Mickey Reichert: Flight of the Renshai

"I have told you," Ra-khir said in a flat tone, "everything I can tell you."

He was hiding something, yet Saviar knew no amount of weasel ing or cajoling would bring it to the fore. Ra-khir's honor would never allow him to do anything his word bound him against. Continuing in this vein would only upset Ra-khir at a time when Saviar wanted his father's assistance and empathy. Instead, he found himself uttering a self-imposed secret he had never spoken aloud, "Papa, sometimes I wish, I mean, I think I wish, I wasn't… Renshai."

Ra-khir closed his eyes. The words clearly hurt him.

"Are you all right?"

Ra-khir's lids snapped open, and he smiled, though it looked forced. "I'm fine, just worried about you. You're unhappy with the life your mother and I chose for you?"

Saviar hurried to undo the damage. "Not unhappy, Papa, no. I mean I love the swordwork, the religion, the history. I just… sometimes… I'd just like to do… other things." He added belatedly, "… too." He laughed at his own suggestion, dismissing it. "Ignore me. It's the intensive training that's made me what I am. I just want it all, I guess. No one could become a knight and a Renshai."

"A knight?" Ra-khir's forced grin turned genuine, almost wistful. "You want to be a Knight of Erythane?"

Saviar laughed again. "Silly, huh? The huge amount of training involved in either would preclude the other."

Ra-khir gave no answer.

"Right?"

"Well," Ra-khir said hesitantly. "I would think so. And yet…?"

"Yet?" Saviar encouraged.

"There is someone who is both."

Startled silent, Saviar stared. He knew of no other Renshai who would even consider the staid, stuffy life of a knight, filled with long-winded ceremony, multiple weapons' training, and stifling ethics. His father's use of the present tense, however, suggested the man he spoke of currently lived. It was not some hypothetical historical figure. "Who?" he finally managed.

"You've clearly studied," Ra-khir said, finally regaining the upper hand. It was also a subtle, probably unintentional insult to Calistin. The youngest son, bound to a life of relentless swordwork, would never manage more than a basic education, mostly Renshai language, history, and tradition. "This one, you'll have to figure out for yourself."

Bard Darris squirmed in his seat at King Griff's right hand, attentive to every movement in the courtroom yet bored by the seemingly endless procession of nobles, merchants, and complainants down the woven-wool carpet. The inner court guards surrounding them managed to look fresh and eager despite the length of the proceedings. Darris envied their ability to at least appear to maintain their alertness indefinitely, even if it was a farce. He wished he could have retired with Queen Matrinka hours earlier; but his main duty as bard was to serve as primary bodyguard to the king of Bearn.

At Griff's other hand, Guard Captain Seiryn stood as often as he sat, assisting in those matters that involved the guardsmen of Bearn no matter how tangentially. His gaze swept the dwindling audience of nobles and commoners seated on chairs on either side of the aisle-way. His watchful eye kept the inner court guards vigilant and the sentries escorting the various visitors and prisoners mannered and within protocol. He had no authority over Bearn's bard, however, and paid no attention to Darris' progressively drooping posture.

That left Darris free to brood and dream, his mind slipping always to Queen Matrinka: her soft brown eyes, the thick ebony hair that his fingers captured, her gentle loving features, and her plump Bearnian body still soft from the three children she had borne. Darris had loved her since adolescence first turned his thoughts toward women; and she loved him, too. When the populace demanded she wed her first cousin, King Griff, to keep the bloodline strong, Darris had thought his heart would shatter like a glass figurine. As always, Griff had found the simplest solution, one designed to keep everyone happy. It was Griff who married Matrinka but Darris who shared the queen's affection. The resultant offspring, Marisole, Arturo, and Halika, though sired by Darris, belonged to the king and queen by law. Ignorant of, or deliberately blind to, the arrangement, the people of Bearn accepted the prince and princesses without question.

Bearnian law allowed and encouraged its kings, and only its kings, to wed many times to assure the birth of at least one heir who could pass the gods' test. Griff next married his elfin sweetheart, Tem'aree'ay. Darris smiled at the memory. He had played an important role in that. Obsessively rereading and reinterpreting ancient Bearnian law, Darris had found what was needed to allow that union despite the many strict rules that governed who could marry an heir to Bearn, the same ones which had kept Matrinka and himself apart. With help from the populace and his Council, Griff had selected a third wife, Xoraida, who met the bloodline criteria for royalty. She, too, had borne him a son and two daughters.

The double doors at the end of the room crashed open, sending the banner behind the thrones into a fluttering dance and drawing Darris' full attention. A Bearnide entered the courtroom without escort, wearing the on-duty uniform of the guards. A blue-and-gold tabard speckled with dirt lay twisted over his mail, the rearing grizzly on the front still vividly clear. His thick, black hair sat on top of his scalp in a frizzy, uncombed ball, and he clutched his helmet in his hand. Every eye followed his walk down the golden carpet, and Darris noticed that he left muddy footprints in his wake.

As he approached the dais, the guard looked nervously at Captain Seiryn, then bowed deeply.

Griff studied the guard with a kind expression devoid of the curiosity that plagued Darris and every other member of the audience. Like all of the god-sanctioned rulers of Bearn, Griff was neutrality incarnate, the very fulcrum of the world's balance. Enormous, yet uncomplicated, the ruler of the West's high kingdom seemed more like a massive, bearded child than an absolute commander-in-chief. He looked at the guard through coarse, ebony bangs and smiled. "Hello, Lazwald. What news have you brought me?"

The guard rose, dark eyes darting nervously, clearly startled that the king knew him by name.

Darris nodded encouragingly. The king made it a point to recognize as many of his citizens as possible.

"Sire, your presence is requested in the Council Room as soon as possible."

The corners of Darris' lips slid downward, though the king's expression never changed. The Council rarely interrupted court. Most of their affairs involved protocol, law, and state, matters that required mulling. It also bothered Darris they had sent a guardsman rather than a page, which suggested they had gathered hastily and dispatched whoever had brought them the news that resulted in their sudden need for a meeting. Information from guardsmen, when important enough to disturb the king, was rarely good.

King Griff gave no sign he had made the same intuitive leap as his bard. "Very well, then. Court is dismissed for the day. Anything remaining will hold over until tomorrow."

The audience rose from their seats, muttering amongst themselves as they headed down the carpetway toward the double doors. Darris leaped to his feet, pausing to execute a bow before stooping to retrieve the lute beside his chair. His liege rose stiffly from his padded throne to tower over his escort. The inner court guards filed out the back exit, leaving only the king, his captain, and Darris.

Bearnian big, burly and massively boned, the other two men towered over Darris, whose Pudarian origins seemed obvious in their presence. Pure-blooded Bearnides sported thick bristly black hair, coarse features, fair skin, and brown eyes. A tall, sturdy lot, nearly all the men wore heavy beards. In contrast, Darris had a slender, average build. Soft, mouse-brown curls framed a delicate face with thin brows, an overly large straight nose, and broad lips.