Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

Keva giggled, and Tiega grinned. "Flatterer! And I thought Knights of Erythane weren't allowed to lie."

"We're not." Ra-khir wheeled Silver Warrior and let the significance of the comment hang. "I meant every word I said." He made a broad gesture at Darby. "Come on, apprentice knight. We've a horse to buy."

Darby charged to Ra-khir's side, and the two men headed toward the center of Keatoville.

Subikahn studied his sleeping brother in the light of the blazing fire. Snuggled near it, beneath every article of clothing not shredded for the bandage or on Subikahn, he finally stopped shivering. Still, he moved restlessly, moaning frequently and occasionally crying out in his sleep.

With a sigh of painful resignation, Subikahn brushed away enough of the coverings to reveal the bandaged leg. Saviar twitched and muttered but did not awaken. His skin felt dry and remarkably hot. The lack of sweat told Subikahn his brother's temperature was still climbing, and his agitation probably stemmed from the wild sort of dreams and nightmares that only fever can induce. What have I done?

Terror seized Subikahn. He had lost his parents, his lover, and he had no idea where his younger brother had gone. He could not, would not, lose his beloved twin as well. The very thought threatened to plunge him into madness. Hold on, Savi. Hold on. Tears distorted the image of his suffering brother. It all seemed utter, impossible insanity, the whole scenario, itself, a torturous fever-dream. My mood started the argument. I demanded the fight. I plunged that sword into his thigh, and I ripped it free, filthy from the ground. Nearly paralyzed with guilt, Subikahn realized one thing more. If not for my selfish desire for solitude, we would be nearer a town. I could get him a healer, some herbs, some help.

Subikahn's gaze returned to the bandages. Blaming himself would not ease his brother's misery nor help him treat the wound. He had to remove them, to gaze upon it, and to use the few tools in his arsenal to attempt to heal it. Still he hesitated, fearing what he saw might rob him of the last vestiges of hope. I'm a warrior. I'm a Renshai. Steeling himself, Subikahn gently unwound the bandages.

Swollen red streaks appeared first, at the outer edges of the uncovered area. Subikahn sucked air through his teeth and forced himself to continue. Another few loops dropped to the ground, revealing more inflammation, puffier and angry in its scarlet hue. Then, the last hunk of cloth came undone amid a wash of blood-streaked pus. Subikahn gasped sharply and glanced at his brother, only to find Saviar looking back at him.

Confusion and pain glazed the familiar blue-white eyes. Saviar's cheeks carried ruddy circles. "I'm dying."

"No!" Subikahn shielded the wound with his body. Realizing he had answered too quickly and loudly, he sought the right words to reassure. "Your body's just fighting to keep it from getting tainted. You're going to be fine."

Saviar seemed not to hear. "I saw my pyre, and the cold lonely hill where the wind scatters the ashes. A voice told me… I'm all alone. Forever…"

"Just a nightmare." Subikahn turned his back on his brother to fully block his view of the wound while he worked. "A stupid, ridiculous nightmare.You're going to be fine, Savi. Go back to sleep."

"No. Help me up. I have to die in combat."

"You're not going to die!" It was more than a statement, it was admonishment and self-reassurance. If Saviar died, Subikahn would die with him. He could not go on alone. "Now stop this death talk, and go back to sleep."

Saviar swallowed hard. His eyes drifted closed.

Subikahn sucked in a deep lungful of air; but, before he could release it, Saviar continued.

"I'm cold, Subi. So very very cold. Hel is dragging me into her frozen realm. Please." Just talking seemed a great effort. He licked his lips with a tongue that looked dry and swollen despite the copious amount of water he had drunk that evening. "You have to help me up.You have to help me commit taphreselmordat."

"Shut up!" Subikahn had heard all he could stand. "Shut up, Saviar! You are not going to die. Not yet. Not for a very long time."

"I… Hel-"

"If she comes, she'll have to get through me." Subikahn drew Motfrabelonning from Saviar's sheath. "This is the sword that let you see the Valkyrie when Mama died, right?" He did not wait for an answer. "If Hel comes near, I'll see her. She'll have to battle through me to get you."

"Subi-"

Subikahn would not listen to protest. "That's it, Savi. Go to sleep. I will see you in the morning."

"I'm not dying?"

"You're not dying." Subikahn did not allow a hint of doubt to enter his tone.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure," Subikahn said with all the certainty and finality in the world, though he experienced none of it. He knew only one thing. Saviar cannot die. His own heart could not afford the pain. When Saviar's stopped, his did as well. If Hel came to claim Saviar, she would face a battle like none other, and she would lose. Subikahn would not stop until he spent every iota of strength, skill, sanity, and breath.

Saviar drifted back into sleep while Subikahn carefully tended the wound, bathing it with water and, inadvertently, with tears.

Darby chose a compact chestnut gelding with an easy disposition, a decision that pleased Ra-khir. The boy had a reasonable eye for conformation, movement, and soundness; the chestnut would manage long distances at a comfortably fast pace. Its more subdued color would blend into background field and forest, though that seemed a minor concern given that he rode alongside the snow-white, beribboned beacon that was Silver Warrior. And a gelding would not distract the knight's stallion with challenges or heat cycles.

Though high summer, the day remained cool as they rode in silence along the packed dirt roadway, traveling ever eastward along the Southern Mountain range. It would take weeks to reach the passes that would bring them to the Western Plains, the ancient site of the Great War; and, from there, into the Eastlands.

Hoofprints pocked the roadway, and the recent breakage of sideline foliage told Ra-khir they would not have to travel nearly that far. A large group had passed by recently, and he would have bet everything he carried that the sign was left by the Renshai. Like any crowd that included children and a limited number of horses, they traveled much more slowly than a pair of horsemen. And Ra-khir saw evidence that they'd stopped more than once to crash through the brush and, probably, practice sword maneuvers.

Little conversation passed between them. Ra-khir saw no reason to burden Darby with his family problems, and the boy kept his curiosity well-hidden. It seemed better to Ra-khir to demonstrate the ways of knighthood to his new charge rather than preach them. Words had little impact compared to actions, and Darby would suffer enough long-winded speeches in his future to make up for every moment of blessed silence. The Knights of Erythane participated in the formal events of both kingdoms and had to learn to remain in position through the most pompous, boring, and repetitive proceedings known to humankind.

Midday came and went, with Ra-khir choosing to remain in the saddle as they ate. With each hoof fall, they drew closer to their goal, and he would rather come upon the Renshai in twilight than darkness. Any one of them could make short work of the knight and his charge, and they would need little excuse to do so.

The strategy paid off. Shortly past sundown, Ra-khir found a huge hole in the roadside plant life where a multitude had broken through, clearly to find a campsite. Bits of fur clung to thistles and branches, scraped from the flanks of horses. Motioning Darby behind him, Ra-khir plunged through, winding Silver Warrior between the tree trunks and copses. Soon, he could hear the sounds of muffled conversation, sword blades slamming together, and whetstones rasping against steel.