Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

"Don't apologize for my incompetence." Verdondi rubbed at the sore spot, then looked at the railing. "I'm a bit thrown by the staircase. I've just realized why the craftsmen spiraled it rightward."

Saviar had not noticed. "Why's that?"

Verdondi again took up a position of attack. "Because my right arm's against the wall. See?" He tried to raise his sword, limited by the railing and the wall stones. "While yours is free, unhampered. Smart design. If it wasn't on purpose, it should have been."

Saviar touched the railing with his left hand, realizing Verdondi spoke the truth. Such details did not usually concern Renshai. In fact, he imagined his people demanding backward spirals just for the challenge. He considered the other staircases in the castle and realized they all twisted the same way. "I'm pretty sure it's by design."

"Clever."

"Want to defend for a bit?"

Verdondi looked up and down the stairs, clearly pondering.

"It doesn't matter to me," Saviar assured him.

"Well… if you're sure it doesn't matter…"

Saviar made a broad gesture to indicate Verdondi should pass him, then headed down the steps. He waited for Verdondi to reach the top, sword clutched in his right fist.

"Ready?"

"Whenever," Saviar called back. Then, realizing he, as the attacker, had to make the first move, he drew and charged upward with a battle scream.

They met nearer the top than the bottom this time, and their swords clashed together. Pain thrummed through Saviar's arm, the first time he faced an opponent with as much strength as himself. He parried deftly, then flicked his sword beneath Verdondi's. He could have disarmed the Northman but withdrew instead. It would have required a deft Renshai maneuver that would have made the other young man suspicious. Saviar had no intention of revealing his Renshai heritage to a visiting Northman of any age.

Instead, Saviar awaited an attack. It came high and sweeping. He riposted, then bore in with a gut shot that would have skewed his opponent had he not pulled it.

"I'm dead," Verdondi announced honestly. His arm drooped to his side. "No wonder you don't care if you're defender or attacker. You didn't tell me you were ambidextrous."

All Renshai were. If not born to use both hands equally, they learned to at such an early age it seemed as if they were. At any age, if one hand showed more promise than the other, they practiced only with the weaker one until they managed equal competence. It had not taken a thought for Saviar to draw left-handed. When the time came to attack, instinct had taken over. He smiled. "You didn't ask."

"You're full of surprises, Saviar Ra-khirsson." Verdondi headed down the staircase. "I'm considered one of the best warriors of my age, and you're making me look like a beginner."

Though grinning inwardly, Saviar allowed no sign of it to appear on his face. "I've just had more experience with the staircase. Why don't we spar on open ground?"

Verdondi gave a respectful bow. "How honorable of you to give up your advantage.You clearly are your forefathers' son." He headed toward the open practice area.

Following, Saviar bit his cheeks to keep from laughing. What Verdondi had attributed to knightly honor was actually a Renshai desire to make an easy battle more challenging and interesting. For the first time, Saviar truly appreciated his heritage: the obsessive focus on swordwork, the secret maneuvers, the endless practices. Even he, as yet incapable of passing his manhood tests, might actually be a match for three non-Renshai.

Verdondi braced himself, legs solidly beneath his body, knees bent, hand on hilt. "All right. I'm ready." His eyes followed Saviar's every movement.

Saviar took a position directly opposite Verdondi and beyond sword range. Though he kept his weight balanced, he strove for a more casual look and did not bother to clutch his hilt. "Begin."

Verdondi drew his sword. In the same space of time, Saviar freed his blade, lunged, and cut. Verdondi retreated, rescuing his legs but losing the opportunity for attack. Saviar saw an opening, but resisted, not wishing to humiliate his companion. Instead, he flipped his sword into position for a low cut that Verdondi successfully blocked with a quick parry.

Again, Saviar surrendered an opportunity, this time for a gut slash. Verdondi managed a hacking cut that Saviar easily dodged. He counted his openings, two this time, one nearly at his opponent's back. He resisted both to feign a high slash to the neck, followed by a swift slice to Verdondi's hip. Suddenly realizing the blow would fall, Saviar switched to a blunt side hit that slapped against Verdondi's hipbone.

"Damn it!" Verdondi halted the match again. "Your father is an outstanding teacher, and you have incredible natural talent."

"Th-thank you," Saviar stammered, cheeks flushing. No one had ever complimented his abilities with such strong words. Renshai used praise sparingly; excellence was simply expected. Saviar also did not bother to correct the misconception. Verdondi did not need to know it was his mother, not his father, who had trained him. He sheathed his sword.

"When I become a captain, I'm coming back to recruit you. That is, if you're not caught up with knightly duties."Verdondi jammed his practice sword into place as well.

Saviar grinned, "And I might accept…" The idea suited him until the reality of the details caught up to him. Eventually, a ship full of Northman would discover his heritage, and he would have no place to hide. He would have to either slaughter all his shipmates or die on their swords. He added his one out, as Verdondi had, "… if I'm not caught up in knightly duties."

Verdondi laughed. "It's all right if you are. Among knights, I'm sure your talents won't get wasted either."

Saviar finally found a response. "Thank you for your generous compliments."

Verdondi continued, "And being shipbound isn't all excitement and glory either. There's a lot of loneliness and tedium, too." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Especially the girls. No women allowed on board."

Saviar's cheeks grew hotter. He had found himself staring at the female Renshai, enamored of their looks and grace, imagining situations of which no Knight of Erythane would approve. The girls had clearly noticed him as well.They giggled around him and found lame excuses to touch him, all of which excited him wildly. The idea of actually courting one, however, terrified him. "I… think I could handle that."

"And for every fascinating diplomatic mission, like this one, there are several hundred routine patrols."

Saviar wondered whether or not the spar had finished. He felt uncomfortable with a grubby practice weapon where his zealously tended sword should sit. He remembered what his grandfather had told him. "Did you come to barter iron ore with King Griff?"

Verdondi chuckled, then covered his mouth, clearly mortified by his reaction.

Confused, Saviar sought clarification. He shook back red-blond hair damp with sweat. "What?"

"I'm sorry." Verdondi glanced around the empty practice area, as if concerned someone might overhear. "It's just such a simple name for a man of such might and power."

Now, Saviar laughed. He had grown accustomed to the unpretentious name of Bearn's great king. It fit the childlike, bearish man whose rulings seemed guileless and easy when he spoke them. Yet, when examined, those same proclamations held a complexity belied by the man's unpretentious wording and relaxed manner. Few could remain so consistently fair and proper. He never seemed to make a single mistake.

A common feature of all the greatest kings of Bearn, that effortless shrewdness soothed the populace, who treasured it and the man who displayed it. They would not have loved him any less had he borne the name Dirt, and they spoke his common moniker with a sweet reverence that made it seem as worthy as any knight's title. For centuries, a test designed by gods chose the proper heir to the throne, and Griff had passed with ease.