Flight of the Renshai

by Mickey Reichert

  “General Fallon?”

  Tae sure hoped he wasn’t being tested. “You know him?”

  The plump man spit. “Know them all by now. It’s not like there’re a lot of them.” He stopped pushing and motioned for Tae to do the same. “Thanks. Can you make sure it doesn’t roll while I open the hatch?”

  “Sure,” Tae said. He got an idea. “In fact, I’ll carry the food down for you, if you want to get back to doing other things.”

  Hand on the hatch ring, the sailor turned toward Tae. “Really? You’d do that.”

  “Why not? You’re working, and I’m doing nothing but waiting.”

  “All right.” The sailor smiled. “Thanks. That would be great.” He hesitated. “Oh, hell. I’m going to be honest with you. They’re hard to please.”

  Tae shrugged. “I’ll deal with it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’m used to serving General Fallon. I know how they think.”

  “Thanks.” The sailor hauled on the hatch. Only faint mumbling emerged from below. Apparently, the generals conversed aloud to keep their discussion private. From Tae’s experiences the last several days, he had expected that. This once, it would work to his advantage; he would not need Imorelda’s help to eavesdrop. “I owe you.”

  Tae prepared to ease the basket of foodstuffs and wine from the cart.

  “I can help you, at least,” the sailor offered, still apparently feeling guilty.

  Tae hesitated. He did not know exactly how to keep the generals talking with him in the room, aside from requests, demands, and complaints about the foodstuffs and his service. The only thought that came to him would involve an act Imorelda and Matrinka would call “exceedingly stupid”; but, first, he needed to learn a new phrase in the alsona’s language.

  Tae hefted the basket, finding it heavier than he expected, and deliberately placed himself into the sailor’s path. As he intended, the sailor bumped him. Tae exaggerated the impact, stumbling several steps and juggling the basket.

  The sailor apologized, catching hold of the basket to steady it in Tae’s grasp. Tae focused on the sailor’s words and tone as he tried to make the simple act of catching his balance look difficult.

  “That’s all right.” Tae glanced down the open hatch, eyes widening. “I probably only would have broken my neck.”

  The sailor gave a more profuse apology, bowing slightly as he did so. “I really am sorry. Why don’t I just do it?”

  Tae waved him off. “I’ve got it, and I’m fine. If you could just close the hatch behind me, please.”

  “Sure. Least I can do.”

  Tae took a solid grip on the basket. He moved confidently now, not wanting the sailor to insist on taking the job back. He now knew how to apologize, and he expected to do a whole lot of that in the next few moments. He edged down the ladder, placing his feet as carefully as possible. As his head went below the deck, the sailor gently and quietly closed the hatch.

  As he did so, something soft brushed Tae’s cheek. He stiffened for an instant before dismissing it as a wad of dust or a cobweb, a last breath of wind funneled through the closing hatch. Then, something scraped against his right ankle. Tae twisted away from it. The momentum of the basket threw off his usually impeccable timing. His foot touched down on empty air instead of the rung he expected. His free hand caught another too hard, slamming painfully against iron, and he felt himself starting to fall.

  Instinctively, Tae let go of the basket to secure his hand- and toeholds. Abruptly realizing he might garner a bit more sympathy and less rage if he went down with it, he went against every survival trick he ever knew and followed the plummeting basket. *Look out!* he tried to send in warning.

  Bottled wine, bread, and crockery tumbled from the falling basket, bouncing from the iron rungs. Glass chimed against metal. Splashed with bits of glass and droplets of liquid, Tae covered his face and throat as he fell, hoping to land as nearly on his feet as possible.

  Tae hit the ground hard, tumbling through a mess of butter, squashing a fine white loaf, and feeling hunks of glass pressing into his skin. He landed, face first, in the basket, which skidded across the floor.

  A deafening silence followed.

  Careful not to dislodge his wig, Tae freed himself from the basket to look at the generals. The nearest three had leaped from their seats, wine puddling at their feet. Four remained at a large table that contained three oil lamps and a large map of the southern, eastern, and western coasts of Tae’s continent. Tae’s gaze lingered longest on the being at the head of the table. Seated, he towered over the others, even the standing generals. Tae guessed he was at least half again as tall as King Griff. He had coarse features, his nose obscenely broad and bulbous, his ears as big as a man’s hand, and his jaw as wide as the top of his head. He stared at Tae through narrowed dark eyes, his wide lips drawn tight in a frown.

  Tae scrambled to his feet, apologizing at least twenty times as he bowed repeatedly, lower each time. He tried to simulate the sailor’s most conciliatory tone and added at the end, “I couldn’t possibly be more sorry, and I will clean up every bit of this mess immediately.”

  The giant, obviously Firuz the Kjempemagiska growled out, “What’s your name, sailor?”

  Tae swallowed hard, not having to feign fear. He knew from his conversations in the dungeon that the Kjempemagiska would not hesitate to tear an alsona in half, burn him alive, or roll him in a vat of scalding acid. He did not fully understand their conventions of naming. It seemed best to use a name he already knew was alsona. He kept his head low, dodging the giant’s gaze. “Jaxon, my lord.”

  “Well, Jaxon. Perhaps after you’ve cleaned this mess and are prepared to bring us more food, you’ll have the wisdom to make two trips.”

  That’s it? The Kjempemagiska did not seem nearly as cruel as the imprisoned alsona had suggested. I don’t suppose they can punish every infraction with death. Otherwise, they would lose their servants: if not to murder, then to paralyzing fear, escape, or mutiny. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord. How wise of you, my lord.”

  Tae set to the task of cleaning, attempting to appear eagerly efficient while actually lingering over the task.

  The standing generals retook their seats.

  The Kjempemagiska went back to business. “They have armies on how many beachfronts currently?”

  The general Tae now knew as Fallon responded. “We believe three, my lord. Two on the south coast, with mountains between them, and one on the west coast.”

  “None on the east?” someone asked incredulously.

  Tae casually turned his head toward the table to see one of the generals tracing the coast of his own realm.

  “It’s wide open.”

  Another man spoke as Tae returned to picking up the largest shards of glass and laying them in the basket. He had known bringing the Eastern forces westward would open his coast to attack. The alsona could take the entire country with little resistance, but the same geographical concerns that kept the East separated from the West most times would come into play.

  Another of the generals pointed out what Tae already knew. “Wide open, but essentially useless. This band of mountains cuts the eastern part of the continent off from every other place. There’s only one workable pass, and that’s guarded by a large force here.”

  Tae did not have to look to know where “here” was. The East’s only connection to the remainder of their world was the pass onto the barren Western Plains, where the Eastern army now massed. He set to gathering the smaller shards of glass. He appreciated the cloth lining the basket; he would not need to go above decks looking for rags to sop up the spillage.

  “That could also work as an advantage.” A new voice this time. “If we take the eastern quarter of the continent, we can fortify it. So long as we protect that pass, we’re safe.Then, once we have magical forces, we can go over the mountains and attack from every direction.”

  Firuz’ voice was ice. “You’re awf
ully free with the lives of your masters, Kalka.”

  Kalka apologized as profusely as Tae had. “You’re right, of course, my lord. I wasn’t thinking.”

  A tense silence settled over the group. Tae paid them no obvious attention, trying to look absolutely absorbed in his work. He could only guess at the details. Apparently, they intended for the alsona to fully front the battle, keeping the Kjempemagiska safely home until needed. That boded well for the allies, at least until the war reached that critical stage.

  Apparently trying to defuse the situation, Fallon cleared his throat. “We haven’t checked the northern shores, my lord. North of these mountains . . .”

  Northern Weathered Range, Tae filled in, still on the floor working to clean up the mess.

  “. . . it’s uninhabitably cold, by our reckoning.”

  Except to Northmen, Tae finished. And they’re just crazy.

  “Where, exactly, are the beachfronts?” someone asked. “Here, I assume, for one. And here.”

  Tae wished he could see where they indicated, but looking too often posed an unaffordable risk.

  “Correct,” Fallon said. “And the third one’s here, on the west side. They have the largest army concentrated here.”

  Tae knew that corresponded to Béarn.

  “They only have about a third as many men here and even fewer here.”

  The Western Plains and the open west coastline. Tae used the lining cloth, and the napkins, to mop up the spilled wine.

  “I’m thinking,” Fallon continued, “we could send a diversionary force toward their main body, then hit them hard on the west coast. It might take a week or so for their main force to reach us.”

  Tae dropped the soaked cloth into the basket, using the remaining napkins to dry up the last of the liquid and the tiniest pieces of glass. He glanced up in time to see Firuz’ face locked in a tight grimace.

  “No,” the Kjempemagiska finally said. “We will attack them at their strongest point. If we can’t best them there, we will never win this war. And, if we can, we will have won it in a single battle.” He added with an actual hint of compassion, “And, in the long run, we will lose fewer soldiers by not splitting our ranks, diversionary or otherwise.”

  Tae tossed the butter crock and bread into the basket, on top of the sodden linens. If the alsona sailors were like his own people, Tae knew they would not worry about the condition of the ruined food, only about the taste. They would snack well on what the generals would no longer touch, so long as they avoided the glass shards.

  The generals’ conversation descended into strategic details involving the commanders and battalions; and, with his cleaning finished, Tae found it safest to leave. As the discussion became more finely honed, he understood fewer words, especially punctuated by given names, ship names, and titles.

  Swiftly, Tae headed up the stairs, through the hatch, and onto the deck, quickly lowering the door behind him. The instant it closed, something bumped against it. Fear seized him. Did they figure me out? Is someone coming after me? He drew back into the shadows, watching and waiting, but no one came.

  Tae set the basket down as his heart rate subsided to normal. “Imorelda,” he whispered, glad the cat had followed his orders to hide. She had been right to brag about her stealthiness; even in broad daylight, knowing she was aboard, he could not find her.

  The cat did not reply, with presence or mental voice.

  “Imorelda,” Tae called, a bit louder.

  A sailor appeared from around the mainmast and studied Tae quizzically. “Did you say something?”

  Tae shook his head, frowning. “No. Did you hear something?”

  The sailor did not reply, only studied Tae more carefully in the full sunlight. “Who are you?”

  Tae thought it best to stick with as much of his story as possible. “Jaxon. I came with General Fallon.” He peered about cautiously, hoping he would spot Imorelda, and the sailor would not. *Imorelda,* he mind-called carefully, worried she might still have him attuned to the alsona’s level. She would hear him, but they would also.

  The sailor continued to stare. He did not seem to notice Tae’s call. Yet, suddenly, his expression changed from curious to suspicious. He drew a wicked-looking knife from his belt, its blade curved and serrated. “Answer my question . . . Jaxon.”

  “I did,” Tae insisted. “I told you—” It occurred to him abruptly that the man had asked something mentally. And he had not heard. Which meant Imorelda had dropped the alsona’s communication level, she had passed beyond range of their connection, or she was dead. No. Tae refused to accept the latter possibility. Then, little things came back to haunt him: the light touch as he descended to the captain’s quarters, the lost footing, the bang against the hatch as he closed it. She followed me down. A worse realization struck him. And she’s still stuck there.

  Knife leading, the sailor lunged for Tae so suddenly he dodged more from instinct than intent. As he whirled to run, Tae seized the handle of the basket and hurled it toward the sailor. He did not pause to see if it hit. Though he had lost his mental connection, Tae could imagine the call of “intruder” touching every mind above decks.

  A grunt reached him, then a cry, followed by the pounding of many footfalls on the deck. Tae risked a glance back as he rounded on the hatch. Men raced toward him from the fore, sailors with knives, soldiers with swords, and even a few dragging out small bow-like weapons to which they were fitting strange, metal arrows. He could scarcely believe they had mobilized so fast.

  Tae thought he could make it to the rail, barely, if he did not slow; but he would not leave Imorelda behind.With hardly a thought to his own survival, he snatched at the hatch and jerked it open.

  Imorelda emerged, puffed up and hissing. Her mind touched Tae’s for an instant, then disappeared as she noticed the crowd bearing down upon them.

  Saving her proved Tae’s downfall. He twisted as he moved, trying to minimize himself as a target. A sword stroke meant to decapitate him gashed through his right shoulder and slammed against bone. The impact hurled him leftward, saving him from a skewering from a second blade but sending him tripping over the hatch, into an uncontrolled spin toward the port stern.

  *IMORELDA!* Tae screamed, not caring if she had them on alsona level. Without solid wood between them, she should hear him. *Grab on, and don’t panic!* Easy advice, impossible for either of them to obey. Another blade carved a crazy arc across Tae’s back, partially protected by the resilience of the garment he wore.

  *Imorelda!*

  Appearing out of nowhere, the cat flung herself at Tae’s chest. He caught her without slowing, flinging himself desperately toward the rail. The hammer of footfalls, the shouts of the soldiers and sailors, the lap of the ocean all blended into one indecipherable noise. Then, Tae found himself airborne, falling in a spray of salt water and his own blood. Arrows whizzed around him. One nicked his ear. Another crashed into his back, piercing deep through muscle and into his chest.

  *Got him!* someone crowed.

  I’m dead, Tae realized. The peace it brought put the world in slow motion. He heard nothing but a toneless buzz, saw only the vast blueness of the ocean rushing up to claim him, felt nothing but the cold kiss of sea air against his skin. Then, he hit the water with a slap that brought everything back into focus. A mass of arrows fell around him, slowed to a crawl by the thickness of the water, except for the one that pierced his left thigh.

  Still clutching Imorelda, Tae dove, watching the water turn scarlet around him. The cat went crazy in his arms, clawing, biting, twisting in a berserk attempt to free herself from the enclosing depths. The more she fought, the tighter Tae winched her, forcing his legs to move. They had to come up in a different spot or risk another hail of arrows or worse. He hoped they would not be able to follow the blood trail. They may not, but the sharks eventually will.

  In the shadow of the bow, Tae finally dared to surface, still grasping a sodden and deadly ball of fur.

  Once she fi
lled her lungs with air, Imorelda finally gained enough composure to speak. *You stupid, stupid two legs!You tried to drown me!*

  Tae’s every breath was agony. Bloody froth bubbled from his mouth, and his shoulder ached so badly he could barely move. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and surrender to darkness, to let death quietly take away the pain. Imorelda, he reminded himself. You have to get her home. The only thing firmly settled in Tae’s mind was that he would not allow a loved one to die for his folly. Imorelda deserved to live, and Matrinka needed the cat for her sanity. *Imorelda, just listen.* Tae let his head sink backward, allowing the ocean to bear its weight. *Tell Matrinka they have five generals and one magical leader.*

  Imorelda climbed onto Tae’s uninjured shoulder, shaking out the water. *Tell her your damned self.*

  Tae appreciated that the mental conversation did not require breathing. He could never have gasped out that many words. *Imorelda, just listen. Five generals and one magical leader.The whole force will come directly against Béarn. Can you tell her that?*

  *No, you cat drowner. I’m not telling her anything.*

  *Imorelda.* Tae did not have the energy to argue, even in his mind. He dared not move from beneath the bow for fear of another attack.

  *Quiet!* Imorelda commanded.

  Tae obeyed gladly, the cat balanced on his shoulder. Her wet fur seemed ten times heavier than normal.

  A moment later, Imorelda reappeared in his mind. *They’re convinced we’re dead.*

  Anyone who had seen the arrow pierce him, who noticed the sheer volume of blood in the water, could come to no other conclusion. They’re half right. I won’t make it, but I’m going to get you home safely. Tae kept that thought to himself. *Hang on, Imorelda. I have to tear these clothes. If I don’t stop the bleeding, the sharks will come.* The prospect seemed impossible. Tae felt his consciousness fading, and the idea of getting devoured did not seem so bad. At least, the pain would disappear.

  Imorelda jabbed Tae with a claw. *So start ripping already.What are you waiting for?*

  “I can’t,” Tae whispered.