Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

At the time, King Griff's strategy had seemed masterful. Perhaps, to a Bearnide, it might still appear that way. But, to Saviar Ra-khirsson, it created a serious problem they might not find a way to solve.

King Humfreet admitted, "The Fields of Wrath fall within my boundaries, yes."

Thialnir stood with his head tipped sideways, lips tight, obviously trying to read Erik's intentions. Saviar, however, knew exactly what was coming.

"Well, Sire," Erik addressed King Humfreet directly and seemed to take no notice of the nearby Renshai. "Since Renshai are Erythanian by admitted residence. And the man involved was also Erythanian, the 'friendly interference clause-' "

"No!" Thialnir boomed suddenly. "Renshai are Renshai. Erythanians are… not Renshai."

"I'm looking at the contract." Erik held the competition rules in his fist. "And I don't see the word "Renshai" anywhere in the 'friendly interference clause.' "

"That's hog manure!" Thialnir's debating style left a lot to be desired, but his point was valid enough to Saviar. "We didn't mean-"

"Meaning is implicit in the wording." Erik's calm demeanor made a sharp contrast to Thialnir's blustering. That did not bode well for the Renshai. Neither did Thialnir's lack of respectful titles.

Saviar jumped in. "Your Majesty, if I may please clarify." He waited for Humfreet's nodded acknowledgment before continuing, a detail not lost on Captain Kedrin. "What my colleague is trying to say is that when someone says 'Renshai,' they don't mean Erythanian. And when they say 'Erythanian,' they are deliberately excluding Renshai. Sire, when both are together, we say 'Erythanians and Renshai.' They are not interchangeable."

"And if I may, Your Majesty." Erik performed another bow, still trying to appear more formal and respectful than either spokesman for the Renshai. "When tribes of our people come together, we identify them separately, Sire. Nordmirians, Ascai, Skrytila, and so on. But we are still all Northmen." He bowed again. "Your Majesty, just because non-Renshai Erythanians use the simple form 'Erythanians' does not make the Renshai any less Erythanian."

King Humfreet said nothing in reply, only studying the three men in front of him. His lips remained sternly pursed, his chin cupped in both hands. Finally, he turned to Kedrin. "Knight-Captain, what opinion do you have in this matter?"

Once again, Kedrin performed a ceremonial motion that made the others look simple and common. "Sire, it is my opinion that both sides speak the truth. Captain Erik Leifsson is quite right when he says Renshai are Erythanians."

Saviar stiffened. He could hear his own heart pounding in his ears.

"But, Sire," Kedrin continued. "I also believe that when the Renshai spoke of friendly interference, they did not specifically intend to include all Erythanians."

Saviar did not need the clarification and wondered if Kedrin's words helped the king at all. It all seemed so obvious.

Erik ran a hand through his hair, then released it. Gold highlights flickered through the braids. "Your Majesty, had we known the Renshai would use their clause to play with wording and intention, we would never have agreed to it. Had one of our ilk fallen from a branch, would it have mattered to anyone whether he was Aeri, like Valr, or Nordmirian, like myself?"

The king's hands remained on his chin as he glanced from one speaker to the next. Finally, he rested his attention fully on Kedrin.

The Knight-Captain held a copy of the contract scroll in his hand, clearly reading and rereading the appropriate paragraph.

A long pause followed, during which no one spoke. Finally the king cleared his throat loudly. "Well, Kedrin?"

The Knight-Captain met the king's gaze with another flourish. "Well, Sire. As anyone entering a contract knows, it is the job of the signers to ascertain that any ideas or intentions are fully covered by the words."

Saviar went utterly still. This did not bode well; yet, surely, his grandfather would not condemn the Renshai to exile.

"Because, Sire, those left to interpret the contract, whether moments or centuries later, usually have nothing but the exact wording on which to base their decisions." Kedrin never faltered, showed no outward emotion as he dealt, in his professional capacity, with an issue that could tear his family apart.

Saviar's stomach roiled, then seized with the sudden urge to vomit. He fought it, not wanting to walk away and risk missing a single word.

The king remained absolutely and grimly focused on Kedrin. Clearly, he intended to take whatever advice the knight offered.

"Your Majesty," Kedrin concluded. "Unless we find evidence that Frendon Harveki's son had some connection to the North or to the Paradisians, we have no choice but to go with the letter of the agreement."

Saviar's stomach bucked against his control. Dizziness assaulted him, and he imagined his features looked positively green.

Thialnir glanced at Saviar. "Is he saying-?"

Worried for his control, Saviar did not answer, not even with a nod.

Captain Kedrin added, more directly. "Your Majesty, barring the aforementioned evidence, I believe we have no choice but to consider Frendon's fall as friendly interference. We have to side with the Northman."

Now, Saviar staggered off to vomit.

Toqueen Matrinka, it seemed as if the world had ended. Though safe in Darris' arms, seated on their bed, she felt dark and cold, sobbing uncontrollably, wondering if she would ever feel joy again. "Mior, Arturo, then Kevral," she gasped out. "She is… she was… my best woman friend."

Darris shifted.

Knowing he was going for his lute, Matrinka said, "Darris, don't."

He paused in mid-movement.

"Don't sing." Matrinka's voice emerged clearly, no longer muffled by Darris' chest.

Darris' grip tightened, but he said nothing. The bardic curse severely hindered him. If he wished to speak significantly, Matrinka knew, he had to do it in song. To deny him that outlet meant leaving him utterly helpless.

At the moment, Matrinka did not care. The beautiful perfection of his voice, the unwavering notes of his instrument, had carried her through the most difficult times. It soothed the rawness in her soul, but its solace was temporary, a balm. To move beyond the tremendous burden of grief, she first had to face it.

"I love you," Matrinka said.

Darris moved back against her. "And I love you. Won't you let me-"

"No." Matrinka did not wait for him to finish. "I need to sort out my own emotions, without help. I'm still obsessing over a cat, and I can't believe we lost…" A fresh wave of misery washed over her, and she had to force the name around a sudden, enormous lump in her throat. "… our son."

Darris clutched her.

"Arturo is gone, Darris. He's not ever coming back."

"I know."

Matrinka read the same deep grief in his tone as she felt in her own. Despite the law, despite what the populace believed, Arturo was his son, too.

"Let me sing, Matrinka."

Matrinka could not. "No, Darris. No." Explaining it would take too much effort at a time when she felt empty. She appreciated his comforting, but he was far too good at it. For now, she needed to suffer the grief simply to feel human.

A loud knock bounced from the bedroom door. Darris stiffened and released Matrinka. Most of the servants knew of the king's arrangement with Darris, but he still made an effort to hide his inappropriate relationship with the queen. Releasing Matrinka, he rose and smoothed his damp tunic. She did not bother to try to look presentable in the privacy of her own chamber. "Come in."