Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

Saviar did not have patience for unnecessary chatter, whether from the young Northman or from his baby brother. "Yes, yes. She'll do fine." He needed the words to convince himself as well as Calistin. "She'll do just fine."

"I didn't mean to-I didn't expect her to say-"

Nothing could have driven Saviar's focus from the upcoming battle, except for his cocksure brother seeking reassurance from him. It was so wildly uncharacteristic, so staggeringly unexpected, that Saviar choked on his own saliva. At a time when he most wished to say something, he could do nothing but surrender to a fit of violent coughing.

The king made a sweeping gesture. "Let the battle begin!"

Before the sentence ended, Kevral struck like a snake, zipping through Valr Magnus' guard. Her sword cut across his shield, scratching a perfect line in the steel. She lunged again immediately, leaving no time for a return strike. Forced to defend again, Magnus sprang safely aside. This time, he managed a blazing riposte that Kevral dodged.

Saviar's throat finally handled speech. "It's not your fault, Calistin. No one blames you."

The Northmen shouted rhythmically, "Valr! Valr! Valr!" To Saviar's surprise, much of the Erythanian audience took up the chant. The Renshai remained silent.

Magnus' speed bothered Saviar. Whatever Calistin saw in their physiques that gave Kevral the advantage defied his not-quite-as-practiced eye. Magnus moved like a dancer, despite the heavy armor, and he clearly bided his time. He had learned to use the shield as a weapon rather than relying on it to fend every blow.

Kevral's next assault was a deadly blur of weaving steel. The sword in her left hand struck six times in less than a second, and the right bore in to inflict unrelated chaos. Magnus might have faced two separate foes for all the logic in their intertwining movements. He caught one attack on his sword, another on his shield, three more on various parts of his armor. Another, he parried, redirecting it fiercely and following up with a blazing attack that forced Kevral to withdraw and realign.

This time, Magnus attacked first, a furious feint followed by a blow full of strength and passion. Kevral caught it on a cross between her swords, needing both hands to slow the attack. Even then, it must have stung fiercely. She gave gradually with the force, slowing the momentum so as not to force an immediate, agonizing stop. An abrupt twist jerked the sword from his grip.

But Magnus moved with it, grabbing the hilt and yanking furiously. For an instant, his balance wavered. Seizing the opening, Kevral bore in with a blow toward the neck that dented his helmet but left the flesh intact.

Magnus loosed a howl of rage. His features went taut with driven anger, yet Saviar noticed something else in his expression, something out of place and unexpected. "Is that… a wicked, little smile?" he asked of no one in particular.

"He's testing her," Calistin guessed. Apparently appeased by Saviar's words, he sounded more like his usual confident self, "getting a feel for how she moves, her favorite actions."

Though troubled by Magnus' strategy and patience, Saviar doubted it would make a substantial difference. Renshai had no overriding tactics, no patterns; and Kevral would know better than to repeat a maneuver.

The two combatants attacked simultaneously, with a speed that defied Saviar's ability to follow. Steel flashed, arms and legs wove with terrifying speed, metal crashed against metal. Rents appeared in Kevral's clothing, scratches, dents and holes in Magnus' armor. And, on occasion, blood splashed, following a sword arc. Saviar did not know whose, but neither gave a bit of ground, so no one had sustained a serious wound.Yet.

Saviar's jaw ached. One clenched hand gripped his hilt so tightly it left impressions of the knurling on his palm. His fingernails chewed into the other. He tried to relax, tried to feel certain that Kevral would prevail, that all would go well for the Renshai; but he could not stop himself from worrying. She was a phenomenal warrior, more than a match for any Northman. Any Northman! he reassured himself. Yet, the war did not always go to the most competent. Renshai lost battles… occasionally. Renshai died… often. Mother, why did you have to take that challenge?

For an instant the two disengaged. Though neither panted obviously, their nostrils flared repeatedly. Sweat sheened them both, darkening the leather on their hilts. Both sported rips, tears, and gashes in clothing and flesh, mostly light limb wounds. Then, as suddenly as they had stopped, they charged again. Kevral sprang aside, her blades invisible as they carved lethal patterns through Magnus' defense. He charged right by her, missing, spinning to avoid the deadly steel. Blood splashed from Kevral's blade, and Saviar saw the welling scarlet stain on Magnus' thigh.

She got him! Joy welled up inside Saviar. He's lost.

Magnus tottered a step, then caught his balance. He glanced at the wound, then back to Kevral.

Kevral remained in position, swords readied; but she did not press. Apparently, she used his moment of weakness to catch her breath. If she had gashed the main artery, he would die before he took another step.

Valr Magnus remained standing, sword readied in his hand. With a bellowing battle scream, he rushed Kevral again.

"No!" Calistin shouted suddenly, bounding toward the ropes. "Above! Mama, look up!"

Only then, Saviar noticed a movement in the tree branch over Kevral's head. A man plummeted from it.

Kevral attempted to dodge both dangers simultaneously. She avoided Magnus' headlong rush with a deft spin, but the leaping figure caught her a glancing blow across the right shoulder. She staggered for balance, just as Valr Magnus turned and thrust. His blade pierced her left side, and their combined momentum drove it deeper.

No! Saviar chased his brother, heedless of the Knights of Erythane. No! No! No!

Kevral collapsed.

Magnus planted a foot on her abdomen and ripped his sword free. A rush of blood followed, bright red and pulsing.

Kidney strike, Saviar realized, suddenly wishing he knew less anatomy. Fatal.

Hands seized Saviar's arms, jarring him from the ropes. In a blind fury, he drew and cut, feeling momentary resistance and a mild, muttered oath.

"Let him go!" someone shouted authoritatively. "We don't need more bloodshed."

The grips disappeared from Saviar, and he vaulted over the ropes to Kevral's side. "Mama," he whispered, feeling like a lost child. "Mama."

Seemingly oblivious to Saviar's sudden presence,Valr Magnus was busy using the tip of his sword to find a gap in Kevral's ribs, to finish a job that was already done. The blood no longer spouted, but leaked; and the color had turned dark as wine. She was already dead.

Stunned grief blossomed suddenly to anger. Saviar tensed to launch himself at Valr Magnus, but Calistin's gasp froze him in position. He glanced at his brother instead.

Calistin stood in reverent awe, gaze locked on Kevral's body. "Do you… see it…?"

Saviar had no idea what his brother meant, but the distraction did give him a moment to think. Valr Magnus had killed Kevral in fair combat. If Saviar killed the Northman in front of hundreds of wit nesses, he would hang for murder. Feeling impotent, he sheathed his swords and went to his mother instead.

Kevral had died swiftly, a look of grim determination and pure battle joy still locked on her features. Her grip remained steady around the hilts of both swords, but the blades lay still in the dirt. There was nothing Saviar could do for her; he could only honor the weapons she had held so dear. He reached for the nearest one, the slender long sword, Motfrabelonning and took it into his hand. The leather was still warm and slightly damp. He could smell her scent, light beneath the suffocating reek of blood.