Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

"Money," Calistin said. "She wants it in advance."

"Why are you whispering?" the barmaid said loudly. "And what language are you speaking anyway?"

Calistin did not wish to draw attention that might give away his heritage, not after Colbey had cautioned him against it. Only one tribe of Northmen lived in the West. "It's our tribal tongue," Calistin lied. "My little brother had an accident as a baby and has trouble learning languages. He's only mastered tribal, and he's not particularly good at that, either."

"Tribal, huh?" The explanation did not satisfy the barmaid. "I've never heard anything like it. What tribe are you from?"

Calistin picked the farthest tribe, the one with which she would probably have the least experience. "We're Gelshni, if you must know. But it's not-"

A voice boomed out from behind them. "Ah, boys. There you are. I've been looking all over for you."

Calistin whirled to see a huge form emerge from the haze. A massive hand touched his shoulder.

The newcomer spun a chair from a nearby table, then thrust it between his legs to sit between Calistin and Treysind. He looked askance at the barmaid. "I'm sorry, Griselda. Have my boys been giving you trouble?"

The woman curtsied hurriedly. "I'm so sorry, Valr. I didn't know they were with you." She turned toward the kitchen, then stopped abruptly. "Is it all right for me to bring them mutton? And ale, sir?"

Valr. The name rang through Calistin's ears. Ignoring the conversation, he studied the man who claimed to know them, who had joined them, uninvited, at the table. He wore heavy leathers stained by sweat and travel grime; but the large, lithe figure was unmistakable. Calistin might forget a face but never a warrior figure. Valr Magnus. He had not only run into the very enemy he sought, for reasons currently beyond comprehension, the man had come to him.

"Aye, fine. Whatever they want. I'm paying."

The barmaid scurried to obey with newfound deference.

Only then, Calistin met the other man's gaze with a coldness that could have frozen a summer pond. The familiar, handsome features completed the picture. He looked the part of the hero, his cheeks rugged and high-formed, his nose not too prominent and perfectly straight, his chin chiseled. Fine blue eyes studied Calistin from beneath a tousled mane of golden hair. "Valr Magnus." Calistin fairly spat the name.

That caught Treysind's attention. He already stared unabashedly at the man who had joined them so unexpectedly. Now, his expression revealed revulsion and fear.

Magnus nodded as if Calistin had merely spoken a polite greeting. "Calistin Kevralsson. I thought you would find me."

"Calistin Ra-khirsson," Calistin corrected, though he took no insult. He was at least as proud of his maternal heritage. "And it would appear you found me."

The large man belted out a laugh. "Well, I suppose so, seeing as how I recognized you from a whole two tables away. That's clearly more significant than you trailing me across the entire Westlands, through the Weathered Mountains, and into Northern tribal lands.

Calistin did not allow himself to see the humor in it. He refused to share a joke with his bitterest enemy. "Don't flatter yourself. I didn't follow you."

Valr Magnus' brows rose, and he tipped his head. "So you're not here to face me in fair combat?"

Calistin saw no reason to lie now. "Of course, I am. But I didn't follow you. I expected to find you in Nordmir."

"Why Nordmir?"

"Because… you're Nordmirian."

Valr Magnus' expression did not change. "That will come as a great surprise to my Aeri parents."

"Aeri…" Calistin realized he had no real reason to assume the tribe of the proclaimed best Northern swordsman was Nordmirian, other than knowing it was the site of the North's high kingdom and the source of the most vicious Renshai hatred. Valr Kirin had come from there, and the legend must have stuck in Calistin's mind. "Fine. Aeri, then. What's the difference? All Northmen are the same."

"Including Renshai?"

"Of course not."

"Ah." Valr did not bother to delve deeper.

The barmaid appeared swiftly, balancing two heaping plates of mutton and two mugs of foamy ale. She placed them in front of Calistin and Treysind, then curtsied. Light seemed to dance in her eyes as she addressed Valr Magnus. "And you, Valr? Would you be having more, sir?"

The Northman turned her a smile, and her knees buckled. For a moment, Calistin thought she would melt onto the floor in front of him. "Just a bit more of that ale, please."

Regaining her equilibrium instantly, the barmaid rushed away.

Valr looked at Calistin's drink. "It's good. Not like that horse piss that passes for ale in the West."

Calistin felt no obligation to defend the Western taverns, but it irked him that Valr Magnus seemed determined to turn the ugliest of feuds into normal conversation. "Maybe it's just you they're serving horse piss. Maybe they think it's all you deserve."

"Maybe," Valr added conspiratorially, "it isn't even horse!"

It took Calistin a moment to realize what Valr meant, that the barmen and maids might be the source of the urine. His face wrinkled in revulsion reflexively. "That's disgusting."

"But all I deserve," Valr reminded Calistin in the Renshai's own words.

Treysind finally cut in, using the Common Trading tongue. "Can't yas two speak Common? I wants ta know what ya's sayin'."

Valr responded before Calistin had a chance. "I speak a few languages. Perhaps we can use the one that you know most fluently."

"That's it," Calistin explained. "Trading. I'm afraid that's as articulate as he gets."

"So's I don't talk so good," Treysind said around a mouthful of shredded mutton. "Least now I kin unnerstan's yas." He looked directly at Calistin. "So ya's finded him."

Calistin nodded.

"Ya's gonna fight?"

"Yes," Calistin said, not caring what Valr Magnus answered. "We're going to fight. To the death."

Treysind turned his attention to Valr Magnus. "That righ'?"

The Aeri shrugged. "To the death, apparently. Assuming that was, in fact, a serious challenge."

"It was," Calistin confirmed.

Treysind shoveled in another mouthful of meat, speaking around it. "So what's yas waitin' for? Yas talkin' terms out?"

"Not really." Valr Magnus looked up as the barmaid wound her way toward him. "I just wanted to get to know the man who's going to send me to Valhalla. Assuming he wins, of course."

Calistin found his rage giving way to confusion. He had envisioned his meeting with Valr Magnus many times, and it never went anything like this. In his mind, the Northman immediately assaulted him as soon as he pronounced his name and tribe. "Oh, I'll win," he mumbled as the barmaid set down the mug by Magnus' right hand.

"Thank you," Magnus said, waving the barmaid away.

She hesitated a moment, as if to say something, then scurried off in silence.

"Very well, then," Magnus said, without a trace of fear. "Any messages you want me to take your mother?"

Calistin's eyes narrowed, and he studied the man in front of him, seeking offense in his question. The mere mention of the mother Magnus had killed suggested flippancy and intent to rattle.Yet, Calistin realized, in one question the Aeri had essentially decreed Kevral a courageous warrior and Calistin the better swordsman.

When Calistin gave no reply, Magnus turned his attention to Treysind, eating and drinking with gusto. "What's your name, young man?"

Treysind waved a hand. "Oh, ya kin call me 'boy.' It don't 'fend me like it do him." He swallowed a wad of food so huge, Calistin could see it go down his neck. "Name's Treysind."

A few moments passed in silence before Valr finally said. "Is that your whole name?"

"Yep." Even though he continued talking, Treysind stuffed more mutton into his mouth. "I's a orphan, so's I ain't got no Nobody's son ta tack on there. Don't know whose son I is, acshly. An' I ain't got no title or tribe or nothin' neither."