Flight of the Renshai

CHAPTER 11

Saviar opened the guest room door to a heated discussion that ceased instantly. The Knights of Erythane would never inflict their personal problems on anyone, not even a family member. Father and grandfather gave Saviar welcoming smiles despite his sweat-soaked, filthy clothing and the hair dangling into his eyes. Though they remained perfectly meticulous, as always, they never expected the same of others.

Saviar dropped to his bed, delicately removed his sword, and pulled his cleaning kit from his pocket. A Renshai always tended his swords before his person. "So, how did things go with the Northmen?" He unraveled a spotless white rag and a vial of sword oil.

The ensuing silence piqued Saviar's curiosity. He looked up in time to see the knights just breaking a serious, nonverbal exchange.

Ra-khir cleared his throat. "Not bad, Saviar; but not as I might have wished either."

Saviar set to cleaning his weapon, concentrating on the blade but still allowing himself to glance up often enough to read expressions. "Let me guess, it wasn't all about ore."

"It wasn't," Ra-khir admitted.

"They brought up Renshai."

"Yes."

"And the 'right' of Paradisians to return to their homeland."

A stunned silence followed. Saviar feigned total engrossment in his weapon but could not suppress a grin. It was rare that he could startle his father speechless.

When the hush continued long past surprise, Saviar finally looked directly at his father. The moment he met those green eyes, Ra-khir spoke, "How could you possibly know that?"

Saviar considered leaving the knights in suspense, but swiftly discarded it. They would worry about a leak in the Council Room, which could turn into a grave political incident. "I sparred with Verdondi Eriksson, the captain's son.We also talked." He did not have to add the last sentence, usually. Most warriors would not think twice about chatting during practice. For Renshai, it was a dangerous offense. Like turning one's back, it implied that one's opponent was so poorly skilled that concentration and wariness were unnecessary in his presence. It was regarded as grave insult.

Kedrin's eyes widened. "Does Verdondi know you're Renshai?"

Saviar returned his attention to his sword. "It didn't come up."

Ra-khir asked in a cautious voice pitched to sound matter-of-fact but not quite succeeding, "Did your relationship to the Knights of Erythane 'come up'?"

"Yes."

Kedrin added, "Probably just as well."

"Yes," Ra-khir agreed. "Probably."

Though Saviar continued to work directly on his sword, he could feel his father's gaze upon him. He set aside his project for a moment. "Papa, I'm not a fool."

"What?" Ra-khir sounded offended. "Of course you're not, Saviar. I've never suggested otherwise."

"I didn't lie, and I won't if directly questioned. But it wouldn't hurt to have Verdondi see me as a friend before he knows what I am. It might give him a reason to rethink the prejudice his people have drummed into him since birth."

"Timing is everything," Kedrin said softly.

Father and son looked at him simultaneously.

He wore his formal knight garb: the tabard with Bearn's rearing golden grizzly on a blue background on the front and Erythane's black sword against orange on the back. Though matured, his features remained strikingly handsome, and the red-blond hair he once shared with son and grandson had turned a distinguished silver. His appearance, his stance, commanded attention and obedience; and Saviar understood how the knights were known and respected even as far away as the Northlands. "In battle, in life, in diplomacy. Everything is timing."

Ra-khir smiled. "Don't tell me…" He closed his eyes and held his fingers to his temples, as if concentrating very hard and receiving an answer whispered by the gods: "General Santagithi."

Finding the origin of Kedrin's quotations had become an easy matter. As Kedrin studied the writings and history of the ancient Western leader/general, he had become more enamored of his wisdom and methods. Considered the best strategist of his era, Santagithi had essentially single-handedly won the Westlands biggest war, the Great War, against a then-hostile Eastlands. He also had a connection to the Renshai. His daughter, Mitrian, was the mother of the half-breed tribe of Tannin and the grandmother of the non-blooded tribe of Rache.

Kedrin shrugged. "Scoff if you must, my son. Great men deserve their due, even long after death."

"Or, in Colbey's case, without the need to die at all." Ra-khir threw up his hands, as if in surrender. "And between my father and my wife, I'm starved for original thought."

"That," Kedrin returned playfully, "is what adolescent sons are for. After all, they know everything."

Ra-khir returned his attention to his son. "In Saviar's case, I'm starting to believe that's true. Do you understand what your grandfather is saying, albeit secondhand, about timing?"

"I do." Saviar did not want to miss a detail. He had to find a way to prove to his father that he was as much a man as Calistin, despite not yet having passed his Renshai testing. "He's saying that I need to reveal the truth at the right time and in the best way. I can't wait until someone else tells Verdondi I'm Renshai or leave him feeling as if I'm deliberately misleading him and using him for information."

Ra-khir nodded sagely. "You do understand."

"Of course, I do." Secretly thrilled by his father's approval, Saviar returned to his oiling. Neither of his parents could be impressed easily. "Like I said, I'm not a fool."

"Ra-khir?" Kedrin said.

Ra-khir apparently caught the reference. "Yes, all right. I suppose you do know better."

Finished with his task, Saviar returned the sword to his belt. He started stripping off his training clothing. As the wet cloth peeled away, it left him damp, cold, and covered in gooseflesh.

Kedrin politely averted his eyes. "Saviar, the Northmen asked King Griff to exile all Renshai."

Saviar stiffened but refused to otherwise react. He knew the king of Bearn would never do such a thing. "How did the Northmen react when he said 'no'?"

"His Majesty," Ra-khir explained, "did not have to say 'no.' The Fields of Wrath are in Erythane, not Bearn proper."

Saviar pulled on a clean tunic. It smelled freshly laundered, a welcome relief after the tainted stiffness his garments had attained during travel. He dragged off his britches next. "So, he simply pushed the decision off onto King Humfreet? He didn't defend us at all?"

"This is diplomacy," Kedrin said. "Things are handled differently than in… real life. Wars and alliances are decided by a word or a pen stroke."

"All right."

"And," Ra-khir added, "the king did say that Renshai were courageous, competent, invaluable guardians and warriors. That he has always supported them, and they have never let him down."

"All right," Saviar said again, not wholly happy or comforted but still willing to listen. King Humfreet was a reasonable man but without the historical loyalty and wisdom of Bearn's royalty. Saviar suspected the knights had not yet come to the contentious part of the discussion, and that troubled him greatly.

Kedrin raised his head and heaved a sigh so small Saviar saw more than heard it. "Saviar, the Northmen have agreed to assist Bearn with the pirates."

"That's good." Saviar pulled on his clean britches. "No one knows more about pirates or pirating than Northmen."

"Saviar," Kedrin warned. "Your own prejudice is showing."

Saviar had never considered himself biased, but it seemed impossible to remain fair to people who had just suggested banishing his own family. "Sorry." He did not mean it, nor did it sound as if he did.

"They offered large numbers of soldiers." Ra-khir seemed torn between studying his son's reaction and giving him the appropriate privacy to finish dressing. "And asked only that they not have to serve with Renshai."

"You mean in the same unit?"

"I mean, in the same army."

"Oh." Saviar did not know what to say. One Renshai equaled three of any other warriors; yet, even counting in Renshai soldiers, the Northmen would still clearly outnumber them by thousands. "The king accepted that offer?"

"Not yet."

"But he'll have to," Saviar guessed. "How did Thialnir take it?"

"Not well," Ra-khir admitted. "Though, to his credit, he refrained from violence. A group of us are going to try to explain the situation to him."

"We'd like you to come along," Kedrin said.

Saviar glanced at his father, who did not contradict. At one time, they had clearly disagreed on this matter. "You would do better taking Calistin."

"Calistin?" Ra-khir shook his head. "I don't think Calistin would see the situation any differently than Thialnir."

Saviar had to concur. "Well, then. How many of the people who are going to talk to Thialnir can best him in a battle?"

"None," Kedrin said. "But we're planning to talk to him, not kill him."

Saviar adjusted his britches. "Diplomacy means something different to Renshai. He won't respect a man who couldn't kill him. That's why I suggested Calistin."

Kedrin heaved a more obvious sigh. "And who do you know who can best Calistin?"

"No one. Why?"

"Because…" Kedrin sat on the neatly stretched blankets of his own pallet. "… I imagine we will find it just as hard to convince Calistin as Thialnir. No, Saviar, you're the only Renshai we have. And the only one we need."

Saviar could not fathom his grandfather's endorsement. "I haven't even passed my manhood testing. Thialnir's a proven warrior, blooded and tested. They chose him to represent us."

"He won't listen unless you best him?" Ra-khir took a step toward Saviar.

"I'd have to give him a reasonably good fight at the very least. That will take years. I might never gain the ability to take on-"

Ra-khir seized his son's arm. "We have two days, Saviar. Let's get started."

Before the boy could protest, he was led to the door, Ra-khir in the lead and Kedrin following. Together, they headed back toward the practice courtyard.

With a quick apology and a spectacular bow, Ra-khir excused himself from the company of his father and his son before they entered the courtyard. To Saviar's chagrin, his father disappeared down a side corridor, but Kedrin did not seem put off by the abrupt departure. Instead he flicked the latch, and opened the door onto the familiar practice courtyard.

Saviar stepped inside. A haze hung over the courtyard, no longer illuminated by morning sunlight, and the obstacles seemed awash in silver. Kedrin glanced at the racks of practice swords. It suited him better not to train with live steel; yet he also knew that the Renshai always did. In the end, he did not exchange his blade but guided Saviar to the most uncluttered part of the grounds, free from debris and deliberate constructions.

"Now," Kedrin began, facing Saviar squarely, "I know you're not a beginner, so we'll skip right to the advanced training."

Saviar kept his expression sober. His torke claimed that any swordwork taught by ganim would be a lesson Renshai had learned so early in life they could not even recall not knowing it. Saviar kept his mind open, however. If anyone might know a useful, different technique it would be the captain of the Knights of Erythane.

"Show me your stance," Kedrin said, assuming a classic posture, knees bent, weight evenly distributed, right foot leading slightly.

"Which one?"

"Of course.You probably know a thousand." Kedrin laughed, relaxing. "This is rather like pouring a bucket of water in the ocean, isn't it?"

"Well…" Saviar stalled, not knowing what to say. "Perhaps… you could teach me some power moves."

"Power moves?"

Saviar made a few graceful motions to work the kinks from his legs. "Calistin keeps reminding me that Renshai maneuvers rely on quickness, not strength; but I naturally try to outmuscle everyone because I'm bigger."

Kedrin blinked, as if noticing Saviar for the first time. "You are my biggest grandson, but you're not exactly enormous."

"I'm bigger than any other Renshai my age."

Kedrin nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose you are. You favor your father and me.You'll fill out a lot over the next few years."

Saviar hung his head. "Don't remind me."

"Don't remind you?" Kedrin's pale brows rose in increments. "Savi, that's a good thing."

"Not for Renshai."

Kedrin disagreed and made it clear. "Even for Renshai. Quick maneuvers work great for Renshai, but size and strength don't harm them either. Look at Thialnir."

"He's huge," Saviar admitted.

"And one of the Renshai's most skilled fighters."

Saviar nodded. Until the realization that he might have to face the Renshai's leader in combat, he had never considered Thialnir's size before. The man was intimidating for reasons beyond his massive frame.

"Believing a large man must be slow has cost many warriors their lives, Saviar." Kedrin's blue-white eyes held a sincerity that went beyond truth. Not only did he speak honestly, he did so from the heart, from a need for his grandson to understand. "Handled well, size can become speed's greatest asset."

Saviar's heartbeat quickened. It seemed possible that Kedrin knew a lesson the Renshai would never teach him. "Can you… can you show me?"

"I can." Kedrin drew his sword with a fluency Saviar normally attributed only to Renshai. "Please stand back," he said, then laughed. "Sorry, I keep forgetting who I'm talking to."

Saviar could dodge any move his grandfather could make so quickly it might seem as if he anticipated the strike before Kedrin decided on it. He made a motion of encouragement. He had never before seen his grandfather draw steel. The Knight-Captain mostly instructed his charges verbally or demonstrated by repositioning the other man's arms, legs, or weapon.

Kedrin executed a series of deft warm-up strikes, then looked directly at Saviar. "Ready?"

Saviar nodded. Renshai were always ready for anything to do with swords.

Kedrin launched into the ganim version of a svergelse, his strokes powerful, committed, and yet still nimble and precise. His movements seemed a study in paradox: broad and strong, lithe and agile. Saviar saw nothing slow or clumsy in the captain's actions, and they lacked the ponderous ungainliness the Renshai ascribed to muscled outsiders. Kedrin could not match the speed and fiery grace of a Renshai, but that had to do with practice and dedication, not technique. Saviar watched, awed. He could adapt some of those power strokes into new and deadly Renshai maneuvers.

Diving into the flying cuts of steel, Saviar stayed his grandfather's hand with a careful parry and grab. Close in, swords bound, hand gripping Kedrin's wrist, he looked excitedly at the knight. "Teach me."

For an instant, Kedrin looked shocked. He studied the boy in front of him, making absolutely certain his blade had never touched Saviar. Once sure, he relaxed. "I will."

And Kedrin did. As the sun inched toward the horizon, Saviar learned techniques the Renshai would dismiss as foolish, adapting them to the deadly quickness of Renshai. Saviar knew it did him little good, and a lot of ill, to simply learn the ways of ganim swordcraft. With each new movement, with every suggestion, Saviar sought a way to incorporate it into the repertoire he already knew, to advance the maneuver into something as powerful as it was swift and unstoppable.

In the past, Saviar's bulk had always seemed an insurmountable hindrance. Constant swordwork kept him as lean as any Renshai, yet deliberate starvation only made him weak and slower. He could never shed the musculature of his paternal ancestors; the solid definition of his abdominal muscles never allowed his ribs to show. Now, he had found a way to use his build as an advantage, and the idea of pausing to rest after such a staggering discovery never occurred to him. He would continue to revise, to invent, until his grandfather passed out from exhaustion.

Not that Kedrin showed any sign of doing so. He reveled quietly in Saviar's every triumph. Though Kedrin had never stated so, it became clear from his actions and words that he had always wished for the opportunity to educate his grandsons. The time dedicated to Renshai training left little for other things. Though Kedrin had sneaked in lessons on beauty, relaxation, philosophy, and morality, he could never before compete when it came to weapons. Now, his day had come, and he seemed as unlikely to quit as Saviar himself, as relentless and infinite as the Renshai maneuvers.

It seemed like only moments before the door to the courtyard slammed open to reveal Ra-khir in all his knightly splendor, and a host of others behind him. For the first time Saviar could remember, he wished his father would disappear, to leave him in the world of inventiveness and joy that he currently shared with Kedrin.

Though equally engrossed, Kedrin could not have had a more different reaction. He sheathed his sword and executed a bow of great formality. Only then, Saviar recognized the group who had accompanied his father: the heirs to Bearn's throne. Shocked, he froze in position, sword still gripped in his hand.

Kedrin cleared his throat softly, pointedly.

Swiftly, Saviar jabbed his sword back into its sheath and dropped to one knee, head bowed.

Princess Marisole led the group. Only a few months younger than Saviar, she was the oldest heir, Queen Matrinka's first child. She favored her mother: her dark brown hair thick and lustrous, her figure full and curvy, her eyes a dark hazel that barely showed its green. Her large nose betrayed the bard's lineage; and, of course, the delicate lute she carried slung across her shoulder.

She ran to Saviar. "Get up, get up." She cuffed him playfully until he rose, then caught him into an embrace. She felt soft and warm against him, and he could not help noticing that she had developed breasts and hips since he had last seen her. He wrapped his arms around her, forcing his thoughts to his swordwork, to the weather, anything but her magnificent closeness. At his age, any touch from a pretty young thing excited him wildly. If his father or grandfather caught him reacting to a princess of the realm like a common tavern wench, he would suffer greatly for his body's betrayal.

"You moron," Marisole whispered, and Saviar noticed only her warm breath in his ear. "You're a friend, not a servant."

"I'm both," Saviar said as softly. "And the son of a Knight of Erythane. If I don't show proper respect, I'll get a spanking."

"Bow to me again, and I'll spank you."

Saviar could not resist pulling free and bowing broadly. "Promises, promises."

Marisole glared. Had they been alone, Saviar felt certain, she would have slapped him. And he definitely deserved it.

Prince Barrindar approached Saviar next. Sixteen, shy, and the spitting image of King Griff, he slouched toward Saviar as if embarrassed by his height. Though tall for his age, Saviar looked the younger boy squarely in the nose. The oldest child of Griff's third wife, Xoraida, and the only remaining male heir, Barrindar did not stand out the way Arturo had. Artistic, quiet, and blithely unworried about his future, he seemed almost a study in contrast to his more outgoing half brother. Arturo had chased life with an ardor Saviar shared: hoping to become a general in the charge of whichever sibling took the throne. Barrindar seemed content to let life take him where it would.

Saviar gave the prince a small bow that demonstrated respect without drawing attention, and Barrindar returned the gesture with a friendly smile and a tip of his shaggy, bearlike head. He withdrew to the far wall, and Marisole joined him.

The three youngest princesses came next, in a whispering, jostling group. Barrindar's full-blooded sister, Calitha looked Saviar up and down as if she had never seen him before. Essentially, Saviar realized, she had not. Their paths had not crossed for years, and she was a child then. Now, fourteen, she seemed to suddenly realize he was male. Her deep brown eyes sparkled, and she lowered her lids coquettishly. Then, her eleven-year-old sister, Eldorin, jabbed her with an elbow and whispered loudly, "Quit staring at him." Turning a brilliant shade of red from her chin to the roots of her hair, Calitha ran to her older siblings without voicing a greeting.

Saviar bowed anyway.

Eldorin waved, clearly not understanding her sister's reaction, nor that she had done anything wrong. Saviar gave her another bow, and she skittered behind her brother.

The third of the trio, thirteen-year-old Halika, ran up to Saviar and hugged him. She was the third and last of Matrinka's brood, and she barely resembled the rest of her family. Shorter and thinner, she sported Darris' mouse-brown curls, broad lips, and generous nose.

Saviar held her like a treasured sister, glad she did not excite him as Marisole had. He would have felt filthy and low. Instead, he whispered, "I'm so sorry about Arturo."

Tears glazed Halika's eyes, and her grip grew fierce. "Be careful, Savi. I don't want to lose another brother."

Suffused with warmth at the compliment, Saviar brushed a curl from her forehead. He knew most of the girl's affection for him had to come from Marisole's attitude and stories. As a child, he had spent much more of his time at Bearn castle playing with Marisole and Subikahn. In those days, two years had made a huge difference; he had thought of Barrindar and Arturo as babies. As he grew older, and the Renshai training commanded all of his time, his visits had grown less frequent and shorter. He barely knew the other princesses, including Princess Ivana Shorith'na Cha'tella Tir Hya'sellirian Albar, despite the fact that she was only a half year younger than him, only a few months younger than Marisole.

As Halika reluctantly withdrew and headed for her other siblings, Ivana ran toward Saviar. Her gait seemed simultaneously agile and awkward, as if she might become a dancer should she only first learn to walk. She looked almost animal in her homeliness: her small mouth and nose nearly disappearing behind remarkably chubby cheeks, her eyes canted and reddish-yellow in color, her hair thick and straight, without a hint of wave or curl. Its color was a strange blackish-blond, with highlights that looked red in places, nearly green in others. Her blocky body seemed slightly twisted and hunched. Her arms and legs were short and stout, but her fingers were contrastingly long and slender. She had tiny feet, swathed in toddler's slippers, that barely seemed capable of balancing her bulk. A bit of white froth perched at the corners of her lips.

Ivana loosed a sound that seemed more like a braying mule than human language and lunged into Saviar's arms as Halika had done. Saviar barely had time to brace himself before she slammed into him. He wrapped his arms around her with difficulty and tried to appear comfortable. Only propriety and politeness held him in place. He would have preferred to run from her in terror.

Saviar pressed his mouth to Ivana's shoulders, hiding the revulsion for which he felt desperately ashamed. Not only was Ivana a full princess of the realm, she had once symbolized a great union and the only hope for humans and elves alike. Elves could procreate only when an elder passed on, his or her soul repackaged into the fetus. Violent death meant a soul lost forever, and most of the elves had died in a great explosion. At the time, humans also suffered, from an inflicted sterility plague. When Tem'aree'ay became pregnant with Griff's child, it had seemed the perfect solution to both dilemmas.

Then, Ra-khir, Kevral, Darris, and a few companions obtained the item necessary for the elves to lift the sterility plague. Ivana was born. And everything changed. Repulsed by the princess, nearly all of the elves abandoned the company of humans to live quiet, unseen lives in the forests scattered throughout Midgard. As far as Saviar knew, only Tem'aree'ay herself remained, bonded to husband and daughter by a love that surpassed tribes, species, even near-immortality.

Saviar hoped that one day, he, too, would find a woman who loved him with such consummate and awesome passion, willing to give up everything just to be with him. He knew Griff would do the same for Tem'aree'ay as well, and Saviar craved the kind of love that would drive him to such madness. For, though Griff had married Queen Matrinka to appease the populace, and Xoraida to legitimately father human heirs, his enormous and tender heart belonged wholly to his elfin wife.

To have this creature, Ivana, be the result of a love so obsessive and fierce seemed the cruelest trick. And many considered it a warning: Leave creation to the gods. Only sorrow could come of meddling with it, of starting new species by mingling unlike beings. The gods had revealed their displeasure by punishing Bearn's king with this monstrosity, and all humans and elves should take heed. It was so easy to forget that her conception had once been considered the ultimate miracle, the answer to two of the greatest problems of the universe.

Finally, Ivana released Saviar and joined her siblings at the periphery. Only then, it occurred to Saviar to wonder why his father had gathered the heirs of Bearn to watch him practice, why Halika had cautioned him and worried for his safety. Saviar had greeted all the heirs, yet still an equal host stood, calmly watchful, at Ra-khir's side. A sinewy horde of brunets and blonds, male and female, some of them braided and all of them armed with swords studied his every movement from the sidelines. He knew them all, at least in passing; and he also knew why they took such an interest in him. They were learning him: from the set of his build to the shape, origin, and insertion of every muscle. They were the guardians of Bearn's heirs, the only Renshai currently residing in Bearn.

And they were about to attack him. En masse.