Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

"Time for a break," the Renshai announced, crouching against a wall of foliage that consisted of a massive fallen branch, wound through with vines and caught by bushes. "Are you tired, Treysind?"

Treysind nodded, dropping the pack. "An' hungry, too. Ya wants me ta shoot more food?"

Calistin nodded. He could think of nothing he desired more. "I'll make the fire."

Treysind removed bow and arrows from the pack. "There's more water in here, too, if ya's wants some. He'p yasself." Without waiting for a response, Treysind rushed into the woods with his weapon.

Calistin gathered twigs and branches, mouth watering with real saliva now, at the prospect of another roasted rabbit. By the time he had the fire blazing and the initial kindling charred, Treysind returned with three birds dangling from his hand: a quail, a dove, and a larger, colorful species Calistin could not identify.

Calistin had no idea what constituted a successful hunt, nor whether Treysind had real talent compared to others who made their livings catching food. He saw only a quick, satisfying meal brought by the boy he had, for so long, considered utterly incompetent.

Treysind raised his hand to display his catch.

Calistin grunted his appreciation. And smiled.

Treysind dumped the birds on the ground at his own feet, sat on a stump, and started plucking.

Leaving the fire and meal preparation to the boy, Calistin launched into life-affirming svergelse. A sword in each hand, he felt free from earthly worries, unfettered from the normal forces that bound him to the world. With movement came ultimate power. His swords sliced, jabbed, and glided through air, never in one position longer than an instant. Faster than sight, they skipped away, powered only by his arms and his imagination. For the first time in days, he felt good, his mind cleared to fully follow the lethal dance of his blades.

"Hero!" Treysind shouted, clearly not for the first time. "Hero!"

Irritated by the interruption, Calistin shoved aside the instinct to slaughter the boy. It would be so easy, barely a dip in motion; yet that thought bothered him enough to stop the practice instantly. "What is it?" He could not so easily keep the gruffness from his tone.

"Sorry if I's botherin' ya, Hero. Food's gettin' cold, though."

Calistin looked at the fire, still burning brightly, to the seared, unidentifiable meat laying nearby on beds of leaves.Tiny onions, cooked brown, surrounded the feast. He sheathed his swords. "Looks delicious. Where'd you get the onions?"

"Picked 'em while we's walkin'."

Calistin crouched in front of the food.

"Gots some sweet canes, too."

"Canes?"

Treysind handed Calistin a warm, thick stem, then dropped to the ground with one of his own. He took a huge bite off the top.

Calistin did the same. The piece was woody and tasteless. He chewed for several moments while Treysind watched in fascination.

Finally, the boy spoke. "Ain't ya gonna spit it out?"

By this time, Calistin had it ground into enough pieces he had to sweep it from his mouth with his fingers. It took more than a few tries to dig and spit out all the little bits.

"Ya don't eat canes, Hero.Ya sucks 'em."To demonstrate,Treysind put the tube up to his mouth.

Again, Calistin copied the motion. Warm, sweet sap flowed into his mouth, an unfamiliar taste for which he had no comparison. Startled, he jerked the stem away to study it.

Treysind tipped his own stalk farther and farther back, then lowered it and wiped his mouth on the back of a grimy sleeve. "Good, ain't it?"

"Very," Calistin admitted. "I've never had anything like it." He took another experimental taste. "How'd you figure it out? How to eat it, I mean. I'd have tossed it as a tasteless hunk of wood."

"When ya's hungry, ya figures out lotsa stuff."

Calistin disagreed, still staring at the cane. "I was starving. I never figured it out."

"It he'ps if ya's hungry alla time."

"Yeah." Calistin found himself staring at Treysind now, considering him in a whole new light. The boy was a survivor in a way he could barely comprehend. His torke always taught that a brave and competent man needs nothing but sword skill, and it always seemed right. Yet Calistin had learned in the past few days that the best swordsman in the world could not bully his dinner from trees. "Treysind," he started.

"Yeah?"

Calistin paused, not at all certain what he had planned to say. It seemed important, the type of thing a preoccupied father says to a son to make up for all the time he did not give the boy when it really mattered. But no further words came to him, and he managed only, "Could you pass me some meat?"

Treysind cupped his hands around the largest portion and shoved it, and its protective leaves, toward Calistin. "Try this. I don't know 'zactly what it is, but I's haded one bafore an' it tasted real good."

Calistin accepted the portion and tore off a piece of dark meat. More patient this time, he made certain it was not too hot before popping it into his mouth. It had a richer, moister flavor than most fowl, and the well-crisped skin made a pleasant contrast. He also thought he tasted some spice. "Wonderful," Calistin agreed. "Thanks."

Treysind dug into the quail, making appreciative smacking noises as he ate.

The more he ate, the more certain Calistin became that Treysind had added something savory to the meat.Yet that seemed nonsensical. Finally, curiosity got the better of him, and he lowered the bone he was stripping to ask. "Treysind, how is it that a boy who thinks moldy cheese is a prize knows how to fix food like a palace gourmet?"

Treysind dropped his own food to bounce excitedly. "Rilly? Ya thinks I's that good?"

Calistin had some actual experience to use as a comparison. Unlike Saviar, he had never dined at Bearn Castle, but he had eaten with King Tae as a child. "I think so. How?"

The words came out in such a rush, Treysind seemed to trip over them. "Well, I dint know. I mean, I's never had ac'shul meat ta work wit'. Least never more'n a scrap a somethin' I cou'n't figure out what it's used ta be. Just taked whatever I could from trash or streets or whatever. So's I never knowed how good…"Treysind paused, clearly trying to focus. "So's once't I's figgered out how ta use this thing." He gestured at the bow. "I's tryed ta figger out how ta make-"

"Whoa!" Calistin had to stop the flow of words. "You just figured out how to use it? You mean, just since you took that particular bow?"

Treysind bobbed his head repeatedly. "Never gots one bafore. So's I's started workin' on how ta make 'em smell good cookin', ya know, see if I's kin 'tract ya. I's tryin' lotsa flowers, plants…"

Still a sentence behind, Calistin stopped Treysind again. "You were trying to attract… me?"

"Course. I'd losted ya. An' I knowed Renshai ain't great food makers, so's I thought-"

Shocked silent, Calistin let Treysind continue without interruption while he considered the meaning of what he had just heard. The boy was clearly resourceful, and a lot more clever than Calistin would ever have given him credit for.

"-if I's could learn, I could bring ya ta me, since I weren't havin' much luck findin' ya, least not since that town where ya killed that man…"

"So, basically…" Calistin spoke slowly. "… you taught yourself to accurately shoot game with a bow, cook it, and spice it, as a way to find… me?"

Treysind cocked his head, clearly not understanding the point of the question. "Worked, dint it?"

"It did," Calistin had to admit. "And what a clever, simple little plan. Teach yourself to become a first-rate hunter and a topnotch epicure just to find someone who…" Originally intending to insert "didn't want you to find him," Calistin decided it might sound too offensive. He had ditched Treysind on purpose, and not for the first time; but speaking the words might gravely affront at a time when he preferred to understand. "… just to find someone."