Flight of the Renshai

CHAPTER 28

Darby chose a compact chestnut gelding with an easy disposition, a decision that pleased Ra-khir. The boy had a reasonable eye for conformation, movement, and soundness; the chestnut would manage long distances at a comfortably fast pace. Its more subdued color would blend into background field and forest, though that seemed a minor concern given that he rode alongside the snow-white, beribboned beacon that was Silver Warrior. And a gelding would not distract the knight's stallion with challenges or heat cycles.

Though high summer, the day remained cool as they rode in silence along the packed dirt roadway, traveling ever eastward along the Southern Mountain range. It would take weeks to reach the passes that would bring them to the Western Plains, the ancient site of the Great War; and, from there, into the Eastlands.

Hoofprints pocked the roadway, and the recent breakage of sideline foliage told Ra-khir they would not have to travel nearly that far. A large group had passed by recently, and he would have bet everything he carried that the sign was left by the Renshai. Like any crowd that included children and a limited number of horses, they traveled much more slowly than a pair of horsemen. And Ra-khir saw evidence that they'd stopped more than once to crash through the brush and, probably, practice sword maneuvers.

Little conversation passed between them. Ra-khir saw no reason to burden Darby with his family problems, and the boy kept his curiosity well-hidden. It seemed better to Ra-khir to demonstrate the ways of knighthood to his new charge rather than preach them. Words had little impact compared to actions, and Darby would suffer enough long-winded speeches in his future to make up for every moment of blessed silence. The Knights of Erythane participated in the formal events of both kingdoms and had to learn to remain in position through the most pompous, boring, and repetitive proceedings known to humankind.

Midday came and went, with Ra-khir choosing to remain in the saddle as they ate. With each hoof fall, they drew closer to their goal, and he would rather come upon the Renshai in twilight than darkness. Any one of them could make short work of the knight and his charge, and they would need little excuse to do so.

The strategy paid off. Shortly past sundown, Ra-khir found a huge hole in the roadside plant life where a multitude had broken through, clearly to find a campsite. Bits of fur clung to thistles and branches, scraped from the flanks of horses. Motioning Darby behind him, Ra-khir plunged through, winding Silver Warrior between the tree trunks and copses. Soon, he could hear the sounds of muffled conversation, sword blades slamming together, and whetstones rasping against steel.

Ra-khir found himself so focused on these welcome sounds that Darby's whisper startled him. "We're not going to fight this army, are we?"

Ra-khir smiled. We wouldn't last long. "No. These are friends."

Relief washed across Darby's face, displacing a greenish tinge. "I'm so glad to hear that, sir."

As they drew nearer, Ra-khir held his stallion to a slow pace, kept his hand from his hilt, and made no attempt to hide or move quietly. He would give the Renshai no reason to assume he meant them any harm.

Though he risked a kick, Darby kept his horse directly on Silver Warrior's tail.

Ra-khir brushed past a clump of thistles to get his first look at the camp. Renshai were scattered amidst trees and across a small field. Many were engaged in practice skirmishes with one another that looked deadlier than most wars. Others sat cleaning or sharpening blades.

Ra-khir rode up to a relaxed group tending their weapons. They all certainly noticed him, yet they made no move to challenge him. Their composure sent a shiver through Ra-khir. Darby might see it as a strange and cool disinterest, but Ra-khir knew better. These Renshai simply did not see the two newcomers as a threat. Any of them believed they could dispatch the two horsemen without bothering to prepare.

Ra-khir recognized all of them but remembered the names for only two of the five, a man and a woman of similar age to his sons. "Hello, Ashavir. Hello, Tarah. Hello, other Renshai."

Recollection flashed across their faces, and the two identified by name both smiled.

"Well, hello, Calistin's father," Ashavir said in greeting. The Renshai often referred to him in this manner, and almost always in regard to Calistin rather than Saviar. Though it seemed disrespectful, as though his name were not worth learning, Ra-khir knew the Renshai intended it as a compliment, linking him with the Renshai's greatest warrior. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I've come to visit my sons." Ra-khir also grinned, trying to make the request sound casual. He expected them to laugh. He had implied traveling an inordinate distance for conversation over tea.

But the smiles faded from all of the Renshai's faces. The ones not addressed returned to their business. Tarah glanced toward the center of camp, and Ashavir cleared his throat.

Ra-khir's heart seized in his chest. Their evasiveness suggested he would not find his boys here, and Ra-khir could think of only one reason why. Killed by Northmen? Both of them? He closed his eyes. Gods, no. Don't let that be true. He had already considered the possibility, but he now realized he had never actually believed it.

"You'll need to talk to Thialnir about that," Ashavir said carefully. "He's center camp, working on a fire."

Ra-khir knew better than to question further. It would only waste time. His chest felt as if someone had filled it with boulders, and it took longer than it ever should to get Silver Warrior headed in the indicated direction. His thoughts narrowed to a single channel. Saviar, dead. Calistin, dead. Didn't say "good-bye." His heart already accepted the inevitable, its beat unsteady; but his brain would not allow him to believe until he heard those precise words.

The fire was already blazing when Ra-khir arrived. Massive Thialnir stood among many other Renshai, surrounding the corpse of a deer. Several had knives in hand as they debated how and whether to take the fur off the beast before searing it. Under other circumstances, the conversation might have amused Ra-khir. The consummate swordmasters were hopeless when it came to such simple tasks as hunting and cooking. He wondered how they had even caught and felled the beast. Probably surprised it and fell upon it with swords.

At Ra-khir's approach, the Renshai turned toward him, en masse. Ra-khir dismounted and addressed Darby. "Show them how to skin a deer, would you please?"

With a nod, Darby dismounted and headed toward the corpse. Ra-khir turned his attention to the Renshai. "I need to speak with Thialnir. In private."

The enormous leader of the Renshai seemed relieved to let a boy stranger take over his task. He rubbed his hands together, dislodging chunks of dirt, and walked toward Ra-khir.

Swiftly, Ra-khir whipped the bridle from Silver Warrior to allow the hungry stallion to graze. He did the same for Darby's chestnut before heading off to a secluded spot with Thialnir. "My sons…" he started, before they had even finished walking beyond earshot. "… are they here?"

Thialnir did not make Ra-khir wait. "No, Ra-khir, they're gone."

"Gone?" Ra-khir needed more. The Renshai rarely used euphe misms, especially for death.

"Calistin rode north to demand the battle that should have been his to fight."

Ra-khir inhaled sharply in sudden understanding. "He's riding into thousands of enemies to challenge Valr Magnus?"

Thialnir smiled, which seemed inappropriate to Ra-khir. "Did you expect otherwise, Sir Knight? Pen-fruit doesn't grow on hadongo trees, and aristiri hawks don't hatch from lizard eggs."

Ra-khir managed only a slight upward twitch of the corners of his mouth. It was more of a tolerant smile than an amused one. "I get it. You're saying Kevral was a maniac, so I should expect the same from my boys."

"Kevral?" Thialnir reared his head backward in exaggerated surprise. "Kevral was simply one of many brave and talented Renshai. The maniac, as you so eloquently put it, is Calistin's father."

Me? Ra-khir did not know what to say.

"As I understand it, you single-handedly declared war on the Westlands' largest city."

"Well, yes, but-"

"And engineered a prison break through the high kingdom's impossible maze."

"That was-"

"Looked upon Valhalla while alive, volunteered to face unknown physical and magical dangers on multiple worlds, and even took Colbey Calistinsson's prized stallion."

"Now wait a second! I didn't take Colbey's horse. He gave it to me." Ra-khir realized how ridiculous that sounded even as the words left his lips.

But Thialnir only smiled more broadly. "I rest my case."

It was not worth arguing, even if it weren't all true. Ra-khir sighed. "You couldn't stop Calistin?"

"I could more easily have stopped the Ragnarok, I think." Thialnir's grin turned lopsided. "Besides, he disappeared immediately after the battle. There was no chance for talking."

Ra-khir knew he had no choice but to go after Calistin, to keep him from committing suicide out of a sense of obligation or, worse, retaliation. "And Saviar?"

Thialnir looked around Ra-khir toward the fire. "Saviar, I could have stopped. But I didn't."

Ra-khir blinked. It sounded like a foolish answer, but Thialnir was no fool. For the moment, he reveled in the knowledge that both boys had survived the battle and let Thialnir explain.

"His brothers needed him more than we did."

"Brothers?" Ra-khir felt certain he had heard the plural. "You mean Subikahn was here, too?"

As always, Thialnir got right to the point. "Yes, though not officially. He remained hidden."

Ra-khir's brow furrowed, and he fell silent as he pondered the significance of that information.

As if in direct response to the thought, Thialnir explained. "Calistin's too impulsive and would benefit from Saviar's common sense. And Subikahn returned without his torke, which means he's in some kind of trouble in the East. Given that he's a prince, it's likely serious; and his refusal to actually join us, his own people, suggests he may have murdered Talamir and can't face us. Saviar claims he got himself banished from the Eastlands."

"Subikahn banished from the East?" It seemed utterly impossible.

Thialnir's huge shoulders rose and fell again. "I don't know if it's true, but Subikahn and Calistin needed Saviar more than I did. So, I told him to go. It didn't take much encouragement."

Ra-khir loosed a pent-up breath, thrilled to learn all three of Kevral's boys still lived, at least until their own stupid, adolescent bravado got them killed. At any rate, they're together. United, it would take an army to bring them down.

"By the way,"Thialnir added, not quite conversationally. "I promised not to tell anyone about Subikahn."

Ra-khir froze. He raised his head ever so slowly to meet Thialnir's gaze. "Then… why did you tell me?"

Thialnir loosed a chuckle. "Because you needed to know. If I'd mentioned in advance it was something I wasn't supposed to pass along, you wouldn't have let me tell you."

"Of course not."

"But now that you know, you'll have no choice but to keep the secret, too. So, no harm done."

Though glad he knew, Ra-khir wished Thialnir had not deceived him. No Knight of Erythane would willingly become complicit in the breaking of confidences. But now that he had the information, Thialnir was right. He had to keep it confidential. "Not very nice, Thialnir."

Thialnir rolled his eyes. "Renshai aren't known for their sweet dispositions." He extended a hand in friendship. "Can I make it up to you with a good meal and a protected place to spend the night?"

Ra-khir knew he had a lot of work ahead of him. Tracking hundreds of people moving together to a known destination had proven easy. Following three youngsters randomly northward across the enormous Westlands would prove a much more formidable task. "I accept your hospitality with gratitude, though I question your honesty about that meal."

Thialnir's brows rose in question.

"Any group of men about to hurl an unskinned, unbutchered deer onto a blazing fire knows absolutely nothing about cooking. The stink of burning hair itself might kill us all, and it will take a week to cook through whole."

"Ah, but I didn't lie, Ra-khir.You and your…" he paused.

"Apprentice," Ra-khir filled in. "Darby."

"You and your apprentice are here to oversee the cooking; so, if you stay, you will get the good meal I promised."

Ra-khir could not deny the reasoning. "Thank you, Thialnir. We accept your kind, and honest, invitation. I consider it an honor to dine among Renshai."

Thialnir smiled but said nothing. The words were diluted by the realization that, not long ago, Ra-khir ate with Renshai every day. I consider it an honor to dine among Renshai. Likely, Thialnir had never heard such a thing before. And it pleased him.

Subikahn awakened with a start to find himself flopped over a deadfall, his brother's sword still clenched in his fist. He had no memory of falling asleep nor of what might have awakened him. The fire had burned down to ash and glowing cinders. Beside it, Saviar sprawled beneath piles of clothing, breathing in uneven snores and moans.

Breathing. That one realization reassured Subikahn. He sprang to his feet, shaking the last vestiges of slumber from his thoughts and movements. Only then, he realized it was a misplaced sound that had awakened him. He cocked his head, trying to rediscover it: the shuffle of a human footstep, a ladylike sneeze. Poking his head through the brush, he glanced along a path so lightly traveled he had assumed only deer walked it toward the pond from which he had filled their waterskins. Now, he saw a young woman striding along it, carrying an earthen jug.

Hel? Dressed in a light, swirling fabric, auburn hair billowing in the breeze, she little resembled the half-rotting, centuries-old depictions of the Underworld goddess Subikahn had seen. Yet, he also knew the gods had magic to shapechange. They also had plenty of minions.

Subikahn leaped onto the pathway, sword raised. "You cannot have him!"

The girl screamed, dropping the jug, which shattered in the dirt.

Torn between attacking and apologizing, Subikahn lowered his sword.

The girl ignored the broken crockery to focus fully on Subikahn. She turned sideways, raised her hands, and took a cautious backward step. "Stay away from me! I'm warning you!" A breathy quality stole all threat from her tone. Terror leached through her bravado. A misty outline, like heat haze, grew around her.

"Are you a minion of Hel?" Subikahn demanded, afraid to immediately discount the possibility. If he guessed wrong, he might doom his brother's soul.

"Am I… what?"

"A minion of Hel," Subikahn repeated impatiently. "Are you a minion of Hel?"

"A minion?"

"Yes!"

"Of… Hel?"

"Yes!"

The young woman paused. Even from a distance, Subikahn could see her eyes narrow. "Are you entirely moonstruck?"

Subikahn knew he had to sound insane, yet he dared not take a chance. He stuffed the sword into his belt. If she was a supernatural creature, she ought to disappear. Yet, she remained, although he could no longer see the shimmering vapor that had encompassed her. Not all was normal about this stranger. "I'm not crazy. I'm just protecting my brother."

"From minions of Hel?"

"Yes."

"And you're sure you're not-"

"I'm not crazy." Subikahn continued to watch her every movement. "And you know I have reason to be wary of you. You're not entirely… human."

The girl jerked up her head. "I'm not?"

Subikahn touched the hilt of Saviar's sword and again saw the haze he had previously noticed. When he released the weapon, the glow disappeared. "There's an unnatural fog around you. Is it magic hiding your true appearance?"

"A fog…" The girl's hands went to her mouth. Her demeanor tightened, seeming more excited than distressed. "You can see it?"

That being self-evident, Subikahn saw no reason to answer.

"My name is Chymmerlee." She pronounced it Kim-er-lee, with a faint trace of an accent Subikahn could not identify. "Look again. Can you still see the aura?"

Discreetly, Subikahn touched the sword and studied the figure in front of him. She had the lean, lanky appearance of a teen, perhaps a year or two younger than himself. Straight, red-brown hair fell just past her shoulders, cut short in layers around an oval face with large eyes and a pert nose. The shimmering haze had disappeared. "No," he admitted. "It's gone. And you look otherwise the same."

Chymmerlee took a few cautious steps toward Subikahn. "You're a mage."

For reasons he could not wholly comprehend, Subikahn took the pronouncement as an insult. "I am not."

She stopped again, this time near enough he could see that a few freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were a pale blue-gray. "You know nothing of magic?"

Subikahn tightened his grip on the hilt, warningly. "I know enough not to let someone who hides behind it near my injured brother." He crouched, prepared for battle. "I also know nothing human can cast spells, only gods and elves."

Chymmerlee made a clicking noise with her tongue, and her hand went to her mouth again. "Your brother's injured? And we're standing here bandying words?"

Subikahn remained in stance.

Chymmerlee closed her eyes, seemingly oblivious to the threat. Either she had powerful magic that she believed could get her safely past a readied Renshai or she was wholly ignorant of combat. "You thought I was… and your brother…" Her features opened in sudden understanding. "Your brother's not just injured, he's dying. And you thought I came to-"

"You cannot have him," Subikahn repeated.

"I don't want him!" Chymmerlee rushed toward Subikahn. "At least, not in the way you think I do."

The sword whipped up.

Chymmerlee stopped abruptly, loosing a frightened squeak. Finally, she recognized the danger. "Don't hurt me. Please. I'm trying to help."

Subikahn wanted to believe her. "How?"

"I have some healing skill. Not a lot, but if I can get him stabilized, we can transport him to my people. They might be able to save him."

Subikahn hesitated. It had to be a trick, yet hope gripped him with such suddenness he found himself shaking. "How do I know you're not going to kill him? That you're not a minion of-"

"-Hel?" she filled in. "Is he well enough I have time to convince you?"

No, Subikahn realized. His father had an uncanny ability to read people's intentions, one he at least partially shared. But he saw a vast difference between guessing the intent of a human stranger and an Outworlder. If she's sent by Hel, and I let her touch him, I've doomed him. But if she is what she says, and I don't, I've killed him. His intuition told him to trust Chymmerlee, but his mind warned otherwise. The only elf he had ever seen was the second wife of King Griff. It seemed a coincidence beyond believing that a friendly Outworlder would happen to show up at the same moment he expected a hostile one.

Chymmerlee said nothing. She no longer had the aura, and she looked inarguably human.

In the end, Subikahn trusted his heart. "Come on," he said gruffly. "But if you harm him, you will not live to gloat about it." With trepidation, he led her to the camp, focused on her every movement.

Chymmerlee moved with the grace of an acrobat, but not the awesome glide of an elf or goddess. Dutifully, she watched him for cues, attentive to the sword that he kept locked in his hand. If magic flared, Subikahn wanted to make certain he saw it at its earliest incantation.

Saviar still lay where Subikahn had left him, buried in a pile of laundry beside the failing embers. Attention on Chymmerlee, Subikahn cautiously removed each fire-warmed cloak, tunic, or undergarment and dropped it into a heap beside the sleeping figure. The last layer was damp, soaked through with sweat, and pulled free to reveal the pallid figure beneath it. Saviar's wet clothing clung to his finely-chiseled muscles. His hair hung in limp, red strands.

Chymmerlee spoke for the first time since the pathway, in the awed whisper usually reserved for religious ceremonies. "He's beautiful."

It was a common reaction, and true, yet it seemed remarkably out of place. To Subikahn, his twin looked hideous: his breaths rattling, his skin sallow, his lids fluttering strangely over glazing eyes.

Chymmerlee sank to her knees beside Saviar, Subikahn hovering like an anxious father. She raised a hand, and a faint glowing outline appeared around it.

In a flash, Subikahn threw himself between them, sword at Chymmerlee's throat.

She staggered backward with a desperate whimper, her features twisted in a mask of terror, her arms drawn tightly against her.

"What are you doing?" Subikahn demanded. "That was magic."

Frozen in position, clearly afraid to move, Chymmerlee stared wide-eyed at Subikahn. "Of-of course it was magic. How-how else did you expect me to help someone this far gone?"

How else, indeed? Subikahn had not thought that far ahead. Every healer he had ever known used herbs to treat their patients. He lowered the sword but remained between the sorceress and his brother. "How will I know if it's healing magic… or murder?"

Chymmerlee's arms fell back to her sides. The fear drained from her face, replaced by a grim determination that made every freckle stand out. "We haven't time for a dissertation on types of magic, and I didn't come here to be assaulted. I'm trying to save your brother's life. Are you going to stand aside or not?"

She had a point Subikahn could not deny. Either he trusted her and let her work, or he dispatched her. No one could succeed at anything under the conditions he had created. Subikahn stepped aside, jamming the sword back into his belt. "Just don't hurt him. Please." He knew he sounded pathetic, but he found it impossible to do otherwise. "Please. My twin means everything to me."

Chymmerlee stiffened, clearly startled, but she moved back toward Saviar and knelt beside him. Once again, the glow surrounded her palms. She glanced warily at Subikahn, who deliberately raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. Apparently satisfied, she drew circles over Saviar's still form before stopping directly over the bandages encircling his leg. She looked up. "May I take these off?"

Subikahn nodded stiffly, reassured by the question. If she had intended to steal his soul, she would not need to worry about such details.

Chymmerlee unwound the bandages. As each layer fell away, the stains became larger and darker, until the last pieces came free, releasing a torrent of red-brown pus. The edges of the wound had blackened, and snakelike bands of scarlet wound under his tunic and down to his toes. Saviar stiffened slightly and loosed a coarse grunt, but he did not otherwise move. His eyes remained closed.

"This wound has festered badly."

"I know," Subikahn said softly. "I know. Is there anything you can do?"

Chymmerlee's expression revealed nothing, and a year seemed to tick past before she answered, "I'll try." Her hands hovered over Saviar's leg, shining brightly, and every movement left a sharp trail of light. "I'll need some quiet time. Why don't you fashion a litter? My work will be for naught if we can't move him to a more capable healer."

Subikahn appreciated having something to do other than study her every movement and worry. Hel could not come for Saviar as long as Chymmerlee moved him always a few moments farther from death. He saw no real purpose to her request. He was not strong enough to carry Saviar alone, and it seemed unlikely she could do much to help. They might manage to drag him short distances, with great effort, but it would take a month to reach even the nearest town.

When Subikahn returned with an armload of sturdy wood, Saviar did not appear much different. The flow of pus had stopped, though whether because Chymmerlee had staunched it or the amount trapped in the bandages had run its course, he did not know. The edges of the wound did seem more purple than black, and the red streaks looked, perhaps, a trifle less angry. Saviar continued to sleep. He no longer grunted, and his chest rose and fell in regular breaths. Though he had hoped for more, Subikahn would take whatever help he could get. Without Chymmerlee, Saviar would not have lasted the day.

Subikahn crouched at his brother's head, peeling away copper-colored hairs sweat-plastered to a forehead that still felt dangerously fevered. He stared at Chymmerlee, suddenly feeling desperately indebted and ashamed. He wanted to apologize but worried that talking might interrupt her concentration. He had so many things he wished to say, so many questions to ask. But, for now, he concentrated only on his project.