Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

"Not exactly." Thialnir settled into his seat. Clearly, the battle Saviar had anticipated was not going to happen, and the young Renshai did not know whether to feel relieved or cheated. He did not relish the thought of more cuts and bruises or humiliation, yet he did want to test his sword arm against the great Thialnir.

"For a ganim, your father does have some competence with a sword. He is also courageous to a degree some would describe as insanity, a feature well appreciated by Renshai and one you demonstrate aptly. He's devoted, willing to commit to an ideal so strongly he will throw away his own life defending it. More importantly, to me at least, he could give the Renshai size without sacrificing quickness. If you managed to inherit your mother's agility and your father's strength, you would make a great asset indeed."

Saviar lowered his head. "Except I seem to have inherited my mother's strength and my father's quickness, as Calistin often says."

"Calistin," Thialnir said, "cannot see the buds for the roses."

It was the first negative word Saviar had ever heard uttered by a Renshai about Calistin.

Thialnir made another, wholly unexpected, pronouncement. "I was nearly twenty before I passed my tests of manhood."

"Really?" The word was startled from Saviar, one he never would have spoken had he time to think first.

"Men like us, Saviar. Men of speed and muscle, develop bulk first, then learn to work with and around it." Thialnir captured Saviar's gaze again. "In time, you will become like me. In time, Saviar, you will be one of the most formidable Renshai in history. And, I hope, you will lead the tribe."

It was the ultimate compliment. Saviar could do nothing but bask in it for several moments. Me? A formidable Renshai? Every young man believed himself destined for greatness, but few expected others to see it in them, especially others so respected. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much."

Now, Thialnir frowned. "There is nothing to thank me for, young Renshai. I am simply stating what I see, what I saw in you even as an infant. I examined the set of your sinews, their attachments and arrangements. I knew then what you would become today, at least in physicality. You are very much like myself as a young man; and, since I have no offspring, it will be up to you to pass your strengths through the tribe."

Saviar flushed from the roots of his hair to his lantern chin. "Are you asking me to… to…?" He found himself too embarrassed to speak the words.

"I'm asking you to marry within the tribe. And to pick someone fertile, please."

For Renshai, this was not such an odd request. Their women worked as hard as their men and hurled themselves into the same dangers. Many never cycled at all. Those who did still often had difficulties conceiving, carrying, or delivering. "I'll try, sir," Saviar said, eager to abandon the topic. His father had become a young parent, but Saviar did not feel nearly ready for such an enormous responsibility. He deliberately changed the subject. "Don't you worry that if I succeed you, I might be influenced by the Knights of Erythane rather than strictly representing the best interests of the Renshai?"

It was a complicated question that deserved a complicated answer but got only, "Nope."

Saviar found himself, once again, speechless.

Luckily, Thialnir filled the void. "You've proved yourself a smart and honest young Renshai. I don't believe you would accept the position if you couldn't do it properly."

"But I-" Not knowing where he was going next, Saviar was relieved when Thialnir broke in.

"And I've worked with your grandfather long enough to know that his strict and damnable honor would never allow him to take advantage of his relationship with you. He might advise, but he would never push you in the wrong direction."

Abruptly, Saviar gained a new respect for Thialnir, not only as a warrior but as a diplomat. Renshai disdained strategy, yet Thialnir clearly had developed a talent for it. As rash in his youth as any Renshai, Thialnir would clearly not leave the Council unscathed. Time and exposure had added sophistication to his speech as well as his actions. Thialnir was not the same Renshai that he'd been when he had agreed to represent the Renshai on the High King's Council. How much will it change me? Yet, Saviar realized something important. He was different from the other Renshai. He loved his swordwork as much as any, but he also wanted something more, the knighthood, for example. Or, perhaps, a chance to help steer the course of Renshai history. Could this be the plan the gods have always had for me?

"So." Thialnir propped his enormous elbows on the table. "Will you become my apprentice?"

It was exactly like a Renshai to expect immediate results, an impulsive answer to a lead-heavy question. "Please, Thialnir, sir. I need some time to think about it."

"Very well." Thialnir took the nonresponse in stride. "Will you, at least, accompany me to the Council meeting tomorrow?"

For the second time in two days, Saviar found himself invited to a meeting his father would prefer he not attend. Clearly, it's fated. "Of course," he promised. "I would be delighted."

Thialnir snorted with just a hint of smile. "Saviar, you're the only Renshai who would be."

Saviar perched on a familiar rocky outcropping south of the Fields of Wrath, watching the sun crawl toward the western horizon, trailing streaks of silver. Gradually, the sky diffused into its sunset hues: bands of pink blossoming into orange and saffron, then melting into greens and exploding, farther out, into a vast spectrum of blues and purples. Saviar managed a smile at the display, his first in at least a week.

Focused fully on nature's artistry, Saviar allowed the annoyances of the last six months, since the Northmen's arrival, to disappear into the recesses of his memory. Nothing existed except this grand tableau; everything human seemed insignificant in comparison.

"I thought I'd find you here."

The voice startled Saviar, and he found himself on his feet with sword drawn in an instant. The darkness gathered around a small man: swarthy, black-haired, and familiar. "Subikahn?" he whispered, barely daring to hope.

"Do you always greet your long-gone brother with bared steel?"

Saviar sheathed his sword and caught his twin into an exuberant embrace. "Subikahn! You're back." He laughed loudly, his troubles fully forgotten. "I missed you."

"And I you," Subikahn replied in a muffled voice. "But I'd still rather you didn't suffocate me."

Saviar released his twin, subsumed by excitement. "Sorry. Sorry."

Subikahn smoothed his tattered tunic, speckled with mold and bits of leaf. He looked thinner than Saviar remembered. Twigs tangled into his long, soft locks. Darkness bagged beneath his eyes, and scratches marred his cheeks. He reeked of sweat and filth.

Finally, Saviar responded to his brother's greeting words. "How'd you know you'd find me here?"

Subikahn studied the horizon, dropping into a crouch on the rocks. "Because we used to come here when we felt troubled and needed a distraction or some time alone."

Saviar looked back at the parade of colors radiating from the horizon as the last edge of sun sank beneath it. "What made you so sure I'd feel troubled?" It was an apt description, but Saviar doubted word of Erythane's unrest would have reached all the way to the Eastlands.

"Well." Subikahn did not bother to look at his brother. "First, testing day is approaching. If you want to become a man half as much as I do, you're brooding about that. And second, I'm distressed; and you're my twin. So you have to suffer whenever I do."