Kevral had several reasons to dismiss the suggestion. First, she doubted creatures so strange would have escaped human notice for centuries or millennia. And such warped ugliness would have conjured the word “demons” rather than “elves” to any mind steeped in Northern religion. It seemed unlikely they would ever divine Randil’s reasons, at least not until they encountered these creatures themselves. For now, it seemed enough to understand the enemies they faced would prove different from any in the past. “Maybe,” Kevral said, her tone conveying her doubt and, she hoped, ending further discussion on the matter. Wild speculation could only mislead. Better to anticipate nothing specific and face what they found than chase ungrounded speculation.
Tae apparently caught on to Kevral’s unspoken need. “Here. For you.” He held out his hand, a round, green gem balanced on his palm.
Kevral blinked, surprised and strangely touched by the gift. She studied Tae’s face, trying to read his intentions.
Tae raised his brows, still offering, his expression sober and open.
Kevral reached for the stone, many thoughts and emotions bombarding her at once. She could not help feeling flattered by his attention. Surely one accustomed to living hand to mouth did not surrender such treasures easily or to just anyone. As her fingers closed around its smoothness, she could not keep from blushing at his generosity and the attraction that must lie beneath it. Their time together had taught her he was not demonstrative, and he had kept his fondness for her well hidden. Yet, there could be no mistaking the caring behind such an expensive gift.
Kevral had little choice but to confront her own feelings for Tae. She had come to like him over the last few days, and she had already determined he met her minimum standards for attractiveness. No doubt, their relationship could grow to something stronger than just one between friends, and her eagerness to have Ra-khir hold her earlier in the day made her certain she was ready for a relationship. Maybe, just maybe, Tae was the one.
Kevral took and studied the gemstone. The perfection of its roundness surprised her. No jeweler had carved it; it could only have come from the sea. Yet, Kevral had never heard of a pearl the color of late spring grasses. Embarrassed more than she expected, she found it difficult to look into Tae’s eyes a second time. “Is it emerald?”
“No.” Tae answered instantly. “And not jade or diamond either.” He shrugged, more curious than upset by his ignorance. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The obvious question followed. “Where did you get it?”
Tae hesitated, disengaging from Kevral’s scrutiny. “He had it.” He pointed to the dead Renshai. “That’s why I thought you should have it.”
“Oh.” Disappointment followed the pronouncement, and Kevral could not help feeling mortified. She blamed stress for causing her to place too much emphasis on every gesture her male companions made. For the first time ever, the self-confidence others reviled in her failed. No war or practice could befuddle her, but a tiny conflict of the heart could. Only a few short weeks ago, she had no interest in a relationship at all. She could not fathom the emotions nor the mind-set that allowed her to so readily discard a decision that had so recently seemed so certain.
Sensing Kevral’s disappointment, Tae added. “Not that I wouldn’t have wanted you to have it anyway.” It seemed remarkably lame for one who usually maintained an air of quiet dignity and composure. He drew breath to speak again, then closed his mouth, apparently realizing anything more would only worsen the situation.
Kevral changed the subject but could not wholly deny the irritation that followed misunderstanding. “What else did you find? You know anything the envoy brought as gifts legally belongs to Matrinka.”
“Nothing else valuable.” Tae’s voice had a quiet, resigned timbre that suggested he did not expect to be believed. “Either the killers took it all, or someone cleaned up later. I’d bet on the second.”
For now, Kevral set aside the issue of Tae’s honesty. Trinkets and money meant little to her, though she would keep the gem for now. Had Tae secretly discovered piles of gold, silk, and jewelry, his pockets and pack would have become noticeably stuffed by now. “What? You don’t think the killers robbed them, too?” She could not help but add, “Is it immoral to steal from someone you just murdered?”
Tae ignored the question. “First, it wasn’t necessary to kill everyone, maybe not anyone, to steal. So I don’t think robbery’s the reason they killed. I don’t know if they just wanted to kill and didn’t care about stealing or they had to leave before they could take everything or they could only carry so much and just left the rest. But the coins I did find all came off those fools we fought. Béarnian gold and silver, all of it. This time, you killed one of those two that got away from you last time, so I figure we fought the same bunch as before. They didn’t have any money last time, so they must have gotten it somewhere.”
Kevral considered the implications of Tae’s words, concentrating as completely as possible to escape other contemplations. If she trusted his assessment, then the killers probably were the same who sought to break the king’s line; and it seemed likely all scouts and members of the previous envoy had met the same fate as these. But the men who had twice attacked them must have a different agenda. Hope sprang from the observation. It was possible Béarn’s enemies had not discovered their party, just a group of unrelated thieves. That a pack of teens had dispatched one while an envoy’s escort had fallen easy prey to the other fit the observation. Hopefully, the very hugeness of Béarn’s enemy might blind them to the existence of Kevral and her companions, because she doubted even she could survive an onslaught like the one that killed Randil. Though she would, of course, revel in the challenge.
“Come on. Let’s get back to the others. You need your sleep.” Smoothly, Tae placed an arm around Kevral, steering her toward the remainder of their companions. The gentle deliberateness of his touch forced her to wonder anew at his feelings for her. The tender smile he gave her and the twinkle in his dark eyes should have dispelled the last of her doubts.
Chapter 18
Breakthrough
Every time you perform a maneuver, you improve it. If you don’t put your all into your practices, any warrior with less skill and more dedication will best you.
—Colbey Calistinsson
Ra-khir took double sentry duty that night, allowing Kevral to sleep through the last morning watch. The information she and Tae had divulged to the party left him much to think about, and she needed her rest far more than he did. His wound had already scabbed, while hers was fresh. Herbs and bandages could only do so much. She required the natural healing that accompanied sleep.
Ra-khir studied his companions in the red light of dawn. Darris had finished the day and spent the first half of the night in a deep, motionless slumber that kept Matrinka constantly at his side. During the latter half of the night Darris had become restless, shifting repeatedly to escape the pain of his injury, though he never fully awakened. Ironically, Matrinka found comfortable sleep when Darris lost all semblance of it. Ra-khir hoped Matrinka’s peace stemmed from an improvement in Darris’ condition rather than from personal exhaustion, but he appreciated that she finally found sleep no matter the cause.
Tae slept with his arms and legs drawn close to his body, like a newborn baby, though the daggers he clutched in each fist ruined the comparison. The position granted him the potential for quick defense and movement. He slept on the barest edge of awakening, a trait that seemed ingrained, and it made Ra-khir more certain he had grown up as an orphan on the streets. Surely no child with parents to protect him would acquire a posture so desperate.
Ra-khir studied Kevral last and longest. She lay on her side, blanket falling into folds near her legs. Fine, white-blonde locks fell in loose waves and ringlets around the too-young features. Her sleeping linens sagged, revealing the edge of a breast. Trained to extreme propriety, Ra-khir deliberately avoided looking at the exposed flesh. He was a knight-in-traini
ng all the time, not only when others watched his actions or he found it convenient. Sleep exaggerated Kevral’s youthful appearance, and she seemed as gentle and innocent as a toddler. The assessment was so far from reality, Ra-khir could not suppress a good-natured smile. She was reasonably attractive, at least to one who appreciated warrior sinewiness, though she lacked the curves that drew the attention of most men, especially ones their own age.
One eye fell open, large and blue. Kevral’s sleep-induced calm disappeared abruptly as she assessed the time and realized she had missed her watch. Both eyes snapped open, and she sprang to her feet, a hand falling to each hilt. The blanket flopped into an empty heap. The swift movement must have increased the pain of her injury, but she winced only slightly as she glanced around the campsite.
“It’s all right,” Ra-khir whispered. “I let you sleep.”
Grumbling something unintelligible that sounded like nothing close to thanks, Kevral headed into the woods. They had moved away from the camp the previous evening, far enough they could no longer smell the rotting corpses, the stale blood, or even the smoke of Randil’s pyre. Ra-khir wondered where Kevral headed, certain she would not go far from Matrinka. Though curious, he did not follow right away, leaving her plenty of time to relieve herself without compromising modesty. But, when she remained away long enough to defecate three times, he cautiously followed.
Barely on the other side of the trees, Kevral practiced sword forms with the grace of a dancer and a confidence even Kedrin might envy. Her sword cut perfect arcs and lines, leaving silver echoes in its wake. Her legs glided from one balanced stance to another, each movement seeming irreversibly committed yet changing with the speed and whim of fire. Her arms appeared to meld with the steel, and her blades cleaved air with a beautiful patternlessness that held Ra-khir spellbound. He did not know how long he stood in silent wonder before Kevral halted her practice and glared at him.
Ra-khir caught himself stupidly staring back. Whatever ideas he might have entertained about her looks disappeared. Movement added a delicacy and a radiance no other woman could match.
Kevral remained in place, features growing increasingly angry. Blood soaked the sleeve of her tunic, but she did not notice.
Ra-khir said the only words he could think of, heartfelt, though he knew he would pay for them later. “You shouldn’t be using that shoulder so hard. It’ll never heal if you don’t rest it.”
Kevral snorted. His words brought her attention to the reopened injury, and she lost whatever nasty remark she might have made about the differences in their commitment to sword work.
Ra-khir seized on her silence. “Today’s practice won’t amount to much if you don’t have an arm to use tomorrow.”
Without modesty or warning, Kevral removed her shirt and examined the wet, scarlet bandage beneath it.
Caught off guard, Ra-khir stared for only a moment before decorum forced him to look away. Now his caution about studying her while she slept seemed ludicrous and misguided. He listened to the sound of tearing as she fashioned another bandage, leaving her time to apply pressure to the wound and replace her clothing.
The lapse also gave Kevral the opportunity to regain her sarcastic manner. “Great. Another knight-stupidity. You’d let an ally bleed to death on the battlefield just because she’s a woman.”
Ra-khir sighed, pinned into another unwinnable situation. He avoided looking at her as he spoke, politely giving her additional time to cover her nakedness. “You clearly didn’t need my assistance, and if I had offered it, you would have condemned me for that. Help, stare, or avert my gaze. Those were my choices. It is not my habit to gawk at a woman’s breasts, though I would bare them myself if tending to your injuries required it.” Ra-khir tried to speak matter-of-factly, but he could not help picturing her body deliberately opened to him. The unholy thought stabbed at his conscience, and he banished it with effort. The image of Kevral in motion had become a permanent part of his assessment of her, and he would forever see her in that light no matter when he looked upon her.
Kevral paused long enough that Ra-khir felt obligated to glance toward her and ascertain she had not quietly slipped away. She stood in the same place he had last seen her, wearing her garment with the sleeves now torn from it and wrapped as a bandage. Clearly, she considered his words, and the situation she had placed him in; yet she would not verbally concede even this tiny victory. “Why did you follow me?”
Ra-khir shrugged, not wholly certain himself. “I worried about you wandering off alone and injured.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you worry?”
“I can’t control how I feel.” Ra-khir found the question nonsensical. “I guess because I care about you.”
“Why?” Kevral shot back.
Irritated by her dogged pursuit of unanswerable questions, Ra-khir returned the only reply he could muster. “I don’t know! Maybe I’m stupid.” He softened his tone, offering her a lopsided grin and hoping to ease the tension between them with gentle self-deprecation. “That, of course, would be in addition to my being rigid and incompetent and bumbling . . .” He tried to remember the other insults Kevral had thrown at him. “. . . and excrement.”
For the first time, Kevral returned a smile. “I didn’t call you excrement.”
Ra-khir mulled the memory. “You’re right. Tae said that one.” His words sparked a connection he would otherwise have missed, and his grin wilted. The Eastern word Tae had claimed meant feces was gynurith; and Ra-khir had heard something remarkably similar shouted by one of their enemies in combat. Now, the phrase came back to Ra-khir easily, indelibly burned into his subconscious: Ain ya-charth gynurith tykon tee. If they were speaking Eastern, as Ra-khir now believed, Tae had lied and could no longer be trusted.
Finally, Kevral relented. “I guess I have been a bit hard on you.”
“No. No.” Ra-khir good-naturedly accepted the near-apology. “Dogs are a bit hard on rabbits. You’ve been positively brutal.”
Kevral’s lips pursed, and the hardness entered her eyes again. “Let’s just say our honor doesn’t mesh.”
Ra-khir denied the assertion. “But I don’t think that’s true.”
Kevral shrugged.
Ra-khir pressed the point. “We both agree running from battle is cowardice, and we both revile cowards.”
Kevral threw out her hands, conceding. “That’s pretty basic.”
“All right.” Ra-khir did not agree, but he accepted the statement for the sake of diffusing tension. “Do you attack opponents unannounced or from behind?” Although he did not know the details of Renshai strategy or honor, he guessed from their mutual hatred of the means of the envoy’s slaughter that she would despise this technique.
“Never!”
“Neither would I. Death in battle?”
“The ultimate honor.”
“Right.”
Kevral frowned. “Fine. So we have a few things in common. But what about your armor?”
“What about it?” Ra-khir threw the question back to Kevral.
“You use it.”
“So.”
“It’s dishonorable.”
“Why?”
Kevral’s response was obviously rehearsed. “There’s no honor in allowing steel to fend an enemy’s blows instead of skill. In personal skill only there is honor.”
Ra-khir did not see the connection. “And using armor doesn’t require skill?”
Kevral did not need to consider. “No. Armor is for those too lazy to dodge. It takes away the need to learn defense.”
“Really?” Ra-khir recalled his hundreds of lessons on the proper use of armor, without fondness. “So you think you could put on my armor and you’d be invincible?”
Kevral avoided the question. “I wouldn’t put on any armor.”
Foiled without addressing the issue, Ra-khir tried another approach. “You think I’m invincible in armor?”
; “Not to me.”
“Why, particularly, not to you?”
Kevral smiled wickedly. “Because I’m Renshai. So I know maneuvers to get through armor. And I practice them every single day.”
Kevral’s refusal to follow an idea through made any attempt at education difficult. He followed her tacks, attributing her style to immaturity. A world of emotional difference existed between her fifteen and his seventeen years. Two years ago, if not for his knight’s training, he might have acted the same way. “And I’ve come to appreciate the skill that gives you. I bow to your ability and admit you’re better than I am.” He could not help adding, “So far.”
Kevral smiled. Few things pleased Renshai more than aggressive competitiveness when it came to combat.
Ra-khir finished with an intended compliment. “Maybe you’ll give me some lessons?”
“I can’t teach you the Renshai maneuvers if that’s what you’re after.”
That news caught Ra-khir unprepared, but did not surprise him. “I wasn’t specifically hoping for those. Maybe just some pointers about how to improve my own technique.”
“That might be possible,” Kevral said carefully.
Now that Ra-khir had Kevral listening, he eased back onto the subject of honor. “You know, armor’s not just a passive defense. In the right hands, it’s a weapon. And we have a name for warriors who rely too heavily on armor.”
“What’s that?”
“Corpses.” Ra-khir met Kevral’s crystal gaze and could not figure out why he so desperately wanted her to understand. “We’ve been attacked twice. How many of those times have I worn armor?”
“Neither,” Kevral admitted.
“And I’m still alive.” Realizing the opening he had just given Kevral, Ra-khir added swiftly, “That may not be a great testimonial to my skill, but it does mean I know how to dodge. It’s not like people can go running around all day dressed in armor, so it’s mostly only used in war or scheduled challenge.”
Beyond Ragnarok Page 36