Flight of the Renshai

CHAPTER 40

The oldest child of King Griff and third-Queen Xoraida, Prince Barrindar stood on the sixth-floor balcony of Bearn Castle and surveyed the city below him in the twilight. His entire world for his sixteen years of life, Bearn had changed so completely in the past few months that he scarcely recognized it. The castle remained the central feature, carved from the very stone of the mountains; but tents and temporary buildings had sprung up all around it, as if overnight. He could still recognize the occasional business and cottage, but the people milling through the streets came in a larger variety of dresses, colors, shapes, and sizes than he ever knew existed.

Barrindar's gaze swept the ocean, where the pirates massed in a swarm of nearly identical ships. From a distance, they looked like enormous birds, their brown triangular sails spilling wind as they remained anchored in tight formation. No worldly ship had gotten through the harbor in more than a fortnight; the pirates owned the open water. Three hundred ships, someone had estimated, with crews of a hundred, more or less. Thirty thousand ferocious pirates massed for nothing but slaughter.

In contrast, the many and varied peoples that had come to Bearn seemed pitifully ragtag. Commanded by at least thirty different generals, it seemed impossible to keep them all simultaneously focused. Many had little or no training; decades had passed with nothing more serious than border skirmishes, feuds, and general rattling of sabers for those outside of Bearn. Many of the alliances, strained in the best of times, might fray or shatter in the fury and chaos of war.

Bearn had grown massively and far too quickly. In addition to the cramped military camps, tent cities had sprung up around the borders in vast semicircles that continued out to Erythane, Frist, and beyond. These housed Bearn's women and children, her elders, the tradesmen with no weapon training or skills who could better serve in professional capacities. Supply lines curved outward in every direction, far beyond the extent of Prince Barrindar's vision.

It occurred to him to wonder how the pirates kept themselves provisioned. Surely, their capture of merchant vessels, their killing of the crews and seizing of property were grossly inadequate to keep their bellies full, especially in the last month when no ships had dared to sail the waters and all trade came overland.

The lethal ocean. The thought raised memories of Prince Arturo's death and a flood of devastating sorrow. Only two months apart in age, the princes had played together since infancy, like twins. No two brothers had ever been closer, and the loss left a hole in Barrindar's heart he doubted anyone could ever fill. He felt alone, lost and betrayed by gods who had stolen his courageous half brother for no logical reason. A man like Prince Arturo, a good-hearted, able person who had seemed to Barrindar the most suitable to take over Bearn's throne, should never die without high purpose.

Barrindar wished he could fight the coming war in Arturo's place, hacking down enemies with the swift, strong strokes his half brother displayed in practice and Barrindar could only emulate. But he understood the practicalities that came with his position. He was sixteen, still a few years short of his full growth. His war skills were adequate at best, and the world could not spare the life of another Bearnian heir. With Arturo dead, Marisole slated for the bard's position, and Ivana barred from the lineage by her elfin blood, even if she possessed a full range of faculties, it left only Barrindar, his two little sisters, and Matrinka's youngest child in line for the throne. In the past, the staff-test, now the Pica Test, had failed dozens in the search for a proper king or queen. No one cared for the current remaining odds.

The prince's thoughts shifted from his own agonizing loss to those of the people around him. He wondered how many women sobbed quietly in their beds, how many children curled in helpless balls at the realization that their fathers, their mothers, and they themselves might die in hopeless, screaming terror.The coming war would claim many lives, and the unfairness of who it took had already reached Barrindar personally, with the loss of Arturo. If they won, they kept their land, filled with wailing widows and orphans. If they lost, every one of them died. Barrindar was not sure which was worse.

Light footsteps behind him could not rouse Barrindar from the torture his own thoughts inflicted. The bare thought of such misery cut him to the depths of his heart and soul. When he opened himself to the suffering of his people, it proved a burden he could scarcely bear. Tears filled his eyes, his chest squeezed shut, and the simple act of breathing became a laborious chore.

If the newcomer spoke to him, Barrindar did not know, too desperately lost in his misery. But, where no words or touch could penetrate, something else did. The light notes of a mandolin, soft but powerful, seemed to envelop him. And the sweet voice that followed drew him inexorably into another world.

She sang of war and pestilence, of grief and regret. The bitter-sweetness of Marisole's song came to him as emotion rather than words. Barrindar could not have recalled a single poetic lyric; he absorbed it as a thing inseparably whole, a heart-searing expression of reality. He surrendered to the sound, unable to escape it, drawn wherever it might take him.

Barrindar's ears rang with the clash of steel, and he became snared in a battle for his life. Though not a warrior himself, though he had never tasted real battle, the slash and parry still seemed strangely real. His powerful arms rose and fell with need. He knew only a courageous swell of patriotism, a need to protect his precious family and friends from the hordes of pirates that assailed them. Dragged to a mind-set Barrindar could never have found on his own, he discovered each victory brought a fresh wave of joy, an unshakeable certainty that he would survive. If his companions died, he would see to it they never, ever did so in vain.

Transformed into a valiant soldier, Barrindar found a song-world that turned battle into delight, that transformed desperation into driving courage. He would succeed because failure was unthinkable, impossible. These pirates were humans, albeit vicious ones, and they would fall to his blade like wheat to a scythe.The thrill of victory went from desire to reality. With the help of so many allies, Bearn won the war. Women embraced their triumphant warriors or consoled their hapless neighbors, regaling them with stories of fallen bravery.

Swept along by the song, Barrindar hurled himself into Marisole's arms. Impact knocked the mandolin to the ground, where it loosed a sour note. The song died instantly and, with it, the intensity of misplaced emotion it inspired. But Barrindar found himself lost in another. Marisole felt so fragile in his arms, a perfect porcelain doll that needed his protection. He held her close, suddenly excited in a new and more powerful way. Though blood sister to Arturo, Marisole had never seemed like a sibling to Barrindar as her brother always had. He had considered her more like a beloved cousin, perhaps because she resembled her Erythanian blood father while Arturo favored their Bearnian mother, Matrinka.

Marisole broke free and rescued her mandolin. Examining it carefully, she smiled and leaned it solidly against the low granite railing. "I'm glad you liked my song."

Freed from its spell, Barrindar stared at Marisole. Though tall for a woman, she barely reached Barrindar's chin. Her dark-brown hair, a bit too light for a full-blooded Bearnide, fell in a thick cascade, clipped together at the back. Her nose and lips were generous, her eyes a deep hazel, and her face soft and youthful. She had, only recently, turned nineteen; and the grim anticipation of the coming war had utterly eclipsed the celebration. "Your song was marvelous, as always, Marisole. But, right now, I'm driven by something else." Difficult words came with surprising ease, "I just never before realized how stunningly beautiful you are." It was a lie. He had noticed her beauty every moment of every day since even before Arturo's death, but he had only just found the courage to say so.

Marisole flushed from the roots of her hair to the tip of her chin and allowed him to draw her into another tight embrace. She wrapped her arms around him as well, and her touch felt as light and gentle as butterflies. If Barrindar squeezed just a bit harder, he could break her in half.

Barrindar buried his face in her hair. It held a hint of musk, the sweet, natural odor of Marisole. He had always found it pleasant; now, it drove him wild. "And you smell wonderful."

"But I haven't bathed in two days," Marisole protested. "And I'm not wearing any perfume."

"I know." Barrindar could not keep a hint of lust from his voice. "I like it."

Marisole pushed him away. "Barri, cut it out. We're… we're… halfway… siblings." Her words faltered. "Aren't we?"

Rebuffed and ashamed, Barrindar released her. He turned away to look out over the city again, and the grief her song had stripped away began creeping over him again. "Bloodwise, we're farther apart than our father and your mother. And the populace demanded they marry."

The observation got no immediate reply. Just as Barrindar thought Marisole had sneaked away to save them further embarrassment, she spoke, "You're right."

Barrindar thought he heard a hint of joy and relief in her tone, but worried he had only imagined it. He started to turn, then froze, afraid of the expression he might find on her face.Thoughts of courting women had come to him only in the last year, and Marisole had risen to his mind near the first. He did not understand why her response had become so urgently important to him, especially given the looming war. Or, perhaps, it was because of it. Insignificant as it seemed in the grand scheme of the world, he did not want to die a virgin.

"My father and mother are cousins." Oblivious to the turn of Barrindar's current thoughts, Marisole worried the original problem. "But my blood father isn't related to them at all. In fact, he's not even a Bearnide, which bloodwise, makes us…"

Since Marisole seemed incapable of finishing, Barrindar filled in the blank. "… distant cousins."

"Kissing cousins," Marisole added with a smile.

Now, Barrindar turned fully, unable to hide his own grin. Despite all the madness going on below him, perhaps because of it, he had discovered something important missing from his life. He reached for her again, cautiously this time. "Marisole, if Bearn survives this, if we survive it, maybe…?"

"Maybe," she repeated, rushing to his arms, "we shouldn't wait to find out."

Barrindar could not have agreed more.

Bearn's Strategy Room buzzed with conversations in several different tongues. Darris remained quietly at his king's right hand, trying to absorb every feature, every nuance of this historical moment. Nowhere in his research could Darris find a time when all the countries of the continent had united in a common cause. The nearest they had come was the so-called Great War, three centuries past, where the armies of the West and North had come together to battle the Eastlands. Now, even the Eastern king held a place of honor at the table.

Darris had convinced Rantire to remain outside the Strategy Room with the argument that a Renshai presence might antagonize the Northern forces. Alone, she would not have accepted his argument; Darris often suspected that Rantire was the Renshai word for "provocation." But King Griff had agreed with his bard/bodyguard and relegated Rantire to distant rooms and hallways.

Currently, the Strategy Room held fifteen men, whittled down from more than double that number. The room simply could not hold any more, so King Griff had forced the armies to come together under common generals and high commanders. Driven to information, Darris had managed to memorize them all under the guise of Griff 's need. Some, he knew well: King Humfreet of Erythane; Knight-Captain Kedrin; the Aeri General Valr Magnus, who had slain Kevral in battle; and King Tae from the Eastlands, still gaunt and bruised from his imprisonment. Others, Darris knew by reputation: General Markanyin of Pudar and General Sutton of the town of Santagithi who commanded the forces from Santagithi, Greentree, and Porvada.

The others Darris had only just met. They included five other Northmen, each representing a different tribe, and two Western leaders from small conglomerates of towns. More were on the way. King Griff had promises from the last three Northern tribes, another group of central Westerners, and the army of the distant Eastlands had not yet arrived.

For the sake of international harmony, King Griff stuck meticulously to the formalities of the meeting, though Darris felt certain that most of the leaders, including Griff himself, would have preferred to dispense with them. Only Knight-Captain Kedrin clung to every word and gesture.

Finally, Griff requested the first suggestion, which came from General Sutton. A large, well-muscled man with shrewd eyes, the representative of the most eastern portion of the Westlands spoke in a clear and booming voice. "What have we learned about this enemy so far? What are their priorities and intentions?" He used the Common Trading tongue, the only one they all shared.

For now, Darris knew, King Griff had no intention of mentioning the Kjempemagiska. Other than the people in the room at the time of Tae's report, only Kedrin had become privy to the information. They had all agreed to fight one battle at a time, to not allow the future threat of magical enemies hamper soldiers in their current war. Once they defeated the self-called alsona, Bearn and her allies could start worrying about and strategizing for the bigger war. By Tae's calculation, the Kjempemagiska had placed their faith squarely on their alsona. It would take time for them to muster for another war, time enough for the allies to celebrate victory, revise strategy, and attempt to recruit the elves. But first, of course, they had to defeat the alsona. Though he kept the thought to himself, Darris was not at all sure that was possible.

Griff addressed the question directly. "They intend to slaughter every person in our world and claim every bit of our land."

A short murmur swept the room. General Markanyin of Pudar spoke next, "How do we know this?"

"One man has managed to speak with them," the king of Bearn explained.

The general's head listed slightly to the left, and his brows knitted. In size, he rivaled the Bearnian king, a surprising feat. Average size for the bearlike Bearnides was enormous by the standards of other cultures. "Why don't we engage them in parley? Surely, the right person could convince them of the folly of-"

Griff cut him off. "They won't parley."

Knight-Captain Kedrin requested the floor with an archaic gesture, and Griff relinquished it with a faint sigh of relief. Had he not sat so close, even Darris would have missed it.

Kedrin took over, his voice commanding even at the volume of normal speech. "I'm afraid they don't even acknowledge the conventions of parley. They've slaughtered every man who came within reach of their weapons, no matter his gestures or flag."

"Except this one the high king spoke of." General Markanyin acknowledged Griff with a bow and a glance.

The knight dipped his head. "The one His Majesty spoke of only succeeded because the pirates he addressed were prisoners, the only two we've managed to capture in our years at war." He forestalled the obvious question, "They fight to their last breath, no matter the odds."

Grunts were heard throughout the room. Darris watched Kedrin formally give up the floor in the grand and arcane manner only the Knights of Erythane still remembered.

A knock sounded at the door, then it edged open to reveal Sir Ra-khir, Kedrin's son, in pristine knight silks. He bowed deeply to each king in turn, including Tae, who rolled his eyes in response. Ra-khir saluted each general, entered the room fully, and closed the door behind him. "I apologize for interrupting, but I've only just arrived."

Darris turned his attention to Kedrin. The Knight-Captain seemed mightily displeased, his features taut and the corners of his mouth bowed grimly downward. Taking back the floor with every flourish, he addressed his wayward son. "Sir Ra-khir, this meeting is for generals only."

Ra-khir tipped his head to his father. "Again, I beg the pardon of every great man in this room, but I am in command of an army. Though not among the largest, it is not the smallest either." The look he gave his captain seemed just a bit pointed to Darris. The Knights of Erythane currently consisted of only twenty-four men. One less with Ra-khir not among them.

Knight-Captain Kedrin made a brisk and full gesture of apology. "My pardon, Sir Ra-khir. Who is at your command?"

Ra-khir turned stiffly toward King Griff. "Sire, they're outcasts; but finer warriors more dedicated to Bearn you could not find anywhere. In a crisis such as this, it seems prudent to accept every sword arm in our defense. What say you, Your Majesty? May we join the allies of the continent?"

Renshai. Darris got it in an instant, and he believed Kedrin did, too. He was less certain about Griff. Markanyin held a thoughtful expression, as did General Sutton and Valr Magnus, but the remainder of the Western and Northern leaders showed no obvious sign of recognition.

King Griff spoke carefully. "Does anyone have a problem with allowing these outcasts full status among us? If so, speak now."

Murmurs passed around the table. Only General Sutton spoke aloud, "So long as we're sure they'll fight for us and against the pirates, I see no reason to exclude anyone."

King Griff gave a heavy nod.

"Let's take a formal vote," Kedrin suggested. "Everyone for including the outcast unit signify by saying, 'Aye'. 'Nay,' if opposed."

Around the table, a chorus of "aye" sounded, without a single voice in opposition.

"It carries, then," Kedrin said. "Sir Ra-khir, do you have consent to represent these outcasts?"

"Fully."

Knight-Captain Kedrin indicated that King Griff should take the floor for a decree that must seem standard and obvious to the overly formal Kedrin.

Clearly flummoxed, King Griff covered smoothly. "You announce it, please, Knight-Captain."

Kedrin suppressed a grin and dutifully proclaimed, "Then, Sir Ra-khir, you are granted the equal status of general. And your followers are forgiven any crimes, including trespass, for the duration of this war." He turned to Griff and bowed nearly to the ground. "Is that correct,Your Majesty?"

King Griff nodded broadly. "Utterly. Thank you."

"And," Kedrin added in clear warning, "since you also represent the Knights of Erythane, and our Majesties King Griff and King Humfreet…" He bowed humbly to each in turn. "… I expect you to keep your wayward followers completely in line."

Ra-khir looked momentarily stricken, but swiftly regained face. "I'll do my best, Knight-Captain." He had about as much chance of keeping Renshai corralled as he did the myriad of palace cats.

With every chair at the table full, Darris rose and offered his own to Ra-khir. The knight graciously accepted his offer, and Darris took a position behind and beside Griff, where he could observe most of the leaders' expressions.

The tribal leader of Gelshnir spoke in his musical Northern accent. "What are the pirates doing now?"

"Massing their ships offshore," the high king explained. "We estimate three hundred, but it's only a guess. They've destroyed every vessel that's drawn near enough to count."

The Gelshni general continued, "What about scouts? What do they know?"

King Humfreet of Erythane finally spoke. "They're less than worthless. Even those who can sneak near without getting butchered don't understand a word of the pirates' gabble."

Darris saw a spark flash through several eyes, but General Markanyin got the question out first. "What about the 'one man' who spoke with our prisoners?"

King Griff 's gaze went directly to Tae, and he paused a moment before answering, perhaps expecting the king of the Eastlands to save him the trouble. When Tae did not oblige, Griff accepted his burden. "He has an uncanny gift for languages and had the chance, because of the two prisoners, to immerse himself."

"Can he spy?" Markanyin asked hopefully.

Darris looked at Ra-khir and found him smiling. He had easily figured out the identity of their mystery language speaker.

"No," Griff said, more as a command than an answer. "We can't risk him. Not only do we need him for his talent, but he's too important to lose."

Finally, Tae spoke. What he lacked in volume, he made up for in intensity. "I'll do it."

Every eye jerked to the Eastern king.

Tae continued, "If we don't win this war, we all die. Women, children, no one will be spared. What's one life, any life, compared with that?"

Silence followed. Strategists and warriors filled the room, yet none had ever fought a war as significant and potentially deadly as this one.

General Sutton cleared his throat. "I'm certain His Highest Western Majesty meant no slight upon your courage, Your Eastern Majesty." Obviously unaccustomed to royal titles, the leader of Santagithi, and her closest allies, attempted to mimic proper formality as well as to smooth ruffled feathers. "He merely made the point that your precious skill might serve us better than on a simple scouting mission."

Tae smiled. No king despised formality more than he did. "No offense was taken."

Darris knew innocent Griff could kick and spit on Tae, and the scrappy little Easterner would give him all the time he needed to explain.

Valr Magnus ignored the verbal exchanges, studying the massive map that covered most of the tabletop. "Do we even know where these pirates come from?"

"Here." Leaning forward, Tae jabbed a finger that thumped against the wooden table well off the southern edge of the map and directly across from Bearn.

Exclamations and discussions began immediately. Though he had initiated it, Tae did not join any of the conversations. He sat back, clearly relieved to allow others to take the floor from him.

Unlike most of the others, Valr Magnus did not allow the shock of an army from beyond the known world to derail him. "We need to concern ourselves with more than just the army massed in the Southern Sea."The Northman stood to reach the exact spot off the map that Tae had indicated. "What we need to worry about are ships breaking off to go here…" He made a gliding motion around the isthmus of islands south and west of Bearn to indicate a shore fall near the twin Western cities of Corpa Schaull and Frist. "… and here." He indicated another sea path eastward to land on the barren stretch of land known as the Western Plains and beyond to the Eastlands.

"If we have all our armies massed here…" Magnus circled Bearn and Erythane with his finger. "… we leave our civilians wide open for attack." He scratched his honey-colored beard. "Then the enemy could circle around here…" He cut through the westernmost Westlands to Erythane and from the Western Plains through the Southern Weathered Mountains to Bearn. Magnus looked up to find all of his colleagues peering over the map. "At least, that's what I'd do if I were the pirates."

"Which is why," the general from Gelshnir said, "our armies are stretched along the western coast." He indicated the Erdai general and one of the Westerners, the one representing the twin cities of Corpa Bikat and Oshtan.

Tae added his piece again, which surprised Darris. When they had traveled together as friends, Tae had spent most of his time in silent hiding. He still seemed uncomfortable when attention turned to him, but his nearly two decades as king had, apparently, boosted his confidence. "The Eastern armies, right now, are massed along the shores of the Western Plains. My father reports having found some expert mystery general to lead them." Tae rolled his eyes.Weile Kahn had a habit of hitting his son with unwelcome surprises. "My father is on his way with a team of scouts. They're competent, but they're limited by not knowing the language."

General Markanyin rose and paced in the small space the table, and its massed kings and generals, left him. "With our armies spread thin, the pirates don't need strategy. They could attack Bearn en masse." He stopped between Tae and General Sutton, hand falling to the arm of Tae's chair. "These scouts of your father's…"

Darris held his breath. Rumors about Weile Kahn's followers abounded, and only the worst of them were true. Tae's father had gathered criminals as followers and served as their lord for decades. Survival had daily required stronger and more convoluted security than kings saw in a lifetime. His enemies included all of the world's power, above and beneath the law. Tae's mother had paid for Weile's antics with her life; and Tae, himself, had been left for dead on more than one occasion.

"… can they infiltrate the enemy?"

Tae shook his head. "Not without knowing the language, I'm afraid. I'm not even sure I could do that; many little things, most I don't even know about, would give me away. But, at least, I could spy on them and understand what they tell one another."

"Can you teach it to others?" the only Western general who had not yet spoken piped in. He was a small man, compared with the others, and the youngest in the room.

Tae's brows rose in increments. "Sure I could. Just give me students with a knack for both languages and stealth for two to three years."

"Two to three years? Is that how long it took you?"

"No," Tae admitted. "But I learned under rather unique circumstances." He glanced toward Griff, who was hanging on Tae's every word, even though he knew most of the answer. "From two native speakers." He switched from the ubiquitous Common Trading tongue to Western, then Northern, then Pudarian. Darris did not know Northern, but he did the other two. Even the accents were spot on. "I was exposed to innumerable languages from infancy, and I obviously have a god-granted knack that few share."

General Sutton looked around Markanyin to address Griff. "You're right,Your Majesty. That's a talent we dare not risk."

"Except," Tae added, "that the Pudarian general is quite correct. We need to know where to position our armies, because we don't have the numbers to spread them even as thin as we have." He sucked in a deep breath, let it out slowly, then proclaimed without allowing an opening for argument, "So, I'm going in."