Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

Only then, Darby collapsed onto the dirt. The ax slipped from visibly shaking hands. "Why… why did you do that?"

"Do what?" Ra-khir asked innocently, listening for the sounds of the departing men to assure himself no one had remained behind to watch them. He did not think they would. No thief would want to risk losing a share of treasure.

"Let me… me… handle that?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Ra-khir rubbed Silver Warrior's neck. The well-trained steed had remained still and silent throughout the ordeal. "I knew you could do it." He showed no trace of his own trepidation. He wanted Darby to believe he had trusted the boy implicitly. He would have done nothing different for his own sons.

"But you scarcely know me. And both our lives were at stake."

Ra-khir doubted the highwaymen would actually have slaughtered a Knight of Erythane, though Nat had seemed just stupid enough to do it. "I'm a good judge of character.You have courage, Darby, intelligence and moral fiber. I knew you could handle it, and you did."

Darby climbed to shaky legs. He hefted the ax and tossed it back onto the pile. "Coming from you, Sir Knight, that is high praise indeed. And I thank you."

Ra-khir nodded. "And thank you for not proving me wrong and getting us killed."

Darby laughed.

"Did you ever consider becoming a knight yourself?"

Darby drew himself up to his full height. "Only my whole life! Isn't that the dream of every Western boy?"

Ra-khir had to admit it had been his. At least, from the day he discovered his actual father was one. "Apparently not. Not one of my sons has followed in my footsteps, though one did consider it." He tried not to think too hard about Saviar. The young man who had spoken with him so earnestly months earlier had disappeared without a word.

"Oh," Darby said with clear surprise. "I wish I-" he started, then apparently changed his mind. "A knight wouldn't allow himself to feel envy, would he?"

Ra-khir shook his head. The message had come through despite the lack of words. Darby wished he had had the same opportunities as the knight's boys. Of course, he had no way to know about the Renshai half of their heritage.

Darby smiled crookedly and returned to the donkey's head.

Saviar insisted on finishing a full day's walk, though his leg ached so unmercifully he could concentrate on nothing else. That, in itself, bothered him. Renshai were trained from infancy to fight not just through pain, but because of it. Fatally wounded, they called upon Modi, the god of wrath, to give them the strength to take their enemies with them. Now, the single, simple act of walking demanded Saviar's full attention, and he felt like a failure and a craven. He appreciated that Subikahn remained silent, disappearing at frequent intervals to scout the way. If his twin had hovered over him, treating him like an invalid, Saviar might have felt driven to carry out his threat to kill them both.

For once, Subikahn made no complaint when Saviar ate heartily from their dwindling stores. "I've filled all the waterskins," he explained. "And I can get plenty more, so drink as much as you want."

The amount he needed to satisfy his thirst surprised Saviar, but he took his brother at his word. As he finished, he could feel the cold of the liquid seeping into his blood, chilling him deeply. He shivered. "Do we have any more wine?" They had confiscated it from a dead Northman at the beginning of their journey, savoring a few mouthfuls at a time. Now, Saviar hoped, it would warm him and take the edge from pain that seemed to multiply exponentially as the day wore onward.

Subikahn winced. "I used it all on the wound. It's supposed to help keep it from getting tainted."

"Which? The wound? Or the wine?"

Subikahn managed a lopsided smile at the flimsy joke. "It's been longer than a day. I need to redo those bandages before we go to sleep."

Saviar looked at the rags wrapped around his thigh, now sweat-stained and filthy. The flesh of his fingers looked oddly pale near his leg, and they trembled beyond his control. "Where are you going to get more?"

"Wherever I have to."

"Hmmm, well, I'd rather not have to travel naked, especially now that it's getting so cold." Saviar expected an evening breeze, usually cherished its touch against his sweat-bathed limbs; but he suddenly felt awash in ice. "In fact, if there's an extra cloak you don't need to tear up, I'd like to wear it."

Immediately, Subikahn removed his own overwear and offered it to his brother. "Here."

"I can't take-"

"I'm comfortable, actually." Subikahn dropped the cloak at Saviar's feet, then turned to dig through their packs. "If I get cold, I'll take it back. Or I'll find something clean."

"Thanks." Saviar wrapped the extra cloak around him, no longer in the mood to joke. Still warm from Subikahn's body, the fabric seemed to embrace him, yet he still felt icy to the bone. His limbs began to shake.

"Lie down," Subikahn suggested. "I'll start a fire, then get to work on that wound."

"Not yet." Saviar reluctantly staggered toward an open patch of ground. For the first time he could remember, he loathed the bare thought of swordplay. "I need to practice."

Subikahn set to digging out a fire pit. "Of course, we'll practice. But it can wait till you have clean bandages." He gestured at a spot near the freshly dug depression. "Lie down, Savi."

Saviar looked at the indicated place. Though nothing more than one open patch among many beneath the woven canopy of forest, it looked exquisitely comfortable. He wanted to stretch out in the fallen leaves and dirt, to stare quietly at the stars, to let a roaring fire drive its heat through his frigid body.Yet, lifelong lessons die hard. If he curled up now, he might fall asleep. "We have to practice."

"We will." Subikahn jabbed a finger at the ground. "As soon as I change those bandages."

Protesting took too much effort. "All right." Chills racked Saviar's body, his jaw chattered, and the urge to draw every scrap of cloth tightly around him became nearly impossible to ignore. He dropped awkwardly to the ground.

Subikahn hovered around him, tucking clothing, tearing bandages, gathering wood. Amidst the normal sounds of his brother's preparations, still fighting the chill that gripped him, Saviar fell into a restless sleep.

Keatoville turned out to be a tiny hamlet only steps off the beaten path. Had Ra-khir not discovered the battlefield and Darby, he would probably have ridden past without noticing it at all. Neat rows of cottages surrounded the few necessary businesses; and a communal meeting hall, that probably served as a tavern as often as a gathering place, stood directly in the center of town.

People stopped and stared as Darby rode in, accompanied by a Knight of Erythane, their jaws sagging, their chores forgotten. In silence, Darby led the donkey to a dilapidated cottage on the farthest edge of the village. He drew up alongside the wooden construct, its beams settling and its caulk repeatedly patched. The thatched roof had turned brown and moldy with age, and it surely leaked. "We're here," he announced.

Ra-khir dismounted. "You live here?" He tried to keep incredulity from his voice. Though it drooped, the cottage was clean. He could tell someone had jammed straw-filled mud into every budding crevice, smoothing it carefully. They obviously tried to keep their home in shape, but time had ravaged it and no able-bodied man had spared them the few hours it would take to assist with regular maintenance. Now, it would probably require a complete rebuilding.

Darby flushed. "I try my best, sir. Really I do."

Ra-khir glanced around at the crowd that had followed them to the ramshackle cottage, watching in a curious hush.