Beyond Ragnarok

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Ra-khir damned the night attack that caught him unarmored, befuddled, and slowed by fatigue. Even danger did not seem able to hone his mind to the clarity necessary to modify his defense. He had to keep reminding himself that he had no armor to help fend the blows. As the first man’s sword sped for his gut, he leaped backward. The blade swished harmlessly past, and the second lunged for his head before he could riposte. Only their guttural patter delayed their deadly strikes. Ra-khir knew that defense alone would only prolong the inevitable. Somehow, he had to find an opening to attack.

  The ringing chime of metal against metal echoed through the forest, and Ra-khir understood he did not fight alone. The need to concentrate on his two enemies left nothing for observation, and he could not know whether or not Matrinka remained safely behind him. He could not protect her from six, but he would handle his two and hope the others could manage as well. For Kevral, at least, he did not worry.

  When one of the men looped for momentum, Ra-khir found his opening. He plunged in low, stabbing through the stranger’s abdomen. The blade sank deep, the blow jarring Ra-khir’s arm to the shoulder. He had never expected flesh to prove so solid, and he realized at once that he could never regain his sword in time to fend the other’s offense. Desperate, he dropped to the ground, sacrificing his hilt and rolling free of the battle. Razor-honed steel tore a gash from wrist to shoulder, warm blood trickling from a wound that burned like fire.

  Pain momentarily incapacitated Ra-khir, stealing all the attention he needed for defense. Survival instinct warred with shock, and he managed to raise his arms to shield himself from the blow sure to follow. Instead, his blurred gaze showed him two enemies on the ground, one moaning and clutching scarlet entrails, the other prone and limp in the dirt. “Here!” Tae tossed Ra-khir his sword, then whirled with bloody dagger raised.

  “Thank you,” Ra-khir said, not daring to believe Tae had rescued him. He scanned the clearing for friends needing aid. Darris clutched Matrinka, the man he had fought now lying still in a wine-colored puddle. Another corpse sprawled near Kevral’s feet, and the Renshai exchanged blows with the remaining two with an effortlessness Ra-khir could not help but envy. She swept, lunged, and parried with a fierce joy that seemed out of place amidst his own fear and desperation. For their every attack, she returned at least a riposte for each. The bloody rivulets coloring her blade and sleeve told him she had previously faced three men at once.

  Ra-khir charged in to even the battle, striking for the nearest enemy. The man shouted something uninterpretable. Both disengaged, then whirled and ran toward the brush.

  Glad to see them go, Ra-khir lowered his sword. Kevral cursed. Without hesitation, she pursued, crashing through the vines and copses with a wild war cry that seemed more animal than human. Soon, distance swallowed even that.

  Ra-khir stood in indecision, trying to reconcile his honor to the events. War etiquette did not allow him to chase cowards who ran from battle, yet neither could he leave a companion, especially a woman, to handle a threat alone. If the attackers accepted Kevral’s relentless challenge, he had little choice but to defend her. That she deserved what she got made no difference. Reluctantly, Ra-khir took a step to follow her.

  A hand seized Ra-khir’s shoulder and settled there. He turned to Darris, and the bard’s heir shook his head vigorously. “Believe me. You don’t want to interfere with a kill claimed by a Renshai.”

  Ra-khir did stop, though he continued to look at the place where Kevral had disappeared into the foliage. “What do you mean?”

  “She won’t want your help. And if you insist on giving it, she’ll as likely kill you as them.”

  Ra-khir shuddered at the savagery of a people so intent on killing they would slaughter allies to get at enemies. “That’s ludicrous.”

  “That’s Renshai.”

  “It’s insane!”

  Darris tightened his grip. “I’d explain why I don’t judge Renshai, but this doesn’t seem the time for a concert.” He steered Ra-khir toward Matrinka. “Let’s tend that wound first.”

  Trusting Kevral to secure the area, Ra-khir allowed Darris to lead him to Matrinka where she sat crushing stems into a poultice. Tae perched on a tree branch, scanning the woodlands, though whether from concern about more enemies or from fear, Ra-khir could not tell. Tae had saved his life; at least for now, Ra-khir would not assume the worst of him.

  “Take off your shirt,” Matrinka said.

  Ra-khir did as instructed, pain jabbing his right arm with every movement. The fabric clung to the wound, and it took him several careful tugs to free it, each one claiming its toll in pain. Needing something other than Matrinka’s ministrations to occupy his central thoughts, Ra-khir begged the details his own battle did not allow him to observe. “Are you all right?” He addressed Darris.

  The eyes of the bard’s heir flitted from the corpses to Ra-khir with obvious relief. The need to ascertain their deaths and the natural curiosity of his line should drive him to examine and identify the strangers, yet something held him back. Ra-khir believed he would understand what as soon as the pain lessened. “I’m fine,” Darris said. “Just a few strained muscles and a bad bruise.” He glanced into the tree above their heads only to find Tae had moved. Ra-khir scanned the clearing, gaze locking on the Easterner where he checked enemies with a swift thoroughness that precluded Darris’ need to do so. “It’d be a lot worse if Tae hadn’t helped. I didn’t even see him coming, then there he was behind the one fighting me. I don’t think the bastard even knew what killed him.”

  Tae glanced over at the mention, then returned to his work.

  Ra-khir frowned, reviling Tae’s technique and hoping the Easterner had not killed his opponent the same way. An unseen blow from behind was the epitome of dishonor. “I guess I owe him, too.”

  Tae acknowledged Ra-khir’s reluctant and undirected gratitude with a wave.

  Matrinka washed and examined the wound, pulling the edges apart to estimate depth. Ra-khir concentrated on allowing the manipulation, discarding his natural instinct to pull away. Pain cut through him, followed by a sweep of light-headedness.

  Oblivious to Ra-khir’s dizziness, Darris explained the events, his voice thick and the words taking forever to penetrate. “I counted six. We killed four, and Kevral’s hunting down the other two.”

  Still silent, Matrinka smeared salve on Ra-khir’s wound then bandaged it in a lengthy spiral. Kevral crashed through a stand of brush at the edge of the clearing, sending sticks and seed pods flying. “Not any more. They got away.”

  Ra-khir pulled his shirt back on, bandage showing white through the rent left by the blade. As the acute pain subsided into a dull ache, he felt rubber-legged and shaky, and the pervading stench of blood and bowel slammed him with sudden nausea. Acid filled his mouth, and he staggered a step, anchored on the need to keep from vomiting.

  Matrinka did not prove as successful. The moment she no longer had a wound on which to concentrate, she collapsed to the ground, limbs visibly trembling and tears glazing her eyes to empty pools of brown. Spasms racked her entire body, and she gagged up her dinner. Darris finally lost his composure as well, face greenish and his struggle to console without collapsing obvious even through Ra-khir’s own discomfort. Now he understood Darris’ reluctance to touch the corpses.

  Only Tae seemed wholly unaffected. He continued to paw through the dead. Kevral ranted, glowering at the corpses, attention always drifting back to Matrinka. Finally, her gaze settled on Ra-khir, and she vented her irritation on this familiar target. “It’s your damn fault they got away. If you hadn’t meddled, they couldn’t have disengaged. I should have just killed you instead of shifting strategy to keep from hurting you. And I could have caught them if I wasn’t so worried about no one here to protect Matrinka.”

  The last was an obvious insult. The words could serve no purpose other than to undermine Ra-khir’s ability to guard the princess in Kevral’s short absence.

  The queasiness broug
ht on as much by the shock of combat as Ra-khir’s first view of violent death and his injury did not leave him patience for Kevral’s taunts. “I’m sorry if I got in your way. I was trying to help. And I wouldn’t have let harm come to any of our companions.”

  Kevral snorted. “It took all your damn focus just to keep yourself alive.” She glared. “Perhaps you could bore Béarn’s enemies to death by reciting your rigidly stupid code of honor.”

  Ra-khir bit his lip, concerned for what might emerge if he opened his mouth now.

  “If you practiced half as much with your sword as your mouth, I’d have killed those two and we wouldn’t have to watch our backs.”

  Finally, other emotions displaced nausea and shock. A host of responses rushed to the fore, but Ra-khir could not concentrate on selecting ones that suited his training. Humiliation and disgust with himself tainted the rage that naturally grew against Kevral’s affronts, making the decision more difficult. Tears burned in his eyes, and they only added to his confusion and anger. Afraid she might see how deeply her tirade affected him, he retreated to a private corner in silence. Defensively curled, face hidden from his companions, he could not stop himself from crying. He could only muffle the sighs and gasps.

  The crackle of leaves and sticks behind Ra-khir told him Kevral had pursued, not yet finished eroding his confidence and insulting his manhood.

  Before she reached him, a quiet voice wafted to them. “Back off, Renshai. You’ve said enough.”

  Ra-khir heard Kevral stop, attention diverted. “Should I take advice from one who hides in a tree?”

  Tae did not seem to take offense. “You should take good advice no matter who offers it.”

  Ra-khir appreciated the distraction, if not its source. He concentrated on regaining his composure, allowing Kevral and Tae to handle their own dispute without his interference. For the first time, the tough-talking Easterner had taken his side over Kevral. Though he did not appreciate a thief’s defense, he had to believe their personal conversation by the fire had had a more positive effect than Tae’s deadpan responses had revealed.

  Morning breezes tossed Ra-khir’s sweat-matted hair playfully, as if whispering encouragements in his ear. Music as beautiful as nature buoyed a mood that seemed beyond despair. At first, he believed the wind itself sang to him. But as he regained enough inner strength to glance around the camp, he spied Darris plucking lightly at the strings of his mandolin, making gentle music that scarcely carried to the clearing’s boundaries. Surely, he sang for Matrinka, attempting to restore the spirit that shock and fear had stolen from her. His voice blended into soft song, tugging Ra-khir from beneath the burdensome maelstrom of self-deprecation and anger directed both inward and out. Matrinka sat, swaying beside the bard’s heir, the corners of her lips twitching into a smile and the color returning to her swarthy face. Kevral and Tae began piling bodies, ceasing their argument for the moment.

  For the first time since their run-in in Erythane, Ra-khir studied Kevral while she worked. Debris speckled the thin, blonde locks that framed soft, childlike features. Sweat made her light tunic and breeks cling, and he could see a hint of the feminine curves just beginning to develop. Now aware of her gender, his mind naturally revised every feature. Logically, he knew the masculine cut of her clothing and hair, her slender form, and disproportionately young features had made his earlier assumption understandable. But now that he knew she was a woman, he could not see her as anything else. Had he not fallen prey to her egomaniacal attitudes and insults, he might have found her attractive. Ra-khir shook aside this train of thought, blaming it on some strange effect of Darris’ song.

  The music finished too soon for Ra-khir’s liking, though he knew it best to remain quiet and to move on as soon as they all regained strength and composure. Matrinka rose awkwardly, Darris setting aside his instrument to assist. Without further discussion, everyone gathered packs and horses, preparing for the journey onward. They rode in a tight bunch, with Matrinka at the center, and no one spoke until they had gotten well beyond the clearing. Only then, Tae resumed scouting ahead, and Matrinka spoke the words Ra-khir believed most of them had been considering: “I think we should turn back.”

  No one responded to the pronouncement, so Matrinka continued. “Obviously, we weren’t careful enough.”

  She had a point even Ra-khir could not deny, and he believed himself the most dedicated to this mission. After all, his jailed father had suggested the need for an inconspicuous group of youngsters to back up the envoys. Once the saboteurs knew of the group’s existence, there seemed little reason to continue. Others would attack until they obliterated the adolescent party . . . or themselves. The idea of another battle drove chills through him, yet he discarded that as cowardice and refused to tolerate it in himself. Their task had changed from an interesting and exciting idea to a challenge that might well cost them all their lives. His own death, he could justify. The others did not reconcile so easily. Kevral was a warrior, like himself. But though he had martial training, Darris was more musician and historian than soldier. And Matrinka did not belong in war at all. He found Tae more difficult to categorize. The Easterner’s insistence on joining them seemed reason to dismiss him from consideration, but Ra-khir had difficulty separating that from his personal dislike. He would not condemn a man for selfish reasons.

  Yet it was Tae himself who rescued the task. “What makes you sure those men had something to do with Béarn?”

  It had never occurred to Ra-khir, or apparently to any of them except Tae, to believe otherwise. His brows rose slowly, and he mulled the words several moments before replying. “Who else would attack us?”

  “I don’t know.” Having raised the point, Tae seemed to find no reason to elaborate, though he did make suggestions. “Thieves? Scrappers? Personal enemies of someone else?” He shrugged, twisting on his dark brown gelding to face Ra-khir directly. “They bunched up on Kevral. Maybe they don’t like Renshai.”

  “I herded the three into battle.” Kevral denied the possibility of a personal assault on her while leaving the idea of Renshai haters unaddressed. “They weren’t after me.” She crinkled her brow, lids narrowing around irises the color of the sky. “They didn’t exactly make a beeline for Matrinka either.”

  That information made Tae’s suggestion worth pondering. Despite his dislike, Ra-khir trusted Kevral’s judgment of action even when embroiled in the thick of battle. If she did not believe the attackers had wanted Matrinka, the party might well have fought enemies without designs against Béarn. Yet the fallacy emerged swiftly. Since Matrinka had divorced herself from the king’s line, Béarn’s enemies might be after the entire party. In fact, they would tend to single out the obvious warriors: Ra-khir and Darris. And possibly Kevral if they recognized her as Renshai. That seemed more in line with the events, though Ra-khir could not shake the feeling that the men he fought had wanted something or someone beyond him.

  Darris kept his eyes on Matrinka as he added his piece to the muddle. “Tae, you checked over the bodies. Did you find anything that might explain who they were or what they were after? Is that why you think they weren’t part of the conspiracy against Béarn?”

  Tae shook his head with obvious regret. “Regular travel rations, waterskins, knives, and swords of plain design. Nothing special. The few coins I found were Pudarian mint, but most are nowadays.”

  Darris tried another tack. “They used a language I don’t know. Kevral? Tae? You’re the linguists.”

  Ra-khir rolled his eyes, amused by the term. Tae’s rough word choices made him seem the least likely to know even his native tongue well, but the knight-in-training did not interfere. The Easterner had already demonstrated his command of the more obscure Béarnese in addition to trading and Eastern. He obviously read and comprehended a lot more than he spoke.

  Kevral answered first. “I didn’t understand a word they said. I don’t think it was a Western dialect, ’cause those usually overlap one of the ones I know. Enough
that I could have picked out a few words.” She glanced at each of her companions in turn. “I’d say either Eastern or some weird barbarian speak. And they sure didn’t look like barbarians.”

  All eyes went naturally to Tae. Ra-khir had only heard stories of the wild men who lived at the base of the mountains that separated Westlands and Eastlands, but he doubted they could craft steel weapons.

  Tae shook his head. “I couldn’t understand them either, and I thought I knew about every tongue.” He avoided Ra-khir’s gaze, and the young knight did not believe they had received the whole story from Tae. Nor would they. Suspicion grew anew, and Ra-khir tucked it away for future reference.

  “Well,” Darris sounded resigned. “I guess we’ve got a decision to make. Do we go on, or do we turn back?”

  Ra-khir had an instant answer, one that came from his heart and required little thought. He pictured himself back in Béarn, every moment of the training he had once loved reminding him of the father he could not rescue. He imagined them all meeting in worried huddles and accomplishing nothing while the throne of Béarn lay empty. “I’m going on, even if I go alone.”

  Kevral, Darris, and Tae said nothing, all tied to Matrinka’s decision. Kevral had to remain with her charge, Darris would do so out of loyalty, and Tae had pledged himself to remain with the party. This might well prove a momentous choice for Tae, Ra-khir realized. If he had joined to ruin their success, need would force him to remain with whoever continued the quest. If he had spoken honestly about his motivation, he would stay with the larger group.

  Matrinka’s words made the test unnecessary. “The cause for which I was willing to give up my family and heritage hasn’t changed, only our odds of completing it.” She made a bold gesture at Ra-khir to indicate she would stick with him, though her doelike eyes betrayed her fear. She had little choice but to rely on the protection of her companions.