Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

Subikahn snapped to sudden attention, hand falling to his hilt.

Alarmed, Saviar grasped his own sword and tipped his head, listening. Hearing nothing, he started, "What's-?" Before he could complete the sentence, a half dozen men wearing scales of armor or links of chain charged toward them.

Saviar's sword whipped out in plenty of time to meet the rush. His blade opened a gash in one man's neck before he thought to tend defense. Blood splattered, and the man collapsed soundlessly. Immediately, Saviar faced another opponent wielding an ax. The blade chopped for him as he spun aside, missing cleanly. Saviar riposted, but not quickly enough. His enemy jerked aside, his weapon not yet in position for another strike. Saviar lunged under his guard, jabbing as he moved. His blade buried deep into the man's gut, striking bone. He toppled, wrenching Saviar's sword from his grip.

"Hey!" Saviar sprang for the hilt. The odor of bowel contents soured the air. Blood slicked his fingers and slathered his hair, but he worried more about lack of respect for his lost weapon. Subikahn fought the other four valiantly, but he clearly needed assistance. Saviar planted a foot on the enemy's flopping body, seized his hilt in both fists, and yanked. The sword eased slightly, then whipped suddenly free, sending him staggering. He regained his balance in an instant, sword raised, howling toward the warriors who menaced his twin.

The men had surrounded Subikahn, who mostly executed broad defensive sweeps to keep all of them at bay. Saviar fell on one from behind, tearing open a chunk of flesh and ripping through a kidney. Knowing no one could survive that injury, Saviar moved on without hesitation. The second man met him sword to sword. Blue eyes, clearly of Northern origin, bored into Saviar's.

"Die, blood-sucking Renshai!"

Saviar did not reply. He only swept in for a chest stroke the other man easily parried. Sword thrown clear, Saviar drew it back swiftly to block an adept attack, followed by a clumsy one. Couldn't wait. Impatience proved his opponent's downfall. The attempt to make two quick attacks opened his defenses, and Saviar's blade sliced through his thigh. An instant later, Subikahn's sword severed his spine.

Saviar whirled to face the next enemy, only to find them all dead. "What in Hel? Northmen?"

"Some," Subikahn said. "Not all." He crinkled his nose at his brother. "You're a sight. Is any of that blood yours?"

Saviar examined his limbs and clothing, stained with blood and speckled with torn flesh. Nothing stung, and he could not remember a single stroke coming close to hitting him. "I'm fine. I just opened a lot of large vessels."

A war cry echoed over the woodlands, "Mooodi!" It was the call of an injured Renshai charging bravely into what might be her last battle. The familiar crash of steel on steel exploded through the forest.

The others. As one, the twins raced toward the main part of the Renshai encampment, the sounds of battle growing louder with every step. Saviar's attention riveted on a blur of activity at the edge of the camp. There a small bundle of energy swirled like a tornado, mowing down everything in its path. Yet, despite the superhuman speed and grace of the combatant, he fell into awkward lapses that seemed stunningly out of place. Calistin, Saviar realized in an instant. And he's hurt.

Without thought, Saviar redirected his advance toward his brother. So many times, he had wanted to kill Calistin, but the world would end in fire before he would allow anyone else to do it. "Modi!" he screamed, not because of wounds, but simply as a battle cry. He wanted to divert as many enemies as possible from Calistin to himself.

As Saviar charged down upon Calistin and his foes, he realized what he had, at first, mistaken for weakness was something altogether different. Calistin fought with his usual ungodly dexterity, holding four enemies at bay while his blade glided toward a fifth. Suddenly, Treysind ran in, shouting, an overlarge sword swinging chaotically in his fist. Forced to redirect or kill his would-be savior, Calistin pulled the stroke with a curse, then buried his blade in another attacker before Saviar even saw him spin. In the same movement, Calistin riposted a killing blow meant for Treysind, then sprang around the boy's wild, unpredictable stabs and weavings.

Two of Calistin's opponents disengaged to attack the new threat bearing down on them. Pressed to his own defense, Saviar lost sight of brother and living annoyance. He met a brutal attack with a parry that opened his opponent's defenses for an instant. Too late, he extracted his weapon. The opportunity was gone, and he found himself defending against the other enemy.

These two proved more difficult than Saviar's previous opponents, survivors of Calistin's rabid attacks. He found himself meeting blades in every direction, hard-pressed to tend defense. One slashed his sleeve and another drew a fine line of blood from his calf. Still, Saviar pressed in, driving one aside with his shoulder, to focus on the other. A wicked stop-thrust ended that one's assault, as he skewered himself on Motfrabelonning. Saviar stepped back to face his last opponent, only to see Calistin sitting calmly on a log cleaning his swords.

Saviar vented his irritation against his enemy, his sword whipping in every direction. Forced to defense, his opponent retreated with every step, the crash of blade against blade herding him backward. Then his foot came down on a fallen branch. It snapped beneath his weight, throwing his balance backward and opening his vitals to Saviar's blade. A throat slash ended the battle, and the Northman collapsed onto the limb that had proven his downfall.

Panting, Saviar glanced around the camp. Bodies littered the ground, Renshai and enemy alike. Some Renshai finished final skirmishes while others sorted through the dead, finishing off enemies, dividing out Renshai who had a chance for survival from those who did not. The latter would be given the opportunity to die engaged rather than slowly succumb to fatal wounds.

Saviar waited until he could speak without long pauses to breathe before rounding on his little brother. "Calistin, you know I came to help you."

Calistin glanced up from his polishing; and, beside him, Treysind mimicked the action. "I didn't ask you to."

The response maddened Saviar. A frown scored his features as he lowered his weapon. "You didn't have to ask. I came to your aid because I… love you."

Calistin stared. He was clearly guessing at the proper response, "Thank you?" he tried.

"You're welcome." Saviar responded with all the heartfelt sincerity Calistin lacked. "When you saw me still struggling with your enemies after you had finished, why didn't you do the same for me?"

Calistin indicated the dead men with a foot. "You didn't need me."

"I could have."

"You didn't. You killed them all on your own. You're a man now, Saviar."

Anticipating an argument, Saviar felt as if his brother had just punched him in the gut. "What?"

"You killed a man in combat. More than one, in fact. You're blooded. You're a man whether or not you've passed your tests of manhood."

Saviar continued to stand in stunned silence. His sword remained in his grip. Every instinct screamed for him to honor the weapon his mother had given him, to scrub the blade gleaming before he even considered tending his own wounds.Yet, he found himself unable to speak, unable to think. Calistin's right. I am a man. "I just meant… I just thought you should have…" Knowing he could never win a war of words in his current state, Saviar walked away to tend his sword. The confrontation, the teaching of basic kindness and humanity, would once again have to wait.