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Mickey Reichert: Flight of the Renshai

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Mickey Reichert Flight of the Renshai

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Saviar continued to glare. It was an oft-quoted truth every Renshai appreciated. "I know that."

"But you're still trying to defeat me with size and muscle, Savi."

It was true, which only made the words sting more. Saviar had inherited their father's strapping build, as well as his stunning good looks; but those things seemed more curse than blessing to a Renshai. The Renshai leaders had found them worthy of the tribe, despite being half-breeds; but Saviar often thought he would have done better following his grandfather and father into the Knights of Erythane instead. His bulk fit their ranks better, and the constant attention of women embarrassed and distracted him from the swordwork that was supposed to be the only thing in life that mattered. Saviar often wondered how two boys with the exact same bloodline could wind up looking so completely different. "You're my brother, Calistin, not my torke. My baby brother, at that."

"Baby brother?" Calistin's features screwed, and his hands blanched around his hilts. "I've been a man for nearly five years now. You're still just a boy."

Calistin might just as well have buried a blade in Saviar's gut. Anger flashed through him, and it took strength of will to keep from attacking his brother. The urge to draw both weapons and fly into a battle to the death seized him, and only the words of their wise father rescued him: "A man of honor never allows emotion to control him." Instead, he turned on a heel and stalked toward home.

Calistin's taunts chased him, "Come on, baby brother. Have at me!"

Saviar did not look back, quickening his pace and gauging Calistin's location by his voice. To his relief, Calistin did not follow.

"You know you want to! You're acting like a big, old coward."

It was the worst insult in the Renshai vocabulary. Saviar's hands clenched to fists and his nostrils flared, but he resisted looking behind him.

"Coward! Coward! Coward!" As the chant faded into the distance, it sounded more like an echo.

Ra-khir would never allow his son to vent his rage on family, so Saviar veered away from their cottage, seeking a quiet corner where Calistin might not think to look for him. He found his solace in a sandy clearing filled with stones, shattered crates, and other bric-a-brac meant to simulate a city battle. Many a misstep had claimed the lives of otherwise competent warriors, and the Renshai practiced in all weather conditions, in darkness as well as light, on hillsides and in the thickest of forests. They spurned any weapons but swords, those forged to demanding specifications, and they learned to use either hand with equal ability. Now, Saviar lashed back into a svergelse fueled as much by fiery rage as necessity. Like all Renshai, he had learned to channel his emotions through his sword arm, skewering and slashing imaginary enemies with a speed his size belied.

But the world refused to narrow wholly to self and sword arm. Saviar found himself thinking about his other brother, Subikahn, his twin, now visiting his father in the Eastlands. It seemed a cruel twist of irony that the brother Saviar loved without reservation had shared a womb but only half his parentage, while the one who provoked him to frenzies shared every droplet of blood.

As a child, Saviar had never questioned this oddity. For the first seven years of his life, the journey to the Eastern high kingdom in Stalmize to visit Subikahn's father had seemed like a normal and expected vacation. The entire family had gone, Kevral taking over her sons' weapons training en route and while they stayed at the castle.

Saviar remembered it as a paradise. Though sparsely furnished compared to Castle Bearn, and lacking the murals and carvings, it felt huge and strangely homey. Subikahn's father, King Tae Kahn, was a small, dark, wiry man with the dexterity and speed of a Renshai who enjoyed romping on the floor with the boys. He seemed more like a friend than a father and indulged them with sweets and toys. He had a constant companion, a silver tabby cat who put up with the children plucking at her ears and yanking her tail without clawed retaliation. When his family's responsibilities to the knights and the Renshai forced Subikahn to make the trips alone, with only his torke, Saviar found himself missing the Eastern king and castle nearly as much as he did his twin brother.

Now, Saviar launched into a wild sequence of thrust, slash, and parry, his mood evened by exertion as well as his memories of happier days. Later, he had learned Tae had a dark and dangerous past, upon which his parents refused to elaborate. Only then, Saviar began to wonder about the numerous scars the king carried on his body, including lethal-looking gashes on his forehead, across his chest, and directly over his heart. "Scars are a warrior's badges of honor," the Renshai often stated, yet Tae never considered himself a competent or deliberate fighter. He dodged questions about old wounds with self-deprecating humor and tried to hide them beneath his clothing.

A blur of gray was Saviar's only warning. He barely twisted in time to rescue his hilt from another disarming. Instead, the tip of Calistin's blade tore his sleeve and cut a fiery line along his forearm.

Damn that little bastard! The curse rose to Saviar's mind without thought or reason. In truth, Calistin was the only brother of the three who was legitimately born.

Calistin drove in without apology. "Pay attention, Savi!"

Saviar retreated, mindful of the practice field debris. He needed a moment to get his bearings, to measure an opponent he already knew too well. "Leave me alone, you annoying little-" Forced to defend another lightning strike, he let the insult go, weaving both swords around Calistin's one to protect his throat and chest.

Calistin laughed. "You should be prepared for anything, anytime." His blade skipped circles around Saviar's, then drove through a nonexistent opening. "Enemies don't wait until you're in the mood."

Saviar managed a hasty riposte that saved his gut. "You're…" He slashed for Calistin, swords cutting empty air, only to find the tip of his brother's blade in his face. "… my only…" He batted the sword downward. "… enemy!"

Calistin's sword blazed up faster than Saviar could block, straight for his groin. Demons! Saviar dove, rolling. Stones and rubble jabbed his back, aching through his right hip. He came up in a crouch, still clutching his swords, barely fast enough to bat aside Calistin's next attack in time.

"You're already dead, by rights." Calistin let Saviar know he had pulled at least one blow. Though Renshai sparred with live steel, it was the better warrior's job to weigh his opponent's skill and pull life-threatening strikes. It would humiliate a torke to kill a student by accident. Every Renshai strived for complete control of every motion, and the sword was merely an extension of the arm. "I let you live."

Enraged, Saviar lunged at Calistin. "Don't do me any favors!" He chopped for his brother's neck, and the left leg a moment later.

Calistin spun aside with ease, dodging both attacks and returning one of his own. This one touched Saviar's chest in clear warning. With any power behind it, the blade would have cut bone like butter.

Fatal, Saviar realized. Seething, he came to an abrupt halt. "All right, you killed me. Happy?"

"No." Calistin performed a swirling svergelse with the grace of an angel, a golden blur of lethal power. Even Saviar found himself staring wide-eyed until the blade licked free from its pattern and sped toward him once again.

Believing the battle finished, Saviar scrambled backward in time to redirect the strike. As he swept in for the riposte, he pleaded. "Please, Calistin. I want to be alone."

Calistin wove between the two blades. "Your enemies won't care what you want." He managed three perfect strikes as he spoke.

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