Flight of the Renshai

CHAPTER 19

As usual, Calistin had no idea what was bothering his brother, nor did he waste much thought on wondering. Instead, he wandered out over the camp turned battlefield, glad that Treysind chose not to follow him. Apparently, the Erythanian no longer saw any danger to his hero in the situation and needed some time alone to process all that had happened. The truth never occurred to Calistin: Treysind remained seated on the deadfall, nostrils filled with the reek of blood and open bowel, mind saturated with death, and vomiting every scrap in his gut.

As Calistin wound his way between the corpses, his anger grew. He recognized colleagues and teachers amongst them; and even children had not been spared. They lay in gruesome poses, features locked into determined grimaces and, sometimes, even battle-mad smiles. Swords lay, dishonored, upon the ground, steeped in the entrails of enemies. Blood still oozed from the freshest wounds. At last, he found the one he sought, a young woman of sixteen named Sitari. She sprawled across two other bodies, both Northmen, the portion of scalp over her right ear torn open, trailing a gleaming white hunk of sinew and skull and exposing brain tissue purple with clots and dirt.

Calistin had heard her death cry as he tussled with seven opponents, too far away and too late to come to her aid. She had continued fighting surprisingly long after a wound that could have taken down a mountain lion. He had listened to her high-pitched battle calls in the distance, strange and determined. Now, he stared at her body, so lifelike in death, still shockingly desirable. He had never told her how he felt about her, though he hoped she had known. She had treated him with the same starry-eyed reverence as the others.Yet, there had been so much more to their relationship, at least in his mind. She was the one in most of his adolescent fantasies, though he did not yet have the development, or the social skills, to act on them.

"Good-bye Sitari," Calistin whispered, then looked up toward the heavens. In the morning, she would awaken in Valhalla to the first of an eternity of battles. All day, she would fight the other souls of the bravest and most worthy of the dead. In the evenings, the "survivors" feasted, and they all came back to life in the morning to battle again. It was the fate every Renshai desired. Someday, he knew, he would see her there.

Calistin glanced around for Sitari's sword, planning to honor it, only to find it partially jutting from the abdomen of a Northman. The man still had enough energy to paw at it aimlessly, like a turtle turned on its back so long its feet continue to paddle long after it already believes itself dead. With a single step, Calistin came to his side and jerked the blade free.

A rush of filthy-looking blood followed. The Northman hissed in agony.

Calistin pointed at Sitari with the blade. "Did you kill this woman?"

The Northman took a ragged breath, and scarlet trickled through his teeth. "I killed… her." He sucked in more air. "And the bitch… killed me. It would seem… we're even."

Calistin kicked him. Blood dripped from the blade in his hand to mingle with the stream leaking from the dying man. "You're not going to Valhalla."

"I believe…" A glaze covered the blue eyes, and he did not meet Calistin's gaze. "… I am."

"Not after I dismember you." It was a forbidden act, Calistin knew, the one that had first gotten the Renshai banished from the North. At the time, all Northmen believed only the soul of an intact corpse could ever reach Valhalla. The Renshai had cut apart enemies as a means to dishonor them as well as to demoralize their fellows. In the last century, however, it had become common knowledge that missing a body part did not bar a brave warrior from Valhalla.

"Do it, Renshai," the Northman gurgled. "End this."

Calistin hated the Northman's defiance. He wanted a show of cowardice, anything to prove the man unworthy of a warrior's greatest reward. "You'll scream like the craven you are. And, missing pieces, you won't find Valhalla."

The Northman gasped for his last breaths. "Not… true."

"Are you sure?" Calistin dropped to a crouch beside him. "Are you quite sure? Because you're risking your eternal soul." He preyed upon that last shred of doubt that exists in every mind. No matter how fervent a man's certainty about magic, about the supernatural, he always carried a shred of doubt buried somewhere deep in his psyche. There, and only there, be monsters. "I'm a Renshai, remember? Demons, you call us."

Something sparked briefly through the dying man's eyes.

Was that a hint of fear? Calistin allowed himself a smile. "And demons know how to damn."

The Northman's lids slid closed, and he managed only four more words: "I am not afraid." As the last left his lips, his entire body suddenly relaxed, releasing a wash of blood.

Abruptly angrier than he could ever remember, Calistin hacked at the corpse's neck until bone cracked beneath the blows. He did not quit until every last tendon and shred of flesh separated, and the head rolled free of the body. Only then, he felt a presence behind him and whirled, still clutching Sitari's sword. A Valkyrie stood in front of him.

The figure towered over Calistin, enormous, swathed in armor, yet still oddly and desirably feminine. A shield lay strapped across her left arm, a sword swung at her hip, and a spear lay thrust through her belt. She stepped uncomfortably close, seeming not to notice Calistin at all.

"No!" Calistin shouted.

The Valkyrie stopped, glanced around them, then back at Calistin. Then, apparently believing he addressed someone else, she started toward the corpse again.

Calistin stepped solidly between them, stuffing Sitari's sword into his belt near the left sheath that held the weapon his mother had given him. The gesture smeared fresh Northman's blood across his tunic, but he would not allow Sitari's blade to touch the ground again, to further dishonor it. "You cannot have him."

The Valkyrie blinked. She stared at Calistin.

Calistin met her gaze directly and with level violence.

"Human child, you have no right to interfere with Valkyries. The battlefield souls are ours to take as we see fit."

"This one," Calistin said firmly, "you may not have."

The Valkyrie roared, "Get out of my way!" She tried to step around him, but Calistin moved with her. In a blink, he had freed both of his swords and held them at her throat.

Surprise flashed through her eyes, then disappeared. She seemed not to notice the bared steel at her neck. "Little man, you have pluck. But you are braver than you are wise." She studied him over his swords, ignoring them as she might twigs in a child's grubby fists. She raised a hand to bat them away, but Calistin only tightened his attack and hoped she would not force him to draw blood. "What a pity and a waste you have no soul."

Calistin had no idea what she meant, but it sounded like an insult. "You cannot have him," the Renshai repeated.

Apparently, the blades finally bothered the Valkyrie, because she back stepped and drew her own enormous sword.

Excitement rushed through Calistin. Even tired from his recent battles, even enraged by her taunts, he relished the chance to fight a creature of such stature. He withdrew just enough to make the battle a fair one, to give her a chance to strike first.

The Valkyrie obliged, taking a sweep that showed remarkable speed for such an oversized blade. Calistin dodged it gracefully, then bore in for an attack of his own. To his surprise, size seemed not to hamper her at all. She moved with the dexterity of a Renshai, avoiding his attack and returning one of her own with lightning speed.

Calistin laughed, thrilled to finally find an opponent with skill rivaling his own. He caught the attack on one blade, only to find it stronger than he anticipated. Driven a step backward, he twisted to bring himself out of line with the corpse. Bad footing had turned many a battle tide.

Pressing her advantage, the Valkyrie struck again. This time Calistin parried, managing a crisp riposte with his mother's sword that the Valkyrie redirected. Again, she bore at him. Calistin dodged, lunged, and drove for another furious, two-bladed assault that the Valkyrie met with a flurry of defense.

Joy suffused Calistin as he fought the first real battle for his life. He could die; she might actually best him, and that realization brought an excitement he could barely fathom. The Valkyrie went on the offensive now, jabbing and sweeping with remarkable speed and skill. Calistin dodged and parried, avoiding blocks, with the memory of her strength still strong in his mind. He drove in relentlessly, with one sword, then the other, drawing the combat closer, trying to take advantage of his smaller size and shorter weapons. Clearly anticipating his intentions, the Valkyrie kept her steps always sideways and backward, mindful, like Calistin, of the many obstacles around them.

At last, Calistin managed a studied cut beneath the left sleeve of her byrnie that sliced undertunic and flesh. Blood trickled from the opening, winding down her wrist, between her fingers. The Valkyrie stiffened, clearly startled by the wound, opening herself to another attack that she barely remembered to defend.

"Who are you?" she demanded, batting aside both of his weaving blades. "Who in darkest, dampest, coldest Hel are you?"

Calistin wove a bold web of attack. "Calistin Ra-khirsson of the tribe of Renshai."

The Valkyrie blocked the sword in his right hand, Kevral's, the one with which he had injured her. She seemed less concerned with the other, which scratched harmlessly across the links of her byrnie. "Renshai," she said, without the hatred that seemed to drip from the word when others spoke it. "Your death will be a pity."

"Yours more so," Calistin returned as he fought. Renshai training taught him never to converse in battle; it interfered with concentration. That small lapse had also turned the tides of battles. "I do not intend to lose." He dove for an opening, more interested in bringing the fight in close than in actually scoring a hit. He became suddenly aware of another presence, but his instincts told him the second bore him no threat.Yet.

A female voice cut over the din of combat, obsessively compelling. "Calistin Raskasson, stop immediately!"

Calistin nearly had a seizure in an effort to fight the compulsion. If he went still, he died.

The Valkyrie lowered her sword.

Only then, Calistin ceased his own assault, retreated to a safe distance, and turned to face the speaker. Habit drove him to correct her mispronunciation of his father's name, but the sight of her struck him dumb. Long, honey-blonde hair fell to her shoulders in thick, burnished waves, outlining a perfect face. Every feature seemed chiseled by an artist so loving he spent years on every cut. Usually, art sought the beauty no reality could ever capture. Here, it seemed certain, no man could improve upon her, no mere craft of mortal making could ever capture such breathtaking exquisiteness. Lashes, dark despite her pallor, curled from large eyes the color of brilliant sky. Her nose was perfectly straight and of just the right size. Her lips were full, moist, and red as berries. Her neck was delicate, white, and lineless, and enhanced by a choker of fluid gold incised with twisting, weaving patterns. She had strangely powerful shoulders that suited her. Generous, vivacious breasts began a series of curves that precisely defined proper female proportions. Long, shapely legs completed the picture. The simple dress she wore seemed unworthy of her, and the sword at her hip only made him desire her more.

Calistin found himself sinking to the ground in front of her, as if he faced royalty. He caught himself, turning the movement into a wary crouch.

"You will not interfere with Valkyries," she commanded.

"But she was about to take…" Calistin found himself gesturing dully. "He's not worthy of-"

Her voice was like music; he could listen to it forever. "It's not your job to decide who's worthy. That job belongs to Shrieking and her sisters." She made a movement toward the Valkyrie. Bracelets glimmered on her wrist, until they became lost beneath her sleeve.

When it came to words, Calistin knew he fought a losing battle. He sheathed his swords; they alone could help him, but he refused to attack the vision in front of him. "But he's… racist. A hater of Renshai, without just cause."

The woman smiled, as did the Valkyrie. At least, she made no further move toward the Northman. "Calistin, if the Valkyries limited themselves to those who like Renshai, Valhalla would contain only… well, probably only Renshai."

That sounded delightful to Calistin, exactly how a place like Valhalla ought to work, but he knew better than to say so. That would make him seem equally bigoted.

"I believe you know, Calistin, that the quality the Valkyries seek is courage. Valhalla is the reward for any warrior who dies bravely in battle."

"Yes, but…" Calistin pursed his lips. He was not used to mincing words. "Doesn't a man's character count at all?" Even as the question left his lips, it seemed wrong. It was the sort of thing one of his brothers might ask. Nevertheless, he continued, his own voice sounding odd in his ears, "His causes mean nothing?"

"Nothing," the woman confirmed. "Many a friendship has been formed in Valhalla. Some over days, others only over millennia. Your brother's sword is a testament to that."

Motfrabelonning. Calistin knew the story. "I…" He glanced at the Northman's headless corpse. "… won't…" He paused, knowing he now fought only a war of stubborn will that he could not win. "… don't think…"

"Calistin," she said firmly. "If you insist on interfering with Valkyries, the gods will have no choice but to smite you down."

Calistin's heart rate quickened, not from fear but from excitement. For a moment, he imagined himself surrounded by Frey, Heimdall, and Vidar, exchanging lightning sword strokes until their superior might destroyed him. He could think of no better, no more worthy, way to die. That would surely earn him a place in Valhalla.

"And that would be a terrible shame. It would wound your father deeply."

"My father knows I'm Renshai." Calistin still felt odd about the way he and Saviar had left Ra-khir, desperately grieving for, of all things, a Renshai. "He knows it's my mission, my destiny, to die in combat. What could please him more than me falling to the might of the gods themselves? Surely, the Valkyries would choose me, and I would have my fiercest wish, the only thing that really matters."

The Valkyrie called Hlokk, or Shrieking, finally spoke, "We never took men felled by Thor's thunderbolts nor shot down by Ullr's distant bow. And you, Soulless One, can never find Valhalla no matter how bravely you die."

It was the second time Hlokk had called him soulless. A sword thrust through his heart could not have shocked, or hurt, Calistin more. He glared at the Valkyrie, hands balled on his hilts, uncertain whether to scream, attack, or cry. Never before in his life had he felt helpless. "What do you mean?" he said, not trusting his voice above a whisper.

Hlokk did not answer, only stepped around Calistin and reached toward the fallen Northman.

Calistin rounded on the other woman, whose identity suddenly became desperately important. "What does she mean? And who are you?"

But the beauty had silently vanished in the moment he had looked away, leaving no sign she had ever existed. Calistin whirled back toward the Valkyrie, only to find her gone, too. "No!" he screamed. "No! No! No!" His blades cut the air where the women had stood, meeting no resistance. "Why would you-How can this be?" He launched into a crazed flurry of svergelse, his blades cutting the air all around him. "What did you mean? What did you mean?"

Brush crunched, and Treysind appeared suddenly at Calistin's side, taking no apparent notice of the flying steel for the moment. "Hero! Hero! What's wrong, Hero?" His distress was tangible. "Is ya hurt?"

Calistin howled in frustration and anger. His insides felt like liquid fire. He swung wildly, sending Treysind into panicked retreat. He wanted to shriek at the heavens until his throat turned raw, to fight enemies until one finally claimed him, to die hacked beneath the blows of a million swords. "I do have a soul, you foolish wench. I… have… a… soul!"

"A course ya gots a soul, Hero." Treysind soothed from a distance, hand over his mouth and nose to filter out the odors of death. "Ya's got more spirit than any four other mans tagether."

Calistin froze, then turned to stare at his unwanted sidekick who now watched from behind a tree trunk.

"Ev'ry human gots a soul," Treysind continued. "Ya is human, ain't ya, Hero?"

The question seemed utter nonsense. "Do I look like a horse to you? Of course I'm human."

Treysind shrugged, hand still clamped to his face. "Then, ya was born wit' a soul. Did ya sell it ta demons?"

"No!" The very suggestion enraged Calistin. It was exactly the accusation he expected to hear from some lazy fool who would rather attribute skill to nefarious magic than to credit long hours of practice and hard work.

"Is ya gived it 'way ta some magic creature?"

"Gived it…?" Calistin shook his head. "What nonsense is this? Certainly not."

"Then,"Treysind announced simply, "ya still gots it.Which means ya do gots a soul."

"Of course I have a soul!" Calistin turned his back on Treysind, as if the boy had initiated his doubts. Then, realizing how stupid that sounded, he shrugged and laughed. "Everyone has a soul." But his attempts to shrug off the Valkyrie's insult, even shouted out in anger, fell short. Restlessness assailed him, overcoming the fatigue of his many battles. Calistin did not know how, but he had to prove it. "I need some time alone."

"I's keepin' m'distance, Hero," Treysind promised. "We's all needs some sleep." He started to glance around the woodlands, then stopped. His gut heaved.

Calistin ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, allowing it to fall in a random array of boyish spikes. It was just long enough to annoy him; he looked a bit older with it closely cropped. Treysind misunderstood. Calistin was not talking about a short break to rest and regroup. What he needed was time, and a lot of it. His last thousand attempts to rid himself of the boy had failed, and he expected no better results now. Nevertheless, he felt the need to try. "Treysind, don't you think your debt to me is paid?"

Treysind looked at his own feet, seeming more uncomfortable than confused. "What ya meanin'?"

"I mean, you saved my life many times over today." It was not true, but Treysind had to believe it to justify his intrusions during combat. "We're even now, right?"

Treysind released his hold long enough to shake his head vigorously. "It ain't a matter a 'even.' Ya saved m'life. Now I's obil'gated ta keep ya from dyin'. Fo'ever."

"Forever!Your mission is doomed." Calistin laughed, the humor a strangely welcome relief. "No one lives forever. Even with the Great Treysind as his bodyguard."

"Tha's my intentshin," Treysind replied, with all seriousness. "Pa'haps yas'll be tha first."

"Second," Calistin replied. "Because to protect me forever, you'll have to live forever, too."

"Whither or not I's succeed's in tha hands a tha gods." Treysind finally smiled at a realization. "What, by tha way, live… fo'ever."

"Yes, but I am not a god." Calistin's own words sparked a revelation. But I think I recently spoke to one. He suddenly thought he knew the identity of the woman, and it made him decidedly uncomfortable. Golden necklace, unbelievable beauty. Could that have been Freya? The urge to drop to his knees became unbearable. He was seized with the undeniable need to pray. "Treysind, could you check and make sure my brother came through the battle?" It was a ruse to rid himself of the boy. Calistin had spoken to Saviar since the bulk of the hostilities had ended, and Treysind knew it.

Nevertheless, nodding vigorously, Treysind rushed to obey his Hero's request. Calistin dropped to the ground. And prayed.

Treysind hurried through the brush, avoiding bodies, nose pinched against the horrific odors that defined the death and destruction around him: feces and blood, metal, sword oil, urine, and rancid fat. It all blended into a hideous, overpowering stench that threatened to overwhelm him. Before long, he could taste it, and plugging his nose seemed more folly than sense.

The forest around had gone quiet. Many small pyres burned, surrounded by Renshai with bowed heads, praying for the souls of their dead, for their own survival, for courage and skill in future battles that would likely see them in their burning companions' places. Treysind knew his own fate was not much different. He had bound himself to Renshai, and their enemies would not differentiate him from them. They would assume him a Renshai, with his red hair and pale eyes, and they would slaughter him with the same exuberance. And yet, Treysind could not leave. Despite the constant threat of murder, despite their many battles, the Renshai had become his people, the only ones he had ever considered his own. Treysind had never felt so safe, so happy and secure, as he did in Calistin's presence.

As the stench became a part of him, Treysind noticed it less. Even the sight of openmouthed bodies with wide, glazed eyes ceased to bother him anymore. He finally found the courage to rummage through the enemy's belongings. He took a short sword from the hand of a dead Northman, then slipped the belt and sheath from the corpse's bloating body. From another, he took a pack, tossing out spare clothing, washing supplies, and other unnecessary gear to stuff it to the brim with foodstuffs from every nearby pack. He also kept two utility knives he uncovered and a purse into which he threw every coin he found. Burdened by his booty, Treysind headed out to find Saviar.

Not far from the spot where they had assisted Calistin, Saviar and Subikahn continued the argument the recent battle had interrupted. Saviar found himself, once again, in a war of words that seemed unnecessary and blatantly foolish. "Subikahn, you're too bright to act this thickheaded. Now, of all times, the Renshai need to stay together."

"Agreed." Subikahn ran a finger along the knurling of his hilt. They had already cleaned and tended the blades in an irritated silence. "And, as long as they stay out of the East-"

"Which is the only place they can go." Saviar had bound the superficial wound on his calf and tied up his flapping sleeve.

"-lands, I will remain with them," Subikahn finished as if his twin had never interrupted.

"It's the only way they can go."

"And the only way I can't."

Saviar sprang for the loophole, "Except that, as a Renshai, you're also banished from the North and Westlands."

Subikahn's brows wormed upward. "Which means the only places I can legally go are the Faery Worlds and Asgard. And, since I'm not a contingent of elves who can open portals to other worlds, and the gods aren't rushing to invite me around to tea, I'm limited to those places humanly reachable."

"So," Saviar pressed, "since every part of the world is equally off-limits, it makes the most sense to remain with your brothers and your tribe."

"Yes."

Saviar's hopes soared. He finally seemed to have gotten through to Subikahn.

"Unless they choose to go eastward."

Saviar closed his eyes tightly, feeling his head begin to throb. "Subikahn."

"Yes?"

"Didn't we just establish that all directions are equally off-limits to you?"

"No."

Saviar opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. The gray light of evening still poured over a forest dark with bodies. Subikahn remained standing in front of him, looking more curious than alarmed. "A moment ago, you said 'yes.' Now it's no?"

"Yes," Subikahn said, the reply utterly ambiguous. "All off-limits, but not equally so. Because, if it comes to disdaining the laws of my enemies or of my father, I'd rather face the enemies. I respect King Tae Kahn far more than all of the Northmen combined; and I fear him more, too."

Saviar had to know. "What in deepest, darkest, coldest Hel did you do?"

Subikahn opened his mouth, then closed it in a deep sigh. "I can't tell you, Savi. I can't tell anyone."

"We shared a womb," Saviar reminded, not for the first time.

Subikahn returned a wan smile. "As I remember it, you hogged most of the space."

Stopped short by the comment, Saviar stared. Though neither of them could possibly remember, it had to have been true. He had been a much larger infant than his twin, and the disparity remained to this day. He probably currently outweighed his darker brother by nearly double. A smile wriggled across his lips before he could stop it, but he did manage to suppress laughter. "This is serious."

"Extremely." Subikahn sucked in another deep breath and released it slowly. "I thought my bond with my father was as solid as the mountains. I thought nothing I could say or do would harm it. And yet, look what happened." He met Saviar's gaze, eyes moist.

Saviar's blood seemed to turn to ice water. He could not imagine anything so terrible that it could damage the bond between twin brothers. Yet, a week ago, he would never have believed anything could sever a doting father like Tae from Subikahn either. Maybe he's right. Maybe it's better if I don't know. And yet, the idea irritated as much as troubled him. The entire world seemed to have gone crazy, and his family led the charge. His mother had made a foolish decision out of pride and derision, one that had ultimately taken her from her family and doomed the entire tribe. The infallible Knight-Captain had made a horrendous decision. Their once-brave father had allowed grief to turn him into puddled goo. And Subikahn had done something so unspeakably evil he could not share it even with his twin. Battered, nearly broken, abandoned by everyone he ever trusted, Saviar felt like crawling into a deep hole and remaining there forever.

Suddenly seized with the desire to hurt his twin, Saviar turned away and noticed a small figure moving toward them.

Always wary, Subikahn melted into the shadows, whispering. "Is that…?"

Saviar knew exactly what Subikahn intended to ask. "Yes, that's Treysind." He waited for the boy to approach before asking, "What can we do for you?"

The "we" apparently caught Treysind off guard because he looked around briskly until his gaze finally landed on Subikahn, still and silent against the bushes. "Hero sended me." He studied the half-Easterner cautiously. "He wanted me ta makes sure ya's was alrigh'."

"Really?" In no mood for family games, Saviar took the announcement with a grain of salt. "The Great Golden Idol of Renshai deigns to wonder if I'm alive or dead?"

Treysind glowered, the look odd on his young features. "A course he cares.Ya's his brother. He loves ya."

Saviar snorted. "The only person Calistin loves is Calistin."

"Hey!" Treysind grasped the hilt of his new sword awkwardly. "Tha's… tha's mean. It's insultin' ta… ta Hero."

"Yes, it is." Saviar forced himself to speak civilly, though it took an enormous effort of will. He was rapidly beginning to hate his entire family. When it came to human emotion, Calistin deserved every affront he could hurl; but Treysind was blameless. "I'm sorry I said that to you." It was the closest he could come to an apology, meager but apparently enough for Treysind, who nodded and uncurled his fist from the hilt.

"Hero really sended me ta make sure yas was well. He rilly do love yas." Treysind clearly believed it important that he make Saviar understand. "Honest. He's jus'… not rilly good at showin' it."

"He's not doing any worse than the rest of my stupid family," Saviar mumbled, quietly hoping Subikahn heard him.

"What?" Treysind apparently did not.

Saviar refused to repeat it. "Nothing. Why don't you take me to him? Right now, I'd like to be with someone who… loves me… who wants to be with me." He deliberately turned his back on Subikahn, but still managed to hear his twin muttering.

"Oh, stop acting like a baby."

"Go to Hel," Saviar whispered back savagely.

Apparently oblivious to the exchange, Treysind brightened noticeably. "I's sure Hero'd enjoy his brothers' comp'ny." He turned his attention to Subikahn. "Is yas coming, too, Hero's other brother?"

Subikahn stiffened. "I… no. How did you…? No. I have to go. Alone, apparently. The fewer people who know I'm here, the better." He glided silently into the brush.

Alone, apparently. Those words stuck with Saviar while the others faded. He can't be suggesting I accompany him. Can he?

Treysind narrowed in on a different phrase. "How's I knowin'… who yas is? Hero loves ya both. He talks 'bout ya, so's I knowed who yas was even wit'out meetin'." He grinned, clearly thrilled by his analysis. "I's bein' sure ta tell him ya's well, too."

"No!" Subikahn reappeared. "Didn't you hear me say I don't want people knowing where I am?"

"I tells Hero ever'thin'."

"Of course you do." Saviar could not help reveling in his twin's discomfort, though he knew it was wrong. His father would never approve of such wicked pleasure, nor his grandfather.Yet, at the moment, Saviar did not feel kindly disposed toward any of them. "And you should. It's not fair of Subikahn to expect otherwise."

Subikahn hissed just loudly enough for Saviar to hear, "You obnoxious, lumbering bastard." Then disappeared.

Exhausted, grouchy, mad at the entire world, Saviar followed Treysind in silence.