Flight of the Renshai fotr-1

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Subikahn tightened his grip on the hilt, warningly. "I know enough not to let someone who hides behind it near my injured brother." He crouched, prepared for battle. "I also know nothing human can cast spells, only gods and elves."

  Chymmerlee made a clicking noise with her tongue, and her hand went to her mouth again. "Your brother's injured? And we're standing here bandying words?"

  Subikahn remained in stance.

  Chymmerlee closed her eyes, seemingly oblivious to the threat. Either she had powerful magic that she believed could get her safely past a readied Renshai or she was wholly ignorant of combat. "You thought I was… and your brother…" Her features opened in sudden understanding. "Your brother's not just injured, he's dying. And you thought I came to-"

  "You cannot have him," Subikahn repeated.

  "I don't want him!" Chymmerlee rushed toward Subikahn. "At least, not in the way you think I do."

  The sword whipped up.

  Chymmerlee stopped abruptly, loosing a frightened squeak. Finally, she recognized the danger. "Don't hurt me. Please. I'm trying to help."

  Subikahn wanted to believe her. "How?"

  "I have some healing skill. Not a lot, but if I can get him stabilized, we can transport him to my people. They might be able to save him."

  Subikahn hesitated. It had to be a trick, yet hope gripped him with such suddenness he found himself shaking. "How do I know you're not going to kill him? That you're not a minion of-"

  "-Hel?" she filled in. "Is he well enough I have time to convince you?"

  No, Subikahn realized. His father had an uncanny ability to read people's intentions, one he at least partially shared. But he saw a vast difference between guessing the intent of a human stranger and an Outworlder. If she's sent by Hel, and I let her touch him, I've doomed him. But if she is what she says, and I don't, I've killed him. His intuition told him to trust Chymmerlee, but his mind warned otherwise. The only elf he had ever seen was the second wife of King Griff. It seemed a coincidence beyond believing that a friendly Outworlder would happen to show up at the same moment he expected a hostile one.

  Chymmerlee said nothing. She no longer had the aura, and she looked inarguably human.

  In the end, Subikahn trusted his heart. "Come on," he said gruffly. "But if you harm him, you will not live to gloat about it." With trepidation, he led her to the camp, focused on her every movement.

  Chymmerlee moved with the grace of an acrobat, but not the awesome glide of an elf or goddess. Dutifully, she watched him for cues, attentive to the sword that he kept locked in his hand. If magic flared, Subikahn wanted to make certain he saw it at its earliest incantation.

  Saviar still lay where Subikahn had left him, buried in a pile of laundry beside the failing embers. Attention on Chymmerlee, Subikahn cautiously removed each fire-warmed cloak, tunic, or undergarment and dropped it into a heap beside the sleeping figure. The last layer was damp, soaked through with sweat, and pulled free to reveal the pallid figure beneath it. Saviar's wet clothing clung to his finely-chiseled muscles. His hair hung in limp, red strands.

  Chymmerlee spoke for the first time since the pathway, in the awed whisper usually reserved for religious ceremonies. "He's beautiful."

  It was a common reaction, and true, yet it seemed remarkably out of place. To Subikahn, his twin looked hideous: his breaths rattling, his skin sallow, his lids fluttering strangely over glazing eyes.

  Chymmerlee sank to her knees beside Saviar, Subikahn hovering like an anxious father. She raised a hand, and a faint glowing outline appeared around it.

  In a flash, Subikahn threw himself between them, sword at Chymmerlee's throat.

  She staggered backward with a desperate whimper, her features twisted in a mask of terror, her arms drawn tightly against her.

  "What are you doing?" Subikahn demanded. "That was magic."

  Frozen in position, clearly afraid to move, Chymmerlee stared wide-eyed at Subikahn. "Of-of course it was magic. How-how else did you expect me to help someone this far gone?"

  How else, indeed? Subikahn had not thought that far ahead. Every healer he had ever known used herbs to treat their patients. He lowered the sword but remained between the sorceress and his brother. "How will I know if it's healing magic… or murder?"

  Chymmerlee's arms fell back to her sides. The fear drained from her face, replaced by a grim determination that made every freckle stand out. "We haven't time for a dissertation on types of magic, and I didn't come here to be assaulted. I'm trying to save your brother's life. Are you going to stand aside or not?"

  She had a point Subikahn could not deny. Either he trusted her and let her work, or he dispatched her. No one could succeed at anything under the conditions he had created. Subikahn stepped aside, jamming the sword back into his belt. "Just don't hurt him. Please." He knew he sounded pathetic, but he found it impossible to do otherwise. "Please. My twin means everything to me."

  Chymmerlee stiffened, clearly startled, but she moved back toward Saviar and knelt beside him. Once again, the glow surrounded her palms. She glanced warily at Subikahn, who deliberately raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. Apparently satisfied, she drew circles over Saviar's still form before stopping directly over the bandages encircling his leg. She looked up. "May I take these off?"

  Subikahn nodded stiffly, reassured by the question. If she had intended to steal his soul, she would not need to worry about such details.

  Chymmerlee unwound the bandages. As each layer fell away, the stains became larger and darker, until the last pieces came free, releasing a torrent of red-brown pus. The edges of the wound had blackened, and snakelike bands of scarlet wound under his tunic and down to his toes. Saviar stiffened slightly and loosed a coarse grunt, but he did not otherwise move. His eyes remained closed.

  "This wound has festered badly."

  "I know," Subikahn said softly. "I know. Is there anything you can do?"

  Chymmerlee's expression revealed nothing, and a year seemed to tick past before she answered, "I'll try." Her hands hovered over Saviar's leg, shining brightly, and every movement left a sharp trail of light. "I'll need some quiet time. Why don't you fashion a litter? My work will be for naught if we can't move him to a more capable healer."

  Subikahn appreciated having something to do other than study her every movement and worry. Hel could not come for Saviar as long as Chymmerlee moved him always a few moments farther from death. He saw no real purpose to her request. He was not strong enough to carry Saviar alone, and it seemed unlikely she could do much to help. They might manage to drag him short distances, with great effort, but it would take a month to reach even the nearest town.

  When Subikahn returned with an armload of sturdy wood, Saviar did not appear much different. The flow of pus had stopped, though whether because Chymmerlee had staunched it or the amount trapped in the bandages had run its course, he did not know. The edges of the wound did seem more purple than black, and the red streaks looked, perhaps, a trifle less angry. Saviar continued to sleep. He no longer grunted, and his chest rose and fell in regular breaths. Though he had hoped for more, Subikahn would take whatever help he could get. Without Chymmerlee, Saviar would not have lasted the day.

  Subikahn crouched at his brother's head, peeling away copper-colored hairs sweat-plastered to a forehead that still felt dangerously fevered. He stared at Chymmerlee, suddenly feeling desperately indebted and ashamed. He wanted to apologize but worried that talking might interrupt her concentration. He had so many things he wished to say, so many questions to ask. But, for now, he concentrated only on his project.

  CHAPTER 29

  The hardest task in war is to lie in support of those engulfed in the fight. -General Santagithi WHEN SUBIKAHN FINISHED CRAFTING a litter large enough to support his broad-boned, powerful brother, he found Chymmerlee pawing through their packs. A thief, too? Irritation flared, swiftly suppressed. She could have everything he owned in payment for bringing Saviar back from the brink of death. "Lookin
g for something?" he asked, trying to hold judgment from his tone.

  Chymmerlee dropped the pack, cheeks flushing in raw circles. "I'm sorry. When I expend that much energy, I get desperately hungry. Your packs are practically empty. Don't you men carry anything to eat?"

  Subikahn dropped down beside her, feeling foolish. "I've got all our clothing piled on Saviar, and I'm afraid we're better warriors than hunters."

  "Saviar," Chymmerlee repeated, looking toward the sleeping figure. "Is that your brother's name?"

  "Yes." Subikahn suddenly realized his major breach in etiquette. "And I'm Subikahn. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

  "Well, you were too busy… um… threatening me." Chymmerlee's smile made it clear she meant no malice.

  Nevertheless, Subikahn lowered his head. "I'm sorry about that, too. I was just-"

  "-worried about your brother. Who wouldn't be?"

  "Yes." Subikahn rose. "I'll get you something to eat. I've got a good idea, now, what's not going to make us sick."

  Chymmerlee laughed, though Subikahn had not intended his words as a joke. "Why don't you let me do the gathering. My tastes run a bit grander than just not getting sick."

  Subikahn smiled sheepishly. "All right. I'll restart the fire." He headed toward Saviar while Chymmerlee disappeared into the woods, his waterskin in her hand.

  Subikahn stirred the ashes, finding an occasional enduring ember. He tossed on a handful of kindling, watching one tenacious cinder blacken a threadlike fork of a larger branch. Gradually, a thin line of smoke emerged, then a spark rose into a tremulous fire. Subikahn rearranged the kindling to take advantage of the flames before turning his attention to his brother.

  Saviar's face looked more familiar than it had in days, his sturdy jaw and classically handsome features restored from the pall of pain and concern that had enwrapped them for the last several days. He placed his fingers against Saviar's neck, rewarded by a strong, steady beat. Chymmerlee had not disturbed the plastered layer of clothing, but had simply laid a single cloak over him. The leg was rebandaged. The red lines dragging out from the wound had not wholly disappeared, but they looked less swollen, less prominent, and extended only to his upper thigh and mid-calf.

  "Saviar," Subikahn said in a loud whisper. When he got no response, he spoke louder and added a sturdy shake. "Saviar!"

  Saviar responded only with a grunt.The tip of his tongue appeared briefly between his lips, then disappeared back into his mouth.

  "Saviar, wake up!"

  Saviar only snuggled deeper into the cloak. His lids did not even flutter.

  "Wake up! Wake up!" Subikahn screamed into Saviar's face. He shook his brother so hard he worried to further injure him.

  Again, Saviar grunted and moved a bit, but he did not open his eyes or attempt speech.

  Subikahn threw himself to the ground beside his brother. What good did it do to drag Saviar from Hel's grip, only to leave him alive but senseless? The gratitude he had felt only moments earlier turned to resentment. He knew he should not judge until he had all the facts from Chymmerlee, but he suddenly worried that she would never return. The possibility that she did work for Hel, that she had saddled the brothers with the worst possible fate for all eternity crept into his mind and refused banishment. Terror merged with rage and hatred, a sense of utter failure, and it boiled into a mixture nearly beyond his control. It was all Subikahn could do to keep himself from chasing after Chymmerlee. Perhaps, that too, was what she wanted. While he ran after the messenger, Hel could safely swoop in and claim her prize.

  By the time Chymmerlee returned, skirt loaded with strange roots, stems, and a single coney, Subikahn was pacing angrily. The waterskin slung over her arm left a wet patch on the side of her shift.

  Subikahn had promised himself to prod gingerly but found himself rounding on the woman, helpless to stop himself from shouting. "What have you done to him! What have you done!"

  Chymmerlee's features knotted in concern. She dumped her load unceremoniously and ran to Saviar. "What's happened?"

  "He won't wake up!" A teary jerk in Subikahn's voice slaughtered the righteous anger. "I can't wake him." He choked, no longer able to hide behind rage. "What's wrong with him?"

  Kneeling at Saviar's side, Chymmerlee rocked backward. "Subikahn, I told you I was only going to stabilize him. I can stop more poison from getting to his organs, but he needs to handle what's already there himself."

  Subikahn did not understand. "Poison? I didn't-" He broke off, ashamed to tell Chymmerlee where Saviar's wound had come from.

  "The kind of poison I'm talking about comes from festering wounds. If it gets bad enough, it travels through the body and damages organs: heart, brain, kidneys, everything."

  Subikahn did not know what to say.

  "That's why people with infected wounds die."

  Subikahn had never thought of it that way. He understood how a festered limb might require amputation, but he never quite appreciated how it led otherwise strong warriors to fade away. "How can he 'handle' it if he's unconscious?"

  Apparently satisfied with Saviar's condition, Chymmerlee returned to sort the foodstuffs. "That's the best way to handle it. If you take the strain of regular work off the body, you give it time to heal itself."

  Subikahn shook his head. "But how can he heal without food and water?"

  "He can't," Chymmerlee admitted, looking up from her sorting. "We'll have to get those things into him without him having to… ingest them."

  Subikahn stared.The words made no sense to him. "How can you take food and water without… ingesting?"

  "We'll manage." Chymmerlee offered three lumpy, brown tubers. "Bury those in the ashes."

  Subikahn accepted the tubers, though they looked more like rocks than food. "Are these any good?"

  "A delicacy," Chymmerlee assured. "Any chance you can skin the coney?" Though she had carried it over, she clearly did not wish to touch it again.

  Subikahn felt certain he could figure it out. "Sure. Don't you want to?"

  Chymmerlee made a noise of revulsion, and her features matched it perfectly. "This may sound stupid after I just cleaned a festering wound, but I don't like seeing blood."

  It did sound stupid, but Subikahn was too polite to say so. He had spent enough time in the Eastlands to know most women were nothing like those of the Renshai. They suffered a squeamishness that would have left Renshai women rolling their eyes and snorting. He took the coney, and his utility knife, and set to work removing fur and skin from the meat.

  While he worked, Chymmerlee piled round black berries in front of him, along with an assortment of weeds in red and light green. She set aside a couple of fat, semirigid stems, then went right to eating her berries, shoving them into her mouth in unladylike handfuls.

  Subikahn pretended not to notice, even when Chymmerlee questioned him with a partially chewed mouthful still in place. "So, Subikahn, did I rightly hear you call Saviar your twin?"

  Accustomed to disbelief, Subikahn nodded, braced for the inevitable questions. He continued his work on the coney, the skin yielding easily to the sharpness of the blade. A line of blood twined across his hands, and he checked to make certain it came from the carcass. A blade that well-honed sometimes cut without pain. "We're actual twins, yes. Born to the same woman, the same pregnancy."

  "Would it be correct to guess that one of you resembles your parents while the other doesn't?" Chymmerlee seemed about to make a stunning revelation, so Subikahn's response had to catch her off guard.

  "Actually…" Subikahn paused, scraping cautiously around the rabbit's legs. "… we both look very much like our fathers."

  That comment elicited the usual blank stare.

  Subikahn studied the food in front of him. He pinched a berry with his least filthy hand. It felt mostly firm, slightly yielding, the type of berries that might crunch before they gave up a sweet load of juice. He tossed it into his mouth. It broke open with a bit of noise, less a crunch than a squeak, releasing
a spicy, nutty flavor he could not place. "Yes, it's possible, and it happened. Thrust into life-or-death situations, Mama slept with two good friends in close proximity. We were the results."

  "Oh." The word emerged thoughtfully.

  Subikahn got the idea her consideration had less to do with the oddity of two-fathered twins and more to do with the pronouncement she had intended to make. "What were you thinking? Before I told you about the two fathers, I mean."

  "Well," Chymmerlee said softly. "I've been thinking about your ability to see magic. It requires Outworld or mage blood to do that."

  Subikahn only nodded as he finished the skinning. He worried that admitting a sword had done the seeing for him would lose him Chymmerlee's assistance. Right now, with Saviar comatose, he needed her desperately. "Me? I have Outworld or mage blood?"

  "Apparently. I thought you, or, more likely, your brother, was a placeling."

  That was a term Subikahn had never heard. "Placeling?"

  "A creature with fey blood 'placed' magically into a human womb. Sharing a gestation with a placeling might have given the other twin simple abilities as well, such as seeing magic."

  Now it was Subikahn's turn to just stare. "Does that… happen… often?"

  "Extremely rarely."

  Subikahn stabbed the skinned coney with a stick and held it in the fire. The pelt at his feet lay bloody and shredded, useless for anything; but at least the meat did not seem to contain any hair.

  "It's one of those things that are more legend than truth, but I know of at least one case where a god hid his indiscretion with a mortal from his wife by placing the infant produced into the womb of a different mortal." Chymmerlee shivered, face pinched in revulsion. "That nearly ended in disaster."

  The story sounded too similar to Colbey Calistinsson's history to believe it otherwise, yet Subikahn said nothing. Her last comment suggested she might not approve of Renshai. Right now, he needed her goodwill more than her trust. "And you thought my brother might be… a similar case?"

  Chymmerlee grabbed the last handful of berries in front of her. "It would make sense why you can see magic but have no knowledge of it. And, let's face it…" She gestured at Saviar. "… isn't he just a bit too perfect to be wholly mortal?"