Flight of the Renshai

CHAPTER 15

The day of the battle dawned in dreary solemnity. Rope-wrapped stakes squared off the battlefield on the Fields of Wrath, and Knights of Erythane patrolled around them, keeping the crowd in check. Surprised by the sheer number of spectators, Saviar stood on the outskirts of the gathered nobility, Northmen, and Renshai, glad Thialnir seemed comfortable handling the final details without him.

Though he noticed someone approaching to his right, Saviar did not bother to acknowledge it. He hoped the other would realize he had no patience for idle conversation.

"Why didn't you tell me you were Renshai?"

Saviar stiffened, then turned slowly to face Verdondi. He flushed, dodging the quick blue eyes. "You… you didn't ask." It was a feeble argument, and he knew it. He had never expected the information to come out this way. Timing is everything. Kedrin had said, and Saviar knew he should have told the truth a long time ago.

"Who would think to ask a young man in the practice area of Bearn Castle such a question?"

Saviar bit his lip, too guilty to laugh. Anyone who knew King Griff hired Renshai to guard his heirs would expect them in the practice area as often as possible.

"You said you were the son of a Knight of Erythane."

"I am."

"A Knight and also a Renshai?"

"My mother…" Saviar finally met the young Northman's gaze. "… is Renshai."

Verdondi's nostrils flared. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh.' " Saviar started to turn his attention back to the proceedings, but Verdondi was not yet ready.

"You still should have told me."

"You're right," Saviar admitted, "I should have. But my father and grandfather would not have tolerated bloodshed in Bearn Castle."

Verdondi's brows arched higher. "Bloodshed? I-" His lids abruptly fell from abnormally wide to squintingly narrow. "I get it. You think far too little of me." He grunted out an irritated sigh. "I deserve better."

"I'm sorry." Saviar made a little bow. "I should not have assumed." Believing the conversation finished, he glanced out over the crowd, sifting Renshai from the vast array of Erythanians. Even a few Bearnides had made the trip, their enormous physiques and shaggy dark heads towering over most of the others.

"Who's your champion?"

Saviar continued to study the crowd as he answered, "My baby brother, Calistin."

"Your baby brother?" Verdondi seemed shocked by the answer. "I know Renshai look younger, but just how old-"

Saviar did not bother to wait for the end of the question. "He's eighteen. I'm nineteen, as of today."

"Your champion is only eighteen?"

Saviar nodded.

"And you look reasonably close to your… real age."

"I do."

"So not all Renshai-?"

"I favor my father's side of the family," Saviar interrupted swiftly. He did not want to get into an argument over rumors; Verdondi might actually believe they slaughtered infants and performed foul rites with the blood to keep their youth. "But Calistin seems to carry more of our mother's bloodline. To me, he seems about… six."

Verdondi swallowed hard. "He… looks… that young?"

"Looks?" Saviar finally studied his companion. "No, he looks-I don't know-thirteen, fourteen. He just acts six."

Verdondi laughed, and even Saviar managed a smile. He had no fear for his brother. No swordsman in any part of the world could possibly best Calistin.

The young Northman sobered quickly. "Look, Saviar. I ought to warn you.Your baby brother may be in trouble."

Saviar made a throwaway gesture. "Don't worry about Calistin. He could handle three armies, if he had to; and he'd be the first to tell you he could."

Verdondi cleared his throat cautiously. "It will take more than confidence to kill Valr Magnus."

Though he had never heard it before, the name sent a chill through Saviar. Northmen did not idly bestow the nickname of their centuries-famous hero, Valr. Magnus implied magnificent, the best. Though not uncommon as a name or piece of a name, Magnus had never, to Saviar's knowledge, accompanied the word, "Slayer."To the Northmen, this warrior was special.

Verdondi explained, "He showed such great natural prowess as a child, he has never had to do anything other than swordwork. He's not expected to hunt, book-learn, or assist with any chore. He is the sword, and the sword is him. No one can beat him."

A dark sense of foreboding clutched Saviar's chest, quickly dispelled by reason. Calistin had a similar history in a culture that initiated swordplay in infancy, where every moment of every day allowed for a spar or lesson, and he had regular opponents who could challenge him. Calistin also knew the Renshai maneuvers, to which this Valr had no access. Saviar could not imagine any man quicker or more capable than his brother. "Calistin can. And will."

The conversation put Verdondi in a precarious position. If he stated the usual platitude, "I hope so," it meant standing against his own father and people. To state otherwise, however, meant wishing death and grief upon Saviar's family.

A sudden shout rescued Verdondi. Saviar's attention shifted suddenly to the battlegrounds, where Calistin, Thialnir, and two Northmen waved their arms around in obvious disagreement.

"Excuse me." Saviar rushed toward the ruckus without waiting to see if Verdondi had granted his pardon. He drew up just as King Humfreet, Knight-Captain Kedrin, and two other knights arrived on the scene.

"What seems to be the trouble?" the aging king demanded.

Saviar quietly took a position beside Thialnir, trying for discretion. If no one noticed him, concerns about his identity and status, whether or not he belonged in this exalted group, would not arise.

If anyone noticed Saviar, they gave no sign. The two Northmen bowed to the king before one responded to the question. "Your Majesty, we are only trying to keep the proceedings fair."

Thialnir snorted.

Kedrin's jaw tightened, but he did not reprimand the Renshai. Saviar knew his grandfather had grown accustomed to Thialnir's blatant disregard of royal convention from Bearn's Council. Still, the king of Erythane was more traditional in his requirements.

Ignoring Thialnir, the Northman who had spoken continued, while the other bowed repeatedly. "Your Majesty, we all agreed on a fair battle, yet it is well-known that Renshai do nothing other than train for murder."

"Combat," Thialnir corrected.

"Combat, then," the Northman accepted Thialnir's word politely, though the lines around his mouth tightened. "And even a mediocre Renshai can take on the best three warriors of any other people."

"So?" Thialnir interrupted gruffly again. "Of what purpose is this fact? They called the challenge."

The other Northman stopped bowing long enough to speak. "Your Majesty, please. We all agreed to fair combat."

Saviar tugged discretely at Thialnir's tunic, trying to get his attention. The Northmen played a crafty game, attempting to look all innocence when they knew their champion spent as much time honing his craft as any Renshai.

Intent on the Northmen, Thialnir seemed oblivious to Saviar.

"Well," King Humfreet said, fingering his graying beard with clear thoughtfulness. " 'Fair' does imply no obvious outcome, does it not, Knight-Captain?"

Directly addressed, Kedrin executed a grand gesture of respect. "Well, Sire, I suppose it could be interpreted in that-"

"This is insanity!" Calistin demonstrated none of his grandfather's pretty manners. "My mother could trounce the best warrior the Northmen have."

The group dropped into stunned silence, amplifying the familiar voice that followed, "I accept."

Every eye turned toward Kevral, who elbowed her way through the crowd. "Those cowards can't whine about fairness when their champion faces me."

"No," Saviar whispered, his hand falling from Thialnir's clothing. "No," he said louder, but his voice disappeared into the murmurs that followed. Even Calistin whirled to face Kevral; he had clearly intended his words only as a taunt.

"I accept," Kevral repeated. "Now where's my target?"

Saviar seized a huge handful of Thialnir's tunic and pulled so hard he all but disrobed the Renshai leader.

Finally, Thialnir glanced at his apprentice.

Saviar hissed, "You can't let her fight. The stakes are too high."

Thialnir shook his head, his voice just above a whisper. "She accepted the challenge, Savi. To deny her would be to dishonor her." He smiled wickedly, "Besides, what better vengeance than to slaughter their best man with a girl."

Saviar found it impossible to think of his mother as a girl. Though remarkably skilled in her day, still a better warrior than himself, she was well into her thirties. Age had to take some toll on her agility. "Thialnir, no. Their champion is… is… well… unusually competent."

"Your mother," Thialnir returned stiffly, "is Renshai." Without further explanation, he strode out of Saviar's reach.

Events seemed to progress in strangely slowed motion. Saviar could only watch as Calistin conferred with Kevral, as Thialnir, the Northmen, and the Erythanians explored the finer points of the upcoming conflict. His mind muddled, refusing to grasp details. Centuries ago, the Renshai had met a similar challenge by pitting a random member of the tribe against the Northmen's best. That had resulted in a humiliation that had blossomed into prejudice. How much stronger would the hatred flare if a female elder, a mother of three adults, slaughtered the Northmen's best? And, while Saviar had not worried for Calistin at all, anxiety twitched through him at the thought of Kevral in his brother's place. She could lose, she could die, and the Renshai would become double exiles.

Saviar had always known he would one day lose his mother violently. Like all Renshai, she craved death in combat to join the eternal war in Valhalla. But to risk her life for such a heinous matter, a contest born of bigotry and intolerance, seemed wrong. Perhaps the cause was not good enough. Perhaps the gods and their Valkyries, their Choosers of the Slain, would consider such a contest unworthy. Perhaps, the loser would not reach Valhalla. The thought sent a desperate shiver through him. For so many reasons, Kevral had to win.

A hand fell on Saviar's shoulder. Father? Ra-khir did not share the Renshai's desire to die in valiant combat. Saviar could only wonder how much anxious pain his father suffered now. He whirled to face Verdondi. Surprised, he only stared.

"I'm sorry," the young Northman said. "I know what it's like to be orphaned."

"Orphaned? What do you mean orphaned?" Sudden realization enraged Saviar. "You think my mother will be defeated."

Verdondi paled, if possible, his features nearly bloodless. "Well… I just meant… there is a… a chance…"

"No!" Saviar spoke through gritted teeth. "Ridiculous. My mother is Renshai." Fire seemed to course through his veins. It was all he could do to keep himself from attacking the young Northman, and that loss of self-control triggered the logical thoughts that had, thus far, evaded him. Saviar realized his anger stemmed not from insult, but because he feared the very possibility Verdondi had raised.

Unaware of Saviar's internal turmoil, Verdondi tried to extricate himself from the situation. "I didn't… didn't mean any offense. I… just… just wanted you to know that… I understand.You see, Captain Erik is actually my uncle by blood. My… my parents were… killed." He seemed on the verge of tears, which snapped Saviar fully out of his fury. He did not want to humiliate the only Northman who had acted as a friend.

Not trusting himself to speak of the matter at hand, Saviar asked in a flat tone, "What happened to your parents?" From the corner of his eye, he watched the preparations. Kevral crouched in the middle of the combat area, calmly cleaning her swords. Saviar searched for her opponent.

"A group of brigands assaulted my mother. She returned home clinging to life. My father took them all on in vengeance, but they overpowered him. She lived on for a few months, but she felt responsible for his death. Eventually, infection overwhelmed her."

"That's horrible."

Verdondi closed his eyes, gritted his teeth. "Yes." He forced himself to continue, "They, the ones who killed my parents, were Northmen of our own tribe. So I came to see there are good and bad in every group of people." He looked askance at Saviar, seeming almost to plead. "Among Renshai, too?"

The Northman had dared to share his most vulnerable moment, and Saviar found himself feeling strangely protective. He had never thought of his tribe in those specific terms. Renshai were simple to understand: life and death intertwined, based solely on a swordwork they considered the only pathway to eternal glory. Saviar thought of his younger brother and the many times he had wanted to throttle the pompous pest. "Among Renshai, too," he finally agreed.

Verdondi seemed about to say something more, but no words emerged.

Saviar rescued him from the trouble of speaking. "Excuse me, again. I'd like to visit with my mother before the battle."

"Of course," Verdondi gestured for Saviar to go.

Saviar studied the battlefield as he approached. Knights still patrolled the roped-off area, large enough to support three battles at once. Someone had cleaned the area of debris, leaving only a fine film of crushed weeds over the dirt. Clearly, the Northmen were taking no chances of giving the Renshai any advantages, including familiarity with the grounds or use of their vast experience waging war on hazardous terrain. Shadows of foliage and the nearest cottages marred the otherwise clean perfection of the field. Two large trees towered directly over the makeshift arena, though not a single shed stick lay beneath either of them. Saviar could see a fresh wound where someone had hacked down and filed a bit of root that might have caused a trip hazard. Under the guise of fairness, they will see to it every advantage is theirs.

As if to prove Saviar's point, Valr Magnus finally leaped over the ropes to enter the combat area. Kevral watched him, clearly judging every movement, and Saviar instinctively did the same. Though large, he was not muscle-bound, and moved with a quickness that spoke of remarkable agility despite the armor that encased his chest and abdomen. He kept his arms and legs bare, but clutched a helmet in one hand and a sizable shield in the other. The broadsword at his hip appeared well-made.

A thought occurred to Saviar, and he veered from Kevral to Thialnir where the Renshai leader stood with the Northern captain, the king, and Humfreet's knightly entourage. Time to turn the tables. "Sir." Saviar addressed Thialnir, though he spoke loudly enough for the knights and the king to hear. "Is it fair for the Northman to wear armor while our champion has none?"

Thialnir turned to face Saviar directly, his movements haughty but a smile playing across his lips that only Saviar could see. "We've discussed this, Savi. Their solution was to offer Kevral some as well, but she refused to hide behind hunks of metal like a coward."

Saviar had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He dared not look at the Northmen lest he further aggravate the situation. Renshai shunned even jewelry because it might deflect a blow. Allowing anything but one's own quickness and skill to escape and answer an attack was perceived as the lowest form of weakness among Renshai. Saviar had known the answer before he asked the question and only brought up the subject in the hope that he could goad Valr Magnus into shedding his own protections.

But the Northmen's champion took no notice of the conversation. He stood in the arena, studying everything, including his opponent. Kevral seemed oblivious to his scrutiny, though Saviar knew she noticed every detail, every movement.

Feeling his grandfather's gaze boring through him, Saviar made a dutiful bow to the king, though he still addressed Thialnir. "Forgive me for raising a matter already addressed. I just could not imagine a true warrior seeing the inequity and choosing to wear his armor anyway." He stopped there. If he directly disparaged Valr Magnus as a cheater or a coward, he would attract his father's ire. As it stood, they all knew what he meant; and he had stated it surreptitiously enough to skirt rudeness.

King Humfreet clapped his hands suddenly. "Silence!"

Saviar cringed, at first believing the command directed at his insolence. Then, he realized the king of Erythane addressed the entire gathering.

The crowd quieted. Only then, Saviar truly noticed the vast numbers of people who had gathered. They stood in masses, the smaller ones attempting to see around the taller. Renshai children perched on parental shoulders to watch. Erythanians and Renshai sat in tree branches, on boulders, or on cottage porches. A few even squatted on the rooftops, a precarious position given the Renshai's lack of knowledge and experience when it came to construction. They might battle on any surface, but their ability to properly and safely erect buildings was limited.

Standing in the vicinity of the king, Saviar had an unobstructed view of the proceedings. No one dared block King Humfreet, not even the knights of Erythane, though mounted knights repeatedly shooed away anyone else who stepped too near the ropes.

Kevral rose, her movements casual. She seemed utterly composed, as if out for a stroll rather than facing a great challenge the outcome of which would determine the future of an entire tribe. She sheathed her first sword, a perfectly crafted blade she had received from Colbey. At the time, she had needed to battle a demon, and he knew her plain, steel weapons could not touch it. His had a hint of power simply because it had so long graced the hand of a god. She considered it her greatest treasure, and it never left her side.

Kevral sheathed her second sword as lovingly, a slender blade that once bore the name Tisis, Vengeance. Ironically, it had slain the first Valr, Valr Kirin, in a battle more than three centuries ago. The Einherjar, Rache, had gifted it to Kevral after she bested another of the Gloriously Slain in fair combat. In Valhalla, Rache had befriended Valr Kirin and gave Kevral the sword that she promised to rename. She now called it Motfrabelonning, Reward of Courage, and cherished it nearly as much as her unnamed weapon.

Valr Magnus stepped toward her. Sunlight sheened from his breastplate. He moved with a catlike lightness that belied the heavy armor and the shield he now wore strapped to his forearm. He had handsome features below boyishly tousled gold hair that fell in curls around his ears. His sinewy limbs hinted at speed and dexterity well beyond the norm. He stood more than a head taller than Kevral and was at least twice her weight. With a wave to someone in the crowd, he pulled a gleaming helmet over his head.

Saviar's heart pounded, and he found himself incapable of turning away.

"Ready?" King Humfreet called to the combatants.

In reply, Valr Magnus unsheathed his mighty sword. It seemed to draw the attention of the sun, flicking shafts of silver among the audience. Many turned away, apparently blinded by the reflection.

Kevral gave nothing. She simply stood just beyond the range of Valr's sword, her weapons in their sheaths, her expression carefree. As always, she kept her hair chopped functionally short, and she looked more boy than woman in her straight-cut tunic and breeks.

A figure stepped up beside Saviar. He stiffened, hoping it was not Verdondi again. He liked the young Northman, but his repeated attempts at conversation were becoming annoying. At the moment, he felt incapable of conversation, concerned solely with the battle. He was Renshai, first and foremost. For now, he just wanted to blend among his people, to hate Northmen and the situations they repeatedly thrust the Renshai into with their challenges and biases. The Renshai just wanted to be left alone and in peace. Why could the Northmen not honor that simple request?

Calistin's voice hissed in his ear. "She's got him."

Saviar looked at his brother. The young man rarely deigned to engage him in equal discussion. "What?"

"Mother's the better warrior. She's going to win."

Saviar responded the only way he could. "Of course she's going to win. She's Renshai."

Treysind shoved fiercely between them, his carroty mane bristling. Calistin frowned slightly but did not reprimand the boy. "No, I mean look at their builds. She's smaller, and he'll have more power; but Renshai maneuvers-"

"-don't rely on strength but on quickness and skill," Saviar finished impatiently. "Everyone knows that."

Calistin looked around his "bodyguard." "I-I know you know-I just mean-"

Saviar did not have patience for unnecessary chatter, whether from the young Northman or from his baby brother. "Yes, yes. She'll do fine." He needed the words to convince himself as well as Calistin. "She'll do just fine."

"I didn't mean to-I didn't expect her to say-"

Nothing could have driven Saviar's focus from the upcoming battle, except for his cocksure brother seeking reassurance from him. It was so wildly uncharacteristic, so staggeringly unexpected, that Saviar choked on his own saliva. At a time when he most wished to say something, he could do nothing but surrender to a fit of violent coughing.

The king made a sweeping gesture. "Let the battle begin!"

Before the sentence ended, Kevral struck like a snake, zipping through Valr Magnus' guard. Her sword cut across his shield, scratching a perfect line in the steel. She lunged again immediately, leaving no time for a return strike. Forced to defend again, Magnus sprang safely aside. This time, he managed a blazing riposte that Kevral dodged.

Saviar's throat finally handled speech. "It's not your fault, Calistin. No one blames you."

The Northmen shouted rhythmically, "Valr! Valr! Valr!" To Saviar's surprise, much of the Erythanian audience took up the chant. The Renshai remained silent.

Magnus' speed bothered Saviar. Whatever Calistin saw in their physiques that gave Kevral the advantage defied his not-quite-as-practiced eye. Magnus moved like a dancer, despite the heavy armor, and he clearly bided his time. He had learned to use the shield as a weapon rather than relying on it to fend every blow.

Kevral's next assault was a deadly blur of weaving steel. The sword in her left hand struck six times in less than a second, and the right bore in to inflict unrelated chaos. Magnus might have faced two separate foes for all the logic in their intertwining movements. He caught one attack on his sword, another on his shield, three more on various parts of his armor. Another, he parried, redirecting it fiercely and following up with a blazing attack that forced Kevral to withdraw and realign.

This time, Magnus attacked first, a furious feint followed by a blow full of strength and passion. Kevral caught it on a cross between her swords, needing both hands to slow the attack. Even then, it must have stung fiercely. She gave gradually with the force, slowing the momentum so as not to force an immediate, agonizing stop. An abrupt twist jerked the sword from his grip.

But Magnus moved with it, grabbing the hilt and yanking furiously. For an instant, his balance wavered. Seizing the opening, Kevral bore in with a blow toward the neck that dented his helmet but left the flesh intact.

Magnus loosed a howl of rage. His features went taut with driven anger, yet Saviar noticed something else in his expression, something out of place and unexpected. "Is that… a wicked, little smile?" he asked of no one in particular.

"He's testing her," Calistin guessed. Apparently appeased by Saviar's words, he sounded more like his usual confident self, "getting a feel for how she moves, her favorite actions."

Though troubled by Magnus' strategy and patience, Saviar doubted it would make a substantial difference. Renshai had no overriding tactics, no patterns; and Kevral would know better than to repeat a maneuver.

The two combatants attacked simultaneously, with a speed that defied Saviar's ability to follow. Steel flashed, arms and legs wove with terrifying speed, metal crashed against metal. Rents appeared in Kevral's clothing, scratches, dents and holes in Magnus' armor. And, on occasion, blood splashed, following a sword arc. Saviar did not know whose, but neither gave a bit of ground, so no one had sustained a serious wound.Yet.

Saviar's jaw ached. One clenched hand gripped his hilt so tightly it left impressions of the knurling on his palm. His fingernails chewed into the other. He tried to relax, tried to feel certain that Kevral would prevail, that all would go well for the Renshai; but he could not stop himself from worrying. She was a phenomenal warrior, more than a match for any Northman. Any Northman! he reassured himself. Yet, the war did not always go to the most competent. Renshai lost battles… occasionally. Renshai died… often. Mother, why did you have to take that challenge?

For an instant the two disengaged. Though neither panted obviously, their nostrils flared repeatedly. Sweat sheened them both, darkening the leather on their hilts. Both sported rips, tears, and gashes in clothing and flesh, mostly light limb wounds. Then, as suddenly as they had stopped, they charged again. Kevral sprang aside, her blades invisible as they carved lethal patterns through Magnus' defense. He charged right by her, missing, spinning to avoid the deadly steel. Blood splashed from Kevral's blade, and Saviar saw the welling scarlet stain on Magnus' thigh.

She got him! Joy welled up inside Saviar. He's lost.

Magnus tottered a step, then caught his balance. He glanced at the wound, then back to Kevral.

Kevral remained in position, swords readied; but she did not press. Apparently, she used his moment of weakness to catch her breath. If she had gashed the main artery, he would die before he took another step.

Valr Magnus remained standing, sword readied in his hand. With a bellowing battle scream, he rushed Kevral again.

"No!" Calistin shouted suddenly, bounding toward the ropes. "Above! Mama, look up!"

Only then, Saviar noticed a movement in the tree branch over Kevral's head. A man plummeted from it.

Kevral attempted to dodge both dangers simultaneously. She avoided Magnus' headlong rush with a deft spin, but the leaping figure caught her a glancing blow across the right shoulder. She staggered for balance, just as Valr Magnus turned and thrust. His blade pierced her left side, and their combined momentum drove it deeper.

No! Saviar chased his brother, heedless of the Knights of Erythane. No! No! No!

Kevral collapsed.

Magnus planted a foot on her abdomen and ripped his sword free. A rush of blood followed, bright red and pulsing.

Kidney strike, Saviar realized, suddenly wishing he knew less anatomy. Fatal.

Hands seized Saviar's arms, jarring him from the ropes. In a blind fury, he drew and cut, feeling momentary resistance and a mild, muttered oath.

"Let him go!" someone shouted authoritatively. "We don't need more bloodshed."

The grips disappeared from Saviar, and he vaulted over the ropes to Kevral's side. "Mama," he whispered, feeling like a lost child. "Mama."

Seemingly oblivious to Saviar's sudden presence,Valr Magnus was busy using the tip of his sword to find a gap in Kevral's ribs, to finish a job that was already done. The blood no longer spouted, but leaked; and the color had turned dark as wine. She was already dead.

Stunned grief blossomed suddenly to anger. Saviar tensed to launch himself at Valr Magnus, but Calistin's gasp froze him in position. He glanced at his brother instead.

Calistin stood in reverent awe, gaze locked on Kevral's body. "Do you… see it…?"

Saviar had no idea what his brother meant, but the distraction did give him a moment to think. Valr Magnus had killed Kevral in fair combat. If Saviar killed the Northman in front of hundreds of wit nesses, he would hang for murder. Feeling impotent, he sheathed his swords and went to his mother instead.

Kevral had died swiftly, a look of grim determination and pure battle joy still locked on her features. Her grip remained steady around the hilts of both swords, but the blades lay still in the dirt. There was nothing Saviar could do for her; he could only honor the weapons she had held so dear. He reached for the nearest one, the slender long sword, Motfrabelonning and took it into his hand. The leather was still warm and slightly damp. He could smell her scent, light beneath the suffocating reek of blood.

An image sprang to vivid life almost in Saviar's face. Startled, he jumped backward to find himself facing an enormous woman, a giant, bathed in golden light. She wore battle gear, including a helmet, that should have hidden every evidence of femininity; and, yet, he somehow knew that beneath the armor she was curvaceous and beautiful. Shrewd blue eyes peered out from hawkish features, and a cascade of yellow hair flowed around them. Beside her stood an exact, but insubstantial, duplicate of Kevral. Vital and happy.

"Ma-" was all Saviar managed.

Kevral smiled, her face glowing. "Keep it, Savi."

Saviar had no idea what she meant but found himself incapable of questions. He could only stare.

"The sword," Kevral explained. "Rache asked me to return it when I earned Valhalla, but the Valkyrie says I cannot bring anything with me." She gestured at the accompanying figure.

A tear dribbled down Saviar's cheek. Then another. Feeling paralyzed, he made no move to wipe them away.

"Don't cry, Savi. I'm so very happy.This is what I've always wanted, what I've worked for my entire life. I'm chosen for Valhalla."

Saviar knew she spoke truth, but the reality overwhelmed him. I can see a Valkyrie. A Valkyrie! And Mama's spirit. How can that possibly be?

"The other sword belongs to Calistin. I regret I have nothing equal for Subikahn, except for some advice: He will find happiness when he is true to what the gods have made him."

The Valkyrie said something to Kevral that Saviar could not hear, then took her arm.

"And tell your father I have always loved him."

A silent bolt of lightning opened the sky so suddenly it startled Saviar anew. A golden haze surrounded the Valkyrie and the new Einherjar, then disappeared as quickly, leaving nothing but the real world to intrude upon Saviar's fantasy. Unable to process what he had just seen, Saviar crumpled to his bottom, still clutching the sword.

A shadow fell over Saviar, and Calistin's voice yanked him from his trance. "Get up! Saviar, that's not a defensible position."

Saviar shook his head to clear it. The noises of the crowd flooded back into his consciousness, undecipherable and deafening. Valr Magnus had left the arena, and Ra-khir sobbed over Kevral's body. Without thinking, Saviar rose to a crouch.

"You saw them, didn't you?" Calistin's tone sounded almost accusatory, yet there was also a hint of worry.

Saviar could only nod. He looked at the sword in his hand. The blade needed a thorough cleaning before he could sheath it. Calistin held the sword Colbey had given their mother, and he clearly knew it belonged to him.

"How?" Calistin asked, now sounding more like a little brother turning to an older, wiser one. "How could we-?"

Saviar had never seen Calistin so vulnerable, and it brought out his protective instincts. He finally found his tongue. "I don't know." He continued to stare at his newly acquired weapon. "But it seemed to have something to do with this." He shook Motfrabelonning. "I couldn't see anything till I took it. I think it holds some sort of… of… magic."

Calistin looked at the weapon in his own hands, swallowed hard, then lowered his voice still further. "Saviar?"

"Hmmm?"

"I wasn't holding any weapon when I saw her. I just… I just…" Calistin dropped to Saviar's level. "… saw her. Then Hildr dropped from the sky-"

"Hildr?"

"Hildr, Warrior. The Valkyrie."

Saviar blinked. "She told you her name?"

"I just knew it." Calistin's brow furrowed at the realization of what he had just said. "Not sure how, but I did."

Saviar glanced over the crowd. An argument had broken out, surely over the injustice of the battle. Apparently, no one else had seen the ghost and the Valkyrie; but he doubted anyone had missed the man leaping onto Kevral from an overhead branch. "Calistin?"

"Hmmm?"

"I don't think we should mention this to anyone."

Calistin nodded vigorously. "I'm not saying anything."

Saviar turned his gaze on Ra-khir, where he cradled Kevral's limp form, his grief etched across features smeared with tears. Saviar gritted his teeth, his heart aching. He had never seen his father in so much agony. His every instinct told him to console, but duty drew him elsewhere. "Calistin, you'll have to comfort Papa."

"Comfort?" Calistin rocked back on his heels. "Me?"

"Of course, you. He's your father, too."

"Yes, but, I don't know how to-"

Saviar glanced toward the king, where Erik Leifsson and Thialnir waved their arms around in clear argument. "You're going to have to do your best." Springing to his feet, Saviar ran toward the conflict. His brother's protestations chased him. Incredible swordsman, hopeless human being. For the first time in his life, Saviar actually felt sorry for Calistin, for what the Renshai had turned him into. So competent, yet so ignorant about so many things. He wove past the Knights of Erythane, still stationed to keep noncombatants off the field, though no longer as busy. Nearly all of the spectators had broken off into little groups to discuss the events, and a growing number watched the argument taking place before the king.

The Knights of Erythane allowed Saviar to pass unchallenged. He arrived just in time to hear Erik present his plea. "Your Majesty, it was the Renshai, themselves, who added the friendly interference clause."

Thialnir exploded, dispensing with formality. "I meant Renshai! Renshai would not interfere with-"

"Your Majesty," Erik kept his tone tightly modulated, a stark contrast to Thialnir's shouting. "… we all agree the interferer was Erythanian, is that not correct?"

King Humfreet appealed to Kedrin. "Knight-Captain? Do we have the man's identity yet?"

Kedrin stepped forward and executed a flourishing bow. "Sire, it was Frendon Harveki's son. An Erythanian as far back as history can determine."

The king cleared his throat, pulling at his beard. "And what does this Frendon Harveki's son say about his actions?"

"Nothing, Sire," Kedrin said carefully, attention fully on his liege. "We found him dead, his throat slit."

A slight smile played around Thialnir's lips, and Saviar prayed he did not laugh. It would make the Renshai look even coarser.

Erik's face drained of color. "Murder," he growled.

The king took the news in stride. "Under the circumstances, one could hardly expect otherwise."

It was a subtle insult to the Renshai way of life, but it did not bother Saviar or, apparently, Thialnir.

King Humfreet continued, "Are there family members or friends who wish to speak on his behalf?"

Kedrin performed another bow, not as grand as the first. "Sire, they refuse to come forward for fear of reprisal…"

Erik loosed an irritated snort but said nothing derogatory about the Renshai. Whether he did so in deference to royalty or so as not to antagonize Thialnir, Saviar could not guess.

Captain Kedrin glanced toward Erik in warning. "… but they told us he had nothing against the Renshai. They said he climbed the tree to get a better look at the combat. They think his fall was an accident."

Saviar frowned in disbelief.

Erik made a gesture, which the king acknowledged. "Your Majesty, King Griff in Bearn informed us that Renshai fall under Erythanian jurisdiction." Though he spoke innocently, his intentions seemed anything but to Saviar. "Is that not correct,Your Majesty?"

A shiver traversed Saviar's spine, but he refused to show it. He remembered his grandfather's description of that conversation. The Northern captain had asked King Griff to purge the Renshai from the West. Griff had coolly responded that the Fields of Wrath were a part of the sovereign city of Erythane and that he had no authority to banish anyone from King Humfreet's country. Though the high king of the entire Westlands by title, Griff rarely interfered with the dominion of other rulers, unless it involved a spat between them or if the highest authority in those lands requested his aid. The king of Bearn had also used that opportunity to essentially force the Northmen into agreeing to help against the pirates.

At the time, King Griff's strategy had seemed masterful. Perhaps, to a Bearnide, it might still appear that way. But, to Saviar Ra-khirsson, it created a serious problem they might not find a way to solve.

King Humfreet admitted, "The Fields of Wrath fall within my boundaries, yes."

Thialnir stood with his head tipped sideways, lips tight, obviously trying to read Erik's intentions. Saviar, however, knew exactly what was coming.

"Well, Sire," Erik addressed King Humfreet directly and seemed to take no notice of the nearby Renshai. "Since Renshai are Erythanian by admitted residence. And the man involved was also Erythanian, the 'friendly interference clause-' "

"No!" Thialnir boomed suddenly. "Renshai are Renshai. Erythanians are… not Renshai."

"I'm looking at the contract." Erik held the competition rules in his fist. "And I don't see the word "Renshai" anywhere in the 'friendly interference clause.' "

"That's hog manure!" Thialnir's debating style left a lot to be desired, but his point was valid enough to Saviar. "We didn't mean-"

"Meaning is implicit in the wording." Erik's calm demeanor made a sharp contrast to Thialnir's blustering. That did not bode well for the Renshai. Neither did Thialnir's lack of respectful titles.

Saviar jumped in. "Your Majesty, if I may please clarify." He waited for Humfreet's nodded acknowledgment before continuing, a detail not lost on Captain Kedrin. "What my colleague is trying to say is that when someone says 'Renshai,' they don't mean Erythanian. And when they say 'Erythanian,' they are deliberately excluding Renshai. Sire, when both are together, we say 'Erythanians and Renshai.' They are not interchangeable."

"And if I may, Your Majesty." Erik performed another bow, still trying to appear more formal and respectful than either spokesman for the Renshai. "When tribes of our people come together, we identify them separately, Sire. Nordmirians, Ascai, Skrytila, and so on. But we are still all Northmen." He bowed again. "Your Majesty, just because non-Renshai Erythanians use the simple form 'Erythanians' does not make the Renshai any less Erythanian."

King Humfreet said nothing in reply, only studying the three men in front of him. His lips remained sternly pursed, his chin cupped in both hands. Finally, he turned to Kedrin. "Knight-Captain, what opinion do you have in this matter?"

Once again, Kedrin performed a ceremonial motion that made the others look simple and common. "Sire, it is my opinion that both sides speak the truth. Captain Erik Leifsson is quite right when he says Renshai are Erythanians."

Saviar stiffened. He could hear his own heart pounding in his ears.

"But, Sire," Kedrin continued. "I also believe that when the Renshai spoke of friendly interference, they did not specifically intend to include all Erythanians."

Saviar did not need the clarification and wondered if Kedrin's words helped the king at all. It all seemed so obvious.

Erik ran a hand through his hair, then released it. Gold highlights flickered through the braids. "Your Majesty, had we known the Renshai would use their clause to play with wording and intention, we would never have agreed to it. Had one of our ilk fallen from a branch, would it have mattered to anyone whether he was Aeri, like Valr, or Nordmirian, like myself?"

The king's hands remained on his chin as he glanced from one speaker to the next. Finally, he rested his attention fully on Kedrin.

The Knight-Captain held a copy of the contract scroll in his hand, clearly reading and rereading the appropriate paragraph.

A long pause followed, during which no one spoke. Finally the king cleared his throat loudly. "Well, Kedrin?"

The Knight-Captain met the king's gaze with another flourish. "Well, Sire. As anyone entering a contract knows, it is the job of the signers to ascertain that any ideas or intentions are fully covered by the words."

Saviar went utterly still. This did not bode well; yet, surely, his grandfather would not condemn the Renshai to exile.

"Because, Sire, those left to interpret the contract, whether moments or centuries later, usually have nothing but the exact wording on which to base their decisions." Kedrin never faltered, showed no outward emotion as he dealt, in his professional capacity, with an issue that could tear his family apart.

Saviar's stomach roiled, then seized with the sudden urge to vomit. He fought it, not wanting to walk away and risk missing a single word.

The king remained absolutely and grimly focused on Kedrin. Clearly, he intended to take whatever advice the knight offered.

"Your Majesty," Kedrin concluded. "Unless we find evidence that Frendon Harveki's son had some connection to the North or to the Paradisians, we have no choice but to go with the letter of the agreement."

Saviar's stomach bucked against his control. Dizziness assaulted him, and he imagined his features looked positively green.

Thialnir glanced at Saviar. "Is he saying-?"

Worried for his control, Saviar did not answer, not even with a nod.

Captain Kedrin added, more directly. "Your Majesty, barring the aforementioned evidence, I believe we have no choice but to consider Frendon's fall as friendly interference. We have to side with the Northman."

Now, Saviar staggered off to vomit.