No! Saviar chased his brother, heedless of the Knights of Erythane. No! No! No!
Kevral collapsed.
Magnus planted a foot on her abdomen and ripped his sword free. A rush of blood followed, bright red and pulsing.
Kidney strike, Saviar realized, suddenly wishing he knew less anatomy. Fatal.
Hands seized Saviar's arms, jarring him from the ropes. In a blind fury, he drew and cut, feeling momentary resistance and a mild, muttered oath.
"Let him go!" someone shouted authoritatively. "We don't need more bloodshed."
The grips disappeared from Saviar, and he vaulted over the ropes to Kevral's side. "Mama," he whispered, feeling like a lost child. "Mama."
Seemingly oblivious to Saviar's sudden presence,Valr Magnus was busy using the tip of his sword to find a gap in Kevral's ribs, to finish a job that was already done. The blood no longer spouted, but leaked; and the color had turned dark as wine. She was already dead.
Stunned grief blossomed suddenly to anger. Saviar tensed to launch himself at Valr Magnus, but Calistin's gasp froze him in position. He glanced at his brother instead.
Calistin stood in reverent awe, gaze locked on Kevral's body. "Do you… see it…?"
Saviar had no idea what his brother meant, but the distraction did give him a moment to think. Valr Magnus had killed Kevral in fair combat. If Saviar killed the Northman in front of hundreds of wit nesses, he would hang for murder. Feeling impotent, he sheathed his swords and went to his mother instead.
Kevral had died swiftly, a look of grim determination and pure battle joy still locked on her features. Her grip remained steady around the hilts of both swords, but the blades lay still in the dirt. There was nothing Saviar could do for her; he could only honor the weapons she had held so dear. He reached for the nearest one, the slender long sword, Motfrabelonning and took it into his hand. The leather was still warm and slightly damp. He could smell her scent, light beneath the suffocating reek of blood.
An image sprang to vivid life almost in Saviar's face. Startled, he jumped backward to find himself facing an enormous woman, a giant, bathed in golden light. She wore battle gear, including a helmet, that should have hidden every evidence of femininity; and, yet, he somehow knew that beneath the armor she was curvaceous and beautiful. Shrewd blue eyes peered out from hawkish features, and a cascade of yellow hair flowed around them. Beside her stood an exact, but insubstantial, duplicate of Kevral. Vital and happy.
"Ma-" was all Saviar managed.
Kevral smiled, her face glowing. "Keep it, Savi."
Saviar had no idea what she meant but found himself incapable of questions. He could only stare.
"The sword," Kevral explained. "Rache asked me to return it when I earned Valhalla, but the Valkyrie says I cannot bring anything with me." She gestured at the accompanying figure.
A tear dribbled down Saviar's cheek. Then another. Feeling paralyzed, he made no move to wipe them away.
"Don't cry, Savi. I'm so very happy.This is what I've always wanted, what I've worked for my entire life. I'm chosen for Valhalla."
Saviar knew she spoke truth, but the reality overwhelmed him. I can see a Valkyrie. A Valkyrie! And Mama's spirit. How can that possibly be?
"The other sword belongs to Calistin. I regret I have nothing equal for Subikahn, except for some advice: He will find happiness when he is true to what the gods have made him."
The Valkyrie said something to Kevral that Saviar could not hear, then took her arm.
"And tell your father I have always loved him."
A silent bolt of lightning opened the sky so suddenly it startled Saviar anew. A golden haze surrounded the Valkyrie and the new Einherjar, then disappeared as quickly, leaving nothing but the real world to intrude upon Saviar's fantasy. Unable to process what he had just seen, Saviar crumpled to his bottom, still clutching the sword.
A shadow fell over Saviar, and Calistin's voice yanked him from his trance. "Get up! Saviar, that's not a defensible position."
Saviar shook his head to clear it. The noises of the crowd flooded back into his consciousness, undecipherable and deafening. Valr Magnus had left the arena, and Ra-khir sobbed over Kevral's body. Without thinking, Saviar rose to a crouch.
"You saw them, didn't you?" Calistin's tone sounded almost accusatory, yet there was also a hint of worry.
Saviar could only nod. He looked at the sword in his hand. The blade needed a thorough cleaning before he could sheath it. Calistin held the sword Colbey had given their mother, and he clearly knew it belonged to him.
"How?" Calistin asked, now sounding more like a little brother turning to an older, wiser one. "How could we-?"
Saviar had never seen Calistin so vulnerable, and it brought out his protective instincts. He finally found his tongue. "I don't know." He continued to stare at his newly acquired weapon. "But it seemed to have something to do with this." He shook Motfrabelonning. "I couldn't see anything till I took it. I think it holds some sort of… of… magic."
Calistin looked at the weapon in his own hands, swallowed hard, then lowered his voice still further. "Saviar?"
"Hmmm?"
"I wasn't holding any weapon when I saw her. I just… I just…" Calistin dropped to Saviar's level. "… saw her. Then Hildr dropped from the sky-"
"Hildr?"
"Hildr, Warrior. The Valkyrie."
Saviar blinked. "She told you her name?"
"I just knew it." Calistin's brow furrowed at the realization of what he had just said. "Not sure how, but I did."
Saviar glanced over the crowd. An argument had broken out, surely over the injustice of the battle. Apparently, no one else had seen the ghost and the Valkyrie; but he doubted anyone had missed the man leaping onto Kevral from an overhead branch. "Calistin?"
"Hmmm?"
"I don't think we should mention this to anyone."
Calistin nodded vigorously. "I'm not saying anything."
Saviar turned his gaze on Ra-khir, where he cradled Kevral's limp form, his grief etched across features smeared with tears. Saviar gritted his teeth, his heart aching. He had never seen his father in so much agony. His every instinct told him to console, but duty drew him elsewhere. "Calistin, you'll have to comfort Papa."
"Comfort?" Calistin rocked back on his heels. "Me?"
"Of course, you. He's your father, too."
"Yes, but, I don't know how to-"
Saviar glanced toward the king, where Erik Leifsson and Thialnir waved their arms around in clear argument. "You're going to have to do your best." Springing to his feet, Saviar ran toward the conflict. His brother's protestations chased him. Incredible swordsman, hopeless human being. For the first time in his life, Saviar actually felt sorry for Calistin, for what the Renshai had turned him into. So competent, yet so ignorant about so many things. He wove past the Knights of Erythane, still stationed to keep noncombatants off the field, though no longer as busy. Nearly all of the spectators had broken off into little groups to discuss the events, and a growing number watched the argument taking place before the king.
The Knights of Erythane allowed Saviar to pass unchallenged. He arrived just in time to hear Erik present his plea. "Your Majesty, it was the Renshai, themselves, who added the friendly interference clause."
Thialnir exploded, dispensing with formality. "I meant Renshai! Renshai would not interfere with-"
"Your Majesty," Erik kept his tone tightly modulated, a stark contrast to Thialnir's shouting. "… we all agree the interferer was Erythanian, is that not correct?"
King Humfreet appealed to Kedrin. "Knight-Captain? Do we have the man's identity yet?"
Kedrin stepped forward and executed a flourishing bow. "Sire, it was Frendon Harveki's son. An Erythanian as far back as history can determine."
The king cleared his throat, pulling at his beard. "And what does this Frendon Harveki's son say about his actions?"
"Nothing, Sire," Kedrin said carefully, attention fully on his liege. "We found him dead,
his throat slit."
A slight smile played around Thialnir's lips, and Saviar prayed he did not laugh. It would make the Renshai look even coarser.
Erik's face drained of color. "Murder," he growled.
The king took the news in stride. "Under the circumstances, one could hardly expect otherwise."
It was a subtle insult to the Renshai way of life, but it did not bother Saviar or, apparently, Thialnir.
King Humfreet continued, "Are there family members or friends who wish to speak on his behalf?"
Kedrin performed another bow, not as grand as the first. "Sire, they refuse to come forward for fear of reprisal…"
Erik loosed an irritated snort but said nothing derogatory about the Renshai. Whether he did so in deference to royalty or so as not to antagonize Thialnir, Saviar could not guess.
Captain Kedrin glanced toward Erik in warning. "… but they told us he had nothing against the Renshai. They said he climbed the tree to get a better look at the combat. They think his fall was an accident."
Saviar frowned in disbelief.
Erik made a gesture, which the king acknowledged. "Your Majesty, King Griff in Bearn informed us that Renshai fall under Erythanian jurisdiction." Though he spoke innocently, his intentions seemed anything but to Saviar. "Is that not correct,Your Majesty?"
A shiver traversed Saviar's spine, but he refused to show it. He remembered his grandfather's description of that conversation. The Northern captain had asked King Griff to purge the Renshai from the West. Griff had coolly responded that the Fields of Wrath were a part of the sovereign city of Erythane and that he had no authority to banish anyone from King Humfreet's country. Though the high king of the entire Westlands by title, Griff rarely interfered with the dominion of other rulers, unless it involved a spat between them or if the highest authority in those lands requested his aid. The king of Bearn had also used that opportunity to essentially force the Northmen into agreeing to help against the pirates.
At the time, King Griff's strategy had seemed masterful. Perhaps, to a Bearnide, it might still appear that way. But, to Saviar Ra-khirsson, it created a serious problem they might not find a way to solve.
King Humfreet admitted, "The Fields of Wrath fall within my boundaries, yes."
Thialnir stood with his head tipped sideways, lips tight, obviously trying to read Erik's intentions. Saviar, however, knew exactly what was coming.
"Well, Sire," Erik addressed King Humfreet directly and seemed to take no notice of the nearby Renshai. "Since Renshai are Erythanian by admitted residence. And the man involved was also Erythanian, the 'friendly interference clause-' "
"No!" Thialnir boomed suddenly. "Renshai are Renshai. Erythanians are… not Renshai."
"I'm looking at the contract." Erik held the competition rules in his fist. "And I don't see the word "Renshai" anywhere in the 'friendly interference clause.' "
"That's hog manure!" Thialnir's debating style left a lot to be desired, but his point was valid enough to Saviar. "We didn't mean-"
"Meaning is implicit in the wording." Erik's calm demeanor made a sharp contrast to Thialnir's blustering. That did not bode well for the Renshai. Neither did Thialnir's lack of respectful titles.
Saviar jumped in. "Your Majesty, if I may please clarify." He waited for Humfreet's nodded acknowledgment before continuing, a detail not lost on Captain Kedrin. "What my colleague is trying to say is that when someone says 'Renshai,' they don't mean Erythanian. And when they say 'Erythanian,' they are deliberately excluding Renshai. Sire, when both are together, we say 'Erythanians and Renshai.' They are not interchangeable."
"And if I may, Your Majesty." Erik performed another bow, still trying to appear more formal and respectful than either spokesman for the Renshai. "When tribes of our people come together, we identify them separately, Sire. Nordmirians, Ascai, Skrytila, and so on. But we are still all Northmen." He bowed again. "Your Majesty, just because non-Renshai Erythanians use the simple form 'Erythanians' does not make the Renshai any less Erythanian."
King Humfreet said nothing in reply, only studying the three men in front of him. His lips remained sternly pursed, his chin cupped in both hands. Finally, he turned to Kedrin. "Knight-Captain, what opinion do you have in this matter?"
Once again, Kedrin performed a ceremonial motion that made the others look simple and common. "Sire, it is my opinion that both sides speak the truth. Captain Erik Leifsson is quite right when he says Renshai are Erythanians."
Saviar stiffened. He could hear his own heart pounding in his ears.
"But, Sire," Kedrin continued. "I also believe that when the Renshai spoke of friendly interference, they did not specifically intend to include all Erythanians."
Saviar did not need the clarification and wondered if Kedrin's words helped the king at all. It all seemed so obvious.
Erik ran a hand through his hair, then released it. Gold highlights flickered through the braids. "Your Majesty, had we known the Renshai would use their clause to play with wording and intention, we would never have agreed to it. Had one of our ilk fallen from a branch, would it have mattered to anyone whether he was Aeri, like Valr, or Nordmirian, like myself?"
The king's hands remained on his chin as he glanced from one speaker to the next. Finally, he rested his attention fully on Kedrin.
The Knight-Captain held a copy of the contract scroll in his hand, clearly reading and rereading the appropriate paragraph.
A long pause followed, during which no one spoke. Finally the king cleared his throat loudly. "Well, Kedrin?"
The Knight-Captain met the king's gaze with another flourish. "Well, Sire. As anyone entering a contract knows, it is the job of the signers to ascertain that any ideas or intentions are fully covered by the words."
Saviar went utterly still. This did not bode well; yet, surely, his grandfather would not condemn the Renshai to exile.
"Because, Sire, those left to interpret the contract, whether moments or centuries later, usually have nothing but the exact wording on which to base their decisions." Kedrin never faltered, showed no outward emotion as he dealt, in his professional capacity, with an issue that could tear his family apart.
Saviar's stomach roiled, then seized with the sudden urge to vomit. He fought it, not wanting to walk away and risk missing a single word.
The king remained absolutely and grimly focused on Kedrin. Clearly, he intended to take whatever advice the knight offered.
"Your Majesty," Kedrin concluded. "Unless we find evidence that Frendon Harveki's son had some connection to the North or to the Paradisians, we have no choice but to go with the letter of the agreement."
Saviar's stomach bucked against his control. Dizziness assaulted him, and he imagined his features looked positively green.
Thialnir glanced at Saviar. "Is he saying-?"
Worried for his control, Saviar did not answer, not even with a nod.
Captain Kedrin added, more directly. "Your Majesty, barring the aforementioned evidence, I believe we have no choice but to consider Frendon's fall as friendly interference. We have to side with the Northman."
Now, Saviar staggered off to vomit.
CHAPTER 16
Death is inevitable, but to live without glory is to die every day.
-Knight-Captain Kedrin Ramytan's son
Toqueen Matrinka, it seemed as if the world had ended. Though safe in Darris' arms, seated on their bed, she felt dark and cold, sobbing uncontrollably, wondering if she would ever feel joy again. "Mior, Arturo, then Kevral," she gasped out. "She is… she was… my best woman friend."
Darris shifted.
Knowing he was going for his lute, Matrinka said, "Darris, don't."
He paused in mid-movement.
"Don't sing." Matrinka's voice emerged clearly, no longer muffled by Darris' chest.
Darris' grip tightened, but he said nothing. The bardic curse severely hindered him. If he wished to speak significantly, Matrinka knew, he had to do it in song. To deny him t
hat outlet meant leaving him utterly helpless.
At the moment, Matrinka did not care. The beautiful perfection of his voice, the unwavering notes of his instrument, had carried her through the most difficult times. It soothed the rawness in her soul, but its solace was temporary, a balm. To move beyond the tremendous burden of grief, she first had to face it.
"I love you," Matrinka said.
Darris moved back against her. "And I love you. Won't you let me-"
"No." Matrinka did not wait for him to finish. "I need to sort out my own emotions, without help. I'm still obsessing over a cat, and I can't believe we lost…" A fresh wave of misery washed over her, and she had to force the name around a sudden, enormous lump in her throat. "… our son."
Darris clutched her.
"Arturo is gone, Darris. He's not ever coming back."
"I know."
Matrinka read the same deep grief in his tone as she felt in her own. Despite the law, despite what the populace believed, Arturo was his son, too.
"Let me sing, Matrinka."
Matrinka could not. "No, Darris. No." Explaining it would take too much effort at a time when she felt empty. She appreciated his comforting, but he was far too good at it. For now, she needed to suffer the grief simply to feel human.
A loud knock bounced from the bedroom door. Darris stiffened and released Matrinka. Most of the servants knew of the king's arrangement with Darris, but he still made an effort to hide his inappropriate relationship with the queen. Releasing Matrinka, he rose and smoothed his damp tunic. She did not bother to try to look presentable in the privacy of her own chamber. "Come in."
The door swung open to reveal Rantire crouched fiercely, peering through the opening to assure no danger faced King Griff in Matrinka's room. The Renshai bodyguard glared at Darris. By law, the bard was the king's most personal bodyguard; but, in his absence, Rantire performed his job with savage and tactless seriousness. Granted the position by Colbey's son, Ravn, Rantire believed herself sanctioned by gods; and Griff had promised she could guard him in Darris' absences. Often, Matrinka knew, he regretted that decision, but he would never go back on his word. Behind Rantire, the king waited patiently, his black hair disheveled but his beard neatly combed.
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