Subikahn scrambled upward with skill that belied his earlier protestations. Even dodging the easy windowsills for fear of discovery, he climbed like a spider, body tight to the stone, arms and legs reaching and pulling as if immune to the natural forces that held everything else to the ground. At times like this, Saviar felt proud of his brother’s dexterity. Grace did not come as easily to him; he sometimes felt as floundering and awkward as a plow horse.
At length, Subikahn cautiously pulled himself up to the fourth-story window ledge of Chymmerlee’s room. Several moments passed. Saviar’s heart pounded as he tried to imagine the discovery, the meeting, and the conversation that followed. Then, suddenly, something flashed, as strong and sudden as lightning. An instant later, Subikahn plummeted from the window.
“Gods!” Saviar heard himself shouting. He clawed the air, as if to catch handholds for his twin. Subikahn, too, slashed crazily, his hands or feet skimming stone at intervals that barely slowed his fall. Saviar stood firm, bracing himself for the impact. Subikahn crashed into his arms with stunning force; and they both tumbled to the ground in a wheel of arms and legs. They tried to roll; but, knotted together, they thrashed around instead. Pain shot through Saviar’s nose, chest, and both legs; and he tasted blood.
Subikahn unwound himself from Saviar and sprang to his feet.
Saviar also rose, wiping blood from his nose with the back of his hand. “What did she say?” he asked breathlessly.
Subikahn’s eyes seemed unfocused. He looked around wildly. “She called us demons, deceivers, and liars. Then, she tried to kill me.”
Shocked, Saviar could only find himself saying, “How?”
“Blast of magic in the face while I’m four stories in the air. I’m blind, by the way.”
“Blind?” Concern shuddered through Saviar. A Renshai who lost his vision had little choice but tåphresëlmordat, deliberate suicide in battle. Saviar braced himself for his brother’s attack, which never came. “Are you sure?”
Subikahn turned Saviar a look that might have withered, had it not focused several hands’ lengths to his right.
Saviar seized Subikahn’s arm, trying to hide the panic in his own voice. Blood continued to drip from his nose, unheeded. He guided Subikahn along a path and around a corner, thinking it best not to sit beneath the window of an angry sorceress. When they had traveled a reasonable distance, he pushed Subikahn onto a bench.
Subikahn scuttled into a defensive crouch on the whitestone.
Finding a sword-cleaning rag deep in his pocket, Saviar clapped it over his face, pinching his nose to stop the bleeding. “She’s really mad.”
Subikahn rolled his eyes, voice dripping sarcasm. “You think so?”
Focused on his own thoughts, Saviar failed to notice his brother’s tone. “To try to kill you after all we—”
“All we what?” Subikahn’s right hand clamped to his hilt. “She saved your life and revealed all the deepest secrets of herself and her people. People who, by the way, had kept themselves safely hidden for centuries. What, exactly, did we do for her?”
“We kept her alive through the war.”
“A war we dragged her into.” Subikahn squinted, blinking several times.
Saviar refused to accept that. “We didn’t drag her anywhere. We sent her home; she chose to follow us.”
“Because she knew we needed her. And she cared for you.”
Saviar’s chest squeezed. “I cared for her, too,” he said, defensively. “I still do.”
Subikahn blinked several more times in succession. “My vision’s coming back.”
Saviar breathed a sigh of relief. Chymmerlee would never hurt us. The reality belied the thought. If he had not broken Subikahn’s fall, Subikahn would have been seriously injured, if not killed. As it happened, they were both lucky to have sustained nothing worse than bruises and a bloody nose. “I knew it would,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“Well, I wish you would have told me. I was starting to panic.” Subikahn studied his brother. “Ah, so that’s why your voice sounded funny. I thought the magic affected my hearing, too.”
Saviar finally dared to release the rag from his nose. Almost immediately, a trickle of blood flowed from it again. With a sigh, he replaced the rag and pinched his nostrils together. He looked up at the massive castle, tracing the route from the fourth floor to the ground. “Do you really think Chymmerlee wanted to . . . kill you?” He found it impossible to imagine the sweet-tempered, kind young woman intentionally harming anything.
Subikahn blinked a few more times, then measured his vision, turning his head this way and that. “By Hel’s withered form, Saviar, she clouted me in the face with brutal magic and sent me plummeting four stories onto all kinds of stonework.”
Guilt descended on Saviar. The war ruined her. The war we essentially forced her to fight. Despite harboring the only human magic, all the Mages of Myrcidë had shown themselves to be a peaceful, quiet people who wanted nothing more than to be left alone while they gradually regained their former numbers and power. More than three centuries earlier, they had suffered a great genocide at the hands of bored and exiled Renshai. Suddenly, as if awakening from a great blindness himself, Saviar understood. “Subikahn, she knows.”
“Knows?”
“Knows we’re Renshai. Someone’s told her. She knows.”
Subikahn made a gesture, half-nod, half-shrug. He finally looked at Saviar. “It was inevitable, I suppose. With your father commanding a platoon of exiled Renshai, and all their battle and death cries. I guess you should have told her before she found out on her own.”
Saviar gritted his teeth and balled his fists, releasing his nose. If his brother had not just risked his life on Saviar’s behalf, a serious spar would have been inevitable. “You’re the one who made me promise not to! Now she thinks I’m a great, big liar!”
Subikahn’s eyes widened as he stared down his twin. “At the time, you were awakening from a coma inside their compound. You had no idea of the extent of hatred the Mages of Myrcidë harbor for our kind. They would have slaughtered us.”
Saviar turned away. He did not know how to reconcile his honor in these circumstances. At the time, weakened and confused, he would have done anything his brother told him; and Subikahn had demanded only that one thing. Later, Saviar had learned of a second deception. The mages had taken the twins in and healed Saviar only because they sensed an “aura,” an indication that they carried magical blood. Saviar now knew the source of the magic the mages had sensed: his sword. Subikahn had been carrying it when he met Chymmerlee, and he had returned it to Saviar upon his awakening.
Subikahn knew the significance of honor to Saviar. The larger twin still had visions of joining the Knights of Erythane, like his father and grandfather. “I’m sorry, Savi. What choice did I have? You were helpless, and they had just saved your life. Was I supposed to say: ‘Thanks for rescuing my brother’s soul from Hel. Now you have to kill us’?”
Saviar had to admit the folly of such a thing, but he remained with his back to his brother, arms folded across his chest, bloody rag still clutched in his fist. “You could have let me die. Those were war wounds.”
“Death from infection, even festering war wounds, would have damned your soul to Hel.”
Saviar whirled on his brother, wishing he had retained some memory of the events surrounding his injuries. Subikahn’s vagueness, and his own frustration, condensed to sudden anger. “I still don’t understand that. If the battle wounds were not themselves fatal, then we had time. Why didn’t you attack me when the wounds began to turn, while I could still fight and die with honor? Why didn’t you let me find a hero’s death, to earn the forever reward of Valhalla? You couldn’t possibly have known Chymmerlee would happen along to save me.”
As always, Subikahn changed the subject. “Think of this from Chymmerlee’s viewpoint. She betrayed
the secrets of her people to their bitterest enemies, then ran off with Renshai in ignorance.”
Though he knew he had just been diverted, Saviar could not resist addressing the new tack. “But we’re not enemies. That’s what she needs to understand.” Feeling a tickle of fluid sliding from his nose, Saviar again clamped the rag in place.
Subikahn made a broad gesture, using both hands. “Renshai murdered her people. All of them. The Myrcidians had to reconstitute from . . . from basically nothing. From a bit of scattered and diluted bloodline.”
“Centuries-ago-Renshai murdered her people,” Saviar reminded his brother. “Not us. Not the Renshai that Colbey Calistinsson presented to the world.”
Subikahn’s voice went soft. “Colbey Calistinsson was probably a member of those ‘centuries-ago-Renshai’. He might have killed more than his share of mages. We know he had a hand in the downfall of the Cardinal Wizards, including the very last Myrcidian, the Eastern Wizard.”
“That’s not fair!” Though not loud, Saviar’s tone sounded like a shout in comparison. “The Wizards brought about their own downfall when they banded against Colbey. He was in the right!”
Subikahn remained maddeningly calm. “Sometimes, Saviar, right depends on where you’re standing.”
Saviar started to reply, but the words died on his tongue. They had argued this point many times before; and, though he had always taken the side of absolute right, life and Subikahn had brought him too many logical points to the contrary. As Knights of Erythane, Saviar’s father and grandfather had made peace with the concept of unconditional morality and honor, but Saviar had not yet formally done so.
Saviar had seen people on both sides of a conflict equally resolute, passionately asserting their viewpoints with the glib certainty of the righteous. Each believed, with every fiber of his being, that he had his feet firmly planted in honest and ethical truth. Somehow, the Knights of Erythane wound their way through such disagreements to find the kernel of shining, honorable accuracy that underlay everyone’s beliefs. To the Knights of Erythane, justice was an absolute concept. And, while the Renshai and a few others mocked them, the rest of the world adored and revered them.
When Saviar did not reply, Subikahn added, “Fairness has nothing to do with it, Savi. I’m only trying to put myself in Chymmerlee’s place. Right or wrong, she has grown up believing Renshai the ultimate enemies. We knew that, yet we chose not to reveal ourselves. Surely you can see why she’d consider that an enormous betrayal.”
Saviar nodded grudgingly. Once again, he took the rag from his face. This time, the bleeding did not recur. He did not know what to say. Subikahn had made an inarguable point, but Saviar still felt quarrelsome and sullen. “She still didn’t have to try to kill you.”
Subikahn looked up at the castle wall, now safely distant. “I doubt she has the gall or desire to come after us; but, when I gave her the opportunity to help fix the problem she created, she seized it.”
Saviar did not understand. “How would killing you accomplish that? It’s me who should have told her what we are.”
Subikahn rubbed his eyes, blinked a few more times, then smiled. Apparently, his vision had wholly returned. “Had you climbed, I imagine she would have done the same to you. But the problem, in her mind, is that we know the secret of the mages.”
Now, Saviar grasped Subikahn’s point. “That they exist, and where they’re hiding.”
“Correct.”
Murder seemed an excessive way to handle the problem. “But we vowed not to tell.”
“Would you trust the word of liars?”
Again, Saviar chose not to argue. They had not actually lied, simply withheld the truth. “They could move. We would still know they exist, but we would have no way to find them.”
“Except they think we’re magical, because of the aura your sword gave us. Or they might not be able to move.”
“Why not?”
Subikahn finally dared to rise, stretching each limb, apparently assessing himself for bumps and bruises. He seemed none the worse for a fall that should have killed him. “I’m not actually magical. I certainly don’t know the rules. But Papa’s library is extensive, and he’s made me read everything, trying to get me to learn a bunch of different languages.” Subikahn worked kinks from his shoulders and back. “Historically, items imbued with magic are exceptionally rare and users of it quite limited. The creation of an invisible city seems like the kind of incredibly difficult feat that would require the efforts of several magical beings working together as well as a receptive place.”
Saviar blinked. For a man with little knowledge of magic, Subikahn seemed to know a lot. “A . . . receptive place?”
“A place where truly great magic had once been worked. A gods’ battle, perhaps. An elfin gate.” Subikahn shrugged. “Something.”
Saviar placed a hand on his sword hilt, surprised to find that Subikahn’s words made sense to him. His sword, Motfrabelonning, had come to him after their mother’s death. An ancient Renshai Einherjar, a soul dwelling in Valhalla, had given it to her. The twins’ younger brother wielded her other enchanted blade; its magic came from having belonged to Colbey Calistinsson when the immortal Renshai lived on Asgard, the world of gods.
So far, Saviar had noticed little special about those two swords. They were both exquisitely crafted, but no more so than the Renshai demanded of any sword. He knew of only two things the so-called “magic” of the swords granted: they gave the wielder an “aura” and could cut beings that ordinary steel could not harm, like elves, Kjempemagiska, and demons.
Thinking while talking slowed Saviar’s speech. “So . . . the mages might not be able . . . to move.”
Subikahn shrugged.
“And . . . we know . . . their secrets . . .”
Subikahn bit his lower lip, and Saviar understood that “secrets” covered a lot of information: their existence, their magic, and their heritage as well as their location. The mages had expected the twins to remain with them forever; and their promises not to reveal any information had not proven enough for the mages to release them. They had had to take Chymmerlee as a willing hostage.
Suddenly needing to sit, Saviar placed his bottom on the whitestone bench. A lump formed in his throat. “There’s no future for me and Chymmerlee, is there?” The words pounded in his head, and he felt tears sting his eyes again. His handsome face and muscular features had brought scores of young women flocking to him since he had barely entered his teens. This popularity had done nothing more than embarrass him. But Chymmerlee had come to him innocently, when he was at the brink of death, and she was the first with whom he had shared a mutual attraction.
Subikahn sighed, crouching beside his brother. “Once she gets back and tells her people about us, I’m not sure either of us has any kind of future.”
Saviar’s brows furrowed. He did not understand. “Their magic makes them unpredictably dangerous, but you don’t think they’ll come after us, do you? They didn’t even follow Chymmerlee when she didn’t return.” He remembered the reason she had given, that she alone of her people ever left the compound. The others feared the perils outside and the possibility of someone discovering their secrets. “If someone kidnapped your great-granddaughter, you’d go after them, wouldn’t you? No matter your fears. No matter what they threatened.”
“I would,” Subikahn admitted. “But I have a theory about that.”
Saviar gave his brother his full attention.
“When they found us, they took us in for one reason only.”
Saviar nodded. “They saw an aura around you and assumed you carried the blood of mages.”
“Right. And their most significant issue, at the time, was reviving their line without destroying it with inbreeding.”
Saviar shrugged. Early on, Subikahn had warned Saviar that the only relationship that could develop between him and Chym
merlee was one of breeding; but that was before Chymmerlee had chosen to accompany them home. “We don’t have any actual magic, aside from the sword, so you assumed their only purpose for us would be . . .” Saviar flushed at the impropriety of what he was about to say, “. . . impregnating some of their women.”
“Yes.” Subikahn said nothing more, allowing Saviar to figure the rest out for himself.
Saviar did so, though the obvious extension of Subikahn’s thought surprised him. “You think . . .” It seemed impossible. “You believe . . . they hoped . . . Chymmerlee and I . . .”
Tired of waiting for the euphemism, Subikahn went straight to the point. “. . . would romp like rutting rabbits.”
Saviar’s cheeks grew hot enough to draw attention from his throbbing nose. “That’s obscene!”
“Nothing could be more so.”
Saviar shook his head impatiently. “I mean no one would want a girl they love—”
“—to be buggered by a gloik like you?”
“Stop it!” Saviar had tired of Subikahn’s deliberate attempts to shock. “I’m trying to make a serious point.”
Subikahn went silent, brows ever so slightly arched.
Saviar spoke quickly, so as not to give his twin an entrance. “I just mean that no one wants a young woman they love to bear a child out of wedlock.”
Subikahn stiffened, then lowered his right shoulder in a lazy shrug. “The mages seem more interested in silently growing their population and gaining magical power than worrying about other societies’ mores.”
Saviar looked toward the castle. From their new position, they could no longer view Chymmerlee’s window. Subikahn had an undeniable point. Like elves, the mages clearly raised their offspring in packs, paying little heed to the rights and responsibilities of blood parents. For now, the survival of their kind mattered more to them than civilization’s propriety and rules. He could not help imagining what might have been: Chymmerlee yielding to him, her breath warm in his ear, her arms winching tightly around him, begging for more.
Fields of Wrath Page 3