Flight of the Renshai fotr-1

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Darby made a noncommittal gesture but remained silent. It was not his place to speak.

  The barkeep swept back in to toss down two plates of meat, tubers, and vegetables along with the requested drinks. He paused suddenly, studying his patrons more carefully. "Hello. You wouldn't happen to be Sir Ra-khir, a Knight of Erythane, would you?"

  Ra-khir's heart skipped a beat. They know. Nevertheless, he would not lie, even if it meant taking the punishment for his son's indiscretion. "I am."

  The barkeep nodded smugly. "Thought I recognized a man of character."

  Ra-khir felt grimly undeserving of the compliment.

  "Messenger rode through this morning. If we saw you, we were to tell you to go back to Erythane."

  "Back to-" Ra-khir could scarcely believe it. His father knew he had no intention of returning without finding his missing sons. Clearly, Calistin needed someone with common sense to guide him.

  "Apparently, Bearn's under attack, and they need every able sword arm."

  No! Ra-khir knew as much about the Pirate Wars as anyone, yet no one had ever before considered it frank warfare. Apparently, something had changed for the worse. If Bearn needed him, he had no choice but to abandon everything and return. He looked at Darby. "As soon as we finish eating, I need to take you home."

  Darby took a long gulp, then turned Ra-khir a stern look that brooked no argument. "My 'home' is now Erythane. I have as much right to protect the high king's city as anyone." His brave words would have landed more forcefully had he not sported a mustache of goat's milk.

  Ra-khir graced the sentiment with the dignity it deserved. "Very well, Darby. As soon as we're finished eating, we'll head for Bearn." He had no real intention of allowing the boy to fight, but Darby could remain reasonably safe with the other knights' apprentices in Erythane. He wondered in how many towns and cities the messengers had left word for him and how many additional swordsmen would heed the call as well.

  Ra-khir dropped three gold coins on the countertop. "Whatever is left from our payment needs to go to Karruno's funeral and family. A man that beloved deserves the best."

  The barkeep's nostrils flared as he swept up the coins. "That's very generous, Sir Ra-khir. Please return anytime. Anytime!"

  "Most gracious of you." Ra-khir gave back the polite reply, though he did not believe his family would prove as welcome as himself. He worried for Subikahn and Saviar, for Calistin most of all; but he knew where his loyalties had to lie. His father knew how important this mission was to Ra-khir. Knight-Captain Kedrin would only have called him back from necessity. He had no choice but to heed the call. When Bearn is in trouble, the Knights of Erythane will always be there. Ra-khir realized something else. Right now, Bearn needs the bodyguards to its heirs, and the Renshai's swords, more than ever.

  Calistin awakened in a wet and shivering fog. A week had passed since his adventure in the Western tavern, a week spent slogging through a forest that seemed inexhaustible. Using the sun as a guide, he tried to keep his movements as northward as the towering trunks and tangled undergrowth allowed. After twice catching himself wandering in circles, he learned to stop walking at sunset, devoting himself to swordcraft and sleep until the morning. It not only honed his skill but also served as distraction from the hunger gnawing always at his belly.

  Desperately thirsty, he sucked at leaves on the nearest tree, singling out the curled ones that had best collected the rain. Each sip was frustratingly small, insect portions that barely touched the fire in his mouth, the parching of his throat, and still dropped like lead into his empty stomach. He had tried eating the plants around him, but the nettles stung his gums and the others tasted more like dirt than food. Tough and stringy, he found them tasteless and impossible to satisfactorily chew. He tried cooking roots, but they charred into ash rather than plumping into the fragrant tubers he knew. In the past, food and water came to him. The Renshai saw to it that their great champion never wanted for anything.

  Now, the effects of slow starvation frustrated Calistin into fits of rage. His lightning-fast reflexes slowed, and he found himself struggling to remember the intricacies of the more difficult maneuvers. When engaged in svergelse, nothing else mattered; but, the instant he stopped, the hunger bore down on him again, insistent and impossible to ignore. As of yet, he had not found plant matter he could stand. No bird or bunny stayed long enough to accept a physical challenge, and Calistin had never trained to chase down cowards who could fly.

  Uncertain when he would find his next collection of water, Calistin lapped moisture off every leaf within his reach. Surely, his travels would soon bring him to civilization or, at least, a stream. He dreamed of stumbling onto a farm field. A pig or sheep would not think to run from a lone human, and he could swiftly make up for a week of hunger.

  Torn between finding every drop of water and the need to move onward in the hope of locating more, Calistin finally continued walking. Every muscle in his body ached, and his kidneys felt like boulders. He could not remember the last time he had needed to relieve himself. His clothing reeked, touching his skin in icy patches, then peeling away. Wind cut through myriad holes, and enemy blood had stiffened to prickly wrinkles.

  As Calistin walked, he imagined a feast of roasted pheasant and spiced cider, laid on a bed of fancy greens and succulent roots, dressed with vinegar. He could almost smell the odor of roasting meat, then he believed he did. He knew it had to be his nose playing tricks, but his mind told him otherwise. A light breeze from the east definitely carried the irresistible scent of cooking.

  Calistin's mouth went thick with something not quite saliva. He no longer cared whether or not the odor was real; he could not tear his concentration from it. He had little choice but to follow it. He ran a few scenarios through his thoughts as he half-ran, half-stumbled toward the food. They were traveling merchants, or bandits, or royals on an outing. It did not matter. They would share, or they would die. If he had to kill someone to get it, he would relish the opportunity to fight. In the end, he felt hungry enough to roast and eat his opponent as well.

  As Calistin drew nearer, all doubt vanished. The smell grew stronger, and smoke curled through the bushes. He sprang into a small clearing to find a rabbit skin laid out on a log and the meat hissing and spitting in the fire. No nearby human tended it. Calistin found himself shaking. Even in his desperation, he knew better than to reach into open flames with hands he relied on so completely. He also refused to dishonor a sword, instead casting about to find a large enough stick. Abruptly, he found himself face-to-face with Treysind.

  A grin split the boy's dirty face, and he flung himself into Calistin's arms. "Hero, I's finded ya! I's so glad I's finded ya!"

  Startled beyond words, Calistin allowed the boy to fully embrace him. "Treysind? Is that your dinner?"

  Calistin's damp and filthy tunic muffled Treysind's reply. "It's ya's if ya's wants it, Hero.Ya hungry?"

  The question was gross understatement. Finding a stick, Calistin poked the meat from the fire, not caring about the dirt he dragged across it. He ripped off a chunk. Feeling the first stirrings of pain that indicated he would burn flesh if he didn't let go, he popped the morsel into his mouth instead. Logically, he knew it was stupid. The grease burned his tongue much quicker than it would callused fingers, but Calistin did not care. He barely chewed before swallowing, then tore off another hunk. Before he knew it, he had the carcass stripped to the bones.

  Treysind watched him, beaming.

  Only then, as the warmth spread through his gut, Calistin realized two things. First, his tongue and throat stung from the too-hot meat. And, second, he had not left a scrap for his companion. "I'm sorry, Treysind. I guess I was too hungry to think about you."

  "Don't worry 'bout me." Treysind gestured at the fire, where a second coney already roasted. "Ya's kin have that one, too, if ya's want. I kin git plenty more."

  Calistin looked from the boy to the fire and back. Then he repeated the motion. "You can?" He did not unde
rstand how a child who could not fight his way through an empty field could succeed at something at which a Renshai had so miserably failed.

  "Sure."

  "How?"

  Treysind held up a long bow. "Wit' dis."

  Calistin could not help recoiling in distaste. Renshai shunned bows as cowards' weapons. Yet, he realized, Treysind isn't using it for battle. "Where'd you get… that?"

  "I taked it off a dead Nort'man."

  "A dead…?"

  "When's they 'tacked yas. 'Member?"

  Calistin could not forget. "You stole it?"

  Treysind shrugged. "He weren't usin' it no more. I thinked I could put it ta better use."

  Calistin had to admit Treysind had. He looked eagerly at the cooking rabbit. It would take a lot of food to make up for several days without. "You're a marvel, Treysind."

  Treysind threw out his chest, grin enormous. He seemed to glow with pride.

  Only then it occurred to Calistin how important his praise was to the boy. And how rarely he gave it.

  "I's gots more food, too, if ya's want it. An' some water."

  "Water?" Calistin grew even more excited at the prospect of a full swallow of liquid. "You have water?"

  Treysind dragged a pack from a cluster of brush into the clearing. He rummaged through it, then tossed a skin to Calistin. "Here. Have as much as ya wants ta. There's more."

  Calistin uncorked the skin and poured water into his mouth. Though silty, it soothed the pain of his tongue and throat. To him, it tasted like a wave of golden honey: sweet, silken, and utterly welcome. He chugged it down, unable to stop until he had drained the contents. Only then, he lowered it. "Thanks."

  "Ya's welcome," Treysind said, with far more enthusiasm than the phrase warranted. "Ya's verry verry welcome."

  An awkward silence ensued. Calistin looked skyward, through the tapestry of branches, like brown knitting against the blue expanse of sky. "Ready to move on?"

  "Wit' ya?" Treysind's smile grew broader, if possible. "Ready." He slung the pack across one skinny shoulder. "Where's we goin'?"

  "North." Calistin started walking, then stopped. "Ultimately. For now, the nearest town." He turned to face the boy. "I don't suppose you happen to know where that is?"

  Treysind's head bobbed, and he pointed westward. " 'bout a day thataway."

  "Thataway it is." Calistin switched direction. "Perhaps you should lead."

  "Wit' plesher, Hero." Head held high, Treysind marched in the indicated direction.

  Calistin followed, silently running sword maneuvers through a brain already much clearer for nourishment. A sensation kept intruding on his thoughts, a feeling of foreboding that had nothing to do with enemies. His mind told him he had left something important undone, something of as great a significance as missing a daily practice. As much as he tried to put the feeling aside, it gnawed at him, grinding, almost unbearable. He believed it involved Treysind in some fashion, but that did not make sense. He had, after all, remembered to thank the boy.

  As the two travelers moved lightly and easily through the brush, Calistin remained silent, lost in his own thoughts. Treysind stayed quiet also, apparently in deference. He frequently paused to study the Renshai, opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing ever emerged. Their walk continued, clambering over deadfalls, shoving through overgrowth, dodging briars. Treysind occasionally paused to pluck flowers, leaves, and stems, and stuff them into his pack.

  By midday, the pack seemed to have grown much heavier; Treysind fairly dragged it. And Calistin found himself assailed by hunger again.

  "Time for a break," the Renshai announced, crouching against a wall of foliage that consisted of a massive fallen branch, wound through with vines and caught by bushes. "Are you tired, Treysind?"

  Treysind nodded, dropping the pack. "An' hungry, too. Ya wants me ta shoot more food?"

  Calistin nodded. He could think of nothing he desired more. "I'll make the fire."

  Treysind removed bow and arrows from the pack. "There's more water in here, too, if ya's wants some. He'p yasself." Without waiting for a response, Treysind rushed into the woods with his weapon.

  Calistin gathered twigs and branches, mouth watering with real saliva now, at the prospect of another roasted rabbit. By the time he had the fire blazing and the initial kindling charred, Treysind returned with three birds dangling from his hand: a quail, a dove, and a larger, colorful species Calistin could not identify.

  Calistin had no idea what constituted a successful hunt, nor whether Treysind had real talent compared to others who made their livings catching food. He saw only a quick, satisfying meal brought by the boy he had, for so long, considered utterly incompetent.

  Treysind raised his hand to display his catch.

  Calistin grunted his appreciation. And smiled.

  Treysind dumped the birds on the ground at his own feet, sat on a stump, and started plucking.

  Leaving the fire and meal preparation to the boy, Calistin launched into life-affirming svergelse. A sword in each hand, he felt free from earthly worries, unfettered from the normal forces that bound him to the world. With movement came ultimate power. His swords sliced, jabbed, and glided through air, never in one position longer than an instant. Faster than sight, they skipped away, powered only by his arms and his imagination. For the first time in days, he felt good, his mind cleared to fully follow the lethal dance of his blades.

  "Hero!" Treysind shouted, clearly not for the first time. "Hero!"

  Irritated by the interruption, Calistin shoved aside the instinct to slaughter the boy. It would be so easy, barely a dip in motion; yet that thought bothered him enough to stop the practice instantly. "What is it?" He could not so easily keep the gruffness from his tone.

  "Sorry if I's botherin' ya, Hero. Food's gettin' cold, though."

  Calistin looked at the fire, still burning brightly, to the seared, unidentifiable meat laying nearby on beds of leaves.Tiny onions, cooked brown, surrounded the feast. He sheathed his swords. "Looks delicious. Where'd you get the onions?"

  "Picked 'em while we's walkin'."

  Calistin crouched in front of the food.

  "Gots some sweet canes, too."

  "Canes?"

  Treysind handed Calistin a warm, thick stem, then dropped to the ground with one of his own. He took a huge bite off the top.

  Calistin did the same. The piece was woody and tasteless. He chewed for several moments while Treysind watched in fascination.

  Finally, the boy spoke. "Ain't ya gonna spit it out?"

  By this time, Calistin had it ground into enough pieces he had to sweep it from his mouth with his fingers. It took more than a few tries to dig and spit out all the little bits.

  "Ya don't eat canes, Hero.Ya sucks 'em."To demonstrate,Treysind put the tube up to his mouth.

  Again, Calistin copied the motion. Warm, sweet sap flowed into his mouth, an unfamiliar taste for which he had no comparison. Startled, he jerked the stem away to study it.

  Treysind tipped his own stalk farther and farther back, then lowered it and wiped his mouth on the back of a grimy sleeve. "Good, ain't it?"

  "Very," Calistin admitted. "I've never had anything like it." He took another experimental taste. "How'd you figure it out? How to eat it, I mean. I'd have tossed it as a tasteless hunk of wood."

  "When ya's hungry, ya figures out lotsa stuff."

  Calistin disagreed, still staring at the cane. "I was starving. I never figured it out."

  "It he'ps if ya's hungry alla time."

  "Yeah." Calistin found himself staring at Treysind now, considering him in a whole new light. The boy was a survivor in a way he could barely comprehend. His torke always taught that a brave and competent man needs nothing but sword skill, and it always seemed right. Yet Calistin had learned in the past few days that the best swordsman in the world could not bully his dinner from trees. "Treysind," he started.

  "Yeah?"

  Calistin paused, not at all certain what he had pla
nned to say. It seemed important, the type of thing a preoccupied father says to a son to make up for all the time he did not give the boy when it really mattered. But no further words came to him, and he managed only, "Could you pass me some meat?"

  Treysind cupped his hands around the largest portion and shoved it, and its protective leaves, toward Calistin. "Try this. I don't know 'zactly what it is, but I's haded one bafore an' it tasted real good."

  Calistin accepted the portion and tore off a piece of dark meat. More patient this time, he made certain it was not too hot before popping it into his mouth. It had a richer, moister flavor than most fowl, and the well-crisped skin made a pleasant contrast. He also thought he tasted some spice. "Wonderful," Calistin agreed. "Thanks."

  Treysind dug into the quail, making appreciative smacking noises as he ate.

  The more he ate, the more certain Calistin became that Treysind had added something savory to the meat.Yet that seemed nonsensical. Finally, curiosity got the better of him, and he lowered the bone he was stripping to ask. "Treysind, how is it that a boy who thinks moldy cheese is a prize knows how to fix food like a palace gourmet?"

  Treysind dropped his own food to bounce excitedly. "Rilly? Ya thinks I's that good?"

  Calistin had some actual experience to use as a comparison. Unlike Saviar, he had never dined at Bearn Castle, but he had eaten with King Tae as a child. "I think so. How?"

  The words came out in such a rush, Treysind seemed to trip over them. "Well, I dint know. I mean, I's never had ac'shul meat ta work wit'. Least never more'n a scrap a somethin' I cou'n't figure out what it's used ta be. Just taked whatever I could from trash or streets or whatever. So's I never knowed how good…"Treysind paused, clearly trying to focus. "So's once't I's figgered out how ta use this thing." He gestured at the bow. "I's tryed ta figger out how ta make-"

  "Whoa!" Calistin had to stop the flow of words. "You just figured out how to use it? You mean, just since you took that particular bow?"

  Treysind bobbed his head repeatedly. "Never gots one bafore. So's I's started workin' on how ta make 'em smell good cookin', ya know, see if I's kin 'tract ya. I's tryin' lotsa flowers, plants…"