Flight of the Renshai

CHAPTER 16

Toqueen Matrinka, it seemed as if the world had ended. Though safe in Darris' arms, seated on their bed, she felt dark and cold, sobbing uncontrollably, wondering if she would ever feel joy again. "Mior, Arturo, then Kevral," she gasped out. "She is… she was… my best woman friend."

Darris shifted.

Knowing he was going for his lute, Matrinka said, "Darris, don't."

He paused in mid-movement.

"Don't sing." Matrinka's voice emerged clearly, no longer muffled by Darris' chest.

Darris' grip tightened, but he said nothing. The bardic curse severely hindered him. If he wished to speak significantly, Matrinka knew, he had to do it in song. To deny him that outlet meant leaving him utterly helpless.

At the moment, Matrinka did not care. The beautiful perfection of his voice, the unwavering notes of his instrument, had carried her through the most difficult times. It soothed the rawness in her soul, but its solace was temporary, a balm. To move beyond the tremendous burden of grief, she first had to face it.

"I love you," Matrinka said.

Darris moved back against her. "And I love you. Won't you let me-"

"No." Matrinka did not wait for him to finish. "I need to sort out my own emotions, without help. I'm still obsessing over a cat, and I can't believe we lost…" A fresh wave of misery washed over her, and she had to force the name around a sudden, enormous lump in her throat. "… our son."

Darris clutched her.

"Arturo is gone, Darris. He's not ever coming back."

"I know."

Matrinka read the same deep grief in his tone as she felt in her own. Despite the law, despite what the populace believed, Arturo was his son, too.

"Let me sing, Matrinka."

Matrinka could not. "No, Darris. No." Explaining it would take too much effort at a time when she felt empty. She appreciated his comforting, but he was far too good at it. For now, she needed to suffer the grief simply to feel human.

A loud knock bounced from the bedroom door. Darris stiffened and released Matrinka. Most of the servants knew of the king's arrangement with Darris, but he still made an effort to hide his inappropriate relationship with the queen. Releasing Matrinka, he rose and smoothed his damp tunic. She did not bother to try to look presentable in the privacy of her own chamber. "Come in."

The door swung open to reveal Rantire crouched fiercely, peering through the opening to assure no danger faced King Griff in Matrinka's room. The Renshai bodyguard glared at Darris. By law, the bard was the king's most personal bodyguard; but, in his absence, Rantire performed his job with savage and tactless seriousness. Granted the position by Colbey's son, Ravn, Rantire believed herself sanctioned by gods; and Griff had promised she could guard him in Darris' absences. Often, Matrinka knew, he regretted that decision, but he would never go back on his word. Behind Rantire, the king waited patiently, his black hair disheveled but his beard neatly combed.

Two cats wound around Griff's feet, mewing plaintively for attention.

"Darris is here," Griff announced.

Rantire snorted. "He's always here." She meant it as insult, not judgment. The triangular relationship did not matter to the Renshai; Darris' inadequacy as a proper bodyguard did.

"Nevertheless," Griff said, "you're dismissed."

Rantire grumbled something unintelligible, her bronze braids swaying around sharp features. "I'll be right outside if you need me, Sire."

"Duly noted." Griff looked pleadingly at Matrinka. "May I please come in?"

The cats did not wait for an invitation but slithered through the opening and leaped onto the bed, butting their heads against Matrinka's hands to demand a proper petting.

"Of course." Matrinka did not bother to dry her eyes as more tears joined the puddle on her dress and coverlet. "Please join us." She did not have the energy to attend to the cats.

Griff stepped inside the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, much to Rantire's obvious chagrin. Seeing Matrinka's mental state, he went right to her, gathering her into his arms.

The differences immediately became apparent. The huge bear of a man enveloped Matrinka where Darris had merely embraced her. His beard tickled her cheek, soaking up the moisture clinging there. "I'm so sorry," he said, and he clearly meant it.

Matrinka could hear Darris gathering the cats and shoving them back out into the hallway.

"It's been a year for tragedy, Matrinka. Our son, your friend, and so many good men lost."

"And now, we're without guards for the rest of our heirs. All the Renshai will have to leave."

"Not Bearn."

The words shocked Matrinka. She turned her face up to look at Griff, but he held her too closely.

The king explained, "I'm not bound by any agreement made by the king of Erythane."

Matrinka had never considered that. A glimmer of hope rose where none had existed before. "So the Renshai can stay? They can move here?"

Griff relinquished his grip, allowing them to see one another's faces. His looked tired. Lines had developed along his mouth and eyes, and a hint of gray touched his temples. "They can, but I doubt they will."

The suggestion upset Matrinka. She saw her last chance slipping away. "Why not?"

"Because, while I am not bound by the agreement, the Renshai are. I wouldn't banish or punish any Renshai who didn't obey it, but I think most of them, maybe all, will leave with their people."

"Even… Rantire?" Matrinka could think of no one more likely to stay, though she would not miss Griff's overeager guardian.

"Rantire will have to make her own choices." Griff shrugged. "It won't be easy."

"No," Matrinka admitted, her thoughts already far beyond the conversation. "But couldn't we…" She turned Griff a desperate look. "Couldn't we just… tell the Northmen to leave. Banish them and let the Renshai… just stay."

Darris paced wildly. Clearly, he wished he could be the one doing the comforting, the one providing explanations that might help her mood; but Matrinka's demand had robbed him of the opportunity.

Griff's gaze followed Darris' frantic path, but he did not tell him to stop. "Matrinka, you know it's not that simple. The Renshai made a contract. Whether or not most believe it, they are a people of great honor. And the Northmen… I'm afraid we need them. Without their ore, without their sword arms, we will lose this war."

The word struck Matrinka hard. "War?"

Griff's massive shoulders rose and fell. "I don't know what else to call it. Over the years, the pirates have been coming at us in ever greater numbers, and they've begun to fight with a coordination and ferocity that doesn't make sense for simple bands of looters. They've been testing our defenses far longer than we've acknowledged or realized. This is… well, it's a war, Matrinka."

"What are we going to do?" she whispered.

"What can we do? We're going to fight it, however we can. And, right now, that means with Northmen."

Darris glided to the edge of the bed. "Who are these pirates, Sire? Do we know yet?"

Griff shook his head, lips pursed. "You're well-studied, Darris. Perhaps you can tell me."

"I'll… try."

"Redheads," Griff started. "Nearly to a man, and their hair tends toward the thick and curly." He ran a hand through his own bushy mane. "Their skin is medium in tone, their features run the full gamut, except for the eyes which are always dark." He paused for input from Darris, who gave him nothing but an interested and curious stare. "They use short, curved swords, serrated and balanced well. Some of our men have reused their armor. It's well-crafted leather including helms and gloves. Sound familiar?"

Not to Matrinka. An entire battalion of redheads seemed unthinkable, even in the North, where blonds predominated anyway. Excluding Renshai, every Northman she had ever met had pale eyes and skin. Even Darris stood in stark confusion, brows deeply furrowed.

"But we did finally manage to capture one."

Darris came alive. The other piece of his curse sent him on an eternal quest for knowledge. "What does he say, Sire? Who are these brutes? Why are they attacking us?"

Griff managed a slight smile at the anticipated barrage. For all his inability to teach without song, Darris had no problem seeking answers. "Whatever he's saying, no one can understand it. The language isn't anything recognizable to any of our translators. It's as if he came from-"

"-another world?" Matrinka tried. It no longer seemed far fetched to her since Darris, Kevral, and Ra-khir had traveled to such places by elfin magic.

"Well, yes." Griff cleared his throat. "As if. But we're not at the point where we think that's so. The elves deny having opened any portals, and they have no reason to lie about it. No other creature on our world has the power to-"

Darris fairly trembled with need. "What about the gods? They could-"

"I don't have any direct connection to the gods, Darris." It was not completely true. As a child, Griff had enjoyed the company of what he thought was a make-believe playmate. In fact, Ravn Colbeysson had watched over him, knowing he would one day become the king of Bearn. They had not, however, made contact for many years, not since Ravn had charged Rantire with the responsibility. "But I hardly think the gods would bombard us with an otherworldly army without announcing a reason."

Matrinka nodded thoughtfully. The gods rarely worked in subtle ways. Everything they did, they did with pomp and grandeur. "Maybe the magic originated in the other world. We did not open a way for them; they opened a way to us."

Griff's shoulders heaved again. It was an unanswerable question. "We might know if we could find a way to communicate with our prisoner."

Darris took his lute in hand; though, true to Matrinka's request, he did not play. "Music has a language all its own, Sire. One anyone can understand."

Griff studied the instrument in his bard's hands, releasing Matrinka and rising. "Your music certainly does. It's worth a try."

Matrinka considered. Darris' songs could charm anything: animal, human, even god. He could transform his listeners through emotion, evoking calm or agitation, grief or wonder, anger or joy in an instant. If the prisoner knew any of the common languages, Darris could surely coax him to use it. But the more she heard about these invaders, the more Matrinka believed they came from another world, where an overlapping language seemed unlikely. Darris' gift allowed him to provoke emotions; but, unless his listener was also under a bardic curse, he had no way to respond to whatever Darris invoked. "There is another possibility."

Both men looked at her.

"There is a man in this world, I know, with an uncanny penchant for languages."

Darris blurted, "You mean Tae?"

Griff carefully restored the title, though he still, after nearly twenty years on the throne, seemed uncomfortable with his own. "High ruler of the Eastlands, King Tae Kahn of Stalmize?" His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head, dislodging his black mane of hair. "Surely, we have men here able to work closely with our prisoner and, eventually, find a way to talk with him and get answers."

"Surely," Matrinka agreed. "But none nearly as quickly as Tae. He learned Renshai from the babbling of his infant son, and even knows some barbarian. He can fluently read and write Bearnese, for example, and many other obscure languages as well."

Darris nodded briskly, clearly remembering their first encounter with Tae, who was then a desperate street urchin. They had needed information about the existence of a possible missing heir to Bearn's throne, and Tae had sneaked into the Sage's twelve-story tower to read the scrolls. His information had led them to Griff.

Matrinka continued to work on the king. "Tae's father started him on multiple languages at birth, for spying purposes. And Tae seems to have developed some special area in his mind that lets him-"

Griff held up a hand. "I believe you. I just don't know how we can ask a king to travel so far to help us without any benefit to his own kingdom. I can pay him, but I imagine he has plenty of riches of his own."

Matrinka had to agree. More than he can imagine using in a lifetime. "Tae will come." She felt certain of it. "For the chance to see old friends and for the challenge." She lowered her head, grief assailing her again. "And he should hear about… Kevral from… mutual friends."

Darris headed toward Matrinka instinctively, then stopped and looked at Griff.

The king did not seem to notice, lost in thought. "What do you think, Darris?"

"I think…" Darris said softly, his attention still fully on Matrinka. Her sorrow clearly pained him. "… Matrinka's suggestion is sound." He fluttered his hands just over the lute strings, walking the boundaries of teaching without singing. He had the right to voice an opinion, but he had to make sure he stated only known information. "As you said, we will need to win over our prisoner; so, when it comes to watching him, we should use only those guards capable of maintaining neutrality. It would be too easy, and utterly understandable, for the prisoner to suffer abuses."

Griff appeared shocked at the mere suggestion, though he did not argue.

"Meanwhile, I'll try to make friends and establish some communication with music. By the time the king of Stalmize arrives, we should have a firm foundation for him to work from."

Griff still did not look convinced. He spoke slowly, "Fine, then. I'll start working on a letter for the messengers to run to Stalmize." He headed for the door, then turned, "Darris?"

Darris froze in position, obviously torn between his obligation to his king and to soothing Matrinka.

Matrinka knew Griff had two reasons for wanting the bard's company. Griff had become much more assured in his speech, though he still dropped into simplicity at inopportune times. He needed the bard to oversee the letter, possibly even to write it. His other need was less obvious. Without Darris at his side, he would be forced to suffer Rantire again.

"Go," Matrinka instructed Darris in a whisper. "He needs you more."

Darris sighed softly, nodded stiffly, and followed his liege from the room.

King Tae Kahn of Stalmize wove, full-speed, through the banister railing, gliding through openings that seemed too small to accommodate a cat. Most of the servants ignored his antics, accustomed to them. Only the maid, Alneezah, stood by with a block of ice, prepared to nurse the bruises he occasionally stamped on his skull. So far, he had not let her tend him, believing he deserved whatever pain his mistakes earned him.

Imorelda sat on the bottom step, twitching her tail.*I miss him,* she whined for the twentieth time that day. It had become a mantra, her first thought in the morning and her last at night. She slipped it into every mental conversation.

Long past tired of the game, Tae responded without sympathy.*You're a cat, by all gods.You have the memory of a soupspoon.*

Imorelda turned a circle on the stairs, ending with her back toward Tae and her tail twining enormous S's of agitation.*I have a fine memory. Better than yours. And I miss him.*

Tae snorted, stopping his practice to stare at the tabby's back.*You don't even remember his name.* *Subikahn,* the cat snapped back immediately.*His name's Subikahn. And you made him go away.*

The echo of his son's name in his head irritated Tae more than he expected. He missed Subikahn far more than Imorelda could.*Leave me alone.*

The cat said nothing more, but her tail continued to lash.

They had argued this point too many times to do so again. As the days and weeks, then months, went by, Tae had tried to fool himself into thinking of this as just another normal separation. If he did not dwell on the memory, he could convince himself that Subikahn was in Erythane, basking in the love of his mother and the grueling lessons of his torke. But things always happened to remind him of the truth. When Imorelda was not moaning about Subikahn, his spies brought information about the escaped Renshai traitor. They had caught up to Talamir twice. Both times, the Renshai had defeated them, leaving a spray of corpses in his wake. Tae no longer wanted Talamir killed, but retrieved alive. The Renshai did not deserve a quick, painless death. He had caused too much suffering not to endure some himself.

Alneezah approached. "Sire, have you hurt your head?" She removed a chunk of melting ice from her bucket with tongs.

"Many times," Tae admitted. "But I'm fine, Alneezah. Thank you." As if to demonstrate, he dove through the railing again.

Alneezah watched, expressionless, the ice still clutched in her tongs.

Tae rolled to his feet. "Why do you do this, Alneezah?"

Alneezah tipped her head. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, it seems to me that you're the one doing something odd."

"Indeed." Tae could hardly deny it. "But I meant hover over me. Keep me safe. Nurse my wounds."

Alneezah shrugged, as if Tae had asked the most obvious question in the world. "If I didn't, who would, Sire? You have no mother, no sisters." She added, blushing as she did so, "No wife." She glanced at Imorelda. "And the love of your life has no hands."

Tae followed her gaze. "She's also mightily selfish." *Hey!*

"She's not selfish, Sire." Alneezah defended Imorelda against her liege. "She's a cat. She's only doing as cats do." *She's right, you know.*

The maid continued, "You love them, and they love them." She winked toward Imorelda. "It works out perfectly for everyone." *Funny and smart.* Imorelda lifted a long, silver-striped leg and licked it from hip to knee.*Marry her.* *I'm not going to marry anyone.* *I know.* Imorelda continued cleaning herself nonchalantly.*And that's half your problem.* *Half?* *The other half is too complicated for a mere human to understand.* *Is it?* *Yes.* Imorelda started on the other leg, clearly with no intention of elaborating.

It occurred to Tae he had best not press. He was in no mood to listen to a litany of complaints. However, he could not help teasing,*Well, I haven't exactly seen you with any toms.* *You certainly haven't seen me mooning over my best friend's tom for the last eighteen years. A tom I can't ever have.*

Tae got the message, and it fueled his irritation.*I'm not mooning over… her.* *Her name is Kevral, and you are.You've been using her as an excuse not to get close to other human beings.* *I'm close to you.* *I'm not a human being.*

You sure think you are, but you're far more irritating. Tae did not send that message to the cat.*I'm close to my father.* *On and off. Love and hate.* *I'm very close to my son.* *Not anymore.*

Battling a sudden urge to kick Imorelda down the stairs, Tae turned his attention to Alneezah. More to prove the cat wrong than from any personal reason, he asked, "Are you free for lunch?"

Alneezah froze in position. Her nostrils flared. Unobtrusively, she glanced over her shoulder, apparently looking for the recipient of the king's invitation.

Amused by her antics, Tae leaned against the banister. "I mean you, Alneezah. Are you free for lunch?"

"Am I free, Sire? Me?"

Tae had never seen Alneezah so flustered before. Usually, she seemed utterly unflappable, meeting even the most bizarre accidents with humor and commonsense. His brows inched upward in question.

"I suppose so, Sire. I mean, I guess that depends on you. I work for you. Am I free?"

Tae rubbed sweat from behind his neck with a hand. "I don't need any ice right now, so it would appear so. Will you join me?"

"For lunch?"

"Yes." The conversation amused Tae, took his mind off his troubles for the moment.

"In the kitchen?"

Tae never worried about where he dined. Often he skipped meals completely. "If you prefer. Or, we could take our meal in the courtyard."

Alneezah finally smiled, an attractive gesture for its open genu ineness. "The courtyard will work fine, Sire. Would it be all right if I prepare the food myself?"

The request caught Tae off guard. For an instant, he succumbed to dark instincts he could never quite shake. Could she have chosen to spend so much time around him in order to gain his confidence? It would prove simple enough to poison his food when she already had her hands in it.Tae belittled his own paranoia. That's right, stupid. An assassin spends years winning me over, then warns me before killing me. He trusted his judgment when it came to people, more so than anyone else's. Alneezah was exactly what she appeared to be.

"That depends, Alneezah. Are you a good cook?"

She laughed. "The best."

"The best, huh?" Tae headed up the stairs to change. "Then how can I possibly refuse?"

Imorelda yawned, stretched, and followed Tae. He expected her to gloat; but, instead, she brought back the thread of their previous conversation.*You know why I haven't taken a tom?*

Though Tae had never thought much about it in the past, he now discovered he had many theories. They included her tight bond to him and the realization that any other cat might seem too stupid in comparison for her to waste her time with them. *Because if I filled this castle with kittens, as my mother did in Bearn, you would throw me out on my gorgeous, pointy, little ears.* Imorelda shook her head.*That place is overrun with scores of moronic purrers.*

Tae turned, brows arched.*You should be careful what you call them. They are your brothers and sisters, after all.* *Grandnieces and grandnephews. Great great great grandnieces and grandnephews.* Imorelda made a snorting sneeze.*Basically, strangers.*

It amused Tae to see how his own personality seemed to have shaped Imorelda's. Mior had had a much sweeter mistress and a temperament to match.*Well, Matrinka can hardly kick out Mior's descendants, can she?* He continued up the stairs.

Imorelda ran up beside him.*I would. Cavorting amongst themselves and acting like plain old cats.They're an embarrassment to the lineage.* *What are you saying, Imorelda? That if you had kittens, I could just give them away?* *After a couple of months, of course.We could hardly keep them all running around the castle marrying their brothers. They need to make their own lives.*

Tae could scarcely believe what he was hearing.*And, yet, you're still chiding me for sending my full-grown son out into the world.*

Imorelda had no problem with the incongruity. Apparently, she did not even see it.*I miss him,* she said.

Tae sighed and finally admitted.*Imorelda, I miss him, too.*