Child of Thunder (Renshai Trilogy)

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Colbey continued his swordplay while Sterrane, Khitajrah, Arduwyn, and Mar Lon packed up the camp. No one protested the king assisting in the labor. They knew too well that protestations would prove useless. In his simple way, Sterrane would help. To ask him to sit aside while work needed doing would prove more insulting than granting him the regal leisure his position accorded him. Colbey, conversely, found no cause worth abandoning his swordwork. No matter the job, it could wait until his blades had been honored and tended.

  They traveled throughout the day, camped the night, and started again the following morning. Arduwyn ranged ahead, with or without his horse, returning to steer the group around new deadfalls or past copses entering their season for thorns or burrs. Sterrane conversed happily with his companions about any topic he or they cared to raise, humming tunelessly whenever conversation lapsed to silence. Apparently bothered by the discordant lack of melody, Khitajrah found excuses to keep the monarch talking. In turn, Mar Lon kept a close watch on the proceedings, vigilantly guarding his king as much from her as from potential outside threats.

  Colbey’s excitement waned as the party drew closer to the Fields of Wrath, and he found himself suffused with the familiar inner calm that accompanied the knowledge of forthcoming battle. He knew uncertainty as well. More than a year had passed since he had last seen his people, leaving them in the care of a student he had trained, he believed, to competence. That the Cardinal Wizards had captured the Renshai alive seemed to prove them still invulnerable to the cut of normal weapons. No others could have taken Renshai without casualties, no matter their abilities or numbers; and the Renshai would have fought to their own last warrior.

  The rattle and crunch of hooves on leaves from ahead seized Colbey’s attention. His hand went naturally to his sword hilt, gaze probing the brush for some glimpse of the approaching figure. He recognized the horse first, the black and white splotched figure of Arduwyn’s mount unmistakable. It crashed recklessly through the brush, willowy weeds and small trees bending, then snapping taut, from beneath its belly. Colbey rode to the lead to meet the hunter first, the uncharacteristically noisy and careless approach warning him of something amiss.

  Colbey waited only until Arduwyn reined up beside him. “What’s wrong?”

  “The forest.” Arduwyn loosened his hold on the reins, and the paint pranced, snorting, its excitement cued by its rider. It displayed none of the panicked need to flee that would have stemmed from something it personally considered a threat. “It’s . . . well . . . it’s changed.”

  Colbey’s hand fell from his hilt. He could not fight this enemy with a weapon. “What do you mean ‘changed’?”

  Mar Lon, Sterrane, and Khitajrah pulled up, as eager to hear the explanation as Colbey.

  “At first, I noticed that the landmarks seemed to have shifted. Slightly, at first, so things just felt wrong.” Arduwyn fingered stray patches of mane over to the right side of his horse’s neck. “Then I found trees down, sturdy ones, too many for nature to have done it alone. I got down and studied the breaks: jagged and splintery. No man or animal cut through those trunks, yet none of the brush seemed singed. No sign of fire or lightning.” Arduwyn glanced from face to face. Clearly, he had finished, yet no one seemed even half as bothered by the things he had seen as he was.

  Colbey waited patiently. The description hardly seemed significant enough to agitate the red-haired hunter so severely. Still, he would not underestimate the importance of the matter. If Arduwyn noticed something awry or inexplicable in the woodlands, it surely held consequence. Anything that the hunter could not justify with knowledge or logic might hold magic as its explanation.

  Arduwyn frowned, apparently disappointed by the lack of response.

  Colbey took control, trying to give Arduwyn’s concern appropriate consideration without alarming the others unnecessarily. “Arduwyn, you lead. Everyone stay quiet. We’ll need to use caution.” He turned his full attention to the hunter. “Did you see the Fields of Wrath?” Though he questioned casually, he held his breath while awaiting the answer. No matter the enemy, the Renshai would fight, and he wondered whose blood or corpse he might find smeared across the meadows and cottages.

  “No. I didn’t get that far.” Arduwyn addressed the question directly, ignorant of the underlying significance. “I saw the changes and the trees and . . .” He trailed off, embarrassed. Obviously, he had expected his news to strike his companions as painfully as himself.

  Colbey did not press further. It made sense for them all to come upon the danger and the possible horrors together. “Let’s go.”

  Arduwyn headed back the way he had come, the others following two abreast: Colbey and Khitajrah followed by Sterrane and Mar Lon, the bard riding slightly behind his king to protect him from dangers at the rear. Apparently, he found Colbey an effective shield from enemies that might strike from ahead. The aristiri rode Colbey’s saddle, balanced on the cantle.

  Colbey watched Arduwyn’s back as they rode the path toward the Fields of Wrath, but he did not need to look for visual clues. The hunter’s uneasiness became tangible, growing toward alarm the farther they traveled. Long after Arduwyn become noticeably agitated, Colbey saw nothing that would concern him had he journeyed alone. Finally, however, a sense of foreboding touched even him, though he felt uncertain whether it came from inside himself or as a consequence of too long exposure to Arduwyn’s nervousness. The staff also seemed discomfited, finding traces of its opposite fouling the air.

  As the group moved forward, the vague wrongness finally gathered a source. Just as Arduwyn had described, trees littered the ground or leaned horribly, caught in neighboring crotches of branching limbs. Beneath them, the ground appeared crumbled, the soil bunched, dark and damp, as if rooted up from layers deeper. Shattered limbs littered the earth, jutting from piles of displaced leaves and needles. The trail zigzagged strangely, its long-standing diversions around rubble lost amid the more recent destruction.

  Frost Reaver waited docilely. Although the stallion did not paw, Colbey sensed the animal’s uneasiness. His triangular ears jutted forward, attentive to the road and dangers ahead. He kept all four hooves firmly in place on the dirt roadway, prepared for necessary movement in any direction. The other mounts remained calm as well, though whether because they had as much training or just lacked the sense to notice the changes, Colbey did not try to guess. Whatever had toppled trees and piled earth bore no relation to anything he had ever seen or known. If Arduwyn also could not identify them, Colbey doubted the source could be anything but magic. It brought their dilemma into vivid and frightening detail. If Colbey could barely recognize the aftereffects of the Cardinal Wizards’ sorcery, he could scarcely hope to rescue and protect friends from it.

  Doubts descended on Colbey, and they seemed trebled for their strangeness. Never before had he questioned his ability to handle enemies. Always, he had shattered his foes on the battlefield, and even vast numbers had not daunted him. He would challenge armies single-handedly, knowing he might slay them all or gladly die in the attempt and find Valhalla. Now, so many vast and unfamiliar concepts lay at stake. He had to fight an enemy he could scarcely hope to predict, even with the help of the Power Staff. Although his sword could score strikes against the enemy, those of his friends might not. And maintaining the balance complicated the matter further. If he killed one of the Cardinal Wizards, he would have to deal with the consequences that loss might inflict on the shifts of causes and the world. And if he died, it might leave no one to see that mankind survived the Ragnarok.

  As if I really might have the knowledge and focus to save them myself. The doubts spread insidiously, and Colbey banished them with his usual confident will. Either he could keep the world safe or not. The possibility of failure would not prevent him from trying, now or in the future.

  Arduwyn cried out, his voice full of surprise and terror. Concerned for the destruction he might find, Colbey spurred ahead. Frost Reaver slammed through lines and clump
s of shrubbery his rider did not try to identify. The stained pink hooves chewed rents in a ridge of earth that seemed as unnatural as the crumbled trees. Then, as they topped the rise, the Renshai cottages came clearly into view. Arduwyn stood before them, mouth sagging open to expose a straight row of yellowed teeth.

  Colbey had seen the Fields of Wrath only once a year ago, yet even he could tell they now appeared little like they had in the past. He saw no fields, only towering, asymmetrical forest smashed together at the corners, ending abruptly at the cottage lawns. Jagged, wooden wreckage stood as mute testimony to what must have once served as a pen holding horses or livestock. A garden lay, torn in half, remnants of its neatly tended rows swallowed beneath the earth. The cottages seemed untouched.

  By the time Colbey finished surveying the oddity, the others had pulled up. Aside from Khitajrah, they wore the same lost, incredulous look as Arduwyn. Clearly, it took a recent knowledge of the area to fully understand the destruction.

  “Ruaidhri’s eternal mercy.” Mar Lon evoked the highest of the Western gods.

  Sterrane stared, brown eyes wide. “Gone. Ground gone.”

  It seemed impossible, yet the evidence looked clear even to Colbey. Someone had hacked off a chunk of ground like a surgeon removing a massive tumor, then spliced the edges together into an ugly seam. Luck alone had saved the cottages from tumbling into the craters and ridges left by the process.

  Colbey dismounted amid a flurry of questions that he ignored until they faded into insignificant background noise. Gesturing Frost Reaver to remain in place, he took the staff in hand and headed for the first of the cottages. The door opened easily to his touch, revealing a jumble of overturned crates that had once served as furniture. A box in the corner held notched swords and daggers of varying lengths, used but lovingly saved instead of discarded. He saw no blood.

  Quickly, Colbey searched the remainder of the dwelling, kitchen and bedroom. The rumpled blankets and indented pillow revealed a hasty departure that left an oiled and polished longsword uncovered on the pallet. The sheath hung from one of the bedposts. Colbey confiscated the weapon, placing it into his own empty sheath, a perfect fit. Apparently, the tribe still modeled their weapons to Colbey’s taste. Surely someone had seized the owner of this home asleep. No waking Renshai would have left a sword behind. Despite the folds and wrinkles in the bedding, Colbey saw no sign of a true struggle nor any dark stains that might indicate a battle. Whoever had taken this Renshai had done so without awakening him. Magic, Colbey guessed.

  *Magic.* The staff confirmed.

  *What kind of magic?*

  The staff offered nothing useful. *I couldn’t begin to guess. The possibilities are limitless . . . almost. I do know the Cardinal Wizards can’t enter the minds of individual mortals to influence them. It’s not Odin’s Laws that hold them back, either. It’s just not an ability they have.* The staff paused, erasing its own assurances. *At least they couldn’t last I knew. Unlike you, my opposite’s champion probably bound himself to his cause. The strength and abilities of the other staff, I can’t begin to guess.*

  Colbey drew away from the staff, seeing no purpose in further conversation. In this matter, it seemed to know and understand little more than he. Colbey left the cottage.

  Once outside, Colbey discovered that his companions had taken the liberty of searching the other homes as he had done. Unlike him, they had entered these buildings many times in the past. Knowledge of which belonged to whom and the proper positioning of belongings made it easier for them to search; so they had finished more quickly than Colbey. They, too, had gathered weapons, including Mitrian’s familiar wolf-hilted sword.

  Colbey studied the weapons at his feet, cringing at the inadvertent dishonor. Renshai would never allow their swords, nor those of honored opponents, to touch ground. Still, he chose to say nothing, certain his friends had meant no harm or disrespect. He scooped Mitrian’s blade from the pile, then glanced from face to face. “Any sign of a fight? Any people? Animals? Notes?”

  Every one of Colbey’s companions shook his or her head. “It’s as if something snatched them from sleep,” Arduwyn added unnecessarily. “Sylva’s bow and quiver are missing.” He glanced between the trees, as if he might catch some glimpse of her through forest that stretched over most of the country. “I can’t fathom why they’d let her take her weapons and not the others. Unless they left her behind.”

  Colbey frowned, many possibilities coming to his mind at once, though he did not voice them. Arduwyn’s only child meant as much to the little hunter as the Renshai tribe did to Colbey. To speculate would only raise the ugliest possibilities in Arduwyn’s mind, hampering his effectiveness when it came to guile or battle. Already, the elder could read Arduwyn’s confusion. The redhead considered remaining behind to stalk his daughter through leagues of brush and foliage.

  Colbey considered talking Arduwyn away from his considerations, but he chose silence instead. Although he would miss Arduwyn’s support as an archer and his quick, clever strategies, he might prove of little use against Wizards. And if Sylva had, in fact, remained behind, it only made sense for Arduwyn to try to find her. Instead, Colbey nudged Mar Lon with the hilt of Mitrian’s sword. “Here, take this.”

  Mar Lon’s fingers closed over the crafted pommel, but the look he gave Colbey revealed uncertainty. “I have a sword.”

  “This one has some magic to it. We may need that to fight Wizards.”

  Still, Mar Lon hesitated, apparently assessing the appropriateness of Colbey’s choice for wielder of what might prove their only useful weapon other than Harval.

  Catching the drift of Mar Lon’s concern, Colbey replied without waiting for verbalization of the question. He kept his voice low, so that only Mar Lon could hear. “At all costs, we must protect Sterrane. Anchored by his simplicity and justice, man’s world has a chance. Without him, I may as well let the Cardinal Wizards destroy the Staff of Power and all mankind.” He tapped the polished wood pole thrust through his belt, still wishing for a more comfortable and less inhibiting means of carrying it. In his hand, it hampered his sword strokes; and he could not risk dropping it in battle. Tucked in his belt, it impaired the freedom of movement necessary to perform the precise Renshai maneuvers that made his people superior sword masters. “Of everyone, including Sterrane, you’re in the best position to defend the king; and I know you claim that responsibility gladly and with total dedication.”

  Now Mar Lon accepted the weapon proudly, fastening the second sword belt around his waist atop the first. He angled both hilts so that he could draw either as it became necessary.

  Colbey passed around the remainder of the swords, knowing the Renshai would want to rearm as soon as it became possible. The need to approach each companion revealed Arduwyn’s absence, though Colby had not seen the hunter leave. Searching for Sylva. He shook his head. Since the Cardinal Wizards had, apparently, taken land as well as prisoners, it seemed possible that Sylva had gone with them, intentionally or not. Or she might have been sucked down into one of the many cracks or crevices that scarred the earth as the end result of the Wizards’ magic, forever trapped and smashed beneath masses of earth and stone. Colbey dismissed the concern. Though he knew sorrow for Arduwyn and Rache, Sylva’s fate meant little in the face of the impending annihilation of all mankind. Colbey knew he had discovered a situation in which the cost of the battle might prove worse than losing face and honor to surrender. Soon he might have to choose between the members of the Renshai tribe and the fate of all mankind, might have to sacrifice all those he loved in order to allow all others to live. But are those others worth it? He thought of the budding guardsmen in Pudar, their dedication typifying the welcome change the world had undergone since the Great War. He considered the farmer who had tended Frost Reaver, his innovations a symbol of the beneficial shift chaos might affect along with its trickery. Guilt squeezed Colbey’s chest, yet he could not dispel the need to ponder: the value of Renshai against all of humankind
.

  “Where go?” Sterrane asked, the simple directness of the question crumbling the complicated intricacies of Colbey’s thoughts. “Here not find Renshai.”

  Colbey frowned, recalling the message they had received in Béarn’s castle. The Cardinal Wizards had asserted they had hidden the Renshai too well for him to find them. “We stay here. It’s the only common ground they gave me to work from.” Leave the staff here, they told me. And I have. I chose to stay with it, and so did my friends.

  Khitajrah accepted Colbey’s decision easily, but added the detail to Sterrane’s basic question. “Should we lie in wait for them? Hidden, perhaps?”

  Colbey trusted his instincts, shaking his head to indicate such tactics would prove unnecessary. “They’ll use caution, I’m certain. By magic, they’ll know we’re here. Better a direct confrontation. With them, I think we’ll get more by open talk than surprise attack. They’re too smart to bring the Renshai with them.”

  Without questioning Colbey’s decision, Sterrane sat cross-legged before the door to Mitrian’s cottage, waiting. Mar Lon stood sentinel in front of his king, fingers draped casually across the wolf’s head that formed Mitrian’s hilt. Colbey could sense need wafting from the bard. To unsling and play the mandolin he carried would break the tension, but it would fill his hands and hamper his ability to guard his king.

  Again, Colbey did not interfere. His concern for Sterrane’s life outweighed that for Mar Lon’s peace. If it cost the bard his comfort to keep Sterrane safe, it seemed a price well worth paying.

  Khitajrah expended nervous energy by climbing to the roofs and windows of the Renshai cottages to scout.

  Colbey leaned against the mortared stone of Mitrian’s home, senses naturally attuned for enemies, though he made no conscious effort to look. The horses nipped at the crazed array of grass remaining in the ruins of Renshai pastures. The aristiri flew broad circles overhead, disappearing and reappearing at irregular intervals, occasionally stooping through the green thickness of upper growth. Colbey’s stillness left a dense hush through which he heard the rustle of foliage as rabbits and wisules scurried in their daily search for food and safety. Other hawks came, gliding silhouettes against the sky, while songbirds and squirrels sent seed pods and berries tumbling from branches to click against the fallen wash of leaves.