Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

"The Renshai have been challenged, and we will fight."

To the great leader of the Renshai, it was all that obvious, that simple.

Saviar opened his mouth, even as he realized there was no sense in arguing the point. Thialnir saw the whole thing in black and white: fight equals courage, refusing meant cowardice. No long-winded explanation would change Thialnir's mind, so Saviar salvaged the situation the only way he could. "At least, sir, let's add some safeguards to the contract. Define the end point of the battle, for example. Death or first blood?"

"Death. One less scheming Northman."

"When and where should it occur? What constitutes a fair battle? How should we handle noncombatant interference?"

Thialnir approached each question, only to have Saviar cut him off with the next one. To the youth, they were merely examples for future discussion.

As Saviar paused for breath, Thialnir addressed the final question first, "The last one-on-one Northman Renshai battle I know of suffered from exactly that interference."

Saviar knew his Renshai history. "Colbey versus the Slayer."

"Valr Kirin," Thialnir filled in the name. "Valr" meant Slayer, a nickname for the North's greatest warrior at the time. "Kirin's son leaped to his father's defense and wound up getting him killed instead."

Saviar stuck with the salient point, "And some Northmen used that as an excuse not to honor the contract."

"Good point." Thialnir patted Saviar's shoulder, a touch he accepted as he had not his grandfather's. "We will have it entered that any interference in the battle voids the contract."

It sounded wise, until Saviar considered further. The clause, used wrongly, could just as easily become a means for the Northmen to cheat. "Except, let's say the Northman is losing-"

"A certainty." Thialnir bobbed his enormous, graying head. "If some cowardly Northman shot our Renshai in the back, the end result would not count."

Saviar did not allow himself to get distracted from his new point. "-so a noncombatant deliberately kills the Northman for the sole purpose of voiding the contract. That would give them leave to enter a fresh, new contestant against our tired one. They could keep doing that until they got the upper hand."

Thialnir snorted. "Except, they would never get the upper hand. The worst of our men could slaughter the best of theirs three times over."

"True." Saviar would not argue things that did not matter. "But four times over? Five? At some point, even a Renshai gets overwhelmed."

Thialnir grunted something incoherent but finally conceded. "What if we say it's only enemy interference that voids the contract? That way, if the Northmen shoot down our warrior, it's a disqualification. If they kill their own warrior, they simply lose."

Saviar could not see any flaws in Thialnir's new argument. He nodded. At least now they had an answer to the challenge. All that remained was hashing out the final details. Though glad to have the decision out of his hands, Saviar worried about the situation. Win or lose, the lives of the Renshai would change spectacularly. He only hoped it would prove for the better.

The day of the battle dawned in dreary solemnity. Rope-wrapped stakes squared off the battlefield on the Fields of Wrath, and Knights of Erythane patrolled around them, keeping the crowd in check. Surprised by the sheer number of spectators, Saviar stood on the outskirts of the gathered nobility, Northmen, and Renshai, glad Thialnir seemed comfortable handling the final details without him.

Though he noticed someone approaching to his right, Saviar did not bother to acknowledge it. He hoped the other would realize he had no patience for idle conversation.

"Why didn't you tell me you were Renshai?"

Saviar stiffened, then turned slowly to face Verdondi. He flushed, dodging the quick blue eyes. "You… you didn't ask." It was a feeble argument, and he knew it. He had never expected the information to come out this way. Timing is everything. Kedrin had said, and Saviar knew he should have told the truth a long time ago.

"Who would think to ask a young man in the practice area of Bearn Castle such a question?"

Saviar bit his lip, too guilty to laugh. Anyone who knew King Griff hired Renshai to guard his heirs would expect them in the practice area as often as possible.

"You said you were the son of a Knight of Erythane."

"I am."

"A Knight and also a Renshai?"

"My mother…" Saviar finally met the young Northman's gaze. "… is Renshai."

Verdondi's nostrils flared. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh.' " Saviar started to turn his attention back to the proceedings, but Verdondi was not yet ready.

"You still should have told me."

"You're right," Saviar admitted, "I should have. But my father and grandfather would not have tolerated bloodshed in Bearn Castle."

Verdondi's brows arched higher. "Bloodshed? I-" His lids abruptly fell from abnormally wide to squintingly narrow. "I get it. You think far too little of me." He grunted out an irritated sigh. "I deserve better."

"I'm sorry." Saviar made a little bow. "I should not have assumed." Believing the conversation finished, he glanced out over the crowd, sifting Renshai from the vast array of Erythanians. Even a few Bearnides had made the trip, their enormous physiques and shaggy dark heads towering over most of the others.

"Who's your champion?"

Saviar continued to study the crowd as he answered, "My baby brother, Calistin."

"Your baby brother?" Verdondi seemed shocked by the answer. "I know Renshai look younger, but just how old-"

Saviar did not bother to wait for the end of the question. "He's eighteen. I'm nineteen, as of today."

"Your champion is only eighteen?"

Saviar nodded.

"And you look reasonably close to your… real age."

"I do."

"So not all Renshai-?"

"I favor my father's side of the family," Saviar interrupted swiftly. He did not want to get into an argument over rumors; Verdondi might actually believe they slaughtered infants and performed foul rites with the blood to keep their youth. "But Calistin seems to carry more of our mother's bloodline. To me, he seems about… six."

Verdondi swallowed hard. "He… looks… that young?"

"Looks?" Saviar finally studied his companion. "No, he looks-I don't know-thirteen, fourteen. He just acts six."

Verdondi laughed, and even Saviar managed a smile. He had no fear for his brother. No swordsman in any part of the world could possibly best Calistin.

The young Northman sobered quickly. "Look, Saviar. I ought to warn you.Your baby brother may be in trouble."

Saviar made a throwaway gesture. "Don't worry about Calistin. He could handle three armies, if he had to; and he'd be the first to tell you he could."

Verdondi cleared his throat cautiously. "It will take more than confidence to kill Valr Magnus."

Though he had never heard it before, the name sent a chill through Saviar. Northmen did not idly bestow the nickname of their centuries-famous hero, Valr. Magnus implied magnificent, the best. Though not uncommon as a name or piece of a name, Magnus had never, to Saviar's knowledge, accompanied the word, "Slayer."To the Northmen, this warrior was special.

Verdondi explained, "He showed such great natural prowess as a child, he has never had to do anything other than swordwork. He's not expected to hunt, book-learn, or assist with any chore. He is the sword, and the sword is him. No one can beat him."

A dark sense of foreboding clutched Saviar's chest, quickly dispelled by reason. Calistin had a similar history in a culture that initiated swordplay in infancy, where every moment of every day allowed for a spar or lesson, and he had regular opponents who could challenge him. Calistin also knew the Renshai maneuvers, to which this Valr had no access. Saviar could not imagine any man quicker or more capable than his brother. "Calistin can. And will."