Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

Before the boy could protest, he was led to the door, Ra-khir in the lead and Kedrin following. Together, they headed back toward the practice courtyard.

With a quick apology and a spectacular bow, Ra-khir excused himself from the company of his father and his son before they entered the courtyard. To Saviar's chagrin, his father disappeared down a side corridor, but Kedrin did not seem put off by the abrupt departure. Instead he flicked the latch, and opened the door onto the familiar practice courtyard.

Saviar stepped inside. A haze hung over the courtyard, no longer illuminated by morning sunlight, and the obstacles seemed awash in silver. Kedrin glanced at the racks of practice swords. It suited him better not to train with live steel; yet he also knew that the Renshai always did. In the end, he did not exchange his blade but guided Saviar to the most uncluttered part of the grounds, free from debris and deliberate constructions.

"Now," Kedrin began, facing Saviar squarely, "I know you're not a beginner, so we'll skip right to the advanced training."

Saviar kept his expression sober. His torke claimed that any swordwork taught by ganim would be a lesson Renshai had learned so early in life they could not even recall not knowing it. Saviar kept his mind open, however. If anyone might know a useful, different technique it would be the captain of the Knights of Erythane.

"Show me your stance," Kedrin said, assuming a classic posture, knees bent, weight evenly distributed, right foot leading slightly.

"Which one?"

"Of course.You probably know a thousand." Kedrin laughed, relaxing. "This is rather like pouring a bucket of water in the ocean, isn't it?"

"Well…" Saviar stalled, not knowing what to say. "Perhaps… you could teach me some power moves."

"Power moves?"

Saviar made a few graceful motions to work the kinks from his legs. "Calistin keeps reminding me that Renshai maneuvers rely on quickness, not strength; but I naturally try to outmuscle everyone because I'm bigger."

Kedrin blinked, as if noticing Saviar for the first time. "You are my biggest grandson, but you're not exactly enormous."

"I'm bigger than any other Renshai my age."

Kedrin nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose you are. You favor your father and me.You'll fill out a lot over the next few years."

Saviar hung his head. "Don't remind me."

"Don't remind you?" Kedrin's pale brows rose in increments. "Savi, that's a good thing."

"Not for Renshai."

Kedrin disagreed and made it clear. "Even for Renshai. Quick maneuvers work great for Renshai, but size and strength don't harm them either. Look at Thialnir."

"He's huge," Saviar admitted.

"And one of the Renshai's most skilled fighters."

Saviar nodded. Until the realization that he might have to face the Renshai's leader in combat, he had never considered Thialnir's size before. The man was intimidating for reasons beyond his massive frame.

"Believing a large man must be slow has cost many warriors their lives, Saviar." Kedrin's blue-white eyes held a sincerity that went beyond truth. Not only did he speak honestly, he did so from the heart, from a need for his grandson to understand. "Handled well, size can become speed's greatest asset."

Saviar's heartbeat quickened. It seemed possible that Kedrin knew a lesson the Renshai would never teach him. "Can you… can you show me?"

"I can." Kedrin drew his sword with a fluency Saviar normally attributed only to Renshai. "Please stand back," he said, then laughed. "Sorry, I keep forgetting who I'm talking to."

Saviar could dodge any move his grandfather could make so quickly it might seem as if he anticipated the strike before Kedrin decided on it. He made a motion of encouragement. He had never before seen his grandfather draw steel. The Knight-Captain mostly instructed his charges verbally or demonstrated by repositioning the other man's arms, legs, or weapon.

Kedrin executed a series of deft warm-up strikes, then looked directly at Saviar. "Ready?"

Saviar nodded. Renshai were always ready for anything to do with swords.

Kedrin launched into the ganim version of a svergelse, his strokes powerful, committed, and yet still nimble and precise. His movements seemed a study in paradox: broad and strong, lithe and agile. Saviar saw nothing slow or clumsy in the captain's actions, and they lacked the ponderous ungainliness the Renshai ascribed to muscled outsiders. Kedrin could not match the speed and fiery grace of a Renshai, but that had to do with practice and dedication, not technique. Saviar watched, awed. He could adapt some of those power strokes into new and deadly Renshai maneuvers.

Diving into the flying cuts of steel, Saviar stayed his grandfather's hand with a careful parry and grab. Close in, swords bound, hand gripping Kedrin's wrist, he looked excitedly at the knight. "Teach me."

For an instant, Kedrin looked shocked. He studied the boy in front of him, making absolutely certain his blade had never touched Saviar. Once sure, he relaxed. "I will."

And Kedrin did. As the sun inched toward the horizon, Saviar learned techniques the Renshai would dismiss as foolish, adapting them to the deadly quickness of Renshai. Saviar knew it did him little good, and a lot of ill, to simply learn the ways of ganim swordcraft. With each new movement, with every suggestion, Saviar sought a way to incorporate it into the repertoire he already knew, to advance the maneuver into something as powerful as it was swift and unstoppable.

In the past, Saviar's bulk had always seemed an insurmountable hindrance. Constant swordwork kept him as lean as any Renshai, yet deliberate starvation only made him weak and slower. He could never shed the musculature of his paternal ancestors; the solid definition of his abdominal muscles never allowed his ribs to show. Now, he had found a way to use his build as an advantage, and the idea of pausing to rest after such a staggering discovery never occurred to him. He would continue to revise, to invent, until his grandfather passed out from exhaustion.

Not that Kedrin showed any sign of doing so. He reveled quietly in Saviar's every triumph. Though Kedrin had never stated so, it became clear from his actions and words that he had always wished for the opportunity to educate his grandsons. The time dedicated to Renshai training left little for other things. Though Kedrin had sneaked in lessons on beauty, relaxation, philosophy, and morality, he could never before compete when it came to weapons. Now, his day had come, and he seemed as unlikely to quit as Saviar himself, as relentless and infinite as the Renshai maneuvers.

It seemed like only moments before the door to the courtyard slammed open to reveal Ra-khir in all his knightly splendor, and a host of others behind him. For the first time Saviar could remember, he wished his father would disappear, to leave him in the world of inventiveness and joy that he currently shared with Kedrin.

Though equally engrossed, Kedrin could not have had a more different reaction. He sheathed his sword and executed a bow of great formality. Only then, Saviar recognized the group who had accompanied his father: the heirs to Bearn's throne. Shocked, he froze in position, sword still gripped in his hand.

Kedrin cleared his throat softly, pointedly.

Swiftly, Saviar jabbed his sword back into its sheath and dropped to one knee, head bowed.

Princess Marisole led the group. Only a few months younger than Saviar, she was the oldest heir, Queen Matrinka's first child. She favored her mother: her dark brown hair thick and lustrous, her figure full and curvy, her eyes a dark hazel that barely showed its green. Her large nose betrayed the bard's lineage; and, of course, the delicate lute she carried slung across her shoulder.

She ran to Saviar. "Get up, get up." She cuffed him playfully until he rose, then caught him into an embrace. She felt soft and warm against him, and he could not help noticing that she had developed breasts and hips since he had last seen her. He wrapped his arms around her, forcing his thoughts to his swordwork, to the weather, anything but her magnificent closeness. At his age, any touch from a pretty young thing excited him wildly. If his father or grandfather caught him reacting to a princess of the realm like a common tavern wench, he would suffer greatly for his body's betrayal.