Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

The door to the tavern banged open suddenly, sucking the smoke and warmth from the room. An army stood in the doorway, bristling with weaponry and dressed in matching colors: aqua and bronze.

Calistin's heart raced with excitement. Only one possibility occurred to him: they had discovered that a Renshai sat among them and had come to do battle, a hundred or more to one. And, he realized, he relished the challenge.

Valr Magnus sprang to his feet. "What's wrong, Olvirn?"

The leader of the mass blinked in the hazy light. "It's Bearn. Pirates are overtaking the coast en masse, and King Griff has asked for every army, every warrior the world can muster."

Calistin sprang to attention. His heart rate quickened still further, galloping like hoofbeats in his chest.

"I'm coming," Valr promised, then looked at Calistin. "If I can bring my… friend. He may not look like much, but he's the best swordsman I know."

Calistin had no choice but to nod, their feud forgotten for the moment. If the West's high kingdom fell, the rest of the world would surely follow. He had at least as big a stake in the outcome of that war as any of the gathered Northmen.

The army retreated from the doorway, and Valr Magnus looked at Calistin. "I'll insist they put you under my direct command."

Calistin glared. "I won't obey you."

"Nor anyone else, I don't imagine." Valr Magnus headed for the door. "You'll infuriate any Northern commander; but, at least I have the satisfaction of knowing that, when it's all over, we'll battle one-on-one to the death."

Choiceless, even in his own mind, Calistin followed in silence.

And Treysind dutifully trailed his hero.

It seemed to Saviar Ra-khirsson that they might just as well have met with the Mages of Myrcide smeared in filth and reeking of creek water for all the good his arguments did them. Again and again, he presented his points, using different words, different tones, his most eloquent pleadings. Jeremilan and the others only shook their heads sadly. Saviar could have achieved the same results by shouting at the mountains.

Saviar sighed, rolling his gaze over the craggy walls, the strange, one-sided windows, and the twenty-six adult mages ranged on various pieces of furniture. He sought out and found Subikahn leaning casually against the wall. The twin only shook his dark head sadly. He had nothing to add. Chymmerlee crouched in front of the group, facing Saviar, her hands clenched and held to her lips.

Saviar tried again. "You're not understanding the gravity of this situation."

Jeremilan spoke politely, with only a hint of impatience. "I believe we are."

"If Bearn falls…"

"If," Jeremilan repeated. "Bearn is very strong and has many allies."

"Deservedly so." Saviar tried to make a new point where the others had failed. "Despite its position as high kingdom, Bearn grants great freedom of rulership, of worship, of usage to all the Western countries beneath her. Her king is fair, her decisions just, her taxes minimal."

Jeremilan did not argue. "Yes."

"If Bearn falls," Saviar started again, this time not pausing to allow interruption, "our lives are essentially, quite possibly literally, over."

"We don't know that," Jeremilan said.

Saviar would not succumb to such a weak argument. "It's true the future is unknown, but only a dolt blinds himself to its clear predictions. So far, we know that the enemy wishes only to kill us, that they make no other demands and slaughter those who even attempt to parley. To assume a bright future in the face of that knowledge is idiocy of the highest order."

A murmur swept the room. Young Saviar had not quite called their centuries-old leader a fool. Twice.

"Careful," Subikahn mouthed.

Jeremilan rose, clutching the arm of his plush chair with one withered hand. "Are you suggesting we're stupid if we don't follow your advice?"

"I'm only saying…" Though glad he had finally riled his audience, Saviar chose his words with care. He did not want their new enthusiasm to end in magic cast at himself. "… that Bearn needs us. And that you stand to lose your very lives if you don't assist her."

"And if we do assist?" Jeremilan's voice remained strong despite his age. "We will all survive?"

"I… can't promise that," Saviar admitted.

"In fact," Jeremilan pressed his advantage. "We are certain to lose at least a few lives in battle, especially when the enemy realizes we're the source of any magic."

"We can protect you." Now that Jeremilan had, at least, imagined the possibility of helping, Saviar could not afford to back down. "We will keep your casualties to a minimum."

"The two of you?"

"What? No. All of us. All of Bearn's allies would certainly-"

"Would they?"

Again, the question caught Saviar off guard. It seemed perfectly obvious to him.

"Because people tend to revile things they don't understand. In Shadimar's day, people shunned, despised, or pretended to be mages. The Renshai saw our strangeness as reason enough to annihilate us."

Saviar threw up his hands, wondering if the mages would benefit from younger leadership. "That was a long time ago. Things have changed."

"Have they?"

"Of course. Centuries cannot pass without progress. Swords have become sharper, stronger, cheaper. Food storage techniques have advanced to the point where a king can keep a shed of meat safely through the winter, preventing starvation anywhere in his kingdom. Horses are larger, sturdier. They can travel longer distances. Elves, elves live among us. So very, very much has changed."

"But not basic human nature."

Saviar rolled his eyes. "Even what you call basic human nature."

"Is that so?" Jeremilan started to pace, and the others respectfully gave him a path. "There are no wars?"

"Well…" Saviar could hardly deny them, given what he was asking the mages to do.

"Northern tribes no longer squabble over territory? Countries no longer need borders? Nationalities no longer exist because Easterners, Westerners, and Northmen breed freely together?"

Saviar did not see the purpose in this argument. "You can take anything to its extreme-"

"And where are these elves you spoke of? Why can't you use their magic?"

"Hopefully, someone close to the elves will convince them to come also."

"Why does someone have to convince them?" Jeremilan stopped to face Saviar directly. "Don't they walk freely among you?"

"Well, no," Saviar was forced to admit. "But they could if they wished to. Elves are… well, elves.They're capricious and unfocused, the very definition of chaos. They've lived reclusive lives for as long as the world has existed. That doesn't change in a decade."

"Are you certain humans didn't drive them to seclusion?"

"No!" Saviar did not have time to divulge the entire history of the elfin race coming to live on Midgard. At one time, the elves had tried to slaughter the humans, whom they believed responsible for the destruction of Alfheim. Later, they had seen elfin/human hybrids as the answer to their ever-shrinking population. "In fact, the king of Bearn married one, and one of the Bernian princesses is half-elfin."

"True as that may be…"

It irked Saviar that Jeremilan left the possibility open that he was lying.

"… the reasons elves gave for going underground may have been phrased self-protectively. If they stated they were hiding from humans, the humans might see them as enemies and actively hunt them down."

Saviar made a disgusted noise. "You have a wondrous knack for seeing the worst in everything, sir. No great civilization was ever built on pessimism."