Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

Subikahn joined the action, dredging up handfuls of muck and hurling them at his brother.

"Hey," Saviar yelled. "Hey!" Opening his mouth turned out to be a bad idea. The mud tasted of fish and greenery, and he spat out bits of rock and filth. "All right, then! If that's how you want it." He grabbed his own muck, feeling a ball smack against the top of his head as he dropped into a crouch.

It devolved swiftly. Water splashed in mighty, man-made waves, mud flew in all directions, shattering into watery bits as it hit a target. It became a three-way war, as Chymmerlee's aim betrayed her and she hit Subikahn one too many times.

Saviar laughed, careful to keep his lips clamped tight as he did so. Mud weighted his feet and gushed over his boots to leave him wading through mush. His filthy, sodden clothes clung to every part of him, and his hair dripped large clumps of grime. He had to squint to keep the mud from his eyes, though he could see it clinging to his lashes. Whenever he tried to wipe it away with the back of a hand, he only wound up adding more. He could not remember the last time he had had so much fun.

Shielding her face, Chymmerlee giggled, finally wading to shore.

Saviar stopped, an unthrown mudball dissolving through his fingers. He sneaked a glance at Subikahn, who looked like a man-shaped swamp monster. "Truce?" he suggested.

Subikahn lowered his arm.

"Do I look as bad as you two?" Chymmerlee asked, stripping mud from her hair.

"Worse," Subikahn exclaimed before Saviar could say something more comforting. "But, then again, Saviar was smart enough to anticipate the battle by shoving you in first."

Saviar cringed, wishing Subikahn had not mentioned the initiating event, even in jest. He liked Chymmerlee's reaction to his foolish and clumsy mistake. So many women would have gotten angry and flayed him, at least verbally, for it. "I really am sorry about that. I didn't mean to-"

"-cheat?" Chymmerlee supplied; and, now, Subikahn laughed.

"No." Saviar thought back to how the mud war had started. "I didn't expect to get startled by my brother running up sounding like he had news of great import, then accidentally sweeping a beautiful girl off her balance." The smile disappeared from his face. "Did you shout out my name for an actual reason?"

Chymmerlee smiled at the compliment, the movement barely cracking the mud on her face.

Subikahn brushed futilely at his clothes, his demeanor growing more serious. "Actually, I did." He glanced at Chymmerlee, then apparently decided she had paid enough to hear the news as well. "Remember how I told you I saw a small army pass through the lower woodlands last week?"

Saviar nodded. He had not believed it, thinking Subikahn had misinterpreted what he saw. "And another one, a smaller one, yesterday."

"Yes," Subikahn confirmed. "And a bigger one today. And, this time, I talked to some of the soldiers."

Saviar froze. "You did?"

"They were Northmen." Subikahn shook like a dog, dislodging large chunks of drying muck. "I think they liked meeting an obvious foreigner who could speak their language."

Apparently more surprised by Subikahn's revelation than concerned for passing armies, Chymmerlee chimed in. "You speak Northern?"

Saviar held his breath, wondering if his brother was about to reveal their secret.

But Subikahn waved off the question. "I speak a lot of languages. My father, I think, could communicate with creatures from distant stars if he had to."

Saviar made a gesture to hurry Subikahn to the important issues. "Why are armies moving through the mountain passes?"

"Apparently, Bearn is under siege."

"What?" The word was startled from Saviar.

Dutifully, Subikahn repeated, "Bearn is under siege. The pirates are massing just offshore."

Saviar flipped his arms to dislodge more mud, wishing Subikahn had stopped the game in light of this information. "We have to go.We have to do whatever we can."

The reactions to this statement could not have been more different. Subikahn's "Of course" made strange contrast to Chymmerlee's shouted, "No!"

Saviar waded to shore, keeping his step as light as possible so the water could wash out his boots. "Chymmerlee, there's no decision to make here. Subikahn and I have to defend Bearn."

"No!" Chymmerlee ran toward Saviar as he emerged. "I just found you. I can't lose you."

Saviar embraced Chymmerlee, suddenly uncomfortable with the wet and dirt that had seemed so entertaining moments earlier. "I'm not going to forget you. We'll come back."

"Better yet," Subikahn said softly. "Your people should come with us."

"What?" Saviar found himself shocked again.

"You've heard the stories coming out of Bearn. These attackers, they seem to have access to magic. Why shouldn't we?"

Chymmerlee answered before Saviar could. "Because my people can't afford to lose even one mage. We're in hiding, for hundreds of years now, for a reason."

Subikahn shook his head. "Well, it seems your time has come. This enemy isn't logical or decent. They don't parley, and they don't take prisoners. If Bearn falls, the rest of the West will go with it, and the North and East will find themselves in a far worse position when the pirates come to them."

"Really?" Chymmerlee said, very softly. The hand she brought to her mouth trembled.

"Really," Subikahn said.

Saviar released her. "We'd better wash and change, then. I'm not sure anyone could take us seriously the way we look right now." Chymmerlee seemed willing to consider the possibility, but he doubted the others would be so easily convinced. He would need the bathing time to think, to pick out the words necessary to convince. He alone had leadership and speaking training. The job, he knew, would fall to him.

Traveling through the Westlands, Calistin had become accustomed to pristine farmland that gave way abruptly to bunched and solid cities, so the scattered layout of Aerin caught him unprepared. Here, the ragged farmland consisted mostly of gaunt animals grazing on stunted grasses and fowl scavenging dung for insects and undigested seeds. The dwellings were communal longhouses as much as cottages, and smoke twined from every chimney.

People scurried about in the twilight, carrying groceries and water, conversing in their musical language. Hammers rang on forges, sheep bleated plaintively, and the swishing and banging of woodworking filled the evening air. Odors mingled: cook fires, smoke, and the syrupy scent of lumber. As usual, Calistin found himself hungry and not for the usual travel fare, as good as Treysind made it. More than anything, he wanted a platter of freshly roasted mutton and a frosty mug of ale.

It took Calistin's ears time to adjust to the language delivered in its native singsong. But, after catching enough snatches of passing conversation, he realized, with relief, that his training had been adequate. He could understand Northern and, he hoped, speak it well enough to be understood. He also recognized the letters that spelled out "inn" on a nearby building. Relieved, he hurried toward it, Treysind directly on his heels.

As he walked, Calistin noticed other details. Towheads and redheads predominated to the point where the rare man with even a hint of brown seemed out of place. In Bearn and Erythane, they called a person with lighter brown hair a blond. Here, Calistin imagined, they might consider that same person dark. Many of the men openly carried weapons, and some of the boys play-sparred with twigs when they thought their parents were not looking. No one seemed aware of the newcomers who looked enough like the Aeri to pass for neighbors.

Calistin opened the door to the inn. Smoke billowed out the opening, funneled by the wind. Coughing, Treysind scampered inside, leaving just enough room for Calistin to quickly shut the door. The smoke returned to wrap the patrons in a warm, comfortable haze. Calistin supposed his eyes would adjust quickly enough and chose the nearest table so as not to stumble around awkwardly in the mist. Treysind flopped into the chair across from him. "Ain't unner standin' a word what they says."