Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

Calistin nodded, starting to look around until a barmaid distracted him. She placed herself directly at his right elbow and leaned onto the table. Dressed in a tight uniform of black with white lace, her plump body bulged at the cleavage. Not yet caught up in his adolescence, Calistin scarcely noticed.

"Hallo," she said with a well-practiced cheerfulness. "What can I get you, boys?"

"I'm a man." The words came out as easily in Northern as they did in Common. "I've earned my manhood."

The barmaid's brows rose, but she did not question. She stood up straight and turned her attention to Treysind. "Does that go for you, too, young sir?"

Calistin started to look over the other patrons again, only to realize that Treysind would not answer. He had enough trouble with the Common and Western tongues. "No, he's still a boy; but you can call him Treysind."

"Treysind," she repeated. "What an exotic name." She brushed back long, yellow hair, tacking it behind one ear. "I like it."

Calistin did not bother to tell her it meant "offspring of the ashes" in the Erythanian dialect.

"Ya's talkin' 'bout me." Treysind recognized his name. "What's ya sayin' 'bout me?"

Calistin forestalled his companion with a raised hand. "We'll have two plates of mutton and two mugs of ale."

"Ale?" she repeated.

"Ale," Calistin confirmed. "Don't you have any?"

"Of course we have ale. But don't you… boys…" She amended quickly, "… boy and man. Don't you think you're a bit young for full-fledged ale?"

Not again. Calistin stared at the barmaid. She was pretty in the way all young women are but had large, broad features that appeared somewhat asymmetrical. "Do you question the choices of all your patrons? Or only mine?"

The barmaid's face turned a brilliant shade of pink. "I'm not… I mean I don't… It's just that the younglings…who drink ale… don't grow as well or as clever as…" The color faded from her cheeks, and her expression turned stern and motherly. "Is Treysind your little brother?" She did not await an answer before continuing. "Because I don't think your mother would approve-"

Calistin caught his own hand slipping toward his sword, the only outward sign of building rage. "My mother is dead, you nosy wench. And it's none of your damned business how I raise my little brother! Now, get me the damned ale and the damned mutton before I go back there and get it my damned self!"

The barmaid retreated without another word and disappeared into the mist.

The door opened, and another group of Northmen came inside, stirring up the smoky interior just as it had started to settle.

"Why's ya yellin' at her, Hero?"

Calistin sighed and turned his attention back to Treysind. "Nothing important, Trey."

The boy sat up straighter. "Ya called me 'Trey.' "

"Yeah. So?"

"So's, no one's ever called me 'Trey' bafore." Treysind mulled the situation. "I likes it. Sounds like somethin' a brother would call me."

Calistin shrugged, bobbing his head. "I guess that fits, then. She called you my little brother."

"She did?" Treysind bounced in his chair. He looked positively giddy. "That why ya getted mad?"

"No. I just don't like a stranger asking me personal questions and judging me when her job is just to fetch me food when I ask for it." Calistin smiled at the realization. "In fact, that irritated me so much, I even called you my little brother."

Treysind's eyes widened so they seemed enormous. "Rilly?"

It obviously meant a lot to Treysind, and it did not hurt Calistin in any way. "Sure, why not? You practically are. I mean, we're both basically orphans, you irritate me as much as Saviar or Subikahn, and we're together all the time." All the damned time; I can't get rid of you. "And you look about as much like me as either of my actual brothers."

"Ya thinks ya's papa would… 'dopt me?"

Calistin had never considered it. "Ra-khir?" He frowned in consideration. "I… don't know. I really don't know him as well as I should." The emotions that followed caught Calistin by surprise. He had always realized his father was a good man, but he had dismissed all the Knights of Erythane as deluded, untalented do-gooders. Since he had outgrown horsy rides and kiddy games when he was very young, he had given his father little attention or thought. Nothing mattered but the Renshai way: the sword, the arm, and the craft that bound them. "It wouldn't surprise me if he did, but it's not really necessary. I'm a man, and I can choose my brothers with or without my parent's blessing."

Treysind's smile seemed to loop around his face. It sparkled in his eyes and displaced his cheeks upward. It even seemed to show upon his brow. "I gots a brother. A hero brother. Someone what… what…" Treysind bit back his next exuberant word, then allowed it to slip out as a question, "… loves me?" The smile wilted. "Tha's too much ta ask, ain't it?"

Calistin felt the usual cold barrier slide into place, the one that kept him at arm's length from the world. He did not like the realm of emotion; it distracted him from the one truly significant concept in life. Yet, when Calistin looked upon the boy's desperately hopeful features, he knew he could not ignore the question. The cruelty such action would inflict would be too great. "Of course, I love you, Trey. Families love each other, even when we can't stand each other. Even when we want to cut one another's guts out, we don't do it. Because, no matter how obnoxious, inane, and annoying we find one another at times, deep down, the love is always there."

Treysind stiffened. For an instant, he seemed poised to leap into dance, to shout or whoop, to display his joy in a whirlwind of uncon tainable action. Somehow, he managed to control his glee, but it still showed in the ecstatic glimmer in his eyes, the glow of his cheeks, and the quiver of excitement that seemed to take over his body.

The words came. Much to Calistin's surprise, he found Treysind's joy contagious. He could not help grinning, could not help feeling pleased with himself and the effect he had had on his companion. It had taken some effort; yet, for the first time in his life, it seemed entirely worth the bother. His own words, as untried and crude as they were, had brought untold happiness to a boy who had had little enough of it in his short lifetime. All it had taken was a few words more carefully chosen than usual.

The barmaid returned shortly. Calistin noticed at once that she carried nothing in her hands. "Avard wants to know if you got money to pay for what you ordered."

Money again. Calistin did not know how to react. The last time someone had demanded it from him, in the tavern in Ainsville, he had killed Karruno and skipped town in the chaos that followed, without paying. Back home, he had never had to worry about money, had barely even bothered to learn the value of the various coinage. He had no idea if the North used a system in any way similar to the West's. In all of his experience, he had never seen anyone pay for something before receiving it, and he had noticed other patrons tossing down coins only as they left. Calistin recognized an insult when he received one. "Why should I pay for food and drink you haven't brought me yet?"

The barmaid fidgeted, clearly nervous. "Avard says you're young, and he's never seen you in here before. He just wants to make sure you have enough money to pay for what you eat."

The barkeep in Ainsville had made the same request and not nearly so politely. Calistin looked at Treysind, but the boy only stared back at him, still smiling. He did not speak a word of Northern. "My brother handles all the money."

The barmaid's brows narrowed in suspicion, but she turned her attention directly on Treysind. The boy squirmed in his seat.

"What's goin' on?" Treysind asked softly in Western. Usually, they conversed in the Common Trading tongue, but that was the most used language in the world. Likely, the barmaid spoke it, and Treysind wanted to keep this private.