Flight of the Renshai fotr-1

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  The group dropped into stunned silence, amplifying the familiar voice that followed, "I accept."

  Every eye turned toward Kevral, who elbowed her way through the crowd. "Those cowards can't whine about fairness when their champion faces me."

  "No," Saviar whispered, his hand falling from Thialnir's clothing. "No," he said louder, but his voice disappeared into the murmurs that followed. Even Calistin whirled to face Kevral; he had clearly intended his words only as a taunt.

  "I accept," Kevral repeated. "Now where's my target?"

  Saviar seized a huge handful of Thialnir's tunic and pulled so hard he all but disrobed the Renshai leader.

  Finally, Thialnir glanced at his apprentice.

  Saviar hissed, "You can't let her fight. The stakes are too high."

  Thialnir shook his head, his voice just above a whisper. "She accepted the challenge, Savi. To deny her would be to dishonor her." He smiled wickedly, "Besides, what better vengeance than to slaughter their best man with a girl."

  Saviar found it impossible to think of his mother as a girl. Though remarkably skilled in her day, still a better warrior than himself, she was well into her thirties. Age had to take some toll on her agility. "Thialnir, no. Their champion is… is… well… unusually competent."

  "Your mother," Thialnir returned stiffly, "is Renshai." Without further explanation, he strode out of Saviar's reach.

  Events seemed to progress in strangely slowed motion. Saviar could only watch as Calistin conferred with Kevral, as Thialnir, the Northmen, and the Erythanians explored the finer points of the upcoming conflict. His mind muddled, refusing to grasp details. Centuries ago, the Renshai had met a similar challenge by pitting a random member of the tribe against the Northmen's best. That had resulted in a humiliation that had blossomed into prejudice. How much stronger would the hatred flare if a female elder, a mother of three adults, slaughtered the Northmen's best? And, while Saviar had not worried for Calistin at all, anxiety twitched through him at the thought of Kevral in his brother's place. She could lose, she could die, and the Renshai would become double exiles.

  Saviar had always known he would one day lose his mother violently. Like all Renshai, she craved death in combat to join the eternal war in Valhalla. But to risk her life for such a heinous matter, a contest born of bigotry and intolerance, seemed wrong. Perhaps the cause was not good enough. Perhaps the gods and their Valkyries, their Choosers of the Slain, would consider such a contest unworthy. Perhaps, the loser would not reach Valhalla. The thought sent a desperate shiver through him. For so many reasons, Kevral had to win.

  A hand fell on Saviar's shoulder. Father? Ra-khir did not share the Renshai's desire to die in valiant combat. Saviar could only wonder how much anxious pain his father suffered now. He whirled to face Verdondi. Surprised, he only stared.

  "I'm sorry," the young Northman said. "I know what it's like to be orphaned."

  "Orphaned? What do you mean orphaned?" Sudden realization enraged Saviar. "You think my mother will be defeated."

  Verdondi paled, if possible, his features nearly bloodless. "Well… I just meant… there is a… a chance…"

  "No!" Saviar spoke through gritted teeth. "Ridiculous. My mother is Renshai." Fire seemed to course through his veins. It was all he could do to keep himself from attacking the young Northman, and that loss of self-control triggered the logical thoughts that had, thus far, evaded him. Saviar realized his anger stemmed not from insult, but because he feared the very possibility Verdondi had raised.

  Unaware of Saviar's internal turmoil, Verdondi tried to extricate himself from the situation. "I didn't… didn't mean any offense. I… just… just wanted you to know that… I understand.You see, Captain Erik is actually my uncle by blood. My… my parents were… killed." He seemed on the verge of tears, which snapped Saviar fully out of his fury. He did not want to humiliate the only Northman who had acted as a friend.

  Not trusting himself to speak of the matter at hand, Saviar asked in a flat tone, "What happened to your parents?" From the corner of his eye, he watched the preparations. Kevral crouched in the middle of the combat area, calmly cleaning her swords. Saviar searched for her opponent.

  "A group of brigands assaulted my mother. She returned home clinging to life. My father took them all on in vengeance, but they overpowered him. She lived on for a few months, but she felt responsible for his death. Eventually, infection overwhelmed her."

  "That's horrible."

  Verdondi closed his eyes, gritted his teeth. "Yes." He forced himself to continue, "They, the ones who killed my parents, were Northmen of our own tribe. So I came to see there are good and bad in every group of people." He looked askance at Saviar, seeming almost to plead. "Among Renshai, too?"

  The Northman had dared to share his most vulnerable moment, and Saviar found himself feeling strangely protective. He had never thought of his tribe in those specific terms. Renshai were simple to understand: life and death intertwined, based solely on a swordwork they considered the only pathway to eternal glory. Saviar thought of his younger brother and the many times he had wanted to throttle the pompous pest. "Among Renshai, too," he finally agreed.

  Verdondi seemed about to say something more, but no words emerged.

  Saviar rescued him from the trouble of speaking. "Excuse me, again. I'd like to visit with my mother before the battle."

  "Of course," Verdondi gestured for Saviar to go.

  Saviar studied the battlefield as he approached. Knights still patrolled the roped-off area, large enough to support three battles at once. Someone had cleaned the area of debris, leaving only a fine film of crushed weeds over the dirt. Clearly, the Northmen were taking no chances of giving the Renshai any advantages, including familiarity with the grounds or use of their vast experience waging war on hazardous terrain. Shadows of foliage and the nearest cottages marred the otherwise clean perfection of the field. Two large trees towered directly over the makeshift arena, though not a single shed stick lay beneath either of them. Saviar could see a fresh wound where someone had hacked down and filed a bit of root that might have caused a trip hazard. Under the guise of fairness, they will see to it every advantage is theirs.

  As if to prove Saviar's point, Valr Magnus finally leaped over the ropes to enter the combat area. Kevral watched him, clearly judging every movement, and Saviar instinctively did the same. Though large, he was not muscle-bound, and moved with a quickness that spoke of remarkable agility despite the armor that encased his chest and abdomen. He kept his arms and legs bare, but clutched a helmet in one hand and a sizable shield in the other. The broadsword at his hip appeared well-made.

  A thought occurred to Saviar, and he veered from Kevral to Thialnir where the Renshai leader stood with the Northern captain, the king, and Humfreet's knightly entourage. Time to turn the tables. "Sir." Saviar addressed Thialnir, though he spoke loudly enough for the knights and the king to hear. "Is it fair for the Northman to wear armor while our champion has none?"

  Thialnir turned to face Saviar directly, his movements haughty but a smile playing across his lips that only Saviar could see. "We've discussed this, Savi. Their solution was to offer Kevral some as well, but she refused to hide behind hunks of metal like a coward."

  Saviar had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He dared not look at the Northmen lest he further aggravate the situation. Renshai shunned even jewelry because it might deflect a blow. Allowing anything but one's own quickness and skill to escape and answer an attack was perceived as the lowest form of weakness among Renshai. Saviar had known the answer before he asked the question and only brought up the subject in the hope that he could goad Valr Magnus into shedding his own protections.

  But the Northmen's champion took no notice of the conversation. He stood in the arena, studying everything, including his opponent. Kevral seemed oblivious to his scrutiny, though Saviar knew she noticed every detail, every movement.

  Feeling his grandfather's gaze boring through him, Saviar m
ade a dutiful bow to the king, though he still addressed Thialnir. "Forgive me for raising a matter already addressed. I just could not imagine a true warrior seeing the inequity and choosing to wear his armor anyway." He stopped there. If he directly disparaged Valr Magnus as a cheater or a coward, he would attract his father's ire. As it stood, they all knew what he meant; and he had stated it surreptitiously enough to skirt rudeness.

  King Humfreet clapped his hands suddenly. "Silence!"

  Saviar cringed, at first believing the command directed at his insolence. Then, he realized the king of Erythane addressed the entire gathering.

  The crowd quieted. Only then, Saviar truly noticed the vast numbers of people who had gathered. They stood in masses, the smaller ones attempting to see around the taller. Renshai children perched on parental shoulders to watch. Erythanians and Renshai sat in tree branches, on boulders, or on cottage porches. A few even squatted on the rooftops, a precarious position given the Renshai's lack of knowledge and experience when it came to construction. They might battle on any surface, but their ability to properly and safely erect buildings was limited.

  Standing in the vicinity of the king, Saviar had an unobstructed view of the proceedings. No one dared block King Humfreet, not even the knights of Erythane, though mounted knights repeatedly shooed away anyone else who stepped too near the ropes.

  Kevral rose, her movements casual. She seemed utterly composed, as if out for a stroll rather than facing a great challenge the outcome of which would determine the future of an entire tribe. She sheathed her first sword, a perfectly crafted blade she had received from Colbey. At the time, she had needed to battle a demon, and he knew her plain, steel weapons could not touch it. His had a hint of power simply because it had so long graced the hand of a god. She considered it her greatest treasure, and it never left her side.

  Kevral sheathed her second sword as lovingly, a slender blade that once bore the name Tisis, Vengeance. Ironically, it had slain the first Valr, Valr Kirin, in a battle more than three centuries ago. The Einherjar, Rache, had gifted it to Kevral after she bested another of the Gloriously Slain in fair combat. In Valhalla, Rache had befriended Valr Kirin and gave Kevral the sword that she promised to rename. She now called it Motfrabelonning, Reward of Courage, and cherished it nearly as much as her unnamed weapon.

  Valr Magnus stepped toward her. Sunlight sheened from his breastplate. He moved with a catlike lightness that belied the heavy armor and the shield he now wore strapped to his forearm. He had handsome features below boyishly tousled gold hair that fell in curls around his ears. His sinewy limbs hinted at speed and dexterity well beyond the norm. He stood more than a head taller than Kevral and was at least twice her weight. With a wave to someone in the crowd, he pulled a gleaming helmet over his head.

  Saviar's heart pounded, and he found himself incapable of turning away.

  "Ready?" King Humfreet called to the combatants.

  In reply, Valr Magnus unsheathed his mighty sword. It seemed to draw the attention of the sun, flicking shafts of silver among the audience. Many turned away, apparently blinded by the reflection.

  Kevral gave nothing. She simply stood just beyond the range of Valr's sword, her weapons in their sheaths, her expression carefree. As always, she kept her hair chopped functionally short, and she looked more boy than woman in her straight-cut tunic and breeks.

  A figure stepped up beside Saviar. He stiffened, hoping it was not Verdondi again. He liked the young Northman, but his repeated attempts at conversation were becoming annoying. At the moment, he felt incapable of conversation, concerned solely with the battle. He was Renshai, first and foremost. For now, he just wanted to blend among his people, to hate Northmen and the situations they repeatedly thrust the Renshai into with their challenges and biases. The Renshai just wanted to be left alone and in peace. Why could the Northmen not honor that simple request?

  Calistin's voice hissed in his ear. "She's got him."

  Saviar looked at his brother. The young man rarely deigned to engage him in equal discussion. "What?"

  "Mother's the better warrior. She's going to win."

  Saviar responded the only way he could. "Of course she's going to win. She's Renshai."

  Treysind shoved fiercely between them, his carroty mane bristling. Calistin frowned slightly but did not reprimand the boy. "No, I mean look at their builds. She's smaller, and he'll have more power; but Renshai maneuvers-"

  "-don't rely on strength but on quickness and skill," Saviar finished impatiently. "Everyone knows that."

  Calistin looked around his "bodyguard." "I-I know you know-I just mean-"

  Saviar did not have patience for unnecessary chatter, whether from the young Northman or from his baby brother. "Yes, yes. She'll do fine." He needed the words to convince himself as well as Calistin. "She'll do just fine."

  "I didn't mean to-I didn't expect her to say-"

  Nothing could have driven Saviar's focus from the upcoming battle, except for his cocksure brother seeking reassurance from him. It was so wildly uncharacteristic, so staggeringly unexpected, that Saviar choked on his own saliva. At a time when he most wished to say something, he could do nothing but surrender to a fit of violent coughing.

  The king made a sweeping gesture. "Let the battle begin!"

  Before the sentence ended, Kevral struck like a snake, zipping through Valr Magnus' guard. Her sword cut across his shield, scratching a perfect line in the steel. She lunged again immediately, leaving no time for a return strike. Forced to defend again, Magnus sprang safely aside. This time, he managed a blazing riposte that Kevral dodged.

  Saviar's throat finally handled speech. "It's not your fault, Calistin. No one blames you."

  The Northmen shouted rhythmically, "Valr! Valr! Valr!" To Saviar's surprise, much of the Erythanian audience took up the chant. The Renshai remained silent.

  Magnus' speed bothered Saviar. Whatever Calistin saw in their physiques that gave Kevral the advantage defied his not-quite-as-practiced eye. Magnus moved like a dancer, despite the heavy armor, and he clearly bided his time. He had learned to use the shield as a weapon rather than relying on it to fend every blow.

  Kevral's next assault was a deadly blur of weaving steel. The sword in her left hand struck six times in less than a second, and the right bore in to inflict unrelated chaos. Magnus might have faced two separate foes for all the logic in their intertwining movements. He caught one attack on his sword, another on his shield, three more on various parts of his armor. Another, he parried, redirecting it fiercely and following up with a blazing attack that forced Kevral to withdraw and realign.

  This time, Magnus attacked first, a furious feint followed by a blow full of strength and passion. Kevral caught it on a cross between her swords, needing both hands to slow the attack. Even then, it must have stung fiercely. She gave gradually with the force, slowing the momentum so as not to force an immediate, agonizing stop. An abrupt twist jerked the sword from his grip.

  But Magnus moved with it, grabbing the hilt and yanking furiously. For an instant, his balance wavered. Seizing the opening, Kevral bore in with a blow toward the neck that dented his helmet but left the flesh intact.

  Magnus loosed a howl of rage. His features went taut with driven anger, yet Saviar noticed something else in his expression, something out of place and unexpected. "Is that… a wicked, little smile?" he asked of no one in particular.

  "He's testing her," Calistin guessed. Apparently appeased by Saviar's words, he sounded more like his usual confident self, "getting a feel for how she moves, her favorite actions."

  Though troubled by Magnus' strategy and patience, Saviar doubted it would make a substantial difference. Renshai had no overriding tactics, no patterns; and Kevral would know better than to repeat a maneuver.

  The two combatants attacked simultaneously, with a speed that defied Saviar's ability to follow. Steel flashed, arms and legs wove with terrifying speed, metal crashed against metal. Rents appeared in Kevral'
s clothing, scratches, dents and holes in Magnus' armor. And, on occasion, blood splashed, following a sword arc. Saviar did not know whose, but neither gave a bit of ground, so no one had sustained a serious wound.Yet.

  Saviar's jaw ached. One clenched hand gripped his hilt so tightly it left impressions of the knurling on his palm. His fingernails chewed into the other. He tried to relax, tried to feel certain that Kevral would prevail, that all would go well for the Renshai; but he could not stop himself from worrying. She was a phenomenal warrior, more than a match for any Northman. Any Northman! he reassured himself. Yet, the war did not always go to the most competent. Renshai lost battles… occasionally. Renshai died… often. Mother, why did you have to take that challenge?

  For an instant the two disengaged. Though neither panted obviously, their nostrils flared repeatedly. Sweat sheened them both, darkening the leather on their hilts. Both sported rips, tears, and gashes in clothing and flesh, mostly light limb wounds. Then, as suddenly as they had stopped, they charged again. Kevral sprang aside, her blades invisible as they carved lethal patterns through Magnus' defense. He charged right by her, missing, spinning to avoid the deadly steel. Blood splashed from Kevral's blade, and Saviar saw the welling scarlet stain on Magnus' thigh.

  She got him! Joy welled up inside Saviar. He's lost.

  Magnus tottered a step, then caught his balance. He glanced at the wound, then back to Kevral.

  Kevral remained in position, swords readied; but she did not press. Apparently, she used his moment of weakness to catch her breath. If she had gashed the main artery, he would die before he took another step.

  Valr Magnus remained standing, sword readied in his hand. With a bellowing battle scream, he rushed Kevral again.

  "No!" Calistin shouted suddenly, bounding toward the ropes. "Above! Mama, look up!"

  Only then, Saviar noticed a movement in the tree branch over Kevral's head. A man plummeted from it.

  Kevral attempted to dodge both dangers simultaneously. She avoided Magnus' headlong rush with a deft spin, but the leaping figure caught her a glancing blow across the right shoulder. She staggered for balance, just as Valr Magnus turned and thrust. His blade pierced her left side, and their combined momentum drove it deeper.