Flight of the Renshai fotr-1

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Ra-khir had to admit it had been his. At least, from the day he discovered his actual father was one. "Apparently not. Not one of my sons has followed in my footsteps, though one did consider it." He tried not to think too hard about Saviar. The young man who had spoken with him so earnestly months earlier had disappeared without a word.

  "Oh," Darby said with clear surprise. "I wish I-" he started, then apparently changed his mind. "A knight wouldn't allow himself to feel envy, would he?"

  Ra-khir shook his head. The message had come through despite the lack of words. Darby wished he had had the same opportunities as the knight's boys. Of course, he had no way to know about the Renshai half of their heritage.

  Darby smiled crookedly and returned to the donkey's head.

  CHAPTER 27

  Death in combat is not the end of the fight, merely its pinnacle.

  -Renshai proverb

  Saviar insisted on finishing a full day's walk, though his leg ached so unmercifully he could concentrate on nothing else. That, in itself, bothered him. Renshai were trained from infancy to fight not just through pain, but because of it. Fatally wounded, they called upon Modi, the god of wrath, to give them the strength to take their enemies with them. Now, the single, simple act of walking demanded Saviar's full attention, and he felt like a failure and a craven. He appreciated that Subikahn remained silent, disappearing at frequent intervals to scout the way. If his twin had hovered over him, treating him like an invalid, Saviar might have felt driven to carry out his threat to kill them both.

  For once, Subikahn made no complaint when Saviar ate heartily from their dwindling stores. "I've filled all the waterskins," he explained. "And I can get plenty more, so drink as much as you want."

  The amount he needed to satisfy his thirst surprised Saviar, but he took his brother at his word. As he finished, he could feel the cold of the liquid seeping into his blood, chilling him deeply. He shivered. "Do we have any more wine?" They had confiscated it from a dead Northman at the beginning of their journey, savoring a few mouthfuls at a time. Now, Saviar hoped, it would warm him and take the edge from pain that seemed to multiply exponentially as the day wore onward.

  Subikahn winced. "I used it all on the wound. It's supposed to help keep it from getting tainted."

  "Which? The wound? Or the wine?"

  Subikahn managed a lopsided smile at the flimsy joke. "It's been longer than a day. I need to redo those bandages before we go to sleep."

  Saviar looked at the rags wrapped around his thigh, now sweat-stained and filthy. The flesh of his fingers looked oddly pale near his leg, and they trembled beyond his control. "Where are you going to get more?"

  "Wherever I have to."

  "Hmmm, well, I'd rather not have to travel naked, especially now that it's getting so cold." Saviar expected an evening breeze, usually cherished its touch against his sweat-bathed limbs; but he suddenly felt awash in ice. "In fact, if there's an extra cloak you don't need to tear up, I'd like to wear it."

  Immediately, Subikahn removed his own overwear and offered it to his brother. "Here."

  "I can't take-"

  "I'm comfortable, actually." Subikahn dropped the cloak at Saviar's feet, then turned to dig through their packs. "If I get cold, I'll take it back. Or I'll find something clean."

  "Thanks." Saviar wrapped the extra cloak around him, no longer in the mood to joke. Still warm from Subikahn's body, the fabric seemed to embrace him, yet he still felt icy to the bone. His limbs began to shake.

  "Lie down," Subikahn suggested. "I'll start a fire, then get to work on that wound."

  "Not yet." Saviar reluctantly staggered toward an open patch of ground. For the first time he could remember, he loathed the bare thought of swordplay. "I need to practice."

  Subikahn set to digging out a fire pit. "Of course, we'll practice. But it can wait till you have clean bandages." He gestured at a spot near the freshly dug depression. "Lie down, Savi."

  Saviar looked at the indicated place. Though nothing more than one open patch among many beneath the woven canopy of forest, it looked exquisitely comfortable. He wanted to stretch out in the fallen leaves and dirt, to stare quietly at the stars, to let a roaring fire drive its heat through his frigid body.Yet, lifelong lessons die hard. If he curled up now, he might fall asleep. "We have to practice."

  "We will." Subikahn jabbed a finger at the ground. "As soon as I change those bandages."

  Protesting took too much effort. "All right." Chills racked Saviar's body, his jaw chattered, and the urge to draw every scrap of cloth tightly around him became nearly impossible to ignore. He dropped awkwardly to the ground.

  Subikahn hovered around him, tucking clothing, tearing bandages, gathering wood. Amidst the normal sounds of his brother's preparations, still fighting the chill that gripped him, Saviar fell into a restless sleep.

  Keatoville turned out to be a tiny hamlet only steps off the beaten path. Had Ra-khir not discovered the battlefield and Darby, he would probably have ridden past without noticing it at all. Neat rows of cottages surrounded the few necessary businesses; and a communal meeting hall, that probably served as a tavern as often as a gathering place, stood directly in the center of town.

  People stopped and stared as Darby rode in, accompanied by a Knight of Erythane, their jaws sagging, their chores forgotten. In silence, Darby led the donkey to a dilapidated cottage on the farthest edge of the village. He drew up alongside the wooden construct, its beams settling and its caulk repeatedly patched. The thatched roof had turned brown and moldy with age, and it surely leaked. "We're here," he announced.

  Ra-khir dismounted. "You live here?" He tried to keep incredulity from his voice. Though it drooped, the cottage was clean. He could tell someone had jammed straw-filled mud into every budding crevice, smoothing it carefully. They obviously tried to keep their home in shape, but time had ravaged it and no able-bodied man had spared them the few hours it would take to assist with regular maintenance. Now, it would probably require a complete rebuilding.

  Darby flushed. "I try my best, sir. Really I do."

  Ra-khir glanced around at the crowd that had followed them to the ramshackle cottage, watching in a curious hush.

  "If I was just a bit stronger, I could push those logs into the right places, and my sister could-"

  Ra-khir interrupted in a strong voice pitched to carry. "I just can't believe that, in this entire village, there's not a single, decent man willing to help a widow and her children keep their dwelling habitable."

  His words had the desired effect. A wave of scarlet suffused the villagers, especially the males, and they shifted with nervous whispers.

  Darby stood, rooted, his mouth still open but no words emerging.

  Ra-khir rubbed his gloved hands together. "I'm on a vital mission, but I'll simply have to delay it. The kings of Bearn and Erythane will surely understand why I have to stop to rebuild a cottage for a village that has forgotten how." His hands paused in mid-motion. "Well, perhaps they won't understand. I certainly don't."

  A well-dressed, thin man stepped forward, "Well, you see, sir-" he started but was interrupted by a burly fellow in linen.

  "You continue your mission, Sir Knight. I'll help this family rebuild." He spoke into a shocked silence.

  Murmurs swept the gathering group.

  "And I," shouted another from the back.

  A chorus of similar promises followed.

  Darby lowered his head, but even the corner of his face still visible to Ra-khir revealed a smile.

  Ra-khir nodded. "When I come back through here on my return, I expect to find a brand-new cottage. And I expect you all to charge exactly what good neighbors should, what I would have charged." He looked from volunteer to volunteer, needing to make certain guilt, not the full donkey cart, motivated the villagers.

  The burly man shouted the proper answer. "Nothing, of course, sir."

  Ra-khir favored the man with a bow and flourish of his hat.

  Applaus
e followed.

  The door to the cottage swung open, and a woman stepped outside. Though tall and quite slender, she showed a hint of delicate curves through her worn and faded shift. She had the face of an angel: creamy white, blue-eyed, and high-cheeked, with a strong straight nose and ears that disappeared beneath a thick cascade of honey-brown hair. She had long legs that promised shapeliness with more regular meals. Her movements were gliding, robust and sure, with a dancer's agility.

  Catching himself staring, Ra-khir forced himself to look at Darby. "Is that… your…"

  "Mama," Darby said. "Yes."

  The word "… sister" died on Ra-khir's tongue. "That's your mama?"

  As the fact had already been established, Darby clearly felt no need to reply.

  A girl peeked out from behind her, in that awkward stage between childhood and adolescence. She, too, would look beautiful if she had a bit more meat on her too-skinny frame. Ra-khir could understand why the men wanted her for acts about which Darby had refused to speak.

  Ra-khir swallowed hard, then bowed to Darby's mama as if to royalty. "I am Sir Ra-khir Kedrin's son, Knight to the Erythanian and Bearnian kings: His Grace, King Humfreet and His Majesty, King Griff."

  Clearly taken aback, the woman said nothing for several moments. Finally, she found her voice, though scratchier than Ra-khir expected. "Er… um, I am Tiega." She obviously felt the need to add more, as he had. "… um… Tiego's daughter… er… of Keatoville, Westlands."

  Ra-khir replaced his hat and smiled. "Pleased to meet you, Tiega. You have a fine son in Darby, ma'am."

  Without a hint of modesty or hesitation, Tiega replied, "Yes, I do, sir." She looked over at the donkey cart and its load of goods. "But is he in some sort of… trouble, sir?"

  "No, ma'am," Ra-khir said emphatically. "These items belong to Darby, fairly won and scavenged. I just thought I'd see such a moral and enterprising young man safely home."

  Tiega smiled sweetly at Ra-khir. "Thank you, sir. Your kindness is appreciated."

  Ra-khir thought he saw a spark of interest, but he had to ignore it. It was too soon. His grief remained too raw and painful.

  Darby walked to his mother's side to hold a whispered conversation. He pulled a handful of coins from his pocket and dumped them into her palm. She stared at the money, clearly shocked.

  The crowd began to disperse.

  Ra-khir cleared his throat. "Well, I've fulfilled my promise, so I guess I'll be on my way." He reached for Silver Warrior.

  "Wait," Tiega said. "Can't you stay for a meal, Sir Ra-khir? I can cook anything you like, so long as Darby can buy the ingredients here."

  Ra-khir would have loved to stay. A home-cooked meal sounded wonderful, and the company of a handsome woman more so. "I'd like that, ma'am; but I've gotten behind on my mission already. I will return to see your new cottage." He emphasized the phrase to remind the village men of their promise. "And I'll have a warm stew, then, if you'll prepare it."

  "I will," Tiega promised.

  Ra-khir hauled himself into the saddle.

  "Sir Ra-khir?"

  Ra-khir reined his steed to face Tiega directly. "Yes, ma'am?"

  "I wondered if you might take Darby with you."

  "Ma'am?"

  "As an apprentice, I mean. A squire."

  Ra-khir hesitated. He had never considered himself an advanced enough knight to train an apprentice, though his rank and service time were sufficient. If Saviar had followed through on his interest, Ra-khir would have given him to someone else, worried about his objectivity and his relationship. He glanced at Darby.

  The boy stood with hands clenched with desire, his eyes nearly blazing. Only then, Ra-khir noticed they were the same fiery blue as his mother's.

  "Becoming a Knight of Erythane takes many years of grueling work. It's hard, it's often tediously boring, and it requires a dedication to morality, to the Order, and to the kings that transcends logic, life, and family. Only the best are chosen, and most of them don't finish the training."

  Darby pursed his lips, nodding.

  "If you fail, you've essentially wasted that many years of your life you could have spent learning a useful trade." Ra-khir saw no reason to mention that the time would not be wholly lost, as most of the dropouts had enough weapons training to become soldiers in the kings' employ. "Darby, would you like some time to think about it?"

  Darby turned Ra-khir a look of seriousness so grave it transcended death. "I've thought about it all my life. I want to be a knight, sir. I'll do whatever it takes."

  "It's a lifelong commitment."

  "More's the better."

  "To accompany me, you'll need a horse."

  Darby motioned toward his haul. "I'll buy one."

  Ra-khir had not bargained on a companion, yet the idea did not bother him. He gave Tiega a hard look. "My mission is dangerous."

  Though he had addressed the mother, Darby answered for her. "I know how to fight, Sir Ra-khir. And I know how to dodge." He added with a conspiratorial smile, "If circumstances allow it, and there's no dishonor in it, I can also hide pretty good."

  "Pretty well," Ra-khir corrected. Another feature of the knights was impeccable speech and diction, most of the time.

  "I can hide pretty well," Darby dutifully fixed.

  "And his training will have to take place in Erythane and Bearn, which means that even if he survives the mission, you may never see him again."

  "Oh, I'll see him again, sir." Tiega met Ra-khir's gaze without a hint of fear. "I'll move. I'd be gone from here already if I had the money for travel." She smiled broadly. "And, now I do. By the time you come back through here, I intend to have all of this junk sold and have purchased more horses. If Darby has performed satisfactorily, we'll all accompany you back to Erythane." She added carefully, "Assuming you'd allow us to go with you, sir. Otherwise, Keva and I'll get there on our own."

  Still partway behind her mother, Keva nodded forcefully.

  The new cottage seemed moot now, but Ra-khir did not allow the village men off the hook. They should have assisted Tiega and her family from the moment she lost her husband. "What man in his right mind wouldn't agree to ride with two beautiful women?"

  Keva giggled, and Tiega grinned. "Flatterer! And I thought Knights of Erythane weren't allowed to lie."

  "We're not." Ra-khir wheeled Silver Warrior and let the significance of the comment hang. "I meant every word I said." He made a broad gesture at Darby. "Come on, apprentice knight. We've a horse to buy."

  Darby charged to Ra-khir's side, and the two men headed toward the center of Keatoville.

  Subikahn studied his sleeping brother in the light of the blazing fire. Snuggled near it, beneath every article of clothing not shredded for the bandage or on Subikahn, he finally stopped shivering. Still, he moved restlessly, moaning frequently and occasionally crying out in his sleep.

  With a sigh of painful resignation, Subikahn brushed away enough of the coverings to reveal the bandaged leg. Saviar twitched and muttered but did not awaken. His skin felt dry and remarkably hot. The lack of sweat told Subikahn his brother's temperature was still climbing, and his agitation probably stemmed from the wild sort of dreams and nightmares that only fever can induce. What have I done?

  Terror seized Subikahn. He had lost his parents, his lover, and he had no idea where his younger brother had gone. He could not, would not, lose his beloved twin as well. The very thought threatened to plunge him into madness. Hold on, Savi. Hold on. Tears distorted the image of his suffering brother. It all seemed utter, impossible insanity, the whole scenario, itself, a torturous fever-dream. My mood started the argument. I demanded the fight. I plunged that sword into his thigh, and I ripped it free, filthy from the ground. Nearly paralyzed with guilt, Subikahn realized one thing more. If not for my selfish desire for solitude, we would be nearer a town. I could get him a healer, some herbs, some help.

  Subikahn's gaze returned to the bandages. Blaming himself would not ease his brother's misery no
r help him treat the wound. He had to remove them, to gaze upon it, and to use the few tools in his arsenal to attempt to heal it. Still he hesitated, fearing what he saw might rob him of the last vestiges of hope. I'm a warrior. I'm a Renshai. Steeling himself, Subikahn gently unwound the bandages.

  Swollen red streaks appeared first, at the outer edges of the uncovered area. Subikahn sucked air through his teeth and forced himself to continue. Another few loops dropped to the ground, revealing more inflammation, puffier and angry in its scarlet hue. Then, the last hunk of cloth came undone amid a wash of blood-streaked pus. Subikahn gasped sharply and glanced at his brother, only to find Saviar looking back at him.

  Confusion and pain glazed the familiar blue-white eyes. Saviar's cheeks carried ruddy circles. "I'm dying."

  "No!" Subikahn shielded the wound with his body. Realizing he had answered too quickly and loudly, he sought the right words to reassure. "Your body's just fighting to keep it from getting tainted. You're going to be fine."

  Saviar seemed not to hear. "I saw my pyre, and the cold lonely hill where the wind scatters the ashes. A voice told me… I'm all alone. Forever…"

  "Just a nightmare." Subikahn turned his back on his brother to fully block his view of the wound while he worked. "A stupid, ridiculous nightmare.You're going to be fine, Savi. Go back to sleep."

  "No. Help me up. I have to die in combat."

  "You're not going to die!" It was more than a statement, it was admonishment and self-reassurance. If Saviar died, Subikahn would die with him. He could not go on alone. "Now stop this death talk, and go back to sleep."

  Saviar swallowed hard. His eyes drifted closed.

  Subikahn sucked in a deep lungful of air; but, before he could release it, Saviar continued.

  "I'm cold, Subi. So very very cold. Hel is dragging me into her frozen realm. Please." Just talking seemed a great effort. He licked his lips with a tongue that looked dry and swollen despite the copious amount of water he had drunk that evening. "You have to help me up.You have to help me commit taphreselmordat."