The sky had scarcely grayed, the sun tipping over the western horizon, when Kevral called a halt. Waiting until Tae rejoined them, she announced, “It’s time to camp for the night.”
Everyone reined up. Ra-khir turned in his saddle to confront Kevral. “We have a long way to go and a task that shouldn’t wait any longer than necessary. We can get down and eat if it’s hunger that’s bothering you, but I think we should ride on as far as possible before sleeping.”
“I don’t care what you think,” Kevral returned more irritably than necessary. “I won’t sacrifice sword practice for any cause or reason.”
Ra-khir’s green eyes narrowed to slits and his nostrils flared, but he reined his temper in admirably. “Not even for the kingdom of Béarn?”
Kevral shrugged, not caring that she had become disrespectful to her charge. “If I let my skills wither, I’m of no use to Béarn at all.” She could not help adding, “If you cared about the kingdom, you would worry for your own sword arm.”
Ra-khir’s fingers blanched around the reins. “A knight’s skills endure. They do not wither for want of an evening’s practice.”
Tae could not resist adding his opinion, in a calm voice that came of having no stake in the argument. “Perhaps that’s because knight’s skills don’t have the refinement of a Renshai’s.”
Ra-khir whirled on the Easterner, scowling.
The unexpectedness of Tae’s involvement shocked Kevral momentarily free of the irritability goading her to bait the knight-apprentice. Clearly, Tae had deliberately fanned the argument, and she wondered if he had joined them specifically to ruin the mission by setting them against one another. She glanced at him; and he winked, mouth curved into a cocky smile that implied he simply enjoyed harassing Ra-khir as much as she did. She remained adamant. “Anyway, I’m stopping here. And I’ll fight to see to it Matrinka stays, too. Whatever the circumstances, I still consider her my responsibility.”
“I’ll camp here,” Matrinka said carefully, glancing rapidly from Kevral to Ra-khir, desperate not to offend either one.
Darris winced apologetically. “I have to stay with Matrinka.”
Ra-khir’s jaw clamped closed as he realized where that left him.
Tae did not allow him to bow out easily, however. “You’re on your own, Red.”
Ra-khir clung to his remaining dignity, sparing a last disdainful glare for Tae. “Very well, then. I bow to the decision of the party.” He dismounted and headed for the side of Matrinka’s horse to assist her, nearly colliding with Darris who already waited in position. The bard’s heir politely steadied the princess’ dismount while Ra-khir instinctively moved to help the only other woman in the party.
“You must be kidding.” Ignoring Ra-khir’s offer, Kevral leaped lightly from her saddle, accustomed to sore muscles and reveling in the temporary stiffness of her knees. If you awaken without pain, shame on you. Your practice the night before was slothful and wasted.
Leaving Matrinka to the care of her companions, with some misgivings, Kevral slipped into the brush and began her practice.
* * *
Ra-khir watched Kevral’s swaggering walk into the undergrowth, fighting loathing. It did not become a Knight of Erythane to hate, no matter how irritating or detestable the subject. Accepting the irksome Renshai as a female had proven difficult enough; the image of a rude boy had firmly affixed itself in his memory. Her refusal to act as a woman, or even to react pleasantly to his attempts to treat her with common politeness, bothered him. He reconsidered all the comments he had made, all the actions taken that might have offended his companion and realized that he could behave in a less judgmental manner. Yet logic did not leave him all the blame. From the moment they met, Kevral had worked at making their companionship as stormy as possible.
With a sigh of resignation, Ra-khir discarded this line of thought for the more imminent matter of making dinner. They had all eaten well before leaving, and no one had complained about missing the midday meal. Now, Ra-khir’s stomach protested the lapse with impatient growls, and he suspected full bellies might put them all in better spirits. Darris gathered and hobbled horses, Matrinka stripped down saddle and pommel packs, and Ra-khir set to the heavier job of removing and arranging tack. Tae seized his own gear, wandered to a deadfall, and sat, presumably finding a good location for a campfire.
Released from their burdens, the horses set calmly to grazing on plentiful brush. Matrinka arranged bedding with Darris’ assistance, and Ra-khir headed over to see how Tae was handling the fire. He glanced at the Easterner, only to find no evidence of smoke or kindling. Tae lounged at the base of a log, munching contentedly on jerky, hard rolls, and fruit.
Incensed, Ra-khir approached, his promise to become less presumptuous forgotten in his rage. “What in Hel are you doing?”
Tae drew his food closer to his body, as if protecting it from Ra-khir. Despite this gesture of suspicion, his response was as maddeningly cool as always. “Eating.”
“I can see that.” Ra-khir managed to swallow some of his anger, reminding himself that Tae had traveled alone a long time and might be as ignorant of cooperation as he was of proper manners. “The rest of us are preparing camp.”
“I can see that,” Tae returned, without catching the hint. “And a fine job you’re doing.”
Ra-khir gave up on Tae’s sense of fairness. Clearly, it did not exist. Instead, he set to work himself, gathering the kindling Tae had not bothered to collect while the Easterner watched him work in silence. Finally, when Ra-khir had a sizable collection and the others had finished their tasks and sorted enough food for the evening meal, Tae rose, stretched, and casually brushed crumbs from his lap.
Ra-khir mopped his sweat-soaked forehead with the back of his hand.
“What are you doing?” Tae asked.
Ra-khir had hoped labor would distract him from his mood, but the sweat rolling down his cheeks and the time alone to brood only heightened his rage. “Building the fire that you didn’t.”
“No fire,” Tae said.
Ra-khir dropped the last bundle of branches. “What do you mean, no fire?”
“No fire,” Tae repeated. “It’ll only draw attention.”
Ra-khir’s mouth fell open, and sweat dragged red hair into his eyes. He flung it away with an abrupt and angry gesture. “How are we going to cook food?”
“We have plenty of dry tack.”
“What about wild animals?”
“Our scent will keep them away as well as any fire. In fact, the odor of cooking meat is more apt to draw them.”
Ra-khir kicked at the mound of kindling. “Why didn’t you say something before I did all this work?”
Tae smiled. “I found you entertaining.”
“You ignoble bastard. You have the manners of a pig.”
“And the principles of a goat.” Tae nodded in agreement. “Yes, I’d say that describes me aptly.”
Ra-khir managed a weak grin, but only with effort. It was going to take all of his breeding to survive the week, and only then in the belief that the gods were testing him. Whether or not he passed this trial remained to be seen. Ra-khir would not have laid bets on himself.
Chapter 15
The Captain
Just the fact that my people were Renshai was considered ample reason for the Northmen to murder them and Westerners to rejoice in the killing.
—Colbey Calistinsson
For Matrinka, the first night stretched into an eternity. The cool night air seemed a pleasure after a long and sweltering ride, and once she settled into a comfortable position between the blankets, her stiffened muscles did not pain her much. Though she had never slept outside before, the aromas of mulched leaves and pine delighted her. She enjoyed and puzzled over animal calls that split the otherwise ceaseless rise and fall of the insect chorus. None of these bothered her. The torment that wrenched rest from her came from within, a desperate sorrow triggered by her companions’ bickering.
*Don’
t be sad,* Mior sent, curling near her mistress’ face to provide succor as well as warmth.
As always impressed by the cat’s ability to read her mood, Matrinka freed a hand from the blankets and stroked the spotted fur. *How do you know I’m sad?*
*It’s in your quietness.* Mior began purring softly. *Humans are so easily read.*
*Not to other humans,* Matrinka returned, realizing she had just discovered the crux of her concern. *Do you think Kevral, Ra-khir, and Tae would quarrel so much if they could read inside each other’s minds?*
Mior’s purring died away as she considered the mostly rhetorical question. *Depends on how much they could read, I guess.* She paused, then added, *I think it’s better this way.*
It was Matrinka’s turn to ponder. Mior’s smaller brain did not grant her the words or philosophies to explain matters in detail, but often her superficial observations carried a weighty significance. Matrinka never knew whether Mior had a gift for stating consequential ideas in a few words or whether she, herself, simply added profundity the cat never intended. In the end, it did not matter. Mior could communicate with no one but her, so she could not compare her interpretation to others’, except in a general way if she chose to quote the calico.
In this instance, Mior had a definite point. Shared too shallowly, her companions’ disdain for one another’s honor might charge them to violence. However, if they dug to the level of awareness of the differences between their cultures and upbringings, they might find mutual understanding. Read even deeper, their private thoughts violated, they might lapse back into hostility again. A delicate balance existed there, Matrinka surmised; and it made her glad humans could not read one another’s thoughts. It would add a whole new dimension to human relationships, and they scarcely seemed capable of handling the superficial ones they already had. *You might be right,* Matrinka conceded. *But if I have to suffer their squabbling all the way to Santagithi, I’ll go raving mad.*
Mior commenced purring. *Don’t worry about that. They’ll come to an understanding one way or another.*
Matrinka had to agree. *I’m concerned about the “another.” What if one of them hurts or kills the others?*
*You’ll have to choose whether to tolerate the company of a murderer.*
*Funny,* Matrinka shot back without cracking a smile.
*I didn’t mean it as a joke.*
The words did not reassure Matrinka. Her stomach churned, gurgling loudly over the jerked meat and bread. *You really think they might kill?* It was a silly question, and Matrinka knew it. Ra-khir had already once challenged Tae to a duel, and neither Tae nor Kevral seemed to share Ra-khir’s need for a willing enemy.
*Most cats are smart enough to run when they’re losing a fight.*
The implication that humans would not necessarily do so did not require verbalizing. Matrinka knew Kevral well enough to realize the Renshai would prefer death in battle to flight. Ra-khir’s actions would depend upon the honor of the moment. In Tae’s case, comparison to a cat seemed strangely apt.
Having fueled rather than calmed Matrinka’s worries, Mior softened her assessment. *I don’t think it’ll come to killing. I think they’ll come to some sort of agreement none of them likes.*
Matrinka sighed, recognizing the hollowness of the assurance and bothered that any compromise might come only after the trauma of murder. Shock had great power for changing human behavior, but anything less might not prove enough. It almost seemed preferable for one to die swiftly so they did not have to endure months of snide comments, challenges, and posturing. She cringed from the thought, conscience battering at her for the selfish disregard for another’s life. She recognized her special position as potential arbiter, but she had no idea how to proceed with making peace. The idea of stepping between trained warriors and a twitchy thief seemed at once a madness and a drudgery beyond human endurance.
Darris’ voice hissed through the darkness. “Matrinka? Are you still awake?”
Startled by his closeness, Matrinka stiffened, heart pounding. “Yes,” she returned. She turned her head toward him, discovering him crouched over her, hazel eyes reflecting concern.
“I heard you tossing,” Darris explained, though Matrinka had not asked. “And you look so tense. Are you well?”
Unwilling yet to share the true source of her discomfort, or to burden Darris with a problem he could not alleviate, Matrinka forced a smile. “I’m fine. First night sleeping outside. I’m just a bit nervous.”
“Understandable.” Darris rested back on his haunches, striking suddenly to the heart of the matter. “Especially with our so-called friends arguing like children.”
Stunned beyond reply by Darris’ incredible insight, Matrinka simply nodded.
*I told you humans are easily read,* Mior sent triumphantly. She paused momentarily, then let Matrinka off the hook. *Really, though, he knows you well.*
Matrinka had simultaneously come to the same conclusion. They had spent more than enough time together in deep discussion for Darris to understand few things bothered Béarn’s princess more than a dispute, and one of those was her helplessness to defuse it.
Darris drew nearer, keeping their conversation private. “They’ll pay for their silliness, though.” He winked conspiratorially. “If we do manage to accomplish what we’re after, we’ll all get immortalized in song. Since I’m along, I’ll almost certainly write most or all of what gets sung.” He grinned at the obvious implications. “Imagine the embarrassment of having your foibles bellowed out by every would-be minstrel for eternity.”
Matrinka managed a real smile for the first time since the trip began.
Moonlight glittered from Darris’ features and drew highlights through his curly bangs. The shadows lent the familiar features a mysterious handsomeness. Matrinka wanted to study him for hours: the happy set of his jaw, the glow dancing in adoring eyes that seemed to almost caress her with their attentiveness, and the careless fall of his hair across his forehead. Gradually, their faces drifted closer until she could smell his breath, the odor pleasant and still mildly scented by the fruit from dinner.
Realization dawned on both at once, and they jerked shamefully away from a mistake neither could justify. Only then, Matrinka felt Mior’s presence, silent but firmly planted in her mind. *Why didn’t you kiss him?* the cat whined.
*I wasn’t going to kiss him!* she denied too vehemently.
*You were,* Mior would not let go. *You were going to kiss him.*
*Maybe I thought about it,* Matrinka finally admitted. *But it would have been wrong. I’m still of the royal line, remember? And I have to—*
*—marry in the line,* Mior finished mockingly. *Humans are absurd when it comes to things like that. You should have—*
It was Matrinka’s turn to interrupt. *Leave me alone! And don’t talk about it any more.*
*You should have,* Mior pouted one last time, then fell dutifully silent.
Feigning obliviousness to the near-mistake, Darris sang a quiet lullaby that pacified Matrinka despite embarrassment. Amid the gentle rise and fall of his voice, she drifted into sleep.
* * *
Pain became a familiar bed partner to Rantire, and sleep dragged her into nightmares that reawakened the beatings and burnings she suffered by day. No longer did the elves bother with less favorite foods or fabrics. Daily, they drove her to agony with magic, whip, and rod, never bothering to remove her from her cage. She found no means of escape, just endured from one day to the next and hoped death, when it came at last, would find her worthy of a warrior’s last rewards. At some point, an elf would slip. Rantire would escape or die nobly in the attempt, and her soul would rise to battle endlessly in Valhalla. She clung to that certainty, and it guided her through the worst of the torture.
Concern for humankind no longer sustained Rantire’s silence. Most of the questions the elves asked displayed an ignorance of even the most basic human drives, and she could easily mislead them and forgo the pain. But Rantire would
have none of that. Her honor left no place for deception or cowardice. She would endure like a Renshai and tell her captors nothing.
Rantire ate in the evenings, when the torture left her conscious and capable of chewing. Then, unwinking eyes that reflected light would shine from the darkness and watch her every movement. These peeping elves would speak softly to one another while they studied her. At first, Rantire believed they examined her reaction to various forms of torture, discussing malicious plans to cause more hurt the following day. As she grew more accustomed to the patter and pronunciation of the elves’ musical, rhythmical language and to their range of emotions, she realized those who came to her by night spoke of matters more curious than cruel. They questioned one another about her and expressed admiration for her stamina. Some even spoke of sympathy, sorrow, and regret; though others chastised those who dared to suffer guilt with reminders that elves must purge any feelings that went against the decisions of their leaders.
Oa’si, too, came in many of Rantire’s free moments, chattering like a child and begging story after story about Colbey, though the elf-child clearly understood little of what attracted him, or humans, to heroics.
Over time, Rantire learned much of the fey language that bore slight resemblance to the human, Northern tongue in character, lightness, and timbre. As much from the torturers’ questions as through the night whispering and from Oa’si, Rantire learned details of elf behavior and culture. Magic, she discovered, had little pattern; and the elves had less control over their awesome ability than she did of her sword. Most could cast some spells, though these varied between individuals and seemed related as much to luck of birth as to practice and trial. Group spells or jovinay arythanik as Oa’si called them, were far more powerful.
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