Ra-khir had learned what he knew from the gods-charged keeper of that neutrality, the immortal Renshai, Colbey. “Unlike elves, humans have no magic.” Ra-khir frowned, realizing Chymmerlee had disproven a statement he had long considered fact. “Well, very little, anyway. Because of that, even small acts of magical beings have enormous effects on our balance. When gods interfere, even with the best of intentions, they risk destroying us. Perhaps Frey has not answered your prayers because he believes it safer for you to find the way without his assistance.”
Tem’aree’ay sat back. She could take hours or days to mull the matter.
Calistin lacked her elfin patience. “Colbey has been known to interact with humans, and his son has done so on at least one occasion.” He looked pointedly at Ra-khir.
Ra-khir’s blood seemed to freeze in his veins. What does he know? A vow on his honor kept him from revealing Calistin’s blood origins, but he had never liked the situation. Misleading anyone bothered him, most especially his son, particularly since Ra-khir had come to hate his own mother and stepfather for a similar deception. They had changed his name from Rawlins to Khirwithson and attempted to convince everyone that Khirwith was the only father he had ever had. They had treated his blood father, Kedrin, cruelly and denied him any sort of interaction with his son. But young Ra-khir had remembered his father, enough to innocently turn his own name into a hyphenated amalgam. And when his mother forced him to choose between parents, he had selected the father who loved him rather than the mother who loved only herself.
Despite their similarities, the situations were vastly different. Ra-khir had vowed to keep his silence to protect the kingdom of Pudar as well as Colbey’s family. The king had extracted the promise in exchange for allowing Kevral and Ra-khir to raise her son rather than the Pudarian king. In a misguided attempt to prevent the termination of the royal bloodline during the sterility plague, King Cymion had imprisoned Kevral and forced his only living son upon her.
Colbey’s son, Ravn, had given Kevral the option of conceiving with him instead, and Kevral had chosen what she considered the lesser of evils. At Colbey’s direct request, Ra-khir had raised Calistin as his own, the only father Calistin had ever known. Doing so protected not only Calistin, but the royal family from its embarrassing misdeed as well as Colbey and Ravn who could not significantly intervene in Calistin’s upbringing without threatening the world’s balance.
Ra-khir had never appreciated any kind of deception, but especially one that forced him to lie daily to his own sons. However, it had been the only way to assuage Kevral, prevent a deadly war, and rescue Calistin from life as the heir to a royal rapist. Again, it had required a choice between evils, and Ra-khir had taken the most honorable of several ignominious paths. Now, it seemed, Calistin had obtained information that might drastically change their relationship. Ra-khir only hoped for good, not ill.
All of these thoughts flashed through Ra-khir’s mind in an instant, never far from the surface. He addressed Calistin’s remark rather than his intimation. “Colbey has interacted with humans, even with me; but Colbey is not an actual god.”
Valr Magnus cocked his head, examining Ra-khir quizzically. “Forgive my ignorance, but I was taught that a belief in the divinity of Colbey Calistinson was the major contention between Northern religion and that of the Renshai.”
Ra-khir appreciated the opportunity to explain because it also addressed the potential new problem threatening his relationship with his youngest son. “Actually, Magnus, the major contention between Northern and Renshai religions is whether the Ragnarok is imminent or has already occurred. If the gods responded to prayers on Midgard, we would know the answer. The Renshai believe only a handful of them survived the Ragnarok, while the North feels equally certain it has not yet happened so the entire pantheon still exists. If Odin or Thor or Ullr, all dead by Renshai reckoning, revealed their presences to mankind, we would have to favor the explanation of the North. If, however, only Frey and Vidar and a handful of others did, we would have to favor the Renshai’s version.”
Heads bobbed around the table, some with wordless resignation, others with boredom. Ra-khir had not yet gotten to the point he wished to make and realized others did not share his patience. “That Colbey still lives some four hundred years after his birth is not in contention.” He turned his gaze on Valr Magnus, “Is it?”
The Northern warrior’s hand fell to his hilt, not in anger but memory. “Not to me,” he admitted.
Ra-khir continued, “Colbey carries the blood of Thor and a mortal Renshai. The woman died in combat during her pregnancy, and Thor rescued the fetal Colbey to implant him in another Renshai womb. Neither Colbey, nor his mortal parents, knew his bloodline was not theirs growing up. Even long after Colbey learned the truth, he forever considered himself Calistin and Ranilda’s son.” Ra-khir did not add that they had raised and loved and taught him. Blood might be thicker than water, but love and availability trumped everything. Overdoing the point, making the comparison too obvious, might have the opposite of its intended effect on a man of Calistin’s age.
Valr Magnus cocked his head. “So . . . Renshai believe Colbey is half-god. But . . . not divine?”
Ra-khir realized, in his eagerness to make a secret point to his son, he had not fully made the obvious one. “Colbey does not consider himself a god, merely an immortal. The gods tolerate his presence, some may even like him, but they do not accept him as one of them. The preferred terminology is ‘the immortal Renshai. ’”
Valr Magnus stroked his beard. “Interesting.”
“And yet,” Ra-khir realized aloud. “Of no significance to our current task.” It occurred to him that the mix of people assigned to this undertaking might undo it. Tem’aree’ay was too patient to interfere when conversations went off on tangents. Marisole’s need to sing would only prolong them. Darby would never consider interrupting his master or others he considered his superiors. Ivana could barely communicate, and Calistin took little interest in matters outside of swordplay and practice. It would fall to him and General Magnus to keep the party focused and on task. And Ra-khir could barely stand the Northman.
To have one’s son finally surpass him is the secret dream of every father.
—Talamir Edminsson
A BRILLIANT ORANGE SUN hovered over the western horizon, and the first hint of evening gray stole color from the gardens. Outside the compound, Tae peeked over Béarn’s castle wall, watching three guards amble through the flower and vegetable beds, poking their heads behind benches and into every gazebo. Tae had spent most of his day watching them, confused by changes in their usual patterns and procedures. He had seen Ra-khir and Darby enter, the knight insisting on stabling his own white charger and Darby his gelded chestnut. Valr Magnus had arrived soon after, but Tae doubted their presences had anything to do with the oddities of the day and the changes in the duties of Béarn’s guardsmen.
The need to understand had become an obsession. Tae could not quite creep near enough to hear the guards without them spotting him as well. In the last hour, he had determined they seemed to be looking for something, but he could not figure out the objective of their search. He had not intended to engage in spying games, but he had risen to the bait throughout the day, testing his limits and honing his skills simultaneously.
Tae lowered himself to the ground with a silent sigh. When he rated his performance, he deserved high praise for avoiding detection and visualizing the targets. However, he considered the mission a failure because he still could not surmise the purpose of their actions. He would need to work on his listening skills prior to studying the Kjempemagiska. While counting them, gaining a feel for their activities, and glimpsing what they could do with their magic would all help their cause, absorbing their strategies and intentions would prove far more useful.
It occurred to Tae that the enemy’s methods of communication would work to his advantage. While they
also tended to resort to speech for quiet conversation and covert operations, they did not hesitate to mentally broadcast commands and the less private portions of their life. While some of their assumptions about the continental peoples had caused them to underestimate numbers and come mostly unprepared for answering magic, they still had no reason to believe anyone from Tae’s part of the world could “hear” their mind speech or understand their language. Of course, there, I’ll have to sneak around with a flabby tabby on my shoulders. Tae was careful not to broadcast that thought. He had no idea where Imorelda had gone, but she would surely take offense.
Prepared to peer over the wall again, Tae looked up, only to find a furry face staring down at him from the pinnacle. Imorelda perched on the walltop, her silver fur nearly disappearing into the grayness of twilight, the white tip at the end of her tail curling and flopping in turns. He had no idea how long she had been sitting there watching him. She waited for him to meet her amber gaze before she finally addressed him. *I know what they’ve been looking for.* A catty smugness accompanied the sending.
Though intensely curious, Tae feigned indifference. *So do I.*
Imorelda called his bluff. *Do you? Because I don’t think you do.* Her haughty complacency grew to the level of provocation.
Tae tried one more gambit. *I don’t think you know. You’re just trying to taunt me into telling you.*
Imorelda snorted. Tae had heard that sound before and always suspected it took the place of a human chuckle. *Fine, then. I won’t tell you.* She hiked up her tail, flipping it over her nose to hide her entire face.
They had come to a stalemate Tae could only lose. He drew in a deep breath, though he did not intend to make a sound. *All right, you win. What are Béarn’s guards looking for?*
Imorelda lowered her tail enough to reveal a catty grin. *You.*
All of the gathered breath left Tae in a rush.
*I knew you didn’t know.*
Tae could hardly deny it. *They’re looking for me personally? Or they’re looking for someone sneaking around Béarn Castle?* The answer mattered; Tae hated to think his practice scouting had taken security from more important matters, nor that he had grown clumsy enough for them to worry about a breach in security.
*They’re looking for Tae, the irritating, disappearing king of the Eastlands.*
“Damn,” Tae said, though secretly pleased. He had managed to evade Béarn’s entire security force while never leaving the city.
His pleasure must have leaked through to Imorelda. Her tail lashed, and her gaze intensified. *You know, you wasted a lot of their time. Griff’s getting concerned about what happened to you.*
Tae hid his pleasure behind an appropriate air of chastisement. *You’re right. I need to put them out of their misery.*
*I’m always right,* Imorelda reminded him. *And you’re going to have to do a better job of hiding your glee from Griff and his men. You don’t want to insult them, do you?*
Tae did not, but he felt certain they could not read him the way Imorelda did. *Do you know what they want?*
*The long-awaited sailor has arrived. Griff wanted you down at the docks.*
Tae gestured for Imorelda to come down from the wall. She crouched, then launched herself toward him. Tae barely had time to brace himself before she slammed into his arms and against his chest. He staggered backward a step, righted himself, and took a more dignified hold on the cat. *I didn’t necessarily mean for you to land on top of me.*
Imorelda ruffled her fur. *Is that a snide way of calling me fat?*
Tae dodged his earlier, silent characterization of Imorelda as a “flabby tabby.” *It’s a direct way of asking you not to fling yourself at my still-recovering body suddenly and at great speed.* Tae hugged Imorelda’s warm mass against him.
Imorelda licked her striped fur back into place. *So, I’m supposed to fling myself at the cold, hard ground?*
*If you can climb up something, you should be able to climb down it. Yes?*
Imorelda unsheathed her claws abruptly and sank them into Tae’s flesh.
Pain flashed through Tae’s forearm. It was all he could do not to drop her, though when he managed to keep her in his arms, he wished he had followed his instincts instead. She deserved to fall. “Ow, damn it!”
Imorelda retracted her claws immediately. *Do those feel like they’re designed for upside down use? They’re curved, you silly two legs.*
Tae examined his arm. He could see the individual impressions of the claws, but not one had broken skin. *When I climb down, I never go head first.*
*Well, unless you have eyes in places I don’t care to know about, it’s a good way to wind up with a stick or a sword up your ass.*
Tae realized Imorelda had a point. Cats did prefer high places, and they climbed effortlessly. Designed for pouncing from above, they often appeared to have trouble descending. He had watched cats pace elevated branches for hours, even days. It was a wonder the world’s trees were not festooned with feline skeletons. Tae also realized the conversation served no purpose other than delay. Apparently, some piece of him worried more for the mission, and his life, than he let on even to himself. *Imorelda, do you think they’re still waiting for me? At the docks?* Still carrying the cat, he headed toward the ocean.
To Tae’s relief, Imorelda took his hasty change of topic in stride. *I’ve seen Griff and Darris come and go. The sailor’s probably carousing in a tavern, but I think we can count on whatever ship he sailed in on still being there.* She clambered onto his shoulders for the ride.
Tae nodded. Although his only sailing experience came from being a passenger, he had read enough to recognize construction. The type of ship the sailor had used could, at least, pinpoint his origin. Thus far, Griff had refused to identify Tae’s companions, stating that he worried about making a promise on which he could not deliver. Tae had made it clear he wanted the smallest, least obtrusive ship that could still make it safely across a vast stretch of ocean. Anticipating an enormous crew, he planned to anchor just beyond view of the Kjempemagiska’s island and take a smaller boat to shore alone. He already knew they would have to use great caution. Magical seeing might far outdistance his own.
Tae thought it best to remain hidden as he worked his way to the docks. He did not want people stopping him every few steps to inform him that others were seeking him or that he needed to go where he was already headed. Though slinking through shadows lengthened his walk, he still arrived much more quickly than he would have had he conversed with several people along the way. Soon enough, he arrived at Béarn’s shore, still littered with hunks of smashed and burned planking from the alsona’s once-massed ships. The warships sat, quiet, in the harbor; the flimsier lower docks contained only a handful of Northern longboats, flying the colors of their tribal origins. The alsona had quashed ocean trading, and no merchant ships had come to Béarn in the weeks leading up to, and during, the war.
Only one ship appeared out of place, a relatively tiny clinker-constructed lateen with two masts and a jib. Built with an angular elegance that made the other ships appear clunky, it did not seem sturdy enough to survive on the open sea. It had lines composed of a substance Tae had seen only once before, on the magical ship piloted by the oldest of all the elves who named himself Captain. Captain? Tae shook his head in disbelief. Can’t be. If Griff had connections with the elves, Tem’aree’ay would not be so concerned about finding them. Yet no other possibility presented itself. Only the millennia-old elf could safely pilot such a craft in the vastness of the ocean.
As Tae drew closer, he made out a figure on the deck. Lean and wiry, it moved with the confidence and grace that characterized the most talented dancers. Every slat and line, every clamp and spar underwent repeated, minute inspection. Soon, Tae recognized the red-brown hair, randomly sprinkled with silver and knotted at the nape of the neck, the sun-baked skin, and the androgynous figu
re. Definitely Captain. Tae broke into a run, and Imorelda’s claws sank into his shoulders.
Leaping onto the dock, Tae raced to the lateen-rigged ship and sprang aboard. He landed neatly on the deck, hollow footfalls revealing the presence of a cabin in the hull. Captain had always favored below-deck quarters over castles. Armed with new information about ships, Tae suspected the elf looked upon his rare passengers as ballast and at above-deck constructions as interfering with the precious balance of his ship and the tiny nuances of its piloting. He was as fastidious about his seacraft as Renshai about swords, and Tae did not fault him. After thousands of years on the sea, Captain had to know just about everything; and, when it came to ships, Tae could think of no one in whose hands he would rather place his life.
Before Captain could do more than face the threat of a sudden boarding, Tae caught him up in a welcoming embrace. “Captain, you old sea dog. I had no idea Griff could find you, let alone convince you to come.”
Captain laced his arms around Tae as well, without the boisterous enthusiasm Tae had displayed. His amber gaze locked on Imorelda, and he seemed worried to bring his face too near her. “Tae Kahn Weile’s son. You look—”
“—old?” Tae inserted. Eighteen years passed like nothing for elves, especially one as ancient as Captain. To them, humans probably appeared to wither as swiftly as fruit on a vine.
“I was going to say ‘great.’” Captain unwrapped himself from Tae. “I’m hardly one to judge another’s age.”
Tae could scarcely argue. Captain claimed to have long forgotten the number of years that had passed since his birth, along with his given name. “True, but you never look a day older, gods damn you.”
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