Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

"I understand."

Ra-khir forced one last nod. "So you accept my resignation, then?"

"No."

It was the last thing Ra-khir expected, an immediate denial without explanation. He steeled his resolve. "Whether or not you accept it, I will go after my sons."

"I know."

Ra-khir scarcely dared to believe he had to explain, "And if I am still a part of the Order, everything I do or say in the course of finding them will reflect back on the Knights of Erythane."

Kedrin's manner stiffened, and it became instantly clear that they no longer spoke as father and son. "Sir Ra-khir, when you go where you need to go, you will have no choice but to ride your charger and wear the colors of the Order. Remember this: anything you say or do reflects back on the Knights of Erythane, on King Humfreet and on King Griff, who you represent." With that, he turned on his heel and headed back to the Bellenet Fields and his charges.

Ra-khir could only stare at Kedrin's retreating back. He just said what I said, he realized. And yet, the exact same words held so much more significance from Kedrin's mouth. "I won't disappoint you," Ra-khir promised, too late for Kedrin's ear.

Exhaustion hounded Talamir as he dragged through the Eastern forests, avoiding the prominent pathways that seemed to breed enemies. He could not recall the last time he had slept; the days and weeks blended into a constant battle. Whenever he stopped to eat or rest, he could hear the footsteps and rustlings surrounding him. Sometimes, they manifested as groups of fearless attackers that he dispatched in droves. Other times, they fought amongst themselves and disappeared, leaving only memories of harried, Eastern whispering or the meatier sounds of fists or boots striking flesh. More than once, he had awakened scarcely in time to thwart a silent assassin standing over him with dagger readied.

Talamir had long since broken his promise to Weile Kahn not to kill the king's followers. The sheer numbers of the attacks had forced his hand, and fatigue had drained any ability to finesse. An arrowhead remained lodged in his left thigh, draining pus, blood, and greenish fluid; he needed a healer to safely remove it. He carried a bloody slice across the side of his neck where he had startled the would-be assassin barely in time. Bruises in rainbow colors stamped his arms, legs, and back, as much from sleeping on branches and rocks as from battle. His clothing hung in tatters on a frame thin from hunger. Aside from the sword, which he kept in perfect repair and cleanliness, he might have looked the worst sort of scrofulous beggar.

Only two things kept Talamir going: his instincts for survival and battle pounded into him by the Renshai since birth and his love for Subikahn. He wondered if his lover suffered the same fate, if Tae had become insane enough to send murderers after his son as well. What Talamir had learned so far suggested otherwise, but he trusted few of the rumors: a girl who claimed to be carrying the prince's baby, a sign on an inn in the tiny town of Yborach proclaiming that the Prince of Stalmize had slept there, and an aging whore who proclaimed Subikahn the gentlest, most considerate lover she had ever experienced.

Talamir paused to pick his way through a tangle of undergrowth. Water sprinkled him, dislodged by higher leaves, and mosquitoes assaulted him in a sudden drove. He did not bother to slap at them. It would require more energy than he could spare; and, oddly, he appreciated the itch of their welts. It reminded him he was still alive as well as took some attention from the throbbing in his injured thigh and the sting of the gash near his throat. That one he hated most of all. It enraged him that he had let an enemy draw close enough to inflict it.

It frustrated Talamir as much that the only information he had managed was clearly false. No woman would ever carry Subikahn's baby. And, while Talamir agreed with the whore's assessment, a kind and considerate lover, the prince would never grow so desperate as to pay a woman for sexual favors. Subikahn was a man's man, through and through, without mistake or reservation. Women were friends, mothers, sisters, and cousins, but never, never, lovers.

Talamir ground onward without intention. His mind waded through a nest of cotton, and his mouth filled with a saliva so thick and flaky he barely recognized it as liquid. His legs kept moving long after his will to walk departed. He barely noticed the bits of brush that snagged in his eyes and hair; he could not have described anything he saw. He moved on mindlessly, soullessly, because it never occurred to him to stop.

"Hold it right there, Renshai!"

Talamir heard the words, but they were meaningless. He tried to focus on each individual sound, assigning sense to each syllable in turn. "Hold." Hold, hold, hold.What am I holding."It." Hold… it.What is "it"? What does "it" want. "Hold it." Hold it. Stay still,Talamir.

Talamir froze.

Clicking sounds echoed all around him. Talamir saw the circle of crossbowmen, but the significance of their presences refused to register. "Right." Right is not left. Right is right."There." Here? I am here, aren't I? "Renshai." Ren… shai. That's what I am.That's a reference to me. Then it all finally came together. Hold it right there, Renshai! I'm in trouble. Operating solely on instinct, his hand already clutched his hilt.

"What do you want?" Talamir said, his voice a bleak croak he did not recognize.

"Drop the sword, and we won't hurt you," one man said. "The king wants you alive."

Alive? Talamir did not have the strength to wonder whether that boded well or ill for him. For the moment, though, alive seemed better than the alternative. All of his training drove him to attack, but he had enough presence of mind to realize that his first movement would be met by a hail of quarrels. Dying a pincushion's death would not get him to Valhalla. "Alive suits me just fine," Talamir said. "But no Renshai can drop a sword."

"Throw it, then," the man suggested. "Or lay it down."

Talamir would have rolled his eyes, but the movement might prove enough to strain his consciousness to its limit. "The problem is the blade touching ground, not the manner in which it gets there."

A pause followed. At least, they seemed reasonable enough to entertain Talamir's request, which was more than he expected. They still worried about him, even though he doubted he had the power for more than a sword stroke or two. Feverish, dehydrated, and fatigued, he might manage to kill one or two before they took him down, assuming they chose to fight him directly rather than just outnumber him with bows.

"If we send someone to take it from you, will you kill him?"

Talamir had to consider the possibility. It would not help his situation if he did, yet he did not know if he could control his deeply ingrained impulses. He did, however, know the correct answer. "No."

"You'll come peacefully?"

Talamir found himself slipping in and out of consciousness. He could not find the strength to answer, even had he understood the question. "I… I-" Ringing filled his ears, and a blanket of flickering stars stole all vision. His voice sounded inordinately distant. "I… am…" He could not remember what he planned to say. Then the darkness claimed him.

Back pressed against a tree trunk, Saviar surveyed the sleeping Renshai all around him. He wanted to rest as well, knew he desperately needed it, but found himself awash in thoughts so intense they stabbed him fully awake the instant he started to drift. Every time he closed his eyes, thoughts paraded through his mind, keeping sleep at bay and raising emotions he would rather avoid. Irritation and anger mixed inseparably with grief and hatred. He felt abused and used, victimized and driven, hated and hating all in a mass he could ignore only while awake.When he had something to look at, he could set aside the confused tangle of thoughts that haunted him. But the instant his lids sagged shut, it all intruded upon him again. He could only hope that if he forced himself to remain up long enough, exhaustion would win out over all of his concerns.