Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

"Because they also believe Renshai are demons?"

Ra-khir shook his head. "I don't think so, Darby. Deep down, they know Renshai are humans. They bleed like humans; they die like humans. But it suits the Northmen to spread the stories because superstitious Westerners believe them. And, the more support they garner for their hatred, the more they justify and spread it. Someday, they hope, the entire world will hate Renshai as much as they do."

Darby nodded ever so slightly, surely contemplating what he had learned about Renshai in his own upbringing. At least, he seemed fully willing to discard the stories on the word of a Knight of Erythane. That boded well for the West and the Renshai.

If Darby is representative, then we knights have a duty we have neglected for far too long.

"So why do the Northmen want the Renshai in the Eastlands?"

Again, Ra-khir had to speculate. "I don't think they necessarily do. First, the Northmen simply drove the Renshai from the North; but that didn't work. The Renshai returned. Next, they confined all the Renshai to one island in the North. That might have worked, except the Northmen reasoned that while they had all the Renshai in one place, it would prove easy enough to annihilate the entire tribe in one enormous battle."

"It didn't work."

"It nearly did. As history tells the story, only two Renshai survived. And they were both males."

Darby stared. "Two males cannot reestablish anything."

"Especially," Ra-khir continued, "when one died young and the other was infertile. But it turned out that a few Renshai had not actually returned to the North. And, though the Renshai who did originally deemed them traitors, it was through them that the current line was established. Less purely, of course, but the sword training mattered as much as the bloodline. However, because the Renshai tried to maintain both, it has taken them centuries to get their numbers back into the hundreds. Because, for a half-blood Renshai to receive any training, his non-Renshai parent has to be deemed worthy at the time of his birth. Renshai standards are near-impossibly high, so that happens only rarely."

A light appeared in Darby's eyes. He had made the connection. "And you were deemed worthy, so your half-blood sons are Renshai."

"Yes," Ra-khir admitted. "Though I'm still not entirely sure how. Renshai do not have the same opinion of knights that the remainder of the Westlands does."

Darby studied Ra-khir with an expression akin to worship.

Suddenly, Ra-khir wished he had not broached the subject. He had not meant to brag. He dropped the tangent to finish his point. "The Renshai's numbers have apparently gotten large enough to bother some Northmen. As near as I can figure it, they intend to get the Renshai banished from every part of the world. That would put every world leader in the position of having to execute any Renshai they found. One by one, the Renshai would get killed or go into hiding, which would make it unlikely they could find one another. The ultimate hope would be that Renshai parents would not train their children for their own safety, and the race would die out entirely."

"That's…" Darby sputtered. "That's… just… evil."

"It is."

"We should help them. We should attack the Northmen and-"

"No." Ra-khir knew lack of experience, not morality or intelligence, sent Darby toward thoughts of war. "Hatred cannot be combated with more hatred, and not every Northman is to blame. While a large majority do hate Renshai only because of lies their parents taught them, there are still some who see no problem with peaceful coexistence or have even managed to overcome their learned prejudice. What good would come of slaughtering the good with the bad?"

"But-"

Ra-khir had not yet finished. "Also, the Northmen have done such a thorough job spreading their lies and prejudice, that most Westerners have lost their objectivity. Even when the Renshai do nothing more than defend themselves, they are seen as the aggressors and condemned. Even when they do nothing whatsoever, it is said that they stole the land they occupy and they should be driven from it."

Darby's mouth remained open, but no words emerged. His expression mingled rage with bewilderment.

"It's a tricky problem, one Renshai and logicians have struggled with for centuries. You and I are not likely to solve it in a fortnight, let alone a single discussion."

Darby closed his mouth. "So what can we do?"

"We do," Ra-khir said calmly, "exactly what I've just done. We change the minds of people slowly, one by one, if necessary. We do it morally and honestly, for a single lie would betray us. And we hope that, eventually, right prevails."

Thoughit meant falling farther behind, Ra-khir took the time to dry out and neaten himself, his steed, and his gear before riding into the first Western city he and Darby came upon. He had no way of knowing exactly what route his boys had taken, but it seemed logical to ride straight northward and ask about them as he traveled.They would stand out in the small villages and towns, not only for being strangers but for the oddness of their trio: one enormous redhead, one wiry and dark, and the last childlike and as golden-pale as any Northman; and yet all brothers. Their obvious weaponry would also draw attention, and Ra-khir knew no Renshai would ever hide his swords.

As promised, Ra-khir never forgot that he represented the Knights of Erythane. By the time they found the first small village, he had combed his hair, washed out every stain, straightened each bit of his clothing, groomed his steed to gleaming white, and properly worked the ribbons back into Silver Warrior's mane and tail. Darby watched each chore with fanatical interest, as if to memorize not just the actions but Ra-khir's individual movements and even his breathing. That Darby's intentions were sincere, Ra-khir never doubted, and he promised himself not to let circumstances drive him to irritability. Darby meant only well, and his intensity would make him not only a bother, but an excellent knight candidate.

Forest gave way to farmland, which opened onto a quaint little village. Though it was broad daylight, few people walked the streets, still muddy from the rain. Water dripped from the thatched roofs of myriad cottages, and the people Ra-khir passed seemed not to notice them at all. They kept their eyes downcast and conversed only in ragged whispers.

For the first time since leaving Erythane, Ra-khir made it all the way to the central tavern seemingly unnoticed. Intending only a short stay for information, he hitched Silver Warrior to a nearby railing, tended briefly to the animal's comfort, then waited while Darby did the same for his mount. Almost immediately, the stallion dropped his head, eyes closed, to nap.

Ra-khir held the door open for Darby but entered first, as good sense warranted. More trouble lurked in unfamiliar drinking places than on quiet village streets, and he had a duty to protect his smaller, younger charge.

The door opened on a warm tavern with only nine tables, all but one unoccupied. A few more stools stood empty around a rickety, wooden bar. A dying fire flickered in its grate. Though stale, the odors of last night's dinner and spilled ale piqued Ra-khir's hunger. Travel rations could not compare with a home cooked meal, even if it only consisted of cold leftovers.

Since he needed information, Ra-khir chose the barstool nearest the occupied table. Four men sat around it, talking softly in a huddled mass. A stout barkeep approached, his beard outlining a face filled with a combination of discomfort and outrage. He leaned on the counter, which groaned under his weight, and displayed flabby, freckled arms. "Good day. What can I get for you men?"