Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

"Sorry? Sorry for what?" Her closeness muffled her speech.

"Sorry for humiliating myself. And you. Sorry for making a scene in a crowded barroom."

She finally pulled away far enough for Subikahn to look at her. She appeared to be about his age, but world wise, with soft, brown skin and dark eyes that radiated knowledge beyond her years. She had boyish features that Subikahn found more attractive than the classic ideal of feminine beauty: her face round, her blue-black hair cropped short, her brows prominent, and her lips bow-shaped and thin. Though dark in every way Kevral was light, she still reminded Subikahn of his mother. "You didn't make a scene. And you needn't apologize for feeling sad."

Sad barely grazed the scope of what he felt. "My name is Subikahn."

She smiled. "I know that, of course, Your Highness. My name is Saydee."

"Nice to meet you, Saydee." To Subikahn's surprise, he did not want her to leave. She seemed capable of distracting him from his wretched contemplation as no one else had. "And just call me Subikahn, please."

"All right, Your-" Saydee flushed, the redness barely tinting her dark features. "-Subikahn." The name fell hesitantly from her tongue, and the color of her cheeks deepened. She released him completely and sat nervously beside him.

Subikahn looked around the room, noticing his surroundings for the first time in days. He sat on a straw pallet covered with a blanket woven with fancy designs. Though old and worn, poked through with bits of straw, it was skillfully plaited and patterned. A plain, but solidly built, chest sat at the foot. Balanced on it, he found a pitcher and bowl, a chamber pot, and a crock of tallow. A torch burned in a bracket on the wall, and the only exit was the door through which they had entered. He looked at Saydee again. She wore a clean, patched dress with an ale-stained apron. Solid legs peeked out from beneath it, and woven sandals hugged clean feet.

Saydee quailed beneath Subikahn's scrutiny. "Well, I guess I'd better be going now."

"Wait." Subikahn placed a hand over hers on the pallet. "Please stay a bit longer."

At his touch, Saydee's face seemed to glow. She glanced demurely at her hem.

Not wishing to give her the wrong idea, Subikahn added, "I'd like to talk a bit, if you can spare the time."

"I can. As much as you wish." Saydee gazed into his eyes and smiled.

Subikahn could not help smiling back, his first in what seemed like a very long time. "I…" His grin wilted. "I… lost someone special… to me." That was the most he felt comfortable confiding in a stranger, but it felt good to get even that little bit in the open.

Saydee nodded knowingly. "Do you want to talk about her?"

It intrigued Subikahn that she knew at once he meant a lover, even though she made the obvious mistake assigning gender. "No," he found himself saying before he could think. He had lost too many days to pining. He could not remember much of those but aimless wandering and self-inflicted starvation. Already, he had had to tighten his sword belt and tie up his britches. "No, for the time being, I just want to forget."

"I can help you," Saydee said softly, looking at him with passion as well as uncertainty. She shifted closer.

Nothing. Subikahn felt no attraction to her; no woman had ever excited him, not even the ones who gyrated around him or feigned accident to reveal a breast, a belly button, a thigh. Tae's words came back to haunt him now: "Subikahn, this will give you a chance to experience… other things." Other things. He knew exactly what his father meant by that. He wants me to try loving women the way I do Tally. He wants me to try… to be… normal.

Without thinking, Subikahn dropped his head in shame. His love was deviant, evil to the lawmakers of the Eastlands, yet it seemed so right and real. His father had given him so much through the years, had always done right by him. He owed it to Tae to try. Steeling himself, Subikahn leaned toward Saydee, caught her into an embrace, and closed his eyes.

Her lips touched his, then locked into a kiss. For a moment, it was a dry, dispassionate coupling. Then, Subikahn imagined her mouth as Talamir's, brought his lover's face fully to life in his mind's eye.The kiss grew moister, hungry. She sucked his tongue into her mouth and, to his joy, he finally responded. They fell together onto the bed, his hands exploring but avoiding those most womanly places, the ones that might break the fantasy Subikahn constructed in his mind.

Though desperately inexperienced, Subikahn found the proper places, made the appropriate motions, did what was expected. He dared not prolong the experience for fear of losing his nerve or his enthusiasm, so it ended quickly in an explosion of guilty pleasure that left him feeling dirty and embarrassed.

Neither his speed nor discomfort seemed to bother Saydee. She readjusted her clothing, which he had not bothered to fully remove, and snuggled into the crook of his shoulder with a satisfied sigh. He left an arm around her, staring at the ceiling, wondering how he ought to feel. He supposed the second time would come easier, and the third. Eventually, perhaps, he could even learn to enjoy coupling with females. Maybe Tae would accept Talamir if Subikahn also married a woman and created royal heirs. Many kings kept concubines, and Bearnian royalty married many times to assure a strong and continuing line.

Perhaps Talamir could live with that arrangement. Perhaps Tae could, too. At the moment, it seemed like a simple compromise; and Subikahn forced himself not to delve too deeply into this solution. If he did, he might discover its many flaws, might shatter the only dream that currently gave him hope.

Though engrossed in a complicated svergelse, Calistin Ra-khirsson never lost track of his surroundings or the goings-on around him. He found the scarlet cocoon of violence, the perfect world that all Renshai knew when their every movement reached the ultimate level of competence. Nevertheless, he could count and identify every member of the small crowd that invariably gathered to watch him. His swords became an invisible blur, rarely appearing to the mortal eye as streaks of dancing silver. His hands merged with the hilts, and his arms traced seamless arcs, lines, and circles through the air. At the moment, no one challenged him, a fact that both relieved and disappointed him. He enjoyed his svergelse. Few had the skill to seriously oppose him, and he remained his own most formidable opponent.

Finally, one man broke from the crowd to leap between the deadly, steel slices. Kwavirse met one of Calistin's strokes with a solid block, then parried it into a low cut. Instead of the anticipated retreat, Calistin launched a blazing neck cut with his second blade, one his opponent scarcely dodged. In total control, Calistin bore in. Kwavirse retreated, spun leftward, then lunged into a perfect, and unexpected, latense maneuver.

Calistin whirled gracefully to meet it as a small blur of movement entered his peripheral vision. A second opponent joined the first, a small redhead who seemed awkward as a plow horse. Forced to pull a solid, committed stroke, Calistin found himself off-balanced by his own momentum. He turned a stagger-step into a graceful, spinning retreat, his swords forming a flying web of steel to protect him from either opponent's next strike. Only then, he recognized his second "opponent" as the unarmed, untrained Erythanian he had rescued from bullies.

"Kid, get out of here!" Calistin bellowed, prepared to defend against Kwavirse's next move.

Grinning, Kwavirse bore in. Calistin raised a sword for an easy parry, just as Treysind threw himself between the two blades. Fear touched Kwavirse's expression, and the grin became a grimace. Both combatants pulled their strokes, Kwavirse's tearing a piece of the boy's sleeve and Calistin's missing cleanly.