Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

Tae seemed nearly as surprised by the confession as Talamir had by the accusation. "You… you admit…" His tone abruptly changed. "I knew it. You bastard! You brutalized my son. You ruined him for any woman! You…!" He gestured inarticulately for a moment before regaining his composure. "Talamir Edminsson, you are hereby sentenced to death by torture." He made a clear, broad gesture to the three men near Talamir. "Take him to the dungeon."

"Don't fight," the Shadow Leader said.

He might as well have been talking to the wall stones. Talamir had his sword free and slashing before anyone could move to stop him. Tae flew up the spectators' seats to the chandelier in a heartbeat. The other three moved almost as quickly, but their nearness to Talamir hindered them. The tip of one's glove followed the path of the sword, trailing blood. Another clamped a hand to his ear, swearing. The third, the one who had advised Talamir, managed to completely avoid the stroke, disappearing into the shadows of the court.

Though injured, the other two put themselves between Talamir and the exit. Both suddenly clutched blades, though Talamir had seen neither carry one. He crouched into a ready position. The rumor that one Renshai was equivalent to any other three competent warriors was not exaggeration. He had trained to take his enemies in packs as well as individually, to even expect treachery from those who initially battled with him, as friends. "If I am going to die, it will be in battle, not slung from a gallows." He lunged toward the largest of Tae's guards.

The man caught the strike on his blade with a firmness that sent vibrations rippling through Talamir's fingers. He withdrew, then sliced in again, whirling to face his second opponent.

The first recoiled, barely rescuing his chest from a fatal tear. The second sprang in as Talamir cut for him. He managed an awkward riposte that spared his life but opened his defenses. Talamir jabbed for the kill.

Something slammed into Talamir's legs, sprawling him. The Renshai madness caught him then. "Modi!" he swore, twisting like a wisule to face this new threat. The Shadow Leader clutched his ankles in a death grip, and a dagger in his fist jumped for Talamir.

"No!" The Renshai kicked and rolled. A sword swept toward his face, and he met the attack with his own blade, surging free. He saw movement overhead. At the same time, the two remaining elite guards sprang as one.

"Modi!"Talamir shouted, this time in wild abandon. He was going to die, but he would do so bravely, as a Renshai man. He redirected the first stroke, wove under the second. Something pricked his hip, even as he raised his sword to impale the figure flying toward him from the chandelier. The king! he realized suddenly. Subikahn's father.

The tear in Talamir's hip burned, a shocking agony for a Renshai immersed in battle, a Renshai whose battle rage should have driven him past all pain. He could feel its every motion through his veins, tearing, blazing, coursing through his body. "Poison," he gasped out, staggering. His blade missed its mark. Tae landed on him with enough force to bear him to the ground.

Still Talamir fought, writhing and kicking, spewing out words that ceased to make sense, even to himself. Someone jerked the sword from his hand. He lunged after it, howling like a beast. His thoughts swirled, wildly unfocused, and he groped for them with the same intensity with which he would wield his sword. "No! No! No!" He had to die with it in his hands. Die with it to go to Valhalla. And take the lying bastard who stooped to poison with him.

Oblivious to Tae expertly securing his limbs, sparing no attention for the two armed men trying to pin him with threats that no longer mattered, Talamir turned his gaze directly and accusingly on the smallest of the elite guardsmen. "You coward." He spat out the worst insult in the Renshai vernacular. "You filthy, shit-stinking coward."

Then, darkness descended on Talamir, and he knew no more.

Saviar Ra-khirsson slipped quietly into the Bearnian guest quarters he shared with his father and grandfather, undressed in the dark, and crawled into bed. The sheets felt lavishly soft, silky, and cold against his flesh; and he detected a hint of lavender amidst the sword oil, leather, and horse dander smells that defined the Knights of Erythane. Saviar felt himself drifting almost immediately; exhaustion from a grueling practice, combined with the plushness of his bed, dragged him rapidly toward sleep.

Kedrin's voice jarred abruptly through Saviar's muddling thoughts. "Savi?"

"Mmmm?" Saviar returned, unwilling to abandon the welcome comfort of drowsiness. If he focused too hard on his grandfather, he might come fully awake and have difficulty relocating this fine and comfortable place.

"They've called a special Council meeting for the morning. A Nordmirian ship docked this evening."

That fully roused Saviar. He propped himself onto an elbow, though he could barely discern Ra-khir's and Kedrin's beds through the darkness. Ra-khir slept between them. "A Nordmirian ship?" The Northlands consisted of a vast, frozen territory supporting several tribes who seemed constantly at war with one another. Aside from traders, they interacted rarely with the West. They also held a deep-rooted and deftly taught hatred for the Renshai tribe, once a part of them. Saviar could not keep suspicion from his tone. "Why?"

"We'll find out tomorrow." Kedrin peered across Ra-khir. "If I had to guess, I would venture it had something to do with ore."

"Ore?" Still leaning on his elbow, Saviar crinkled his forehead, though Kedrin could not see his confusion through the darkness. The chill of the sheets gave way to the trapped warmth of Saviar's body.

"Iron ore," Kedrin explained. "The West's great mines are nearly tapped out. The East has never been a good source, but the North has the most productive mines in the world."

"Really?" Saviar wondered how he had gone through his entire childhood obsessed with steel and yet had never known this fact. It's because Renshai care only about ability and maneuvers.When they need supplies, they buy or, in the past, take them. In that context, it made sense that the Renshai would pay little attention to such details. They also knew nothing about hunting or fishing, about clothing or adornments.

"Really, Saviar. And I thought you might want to attend the Council meeting."

Ra-khir stiffened suddenly, apparently jarred awake. He stretched beneath his covers, politely quiet.

"Really?" This time, the word emerged as a squeak. Saviar could scarcely believe the invitation. At only eighteen, he might become a part of kingdom politics, of an affair with vast significance.

Apparently misinterpreting Saviar's question, Kedrin added, "All right, I admit it. They're dead boring. But I thought someone who had never seen the Council Room might find even the regular goings-on of some interest. Also, I know you've never met a live Northman. I've always felt it better to form opinions based on reality rather than stereotypes and stories."

Saviar understood the underlying point. His mother held an entrenched disdain for all things Northern and tended to voice her opinion at any opportunity. Usually, Renshai remained aloof from discussions of their Northern cousins; but there was clearly no love lost and some actual hatred on their side as well. "I'd like to come, Grandpapa. Thank you for inviting me."

"You're welcome," Kedrin said sincerely, settling back beneath his covers. "Dress appropriately, and I will expect you to remain a silent observer."

The mere thought of speaking out in front of diplomats and royalty made Saviar quail. "Silent, of course. I would very much prefer it." He rolled to his side, prepared to fall asleep. Before he had a chance to settle in, however, Ra-khir finally spoke.