Mickey Reichert: Flight of the Renshai

Those differences might have singled him out enough, without the bardic curse, passed to the oldest child of his line for millennia. Though imbued with insatiable curiosity, he could impart what he learned only through song. As such, he usually carried a mandolin or lute in addition to the sword at his belt. Now, he slung his instrument onto his back, running verses of courage and hope through his mind. He might need them at the Council meeting.

As they trod through castle corridors replete with animal-shaped torch brackets trailing strings of gems, carved and painted statues, and vast murals encompassing the doors and windows into their art, Darris mulled the possibilities through his mind. He had practically memorized the artwork; his inhuman inquisitiveness had forced him to study every nuance in the past. Now, his focus narrowed to the reason for the abrupt meeting. Surely, it had something to do with the pirates on the southwest coast. Bearn currently had no other significant enemies. Friends now ruled the vast Eastlands, and trade with the reclusive Northlanders had become one-sided in the North's favor. The many and varied countries that made up the vast territories of the Westlands, though essentially under Bearn's rule, were mostly left to govern themselves. King Griff kept his touch and taxes light; and, consequently, heard few complaints.

A pair of guards clutching polearms stood at the Council Room door. Both bowed as the trio approached, and one opened the door with a grand and practiced gesture as he did so. Darris peeked around him into the familiar, austere room. It contained nothing but a long, rectangular table, and the members of the Council seated around it, who rose at the king's approach. The walls were kept symbolically bare, to emphasize the importance of the discussions occurring there. As the three men stepped through the entrance, the door whisked closed behind them.

Darris assessed those present with a glance, nodding at each in turn as the king claimed the head seat, leaving the one at his right hand for Darris. As usual, Captain Seiryn chose a position standing near the door. Though an official member, he carried no noble blood and deferred to the men and women he considered his superiors.The oldest, seventy-nine-year-old Minister of Courtroom Procedure and Affairs Saxanar, looked grim. Fanatical about protocol and grooming, he wore his colors fastidiously. Not a single white hair lay out of place, and his deep brown eyes held a glaze of pain.

Beside him, Prime Minister Davian kept his head lowered, hiding his scarred features beneath a curtain of salt-and-pepper hair. Once a peasant carver, he had earned his title by leading the band of renegades who had helped reclaim Griff's throne from usurpers. His no-nonsense cleverness had won over even stodgy Saxanar, who had made it known in the past that he believed only blooded nobility made for proper councillors.

Another former leader of the renegades, Minister of Internal Affairs Aerean, also held an honorary title.Though rapidly approaching forty, she still maintained the boundless energy and enthusiasm that had irritated Saxanar since her appointment. Though primary nobility, Minister of Household Affairs Franstaine had a habit of vexing the staid, older ministers nearly as much as Aerean. An in-law uncle of Griff's mother, he was as notorious for his strange sense of humor as his seemingly limitless patience.

Only a year or two older than Aerean, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Richar, handled the visiting dignitaries, usually Western merchants and disputants in claims too difficult for local kingdoms to handle. Fair and tactful, he grew positively exuberant when his charges became more exotic. Though greatly contaminated, by Saxanar's standards, his line did contain royal blood in its distant past.

Though essentially devoid of noble blood, Zaysharn never seemed to bother Saxanar at all. The Overseer of Bearn's livestock, gardens, and food had a quiet attentiveness that made him nearly invisible, despite his Bearnian sturdiness and size. He dwarfed the tiny woman at his side, the Minister of Local Affairs, named Chaveeshia. Her size alone revealed her mixed heritage, but she also had brown hair and a tinge of green in her eyes. She tended the relationships between Bearn and its close neighbors, mostly Erythanians and Renshai. Her commanding manner and sharp tongue made her a natural for the position, despite her lack of size.

This time, her usual charges were conspicuously absent, apparently because of the suddenness of the meeting. The Captain of the Knights of Erythane and the leader of the Renshai also held regular seats at the Council table. Queen Matrinka, too, had a right to attend, though she frequently waived it. Darris appreciated that no one had fetched her to the Council Room this time. She did not need to hear bleak news until after wise heads had pondered meanings and crafted solutions.

King Griff took his seat, and the others followed suit. Only Captain Seiryn remained standing. Prime Minister Davian called the meeting to order. The years had not treated the ex-carver's face kindly, adding wrinkles to the mass of scars that already marred it. It now appeared more homely than heroic. "Your Majesty, I apologize for calling you here so abruptly."

Griff waved off the need for explanation, though Davian continued in the same vein.

"This news cannot wait." Despite his bold words, the prime minister cleared his throat in obvious delay. He glanced at Saxanar, who relinquished the necessity for protracted protocol with a gesture, clearly to Davian's dismay. "Sire, it seems the pirates have struck again, this time in two attacks. The first was against our forces on the shore, the second against ship number Seven."

Seven? Darris' throat seemed to close; breathing became all but impossible.

Griff jerked up his head, his lips pursed into a bloodless line, his gentle eyes wide. "What… what… was the… outcome?"

Darris forced a tight swallow, allowing air to wheeze into his lungs. It was not the first time the pirates had led a minor assault on the coast; they seemed to be carefully testing Bearn's defenses. But Seven had gone on a routine mission; its presence alone was supposed to keep the pirates at bay. Jhirban had assured them that mere thieves would never dare attack a Bearnian warship, especially in her own waters; and, thus far, the pirates had limited their conquests to merchant vessels. Arturo was on that ship. Darris stared at Davian, needing to know the details for reasons far beyond bardic curiosity.

"The onshore army repelled the invaders, Sire."

Though good, that was not the news Darris awaited. Seiryn allowed himself a small, self-satisfied smile.

"Fifteen casualties, twenty wounded on our side, Sire." Davian read the numbers through gritted teeth. He fairly spat the rest, "All thirty-seven invaders dead."

The ship. Darris needed to know the fate of his biological son. His only son.

Though surely just as concerned for Arturo, Griff asked the necessary questions first. "No enemy prisoners?"

"No, Sire."

For once, Zaysharn did not hold his tongue. "There were Renshai among the troops, Sire." His tone held an odd note of disdain that bordered on anger. "Renshai do not take prisoners."

The words shocked the room silent. Zaysharn rarely spoke; when he did, he nearly always made a point of great import. It was not like him to blurt out anything, especially so clearly imbued with emotion.

Davian's blemished cheeks barely allowed a tinge of red. He spoke with the evenhanded patience Zaysharn had discarded. "Your Majesty, once Renshai become embroiled in battle, it is difficult to… er… unembroil them."

Zaysharn broke in again. "They kill everyone in sight."

"Not everyone." Darris could not help entering the discussion. One of his closest friends was Renshai. "Not companions." It was not a wholly fair defense. He had traveled with Kevral on several serious missions, and she had, on occasion, threatened the lives of allies. Friends less skilled or quick might have lost their lives.