai fotr-1

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  To have this creature, Ivana, be the result of a love so obsessive and fierce seemed the cruelest trick. And many considered it a warning: Leave creation to the gods. Only sorrow could come of meddling with it, of starting new species by mingling unlike beings. The gods had revealed their displeasure by punishing Bearn's king with this monstrosity, and all humans and elves should take heed. It was so easy to forget that her conception had once been considered the ultimate miracle, the answer to two of the greatest problems of the universe.

  Finally, Ivana released Saviar and joined her siblings at the periphery. Only then, it occurred to Saviar to wonder why his father had gathered the heirs of Bearn to watch him practice, why Halika had cautioned him and worried for his safety. Saviar had greeted all the heirs, yet still an equal host stood, calmly watchful, at Ra-khir's side. A sinewy horde of brunets and blonds, male and female, some of them braided and all of them armed with swords studied his every movement from the sidelines. He knew them all, at least in passing; and he also knew why they took such an interest in him. They were learning him: from the set of his build to the shape, origin, and insertion of every muscle. They were the guardians of Bearn's heirs, the only Renshai currently residing in Bearn.

  And they were about to attack him. En masse.

  CHAPTER 12

  Renshai violence is swift and merciless, but never without cause.

  -Arak'bar Tulamii Dhor (aka Captain)

  Terror seized Saviar in an all-consuming instant that drove everything into slow motion. The mass of Renshai drew and attacked with a speed that would ordinarily have astounded, yet Saviar felt as if he had all the time in the world to die. Instinct took over, and his own sword rasped from its sheath. Then, fear retreated behind the courage trained into him since birth: to die in glorious valorous combat, to find his place in Valhalla, to fight until he drew his last gasping breath. He would do nothing in cowardice, but neither did Renshai training force him to act a fool.

  Eyes on his foe, Saviar made a wild leap for the staircase. The forest of swords followed him, clutched in the hands of eager Renshai. Saviar bounded up, three steps at a time, then whirled to face his opponents on the landing. The other Renshai were on him in an instant, but the closed confines forced them to face him one warrior at a time, the others clamoring and howling on the steps like wolves.

  And I'm the bone, Saviar realized, catching the first attack, by Asmiri, on his sword and parrying it harmlessly aside. Asmiri clutched a hilt in each hand, cursing the banister and wall that limited his right arm. Nevertheless, his left-hand strokes came blisteringly quickly, and he even managed a few surprises with the right. Hard-pressed to his defense, Saviar parried, blocked, and dodged without bothering to return an attack. He knew all of his attackers, and it chilled him. Every one had fought in the Pirate Wars, every one had already passed the tests to which he still only aspired; not one would go easy on a young Renshai they still considered a child.

  Yet, when an opening came, Saviar seized it. He lunged into a miniscule space between Asmiri's weaving blades, jabbing hard enough to disembowel his opponent. Asmiri managed to dodge, barely, hampered by the Renshai behind him. Saviar's blade stabbed through cloth and grazed skin. Real blood followed its withdrawal, and Saviar paused for an instant, startled.

  Saviar's torke always told him to keep his strokes real. Any adult Renshai who could not avoid the most deadly strike of a student deserved to die. It happened occasionally, though never to Saviar, who had not even drawn blood on a torke. "Asmiri, are you all right?"

  Asmiri gave him a pale-faced, sour look. "I'm dead, all right?" Unable to properly retreat from the battle, he wilted to the ground in a feigned and awkward swoon. "Keep fighting."

  I won! Saviar realized. I actually won. He had no time to revel in his triumph. The horde pressed forward, and Elbirine replaced Asmiri. Lost beneath the swiftly shifting feet, Asmiri worked his way cautiously down the stairs while his companions did their best not to step on him. Lithe, small, and fierce, Elbirine had trained with Kevral. Though approaching middle age, she moved with the quickness of a stooping hawk. "Overconfident, like your mother?"

  Forced to leap backward to avoid a stunning strike, Saviar dashed his spine against the stonework. Because of her youth and attitude, Kevral had not been well liked by her classmates. Saviar had to wonder whether she annoyed them as much as Calistin did him. Head ringing, he surged into a slashing over-under combination. "No." He dodged a powerful slice from the small woman. "Just…" He parried. "… confident…" He lunged. "… enough."

  A twirling maneuver saved him from a deadly jab, but opened his side momentarily. Steel tore his britches and the covering flesh and bruised his hipbone with enough force to bring unbidden tears to his eyes.

  "Not fatal," Elbirine shouted, without giving Saviar any time to recover. She sliced and cut, surging in and out with fine movements so fast they seemed invisible. He managed to dodge or parry every one, at the same time collecting tiny rents and bruises that reminded him how close he had come to losing the battle.

  "Come on, knight's son," Elbirine growled, meaning both the talking while fighting, and the words, as insult. By referring to his father, she meant to remind him that he was not all Renshai, but something less. "Get angry."

  Saviar wished he could, but his training remained too strong within him. He knew that rage made men careless, the commonest cause for a fall. He did not like Elbirine. The Renshai guardians of Bearn's heirs had come to help him, at Ra-khir's request. Any Renshai would assist one of their own, and no Renshai could resist a battle.Yet, it soon became clear Elbirine wanted him to pay for all the humiliation she had suffered at the hands of his mother, from Kevral's superior skill and her patronizing manner. Saviar knew only that he could not allow Elbirine to best him.

  And then, it happened. Saviar rose to a level he had heard about but never before reached. His mind remained free to study his opponent, to scan her every motion; yet his body reacted without the need for thought. All of his training came together in that moment. He did not need to consider a move before he made it. His body instinctively found the perfect maneuver and used it. Every attack had a defense and a counter, and his arms and legs performed them from years of brutal practice.

  Elbirine stopped talking; she could no longer afford the distraction or the energy. Engrossed in his task, Saviar could not have formed coherent words had he wished to do so. He found a euphoria he never knew existed. His world became his sword, his excitement a giddy joy that knew no boundaries, his arms and legs carried out flawless Renshai maneuvers without hesitation. This is it! Saviar realized. This is what Valhalla is like. He never wanted the battle to end.

  Then, suddenly, Saviar remembered Kedrin's teachings. As he executed a deft maneuver, he added a powerful end stroke that defied Elbirine's parry. She caught the blow hard on her blade, and the force of it stole breath and balance. She tumbled down the stairs. Renshai cleared the way, but not quickly enough. She took three of them with her, landing in a heap on the cobbles, tangled with Asmiri as well.

  Wildly excited, Saviar prepared for his next assailant as Kedrin called over the fray. "Stop! Enough!" He pointed a warning finger at the remaining Renshai. "This battle is over."

  Halting Renshai in combat was more difficult than reining a galloping horse pursued by wolves. The Renshai on the stairs paused. The ones on the ground sorted themselves in an instant and sprang to their feet. Saviar read attack in many eyes. Any word or quick movement would set them back on him. Slowly, cautiously, he sheathed his sword.

  To Saviar's relief the others followed suit.

  Kedrin explained, "Saviar has had enough for one day."

  Saviar raised his brows to display disagreement. In truth, he wanted to finish the spar. His hip throbbed, his head ached, and he could feel the sweat-sting of several small tears. He could not, however, reveal weakness to other Renshai.

  "He needs a good meal and a warm bath before his confrontation tomorrow."

/>   Only then, Saviar realized how much time must have passed. The sun was gone, the courtyard dark.

  Acknowledging each Renshai with a nod, so as not to appear to be turning his back on them, Saviar descended the stairs. Elbirine glared, but the others merely gave him a tip of their own heads. Kedrin fixed an angry stare on Ra-khir with an intensity that questioned the younger knight's sanity.

  Marisole strummed her lute, then launched into a song of such beauty that the last of the hostility disappeared even from Elbirine's stance. The bard's heir sang of brotherhood, of the lethal grace of Renshai, of the virtues of knowing when a battle has truly ended. Her voice had grown stronger since Saviar had heard it last and her range massive. Each note carried a power that reminded Saviar of Renshai sword strokes and a finesse that defied understanding. If her notes wavered a semitone, he never noticed. She not only heard with perfect pitch, she sang it, every tone falling into its rightful place. And she ended with an invitation for Saviar to join the heirs for dinner.

  As the last notes faded, Saviar approached Marisole and took her hands. "I'd love to," he said.

  Kedrin interceded. "After he's washed up, of course,Your Grace." He gave the bow Saviar had neglected.

  Reclaiming her hands, Marisole answered with a proper curtsy. "Please don't take too long, Savi."

  This time, Saviar bowed. His grandfather would have it no other way. Despite his growling gut, he would rather have dropped off to sleep without bothering to eat. Though he looked forward to his too-long postponed meeting with Bearn's heirs, he worried about the necessary conversation regarding Arturo when he felt so battered and exhausted.

  Kedrin placed his hands on Saviar's shoulders while the heirs trooped out, accompanied by their guardians. Only after the last one left the courtyard did he speak, "Saviar, you did fine in a difficult situation." He turned a dagger glance at Ra-khir.

  Saviar had no wish to be present when his father and grandfather discussed what Ra-khir had done.

  "And," Kedrin added, "I believe you'll do fine tomorrow as well."

  Saviar was not so certain. He could not best Thialnir; he could only hope to earn his respect. Even then, the Renshai leader might not take well to the news about the Pirate Wars; and, this time, the battle might not end on the command of a Knight of Erythane. In the hierarchy of Bearn, Kedrin and Thialnir were considered equals. "I'll do my best," Saviar promised. "I'll do you proud." He added only to himself: Or die trying. At the moment, the unspoken part of the promise seemed the most significant.

  A bath and clean clothes worked wonders on Saviar, who felt refreshed despite the throbbing nicks and bruises that seemed to cover every part of him. Apparently, the heirs chose to wait for him because, as he approached the private dining hall, they were filing inside beneath the watchful eyes of their guardian Renshai.

  Dodging his peers, who glared but made no move to intervene, Saviar scurried to assist Marisole. Barrindar arrived first, scooting back the seat of the eldest heir of Bearn with a gracious flourish. Saviar glanced around; but, as Halika, Calitha, and Eldorin already had servants assisting them to their seats, he simply chose the place at Marisole's left hand. He pulled out the chair to sit just as Barrindar started to settle into the same one.

  Too late, Saviar realized his mistake.The only remaining male heir to Bearn's throne crashed clumsily to the floor, huge arms flailing.

  Oh, gods. Before Saviar could move, Marisole and Barrindar's guardian stood between them, the Bearnide helping her cousin and the Renshai glaring daggers at Saviar. "I'm sorry,Your Grace." Saviar bowed repeatedly, finding himself unable to stop. "I am so sorry." I can't believe I did that. After what seemed like a hundred million bows, Saviar finally managed to scurry around the table to the only empty seat, across from Marisole at Halika's side. I can't believe I dumped a prince of Bearn on the floor. Unable to look at anyone, he buried his face in his arms. He could hear Marisole's soothing voice, soft and directed at Barrindar, her words obliterated by the stifled giggles of the other three princesses.

  Only then, Saviar realized how swiftly Marisole had moved and remembered that the bard of Bearn also served as the king's personal bodyguard. He marveled at the thought of all she would have to face. Although Renshai women fought alongside their men, equally fierce, no other group of people supported the idea of women as warriors. Only Bearn expected it, and only in this one instance. Throughout history, the firstborn child of the bard was more often male than female; but Darris' own mother had also served in this position until her death had granted the job to him. Someday, Marisole would take his place, watching over whichever of the heirs passed the test that granted him or her rulership of Bearn.

  An odd idea occurred to Saviar. What if Marisole is the heir? Such a possibility had never arisen before, given the cautious laws regarding who the heirs to Bearn could marry. Saviar wondered how such a thing might work: would the queen have to serve as her own personal bodyguard? The idea practically banished itself. As the bard, Marisole was also constrained to presenting new ideas only through song. The gods did not seem whimsical enough to force such a queen on the high kingdom of the Westlands. Court proceedings and strategy sessions would turn into an endless concert.

  Halika stroked Saviar's damp hair. "It's all right, Savi." She snorted in another laugh. "It was an accident. Barri's not mad." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's sweet on her, you know."

  Saviar looked at Marisole's blood sister. "Who?"

  "Barrindar, of course." Halika's brows furrowed as she considered the undirected question. "He really likes Marisole." She rolled her eyes, as if she could never imagine anyone finding her sister attractive. "Only gods know why."

  Barrindar and Marisole? The idea seemed madness. "But they're-" Saviar stopped himself before saying anything stupid. They were half siblings by birth yet did not actually share much blood. Matrinka and Griff were first cousins, an allowable royal marriage by Bearnian convention. When it came to bloodlines, Barrindar and Marisole were actually farther apart than their parents.

  "-brother and sister," Halika finished. "Yeah, I know. Isn't it sickening?"

  Saviar found himself more jealous than appalled. He had always known he did not fit the criteria necessary to marry a princess of Bearn. Nevertheless, perhaps because she was "safe" or the first girl with whom he had established a friendship, Marisole had occasionally figured in his dreams of the future. The realization surprised and embarrassed him. "Sickening? No. I think it's… it's… nice."

  "You would." Halika stuck her tongue out at Saviar.

  Servants circulated, bringing soup to every member of the group, including the guardian Renshai, who sat together at the opposite end of the table. A thick, cream smell filled Saviar's nostrils, along with a tempting array of unfamiliar spices. His gut growled loudly. Ignoring the food, Saviar finally looked directly at Barrindar. "I'm so sorry about what happened."

  Barrindar waved away the apology good-naturedly. "Think nothing more of it, good friend." His spoon seemed to disappear into his massive hand, and he tended to his soup.

  Saviar let out a pent-up breath, then took up his own spoon and ladled a hefty scoop into his mouth. Hotter than he expected, it burned his tongue, yet the magnificent flavor of spiced potatoes still came through. He gulped down half a mug of mulled cider, then several more spoonfuls of soup.

  "So," said eleven-year-old Eldorin around a mouthful of food, "are you a knight or a Renshai?"

  Saviar swallowed, the hot soup drawing a fiery line all the way to his stomach. "Renshai."

  "Then why're you wearing knight's colors?"

  It was the first time anyone had noticed. Even off-duty, the Knights of Erythane wore clothing in blue, gold, black, and orange, in a tasteful array that never clashed. Saviar had taken to emulating his father's colors in childhood, and the habit stuck. "My papa and grandpapa are knights," he explained. "That's what tends to fill our wardrobe."

  "Oh." Apparently satisfied, Eldorin returned
to her soup.

  Saviar wanted to turn the conversation onto anything but himself, but bringing up Arturo's death too quickly seemed heartless at best. He tried to ease into the topic. "Um… how are… all of you?"

  Replies of "good," "fine," and "well enough" came from every corner of the table. Then, Ivana let out a bray that startled Saviar. He barely managed to divert his spilling spoonful of soup into the bowl instead of his lap.

  "I was aggrieved to hear about Arturo." Saviar addressed Marisole directly. "How… are you? In that regard?"

  Halika interrupted before her sister could reply. "Don't ask her!" She tugged on Saviar's arm, and he released his spoon to avoid another near spill. "Her song about that is beautiful, but totally depressing."

  Nods swept the group, even one from Marisole.

  "They're all totally sad," Halika continued, "but getting past it little by little, day by day."

  Again, the others nodded, more vigorously now.

  Halika finished with something unexpected, "But I'm not sad at all."

  Saviar blinked, then stared. "You're not sad about your brother dying?"

  Calitha rolled her eyes, Eldorin shook her head, and Marisole and Barrindar gave each other knowing glances. Apparently oblivious, Ivana continued to eat her soup with noisy slurping that everyone politely ignored.

  "He isn't dead," Halika said firmly.

  Barrindar explained what Marisole could not, except in song. "Halika didn't see the body. Ergo, as far as she's concerned, he's not really dead."

  Eldorin added, "She doesn't get the part about the sharks."

  "I get it," Halika defended. "I just don't believe it. I think he sneaked onto a pirate ship. Or got rescued by a friendly one. He's just waiting for his chance to come back."

  Marisole gave Saviar a look that told a story. She had clearly tried to explain the facts to her sister, but Halika would have none of it.