Flight of the Renshai

by Mickey Reichert

  Ra-khir pursed his lips, giving Saviar the benefit of his doubts. The boy did not have a history of dodging work or even difficult situations. Ra-khir suspected Saviar’s newfound interest in the knighthood had more to do with the boy’s request, but Ra-khir could not tell that to Kevral. It would upset her, probably wholly without cause. Likely, Saviar’s attraction to the knights was merely part of the aforementioned “finding his place in the world.” Eventually, his curiosity would wane, and it seemed beyond foolish to worry Kevral or give Calistin another point on which to harass his already beleaguered older brother. “I trust Saviar’s judgment, and he’s not a shirker.” Ra-khir added wistfully, “The boys spend so much time honing swordcraft, I rarely get to spend time with any of them. I’d really like him to come, if you don’t mind.”

  Kevral nodded. Saying nothing, she drifted back toward her students, Ra-khir following in her wake, as always enjoying the view.

  When Kevral returned, her expression gave away nothing. She pinned Saviar with her gaze. “You will practice.”

  Though not a question, Saviar replied as if it were, “At every dismount. I won’t sleep until I’ve worked hard enough to satisfy you.” Saviar knew it helped his case that he had performed so well in class that day.

  “I’ll see to that,” Ra-khir promised, mounting Silver Warrior.

  Kevral drew in a deep breath and released it.

  Saviar felt as if his heart stopped beating for that moment, as if concerned to make noise and drown out his mother’s decision.

  “See that he does.” Kevral made a dismissive gesture toward her eldest son before turning her attention to the rest of her class. “Again!” she commanded, sending the Renshai scrambling to repeat their last maneuver. From that moment, she showed no further interest in the knights or her son, though she surely kept track of their every movement by sound. No Renshai could remain entirely unaware of any nearby human, friend or foe.

  Ra-khir reached out a hand, and Saviar caught it eagerly, before his sword-dedicated mother had a chance to change her mind.

  CHAPTER 5

  My actions vary with circumstances, but honor itself is not situational.

  —Knight-Captain Kedrin Ramytan’s son

  A HEAVY BREEZE, wet with frost, caressed Saviar’s sweat-soaked body, a cool and pleasant contrast to his overtaxed limbs and muscles cramped by hours astride a shared horse. Silver Warrior had a smooth, rolling gait; but that barely diminished the discomfort of bouncing on withers instead of settling into the comfortable hollow worn by nearly two decades of riding and softened by the stallion’s age. Accustomed to free movement, and understanding that his life might depend upon his speed and agility, Saviar had cursed the stiffness that assaulted his backside upon dismounting. Nevertheless, he had forced himself to give his all to the sword practice he had promised his mother. Now, finished with both, he refused to limp as he approached his father and grandfather.

  The knights perched on a deadfall, conversing softly. Both wore the requisite colors, their cloaks immaculate, their swords sheathed, and their hats perched at the proper, jaunty angle. Travel foods lay spread in front of them, but neither man had touched a morsel. Half-starved, Saviar marveled at their self-control as he crouched across from them, his own ardor for the meal unhidden. He could not keep his stare from the journey bread, dried fruit and jerky, the waterskins. Though nothing special, at the moment it seemed like an irresistible feast.

  “You didn’t have to wait for me,” Saviar asserted, sucking back welling saliva before it emerged as drool.

  “We did.” Ra-khir gestured at the bounty. “To do otherwise would be impolite.”

  Saviar shook his head without argument. He had told them to start without him, but the knights’ unmitigated honor would not allow them even then. Saviar wanted to tell them that he would have found no rudeness in their eating while he practiced, and that they could abandon formality in his presence; but either comment seemed unnecessary, perhaps even insulting. The knights’ honor had nothing to do with Saviar and everything to do with the code by which they chose to live.

  Saviar scooped up a piece of jerky and a hunk of bread, not wishing to delay their meal another moment. In the future, he decided, he would practice on a full stomach. He would find it painful and would, likely, vomit; but it would save his father and grandfather from suffering. In addition, it would please his mother who insisted they practice on all terrains, in twilight and high sun, in blizzards and even states of fever. “An enemy,” she often reminded him, “will not plan an attack based on your comfort.”

  Though driven to shove everything into his mouth and swallow, Saviar forced himself to chew. Kevral had a point, though it seemed a bit excessive and silly at times. Other than the pirates on the Southern Sea, Saviar knew of no one poised to battle any of them, except perhaps his own brother. If Renshai went to war, they did so by choice, to aid the Béarnides in the pirate skirmishes. Until Arturo’s disappearance, however, those had not seemed much of a threat.

  Saviar waited until he had consumed the food in his hands at a reasonable pace before swallowing the last bite and speaking. “So what happened to Arturo? How did he go missing?”

  Ra-khir washed his last bite down with a swallow of water. “He was aboard a harbor warship. Pirates slaughtered the entire crew.” He lowered his head respectfully. “There were no survivors.”

  Saviar caught himself wiping his hands on his britches. Though they said nothing, he knew the knights did not approve. “Including Arturo?” He shook his head as he reached for the fruit. “Then why do they say he’s just missing?”

  “The ocean has sharks and scavengers.” Kedrin spoke plainly, as if to an adult. Though he had wanted Ra-khir to temper his words around the other Renshai youths, he made no attempt to do so now with his grandson. No matter the Renshai definition, Kedrin clearly considered Saviar a man. “Not every body returned intact or at all. It would not be prudent to put a prince to pyre until his identity is certain.”

  Saviar seized a piece of dried fruit and put it in his mouth, chewing as he considered. Kedrin had basically said that Arturo’s body might have floated ashore in pieces. The reality of that image leaped suddenly to the fore: sharp, jagged teeth ripping into the young man’s flesh, streaming blood that attracted more of its ilk, tearing him to pieces. Saviar could only hope the prince was dead when he hit the water. He gave no thought to the young man’s escort. The Renshai would have reveled in the battle, earned and celebrated their deaths against superior warriors or numbers. Saviar had enough experience to realize the rest of the world thought differently. Savoring the sweet aftertaste, he swallowed the fruit. “What was a young prince of Béarn doing aboard a ship facing off with pirates?”

  Ra-khir smiled ever so slightly. And, though it seemed an odd reaction to their current conversation, Saviar believed he understood. His father always appreciated when Saviar thought beyond the mind-set of a Renshai.

  Kedrin responded again, “Until then, the pirates had taken only merchant vessels. Seven was supposed to sit in the harbor to protect the incoming tradesmen and scare the pirates from making landfall. No one imagined a bunch of thieves would dare attack a Béarnian warship directly. Even if they did, the defenses seemed impenetrable.”

  Saviar knew little about pirates other than that they stole from ships. For most of his life, they had worried the coast of Béarn, though in small numbers and infrequently. They seemed more of a nuisance than a clear threat. Yet Kedrin’s expression told Saviar otherwise. Once a mere annoyance, the pirates had now grown into a serious problem. There was clearly more to Béarn’s calling of the Knight’s captain than just a mission of comfort to a grieving king and queen.

  Saviar sat back on his haunches without reaching for more food. “This is critical, isn’t it?”

  Ra-khir pursed his lips. “The loss of a royal always is.”

  Saviar dismissed his father’s words with a gesture. “I mean beyond that. Who are these pirates?” />
  “No one knows,” Kedrin admitted. “Once dismissed as a greedy band of malcontents, they now seem to have become large and organized. They’re clearly testing Béarn’s defenses, not just stealing treasure.”

  “Someone is backing them,” Ra-khir agreed. “A country at least. The question is who?”

  Saviar froze, not liking what he heard. Neither his father nor his grandfather became distressed easily, and he had never heard either overstate a threat.

  Kedrin shrugged. “Who, indeed?”

  As the knights no longer seemed to need him as part of the conversation, Saviar returned his attention to eating. He did not have enough experience or knowledge to solve such a mystery, nor even to fully and clearly understand its significance.

  Ra-khir rose, brushed crumbs from his lap, and bowed to his father. “Excuse me, please, Captain.”

  Kedrin dipped his head and made a majestic, but offhand, looping gesture that clearly granted the request.

  Saviar smiled. These were the moments he loved, watching the knights perform routine acts with grandeur that made even tiny details seem important. He watched his father disappear into the brush, surely to relieve himself, then turned his attention to his grandfather.

  Captain Kedrin grinned broadly at his grandson, showing teeth as brilliant as pearls that made a strange contrast to the dull, gap-toothed mouths of most of the populace. Like all knights, he cared for his body meticulously. “I’m proud of you, Saviar. Not every young man would volunteer for a mission this difficult. It won’t be easy to face a friend who just lost a beloved brother, especially trained by a culture that doesn’t look upon death as tragedy.”

  “Death in battle,” Saviar corrected. The Renshai deemed succumbing to age, accident, or disease the direst of catastrophes, for it doomed one’s soul to Hel. Only brave warriors killed in glorious combat could be chosen for Valhalla. “Though, in this case, your point stands. Prince Arturo did die in battle.”

  “Surely.” Kedrin’s blue-white eyes sparkled. “My point stands.”

  Cued by his grandfather’s look, Saviar directed his thoughts back to Kedrin’s original statement. His cheeks turned warm. “And I’m not sure I deserve your respect. I do plan to console Princess Marisole, but that’s not the real reason I asked to come along.”

  “Oh?” Though an expression of interest, the word also carried a clear note of understanding. Kedrin, Saviar suspected, had known that all along.

  The flush on Saviar’s cheeks grew deeper. “Well, I . . . was hoping I might . . .” He spoke slowly, weighing his grandfather’s reaction. “. . . get a chance to do some research.” As the Knight-Captain showed nothing but curiosity, Saviar continued more boldly. “In the Sage’s library.”

  “Ah.” Kedrin encouraged his grandson to continue. He seemed to have wholly forgotten his dinner. “Well, this thing you need to know must be important for you to risk facing the Sage. He guards his scrolls and books with the ferocity of a she-bear with cubs.”

  Saviar winced. He had heard as much, but he had never directly faced the Sage in his tower. Charged with keeping all the knowledge in the kingdom, the Sage had an army of pages granted access to every event or occurrence, no matter how embarrassing or secret. To deny them would incur the wrath of ancient law, a crime as unthinkable as slaying a messenger or a man calling parley in battle. He lived in the tower with his many chronicles, writing them into history and rewriting the oldest, crumbling pages. “Well . . .” Saviar kneaded a dried apple between his fingers. “I’m just wanting one piece of information. The Sage might know it without me having to touch any of his treasured papers.”

  Kedrin shifted, leaning toward Saviar. “What is it you want to know?”

  It suddenly occurred to Saviar that he had found the perfect source for his answer, and he felt like a dullard for not considering Kedrin sooner. If anyone knew the answer, the captain of the Knights of Erythane would. “Papa said there’s a man who is both Renshai and Knight, and I’m trying to find out who this remarkable fellow might be.”

  Kedrin sat back with a wry laugh. “Well, you needn’t trouble the Sage at all. If your father told you it was a man who held this distinction, he misled you.”

  Startled, Saviar tried to recall Ra-khir’s exact wording. When it did not come, he leaped to his father’s defense. “I don’t remember exactly how Papa put it.” His exoneration could only go so far, however. “He may not have said ‘man,’ but he certainly didn’t say ‘woman.’ I would have remembered that.” Saviar turned his attention directly on his grandfather, the apple forgotten in his hand. Renshai women fought alongside their men, learning the same sword techniques from birth; but theirs was a society much misunderstood and maligned. Even the other Northern tribes would never think to send their women to war. Not that it never happened. Every civilization seemed to have a story about one woman who distinguished herself in swordsmanship, either while disguised or against the comprehension or wishes of her people.

  “Oh, dear.” Kedrin screwed up his features self-deprecatingly. “Now I’ve misled you further. As you know, the Knights of Erythane have strict codes of honor. Only males may serve the kings in this manner.”

  “Male, but not a man.” Understanding dawned slowly. “It’s Colbey, isn’t it?”

  Kedrin nodded with a smile.

  As he contemplated his own words, Saviar’s brow gradually lapsed into wrinkles. “Colbey Calistinsson? An immortal, so not a man. The ideal Renshai, certainly. But a Knight of Erythane?” Saviar shook his head in disbelief. From what he knew, Colbey had little tolerance for ganim. He found them slow and awkward, focused on the superficial and easy. “How can that be?”

  Kedrin ran a hand through a thick head of silver hair, speckled with strands of its previous red-gold. He straightened his tabard, adjusted his sword, and settled into a position better suited to comfort than defense.

  Though it bothered his Renshai sensibilities, and Saviar found himself locked into a crouch unable to buck his own training, he did not judge his grandfather. He stuffed the chunk of dried apple into his mouth and chewed.

  Ra-khir returned from his errand, his clothing and grooming immaculate. Though he had brushed through weeds and trees, not a bit of leaf, twig, or seed marred the image. He studied his father and his son briefly, clearly to ascertain whether or not he could speak without interrupting. As both men fell silent at his entrance, he uttered the first words, “Did I miss anything?”

  Suddenly feeling guilty for finding such an easy solution to his father’s challenge, Saviar dodged Ra-khir’s gaze.

  Kedrin nodded toward Ra-khir, then Saviar, in turn. “I was just preparing to tell the story of Sir Colbey Calistinsson.”

  Ra-khir turned his son a searching look that held a hint of disapproval. “This isn’t exactly what I meant when I said you should use your studies to find the answer.”

  Staring at his boots, Saviar sought words to explain. His father had not expressly told him not to ask Kedrin, and he had planned to get the information from the Sage before the Knight Captain volunteered it.

  Kedrin rescued his grandson. “Sir Ra-khir, what better way to research than to ask the person most likely to know the correct answer?”

  Ra-khir back stepped with a majestic gesture of respect directed at his captain. “Well, yes, Captain. Of course, sir.” He bowed. “I only meant that running to one’s grandfather for help does not require the same intensity and effort as finding the information on one’s own.”

  Saviar watched the exchange in quiet amusement. For most of his life, the paternal side of his heritage had hampered him. His physical size and broad musculature hindered his agility, and many Renshai considered the Knights of Erythane stiff, stodgy objects of ridicule. For once, it felt good to have a man of Kedrin’s rank and experience on his side.

  “Well, Sir Ra-khir, when one’s grandfather also happens to be the best source of information about a certain topic, why should one be penalized simply because he happens to be
one’s grandfather?” Kedrin’s pale brows arched. “Any other man’s child would be considered brave and wise to bring such a question to me.”

  Saviar considered mentioning that he had not actually asked Kedrin, only informed the captain that he planned to research the answer in the Sage’s library. Instead, he held his tongue. Kedrin was handling the matter quite ably without his meddling.

  Ra-khir opened his mouth, then closed it. He raised a hand as if making a point, started to speak, then stopped again without a sound emerging.

  Saviar continued to study his feet. It might humiliate Ra-khir if Saviar seemed to take too much amusement from his father’s obvious discomfort.

  Finally, Ra-khir heaved a sigh. “Captain, I request permission to speak freely.”

  Kedrin did not hesitate. “Granted. Consider yourself off-duty, my son.” His brows remained high, showing curiosity for the words Ra-khir had not managed to find a polite way to speak.

  Ra-khir’s shoulders relaxed. Though his dress remained fastidious, as always, the transition to a looser, informal stance was obvious even to Saviar. “Why is it when I bring you a question, I get riddles and enigma? When Saviar asks, he gets instant solutions and entertaining stories.”

  Kedrin laughed, and Saviar found himself smiling despite his best intentions. His grandfather spent so much time immersed in formality and vital matters of country that Saviar rarely saw or heard him relax. “First, Ra-khir, perhaps Saviar asks better questions.” He winked, though whether at son or grandson, Saviar was not sure. “Second, he’s not training to become a Knight of Erythane. And third . . . well, you’ll understand when you become a grandfather.”

  Ra-khir shook his head with a grin, looked away from his captain and rolled his eyes. “As to your third point, Father, more riddles. I won’t argue the first because I think it pertains to the third. But I will take exception to the second.” He turned his attention to Saviar, much to the boy’s chagrin. “It is exactly because Saviar is considering becoming a knight that he asked about Sir Colbey in the first place.”