Beyond Ragnarok

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Kevral remained unconvinced. “So why use it at all?”

  “It’s there, and it works.”

  Kevral snorted. “Not much of a reason.”

  “It gives an edge. It means more warriors alive on your side.”

  “So does training them competently.”

  “What’s wrong with both?”

  “One’s dishonorable.”

  Frustration plied Ra-khir, and he tossed his head, flinging red hair. “And you call us rigid and arbitrary? Who decided that a sword’s honorable and an ax isn’t? That it’s fine to use secret maneuvers but not armor?”

  “Those things are obvious.” Kevral folded her arms across her chest in a gesture Ra-khir took to be resolute and defensive at once.

  He pressed the point. So far she had managed to place aside her hostility to listen. “Only to Renshai. That’s why Renshai have gone from reviled to reclusive while Knights of Erythane have always been revered.”

  That struck a nerve. Kevral’s large eyes narrowed, and she spat her response. “Just because the masses believe something doesn’t make it right.”

  Even had Ra-khir not agreed, he would have conceded. To do otherwise now would jeopardize any further chance for a friendship. He knew he walked a fine line here. Kevral was listening now, but the wrong words might spark an animosity worse than the one that already existed. Agreeing with her every statement would only make him seem weak and worsen her already low opinion of him. Verbal or physical, warrior tactics would work best with Kevral, challenge followed by a swift and competent offense. “You’re right. That’s true. A bunch of people believing something doesn’t necessarily make it right. But the reverse certainly doesn’t make something obvious.”

  Kevral hesitated.

  Ra-khir could see he finally won a point. Once he got her to understand that followers of any serious cause believed themselves clearly and morally correct and others wrong, he could begin to delve into the reasons for her nastiness toward him. It came to him in a sudden rush that he was enjoying this conversation despite, or perhaps because of, the care and effort it took. Kevral would prove an invaluable sparring partner, on and off the battlefield. Always, she would keep him guessing. In fact, his own thoughts spurred deeper ones about the common vision of virtue and shook the foundation of chivalry laid for him since birth. How much does my own upbringing influence what I envision as right? What makes me believe my roots have more validity than hers? A more frightening idea struck him then. Or Tae’s? Ra-khir put the whole aside. He had to base his principles on something, and his Western culture currently dominated the world. Like Kevral, he had little choice but to act properly within the scope of his experience and to understand when others followed different paths.

  Kevral stiffened, and her head jerked to the right, apparently in response to an unexpected sound. A moment later, Tae stepped through the brush, examining the two with a quizzical expression. Kevral returned to her normal stance, but the moment had been broken.

  “Ah, here you are,” Tae said. He glanced at Ra-khir next “And you, too.” His gaze roved up and down the Erythanian in exaggerated gestures.

  “What are you looking for?” Ra-khir allowed annoyance to seep into his tone, hoping Tae would take the hint and leave.

  “Breathing,” Tae replied jauntily, ignoring the signals Ra-khir tried to send. “I’d heard interrupting a Renshai’s practice was fatal.”

  All friendliness left Kevral’s expression as the words reminded her that Ra-khir had transgressed on something sacred. Ra-khir bit his lip, the urge to throttle Tae almost overwhelming.

  “He had a good enough reason,” Kevral defended Ra-khir for the first time ever. “At least initially.”

  “She was bleeding.” Ra-khir supplied before Kevral mulled the unnecessary conversation that followed.

  To Ra-khir’s surprise, Kevral found a way to turn the discussion back on Tae, though she did so without the malice that had colored all of her previous conversations about Ra-khir. “And I thought Easterners hated having their names shortened. I’d heard using a single syllable is a lot like interrupting a Renshai’s practice.”

  “When we’re in the East,” Tae admitted. “But Westerners shorten everyone’s name, so I figured I’d just do it right away, the way I’d want it, before some Westerner picked some weird, annoying little nickname.”

  “So Tae’s not your whole name?” Kevral pieced the detail from the explanation.

  “It’s Tae Kahn. Two words.”

  Tae Kahn. Tykon. The puzzle fell into place for Ra-khir, and he did not like what he discovered. Now no longer in doubt about the origin of the enemy who had twice attacked them and might cost Darris his life, Ra-khir knew what he had to do. He only wished he had continued to pursue his first instincts about their newest companion and hoped Tae would not refuse his challenge a second time.

  * * *

  Once everyone but Darris had awakened and eaten, and Kevral finished her practice, they returned to the site of the tragedy for a brief but necessary cleanup and preparation. Matrinka wished to head out as soon as possible, for Darris’ sake; but the idea of leaving allies’ corpses without proper and full send-off clearly bothered all except Tae. Their Eastern companion’s routine nonchalance only increased Ra-khir’s distaste. Nevertheless, he bided his time, keeping his irritation appropriately channeled and saving his dispute for the proper moment. Hiding his rage became all the more difficult as circumstances required him to work side by side with the object of his anger, building a rude cart from the shattered remains of an envoy wagon. At first, Tae seemed not to notice his companion’s discomfort. Gradually, Ra-khir’s irascible silence drove Tae to work in silence, but his mood did not dim. Apparently, he attributed Ra-khir’s behavior to one of their many group concerns.

  The creaking cart unnerved every horse set to pull it except Kevral’s calm bay and Ra-khir’s gray, trained to knight maneuvers and battle. The Renshai refused to be burdened, so the responsibility fell to Ra-khir; and he gladly accepted. It only made sense to keep their best warrior unhindered. He never considered asking a princess to work, and he would not have trusted any injured man to Tae.

  Midday came and passed before they set out for Pudar again, Darris’ cart jouncing and rattling behind him. Tae had little choice but to keep to the roads, and no one complained about the added danger of discovery. Ra-khir enjoyed the easier travel with a guilty pleasure he dared not voice. He would not complain if their route forced them back to brush and forest, but he could not help finding manmade pathways more natural and comfortable. Mostly, he let the others watch and listen for danger, keeping his own attention on Tae and Darris. Kevral could handle Matrinka’s security, and her own, without him.

  Darris awakened in the early evening. He studied the sky with a look that went from blank to confused in an instant.

  “Hold up!” Ra-khir drew rein and dismounted, without waiting to see if his companions complied. Darris needed his assistance now.

  Darris shifted, groaning with the movement. His gaze settled on Ra-khir and turned pleading.

  Ra-khir knelt beside the cart, resting a hand on Darris’ shoulder. It felt warm and dry through the sleeve. “You’re going to be all right.”

  “No,” Darris’ voice emerged as a croaking whisper. Obviously surprised by the sound, he licked his lips several times. “I’m dying. Let me go. Don’t delay for me.”

  The others had pulled up their horses, and now the women came to Darris’ side.

  “You’re going to be fine,” Ra-khir repeated.

  “What’s wrong?” Matrinka asked, concern breaking her voice. “Is something wrong?”

  “He thinks he’s dying,” Ra-khir explained, wondering how seriously to take the opinion of one in pain. Although trained for war, his only real experience had come within the last few days.

  Matrinka stroked Darris’ hair, eyes haunted as if she had taken all of his pain onto herself. “We’re going to get you to a surgeon in Pudar as
quickly as possible. You’ll be fine.”

  “No,” Darris rasped. “Don’t waste time with me.” Each word made him wince, and bloody foam bubbled at his lips. He managed to raise a hand, wiping his face absently, then caught sight of the mess. “Don’t waste time.”

  The urge to cringe and look away nearly overwhelmed Ra-khir, but he controlled it admirably. He had no knowledge with which to contradict Darris’ assessment, and Matrinka seemed paralyzed when it came to the necessary reassurance. Her feelings for Darris got in the way.

  Kevral suffered from no similar malady. “The only delay you’re causing is now, with your irrational talk. If Matrinka says you’re going to live, you’re going to live! She’s the healer, damn it. You’re just the stupid patient. I’ve seen warriors recover from a lot worse than you got.” She glared, granting his pain no quarter. “Now hush up and rest.” Without further explanation, she turned and headed back to her waiting horse.

  Stunned, Matrinka let her mouth fall open.

  Ra-khir despised Kevral’s harshness, gathering breath to soften her words with gentler ones.

  But Darris handled the Renshai’s method better than Ra-khir expected. A slight smile touched Darris’ features, though Ra-khir could not tell whether her reason, tone, or behavior shaped his mood. Whatever the case, Darris closed his eyes peacefully and remained in a state of quiet composure as they traveled into the night.

  * * *

  Tae was not allowed to take sentry duty alone; the group had determined that the first day of travel. So, the night after Darris’ awakening, Ra-khir volunteered for earliest watch with the Easterner. As usual, the initial hour passed in quiet contemplation, allowing the others to drift into sleep before even the lightest of conversation started. This time, Ra-khir had more serious matters on his mind. The long silence did not seem to bother the Easterner. Even during the most enthusiastic conversations, he tended to hold his tongue in a fashion that seemed inexplicable to Ra-khir. Though Tae never acted interested, he always listened, throwing pieces of conversation back verbatim when desired. He chose his words with care, but not in the same way as Ra-khir. While Ra-khir paused for propriety and grammar, Tae seemed more concerned about phrasing his words in a manner that best protected him from ridicule or fit with some strange, low-class pattern Ra-khir could not fathom.

  But, for once, Tae broke the hush. “What’s fussling you?”

  Tae’s notice of his quiet agitation further irritated Ra-khir. Tae’s and Kevral’s discovery of the dying Renshai’s message had spurred conversation about Outworlders and magic. Ra-khir had placed little stock in the idea until Matrinka’s description of the incident in the courtyard when bears, once statues, devastated young heirs. Apparently, his uncertainty had become a paranoia just beyond conscious thought, reawakened by Tae’s understanding. Can he read my thoughts? The idea, though ludicrous, could not be wholly banished. Many things about Tae did not fully fit the picture of a street orphan. “You’re bothering me,” he said at length, substituting the more proper term for Tae’s slang. “You lied, Tae. Those men who attacked us were Easterners.” He spoke emphatically, leaving Tae no place for denial or explanation. He wanted to convey that he knew the truth, without a shred of doubt.

  Tae did not call Ra-khir’s bluff. His permanent aura of self-confidence remained, though it seemed more habit than intention. “Yes.”

  “You said they weren’t speaking Eastern.”

  “As you said, I lied,” Tae admitted.

  “You told me before you never lied to us.”

  Tae lowered his head, looking truly shamed. His pretense cracked ever so slightly. “Until then, I hadn’t.”

  “Oh, I see.” Ra-khir glared, remembering to keep his voice low despite shaking fury. “Honesty is a matter of convenience for you. Gain our trust with truth, then lie as you please.” His hand fell to his hilt. “Well, you did lie before. You didn’t join us for the company. You joined us to help you fight your enemies.”

  Only then, Ra-khir realized the distance between them was gradually increasing as Tae crept almost imperceptibly toward the woods. “You gave your word against your honor. You said I could stay with you.” Tae glanced toward the sleeping party, composure visibly shattered now.

  “On the condition you posed no threat to us.” Ra-khir remembered the promise well, one he should have trusted his instincts not to speak. “You threw us into a war! You may cost a good man his life, a man pledged to become the high king’s bodyguard, no less.” He took a threatening step forward, without intention, his first realization of the act Tae’s sudden, scuttling retreat. “You placed our cause and our lives in danger, and I have no choice but to call you out again.”

  Tae said nothing, while his long-practiced reserve collapsed around him. “I’m sorry. I really am. Give me a chance to—”

  Ra-khir did not allow him to finish. The word “explain” might make him explode. No excuse could account for an action so indefensible. “Do you accept my challenge?”

  “No,” Tae said softly.

  Frustration assailed Ra-khir. At no time in his life did he more wish to abandon the teachings of the Knights of Erythane. Almost, it seemed worth never achieving his life’s ambition, worth disavowing his own honor, and worth the shame he would call down upon his life and soul to administer the slow, painful death those of lesser morality might claim Tae deserved. But Ra-khir’s virtue ran too deep. Punishing a traitor, even permanently protecting the kingdom from one, did not justify wrongdoing. “Accept my challenge and either live or die a man.”

  “No,” Tae said again, then expanded. “If I follow your rules, I die. And if I do things my way, I kill a friend.”

  Ra-khir defined the situation differently. “If you surrender honor either way, then you’re a craven and a coward. But you need not worry about harming a friend. We are friends no longer.”

  Tae did not argue semantics, though friendship, as well as animosity, had to run both ways. He brushed hair from his forehead and eyes, gaze subtly measuring escape. “I will not fight you.”

  Reduced to one option, Ra-khir explained it, as honor demanded. “You still pose a threat to Béarn. I’ll give you time to run, if you choose the course of cowardice. But I will pursue. Don’t come back. If we meet again under hostile circumstances, I’ll kill you without need for challenge. You’ve been warned.”

  Tae hesitated.

  “Go!” Ra-khir managed to convey command without raising his voice. “Or I’ll take your reluctance as acceptance of my challenge. Be glad I, and not Kevral, realized your deceit. She would have killed you by now.”

  Tae backed into the foliage, then turned abruptly and disappeared.

  Ra-khir redoubled his watch, awaiting Tae’s retaliation, which never came. Gradually, the night thickened. Matrinka and Kevral took their turns at watch. No one noticed Tae’s absence; he wandered off alone so frequently. Although Ra-khir rested, he did not think he fell asleep at all that night. Only Tae’s missing pack and horse in the morning told him otherwise.

  Chapter 19

  Béarn’s Betrayal

  In some ways, death means everything to me. It depends on whose death it is and when and how that death occurred.

  —Colbey Calistinsson

  Days ran into nights for Rantire, differentiated only by the torture that accompanied the former and the restless sleep plaguing the latter. Evenings suited her best, the quiet time when the endless charade of questioning and torment had finished. Then she listened to the elves prattle, her growing command of their language yielding more information each time. She appreciated the concentration required to understand them. It took her mind from the pain.

  One night, the style of their conversation changed from pitying whispers, curious chatter, and anticipatory guesses to an excited discussion about a battle. She noticed the difference at once, though the details proved more difficult to grasp. Their talk lasted deep into the night, and she followed it with dogged persistence. Gradually, she uncovered
a few of the details: a fight between elves and humans resulting in many deaths, though she could not figure out which side had won at first. Numbers came at length. By report, all thirty-one humans had succumbed, and these bore some relation to Béarn. She guessed the dead were not heirs, more by knowledge excluded than addressed, and she finally pieced together that the dead represented a second envoy. Two elves had died, and Dh’arlo’mé lost an eye in the scuffle.

  Once she identified the topic, Rantire could not rest. The need for details spurred her far more strongly than the hovering sleep she so desperately needed. Oa’si used the Northern tongue fluently, and she had heard others resort to it for certain concepts that either did not exist in their language or worked better in this human tongue. So far, she had not revealed her knowledge of it, except to Oa’si; but this situation seemed reason enough to try. “Please, I have to know. Did they die in battle?”

  Rantire’s voice opened a ragged silence. Stunned elves went without speaking for so long she believed they had abandoned her. She wondered if they had all run to tell Dh’arlo’mé or others of the council that she could speak Northern. Oa’si and Captain had figured it out easily enough, and more than one healer or torturer had resorted to Northern in an attempt to communicate. That she had chosen to ignore those questions as completely as ones asked in trading told them nothing about her ability. In comparison to her need to know, the information she revealed by the simple act of speaking held no significance. There would have been Renshai among that envoy, and their fate mattered too much to ignore. She could not build their pyres, but she could properly mourn them. No one else might come upon the carnage who knew the proper ritual.

  At length, an elf appeared from the shadows, all arms and legs, and as graceful as his kith. Huge, yellow-white eyes studied her without malice, as unwinking and steady as a statue’s gaze. He used the Northern tongue with reasonable fluency, though his word for it little resembled the human. “You speak ‘other-speech’?”