She nodded and lowered her head, clearly trying to appear submissive and helpless.
Calistin could not respect either of those states of being. “When you made this plan, when you threw the first stone or stick, you ceased to be a civilian.” With that, he kicked her off the branch. She screamed the whole way down.
Cursing the time he had wasted talking to the worthless creature, Calistin measured the gap to the other tree. He could not leap to it from where he stood without risking the stability of his freshly-healed arm. A jump to the ground would probably break more bones. Looking higher, he noticed the trees flared outward at the tops and approached one another. Uncertain if it would work or only cost more time, he shinnied swiftly upward. The branch narrowed as it rose, the leaves bunched more tightly together. As his weight overcame its strength, the branch bowed toward its neighbor. He had to get higher before it snapped or bore him to the ground. He climbed swiftly, fingers barely touching one spot before moving on to the next. He raced the sagging branch until he drew near enough to try, then flung himself at the other tree.
Calistin managed to catch a slender branch, his weight bearing it instantly downward. He sprang for another, then another, seizing thicker and thicker foliage until he found an inner branch that could hold him. Loose sticks whizzed past his head, and a stone smacked against his cheek with bruising force. That only served to further enrage him. Locating four Paradisians in this tree, he slid deliberately toward them.
Two rushed toward the trunk, climbing down and away from this new threat. The other pair came toward him, flinging rocks and debris. It might have been leaves for all the effect it had on Calistin. As he reached the branch above them, they ran at him, fists swinging. Calistin grabbed the branch beneath his feet threw his body backward, then swung forward, feet leading. His boots crashed into both Paradisians, sending them careening from the tree. Landing on the branch below, he chased after the two escapees. By the time he reached the ground, the Renshai women already had the Paradisians pinned on their swords.
Calistin hopped to the ground, watching the Renshai to avoid becoming a victim of an overzealous attack. No one menaced him. The bodies of the Paradisians lay bleeding on the ground. Renshai had gained the cliffs, and the Paradisians there had either died or run away. He saw only two Renshai bodies, the one in the water and the other on the bank. A few appeared injured, limping or cradling their heads in their hands.
Only then, Calistin realized he stood amidst a bunch of partially clothed or fully naked young women. Embarrassment overtook him in an instant, a wave of warmth that seemed to envelope his entire body. He shielded his eyes. As the rush of battle rage diminished, he worried about more embarrassing kinds of excitement.
One of the women caught his arm. “Thanks, Calistin.”
He dared a peek. It was Valira, a muscular adolescent who had passed her Renshai tests of adulthood a few months before her seventeenth birthday. She had hair so blonde it looked nearly white, with wispy eyebrows and lashes to match. Though cut short in the front, it tumbled down her back. Despite the pallor of her hair, her skin bore the healthy hue of a woman accustomed to sun. She had sky-blue eyes, a nose that crooked to the left, and a delicate chin befitting a woman. He tried to lock his gaze on her face, but it wandered to her neckline where he found the collar of her shift. Breathing a sigh of relief, he allowed his gaze to sweep her clothed body, only to find himself pausing overly long at her breasts. He could make out the faint outline of a nipple through the wet fabric, and he found that surprisingly more sensual than the naked bodies behind him.
“Calistin?” Valira’s voice brought Calistin’s gaze back to her face. “I said ‘thank you.’”
Calistin smiled awkwardly. “It was nothing.” He liked the feel of her strong fingers wrapped around his upper arm. He could not remember the last time any Renshai dared to touch him. “The fools had no weapons and even less skill.”
Valira chuckled. “How does one have less than none?”
Calistin shrugged a shoulder and smiled. He could hardly consider his confrontation with the Paradisians a battle, though he did feel the satisfying wash of victory. They had vanquished foes, though boring and unsatisfying ones, and he still felt the rush of both his practice and the exertion necessary to leap through trees. “Paradisians manage it. Sneaky, dishonorable bastards, all of them, without a thimbleful of actual talent between them.”
“Well, it wasn’t ‘nothing’ on your part. If you hadn’t come, we’d have dulled all our blades hacking down those trees.”
Calistin still saw little merit in his actions. “You would have had them in time. Once they ran out of ammunition, they were yours. They had to come down eventually.”
“In two or three days, I suppose.” Valira smiled at him.
Calistin’s gaze traveled to her hand on his arm. “No one ever touches me.”
Valira jerked away her fingers, as if burned. “I’m sorry.”
Calistin cursed himself for mentioning it. “Me, too. I liked it.”
“You did?” Cautiously, Valira reached for him again. This time, she touched his shoulder, but it felt less natural, more awkward. She dropped her hand to her side. “You know, a month ago, you’d have cut my arm off.”
“I would?” Calistin could not remember slicing appendages off of Renshai. He had left a few battered, slashed, and bruised from practices and spars. He had killed those who came to him to die; Renshai suffering fatal wounds or illnesses usually chose him to bring about their ends in proper combat instead.
“You’ve changed, softened a bit.”
Calistin stared, uncertain whether to take that as compliment or insult. “I’m as tough as ever.”
“As competent as ever,” she corrected. “More competent as a warrior. Just . . . more approachable. As a man, I mean.”
More approachable. Calistin did not know what to do with that information. As a man? He thought he might like that. “Are you saying I’m weaker?”
Valira placed her hands on her hips. “Of course not. Stronger, if anything. More . . . well . . . desirable. More . . .” A ball of scarlet appeared on each cheek.
Calistin did not make her finish. “Women don’t like me,” he confessed. “I look like a child.”
“No,” Valira corrected. “We didn’t like you because you acted like an unfriendly, unfeeling ass.”
“Oh.” Calistin did not know what else to say. He swallowed hard.
“Many Renshai look younger than their ages. You more so than most; but you’re a man by Renshai standards. Chronologically, you’re a bit older than me.”
Calistin felt no need to clean up the aftermath of the battle, nor to examine it. He had no enemies at his back, only the terrifying sight of partially dressed women. He hoped they had attended to themselves and their swords while he talked. “Women have always preferred my brother.”
Valira could hardly deny it. “That’s because he’s jaw-dropping gorgeous, funny, honest, and kind. The gods don’t make nearly enough men like Saviar.”
“Yeah.” Calistin knew his oldest brother had the looks women preferred, but he had never considered the other aspects of Saviar’s attraction.
“But I prefer a man who defines our tribe, an unparalleled swordsman who can keep me forever challenged. Sinewy as a lion, quicker than a striking snake, wholly committed to finding Valhalla and to the Renshai way of life. A throwback to the days when we looked like Northmen, blond and blue-eyed, like me.”
“Do you?” Calistin wondered why she was telling him this. It made him weirdly uncomfortable.
“I do.” Valira’s pale eyes twinkled.
For a moment, Calistin thought she was going to laugh, but he doubted he was right. He had never read people well. He constantly misinterpreted their intentions. In give-and-take conversations, he missed the obvious. The games they played with one another confounded him. Jok
es made no sense to the younger Calistin, and he tended to react literally to what others recognized as sarcasm. In the last few weeks, however, understanding had finally begun to dawn. Thanks to Treysind’s living assistance, and now his soul, a whole new world was starting to open for Calistin. Thus far, he had tried to avoid its strange and scary newness; but Valira, at least, had noticed the change.
It was not that Calistin did not feel the stirrings that all adolescents do. He had watched a Renshai named Sitari from afar, often wishing he had the words to convince her to kiss him. Slaughtered by Northmen, she went to her pyre never knowing how he had felt about her. He had not given her the slightest clue, had never known how to act or what to say.
Calistin did realize it was his turn to speak. Emboldened, he reached over to touch Valira’s shoulder. The fabric felt wet, the flesh beneath solidly muscled. For the first time in his life, he felt clumsy as a turtle and dropped his hand back to his side. “I hope you find him, Valira.”
“Oh, I have.” Valira turned with a knowing wink, the picture of grace and dexterity. She deliberately brushed her hip against his as she walked away, and her hand patted his buttocks.
Stunned, Calistin whirled to watch her go, forgetting in his surprise to be concerned about the nakedness of the other Renshai. At the moment, he had eyes for only one.
Commanding Renshai is rather like taming volcanoes or herding butterflies.
—Sir Ra-khir Kedrin’s son
CALISTIN WALKED AWAY from the bathing pool exhilarated, curiously excited, and—mostly—confused. Other than his mother, no woman had ever touched his bottom before. He wondered what it meant, why Valira had done it. He rarely made any human contact by hand; his sword did all the talking for him. He had slapped an opponent or two during combat, as a warning that they had done something so stupid he did not even need a sword to finish them. Other than that, he kept his hands to himself.
Before Calistin had become a man, his father had put an arm across his shoulders at times or tousled his hair. Occasionally, a torke had done the same as a sign of encouragement. Since he became a man, he could scarcely remember anyone even reaching in his general direction. Vigilance usually sent him dodging anything headed toward him, and he supposed he might have menaced someone who tried to touch him unexpectedly.
Finding a relatively isolated place, Calistin again launched into svergelse. Oddly, it felt more right and vigorous than the battle he had just fought. In the past, he would never have bothered to join such a ridiculous skirmish. The Paradisians clearly had no war sense. He saw no reason to begin an assault they had no way to finish. When they chose to rain sticks and stones on the Renshai women, they had surely known the conflict would result in their own deaths. Calistin understood desperation and flinging himself into an impossibly lopsided battle, fighting until he either won or he earned his honored place in Valhalla. Unarmed, untrained fools ambushing warriors who would not otherwise have bothered them seemed like inexplicable madness.
Calistin sliced and wove, his feet never still, his arms one with his swords. Even his antics in the tree, he realized, had not bothered his arm. For the first time in longer than a month, he felt whole, and that invoked an excitement that surpassed his encounter with Valira. It took too much mental effort to understand people. Only he and his swords had a perfect and utterly-comprehensible connection.
Hoofbeats interrupted Calistin’s thoughts. Many Renshai became violent when someone dared to interfere with a practice. As Calistin often worked with his swords from sunup to sundown, he could hardly escape at least a few intrusions daily. It only bothered him when he focused on something so difficult it required every modicum of his attention. Currently, he was letting his thoughts wander anyway. Another break would harm nothing.
Calistin looked toward the sound, recognizing the white charger of a Knight of Erythane. Ra-khir was the only knight who lived on the Fields of Wrath, but he rarely made it home before nightfall. Most often, he stabled his horse at the knight’s Bellenet Fields. Curious, Calistin sheathed his weapons and walked toward the approaching charger.
Ra-khir pulled up Silver Warrior in front of Calistin. Apparently still on duty, he wore his tabard, cloak, and sword, his hat perched at the proper rakish angle. Gold-and-blue ribbons were braided into the horse’s mane and tail. “Where are your brothers?”
Calistin had no clue. “I haven’t seen either of them since just after the war. They went off about the same time you did, and you’re the first I’ve seen back.”
An uncomfortable look spread across Ra-khir’s face, but Calistin could not wholly identify it. “Saviar didn’t come home?”
Calistin shrugged, tired of being asked about his brothers’ whereabouts. “Not that I’m aware. My brothers don’t normally confide in me.”
“No, they wouldn’t.”
Calistin wondered what his father meant, but he did not bother to ask. It would only launch a discussion that would probably just confuse him more.
“Calistin, something happened here a short while ago.”
“Something?” Violence defined the Fields of Wrath, where Renshai taught sword skills, drilled, and sparred all day. But, since the Paradisians had arrived, the Renshai seemed to have no peace at all.
“The Erythanians who live here claim Renshai slaughtered twenty-seven of their unarmed young men and women near the bathing pool.”
“Oh, that.” Calistin shrugged. If the Paradisians did one thing swiftly, it was complain. “What about it?”
“So, it’s true?” Ra-khir seemed to be studying him.
Calistin saw no reason to lie. “I didn’t count them. It could have been twenty-seven.” From Ra-khir’s expression, Calistin gathered his father wanted a different answer. He waited for the knight to clarify.
Ra-khir chewed his lower lip thoughtfully before finally speaking softly. “Calistin, did you have to kill them?”
Calistin knew his mannered father demanded honesty, not only when he served in his capacity as a Knight of Erythane, but at all times. “No. Our women did a fine job all on their own. I just shook a few out of the trees for them.”
Ra-khir stared, as if trying to make sense of the words. “By ‘you,’ I didn’t mean you personally. I meant ‘you’ as in the Renshai. Did ‘you,’ as a group, have to kill those young Paradisians?”
Calistin stared at his father, actually trying to read his intentions for the first time. In the past, he had simply dismissed Ra-khir as a well-meaning but over honor-bound fool. “As opposed to allowing them to bludgeon more of us to death with limbs and boulders?”
Ra-khir winced. “As opposed to restraining them. As opposed to chasing them away. Could you have done that instead?”
Calistin found himself incapable of comprehending his father’s suggestions. Uncertain what to say, he finally answered the only way that seemed honest, though more question than statement. “No.”
“Why not?”
The query seemed no more sensible than a child expecting a parent to explain the blueness of the sky, the greenness of the grass, the deafening crash of thunder. Calistin shifted from foot to foot. “Papa, we recently fought a war in Béarn, correct?”
Ra-khir could scarcely deny it. “Yes, of course.”
“How many enemies did you restrain? How many did you chase away?”
Ra-khir’s brows furrowed. He leaned over his mount’s arched neck to study Calistin with an intensity that might have bothered the young man, had he any experience with reading nonverbal cues. “That’s an entirely different matter.”
Calistin did not see it. “How?” he asked innocently.
Ra-khir straightened with a sigh. “We were fighting enemies who intended to kill every man, woman and child on the continent. Foreign enemies, all warriors, hell-bent on destroying us and taking our land.”
Calistin cocked a brow. He did not see the difference.
“Allies don’t murder bathing women by dropping rocks on their heads.”
Ra-khir stiffened. Clearly, the Paradisians had not revealed their role in the conflict. However, he did not allow the newfound knowledge to interfere with his point. “I should have said ‘neighbors.’ Also, the Paradisians are civilians, while Renshai are all—”
“Warriors,” Calistin filled in, ire rising. “I’ve heard that argument.”
“And?”
“And nothing.” Calistin refused to accept it. “Because they’re lazy and dishonorable, we should allow them to murder us without retaliation?”
“You should understand that they’re desperate and don’t stand a chance against you in a face-to-face war. That’s why they resort to underhanded tactics.”
Calistin could not fathom why his father was telling him this. “And we’re supposed to . . . what? Let them? Because we work hard and train, we’re not allowed to defend ourselves?”
Ra-khir sighed. Calistin could tell he wished he had not started the conversation. Every line of his father’s body suggested he would rather speak with Saviar or Subikahn and leave Calistin to his ignorance. “Of course, you can defend yourselves. I’m just saying you should respond with an appropriate level of force, not everything you have.”
Calistin still did not get it. “Why?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do, the fair thing.”
Calistin could scarcely believe he had heard his father correctly. It went against every tenet of a warrior, something he knew better than anyone. “Papa, are you telling me a warrior has to modulate his battles? He has to hold back his strength, quickness, and ability to make every fight even?”
Ra-khir’s features crinkled, and he shook his head vigorously. “That’s not what I mean.”
Calistin continued, “Because that would remove any reason to train, all purpose for becoming a warrior.” Even as the words left his mouth, Calistin could not conceive of them holding even a grain of truth. To do so invalidated his entire existence.
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