Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

"How?" Matrinka demanded, apparently forgetting Rantire and Griff did not know about her bond with Mior nor Tae's with Imorelda. "You're the only one-"

Tae interrupted before she could say more. "She can be very persistent and persuasive when she needs something."

Imorelda stalked across the table toward Matrinka, tail lashing.

Rantire snorted. "You mean like a fish head? What good does it do you to have your cat badgering the cook?"

Mid-movement, Imorelda lowered her head and advanced on Rantire.

"She's extremely intelligent for a cat," Tae explained. "She understands more than most people give her credit for."

Rantire eyeballed Imorelda, hand falling to her hilt. "Yeah? Well if you don't want the furball in tonight's stewpot, you'll call her off me."

"Rantire!" Darris grumbled warningly. "Show some respect. Tae is a king."

Imorelda sat on the table and calmly licked her paws, as if she had merely intended to do so from her first movement.*I hate her.* *I'm not fond of her either,* Tae admitted.*But she does take good care of King Griff.*

Rantire glared at Darris but forced a curtsy. "Forgive me, Your Majesties. I was out of line."

Griff nodded his acceptance despite the obvious insincerity of the Renshai's apology.

Tae simply ignored it. "All right. So schedule me for weekly torture sessions or something. Just make sure whichever guard is supposed to administer them knows I'm actually meeting with you, and he has some acting experience so that he doesn't give it away."

Matrinka pounced on a single word. "Weekly?"

"You want me to suffer beatings every day?"

Matrinka's mouth fell open. She looked positively horrified. "You're not really going to get tortured, and we could get you out for at least one good meal a day."

Tae heaved a sigh, wishing he could have met with Griff alone. The wise, innocent king would not harry him with speculation. "Matrinka, this is learning, not magic. You can't expect me to glean anything useful day by day. I have to fully immerse myself in this language, and that's hard enough when I only have two speakers and they're constrained by locks, guards, and distance."

Tae avoided mentioning that he would have to suffer at least a small amount of violence during the briefings. Cosmetics would not fool his new neighbors, especially if they started rubbing or flaking off. He had a high tolerance for pain but hated it as much as anyone. "Like it or not, this will take time." Knowing Matrinka would have a new question for every answer, Tae rose. "Now, if it's all right with everyone, I'd like to prepare. I need to totally undo my bath and combing, dress down into some rags… you know, enjoy myself."

Griff pulled at his beard. "How will you make yourself unrecognizable to the guards?"

"Very few prison guards have seen me up close more than once or twice. Even most of those should be fooled by grime, location, and clothing." Imorelda returned to Tae's arms. "They won't expect me in a cell, so they won't recognize me there. If one does, you can let him in on the secret so long as he can keep it."

Tae rose, hoping that would forestall more questions. They could not anticipate everything; the details would fall into place.

Imorelda clambered up Tae's chest and draped herself across his shoulders.*You're not fooling me.You don't want to do this.* *Of course, I do. It's an adventure.* *Liar!* Imorelda patted his face with a plushy paw.*Admit it.You can't stand closed-up places you can't get out of.When you have a choice, you don't eat garbage, and you don't wear dirty rags. Although you do turn everything nice into dirty rags.*

Tae walked toward the door, still engaged in this internal dialogue.*Are you saying anything I wear should be considered tainted just because I'm wearing it?*

Imorelda slapped him again, this time with just a hint of claw.*I mean you shred the seamstresses' handiwork by crawling around and climbing like a child. Only you can't do that here, because it might alert the guards to what you're doing. So you're going to have to consort with pigs and cows, aren't you?* Imorelda crinkled her kitty nose.*Disgusting.*

Tae had not yet given any thought to the "how." Imorelda was right, though. He did secretly dread the job he had demanded. It had taken him years of hard work to overcome the panic that used to assail him in enclosed places in the wake of his imprisonment in Pudar. Accustomed to doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and at no one's say-so, he did not look forward to being manhandled by strange guards who believed him a thief or an Eastern spy.*It's not a matter of what I want, or what makes me comfortable.* He reached for the door latch.*I'm the only person who can crack this language, and I'm doing it for the security, not just of my friends in Bearn, but for the entire world.* *The entire world?* Imorelda sneezed.*Aren't you being just a bit… melodramatic?* *Maybe.* Tae Tae tripped the latch and opened the door.*But I don't think so. I don't know what these pirates want, but it's obviously not to negotiate. Not if they're taking and leaving no prisoners.* He stepped out into the hallway, inhaling the familiar smells of Bearn castle: mustiness, cat dander, and baking bread. Though enticed by the food, he deliberately turned away from the kitchen. Nothing would draw suspicions more than a captive gaining weight in prison.*I think we're only seeing the first wave.They're testing us before sending in a larger force to take our land or our ore or, simply, our lives.* *I still think you're overthinking this.* *Maybe,* Tae conceded.*But we can't afford to assume it. Because, if I'm right, we're all in dire trouble.*

Talamir awakened to a sense of alarm and imminent death, surprised to find himself more comfortable than he had felt in weeks. Healers had removed the arrowhead from his thigh, pumping him full of herbs. The cold floor of the cell eased his many wounds and bruises, and his belly felt full for the first time in many days. He could scarcely remember his meal the previous night; he had eaten it with such gusto he could not recall tasting it. It had existed only to fill the void in his gut, and it had satisfied its purpose admirably.

Renshai training kicked in swiftly, revealing the presence of two guards outside his cell. Though Talamir had an overall feeling of unease, they were not the cause of it. Their demeanors seemed relaxed, nonthreatening and, oddly, weaponless. They clearly posed no immediate threat, and he saw no reason not to let them know he had awakened.

Sitting up, Talamir looked around him. He sat in the middle of a small cell containing nothing but a chamber pot and the bedraggled blanket he had ignored the previous night. He rose and used the pot, taking comfort from the normalcy of the sound of urine splashing into clay. From the smells around him, he knew several prisoners had missed their targets, but he took pride in aiming every drop into its rightful place. Missing would only make his cell more disgusting, and targeting the guards would assure food mixed with filth and spit, manhandling, and a more painful death.

The guards spoke softly to one another before approaching his cell.Talamir did not recognize them specifically, though he had probably seen them around the castle. Both sported the fine black hair, swarthy skin, and dark eyes of Easterners; but, there, all resemblance ended. One had fine, almost chiseled features. Tall, young, and willowy, he seemed almost delicate. The other was average height, middle-aged and well-muscled, with scarred features. Much to Talamir's surprise, neither carried any obvious weaponry, not even a sword; and that annoyed him. It suggested they did not see him as enough of a threat to need weapons to contain him.