Flight of the Renshai

CHAPTER 34

Tae luxuriated in the plush chair set especially for him in Matrinka's personal quarters, Imorelda snuggled and purring in his lap. King Griff perched on a similarly comfortable seat, while Rantire, the Renshai, hovered over him. Darris stood near the window, and Matrinka sat cross-legged on her canopied bed, surrounded by sleeping cats.

Tae had known the moment his message, through Imorelda, had reached Matrinka. The guards had released him, bowing and scraping in apology for the way they had treated him. He had been allowed free access to every room of the castle, and his escort to the queen's very bedroom remained reverential and gracious.

"I think," Tae said with utmost caution, "we need to consider releasing our two prisoners."

Griff 's brow knitted. Darris' eyes closed in consideration, while Matrinka nodded broadly. She replied first. "They can tell the other pirates we're actually intelligent beings. Then they'll leave us alone. Right?" She glanced around the room, eyes shining.

Tae heaved a deep sigh. If only it were that simple. "Matrinka, deep down, I think most of them know we're human. By now, those who have directly fought us have to realize it, even if they won't admit it, even to themselves. In war, one always demonizes or belittles the enemy to ease the guilt of what otherwise feels like unmitigated murder. They're not really killing us because they think we're animals; otherwise, they'd slaughter our cats, rats, and fish with equal enthusiasm."

No one could get a question out faster than Darris. If knowledge existed, he had to possess it. "So why are they killing us, Tae? Did they tell you that?"

"They did." Tae leaned forward. "They want-I should say, they feel they need-our land."

"Land?" Griff blinked several times in succession. "How much do they need?"

Tae smiled, certain the king of Bearn was generous enough to bestow a barony on the pirates, if they only asked politely. "It's not a matter of need, Griff. They want it all."

"That's unreasonable!"

Tae would not allow himself to laugh. He loved the simple generosity of the royal Bearnides, especially Matrinka's sweet naivete. "Of course, it's unreasonable. War is always unreasonable."

Matrinka tried again. "But if they all knew they were trying to steal that land away from other humans. Wouldn't that make a difference?"

Darris patted Matrinka's arm in sympathy and also as a warning. Even the gentle king knew the answer to her question.

Tae explained anyway. He had not yet told them everything he had learned. "The pirates aren't doing this for themselves, Matrinka. They're doing it for their Kjempemagiska." He used the pirate's own word, then explained, "For their masters."

Curiosity piqued again, Darris abandoned Matrinka to shift nearer to Tae. "Their Kjempa… their masters?"

Tae knew Darris would need to get the word right, so he pronounced each syllable distinctly. "Kee-yemp-eh-ma-jee-ska. Giant beings, maybe twice the size of humans, with powerful magic. The nearest thing we have are-"

"-gods," Darris filled in, with obvious awe.

"Yes. But our gods don't normally walk among us. Or meddle daily in our affairs."

"Theirs do?" Griff asked the obvious question.

Tae tried to explain what he knew from the information the captured pirates had given him and from the mental communication that had occurred during their conversation. "From what I understand, the Kjempemagiska could easily massacre or enslave the pirates, who call themselves alsona. Which, as far as I can tell, just means 'people' or 'humans.' Instead, the Kjempemagiska live mostly in peace with the alsona. The trade-off is when the Kjempemagiska want something, such as new territory for their expanding population, the alsona do exactly as they are told or suffer torture and death of themselves and loved ones."

Tae fell silent, allowing the information to sink in all around him.

Matrinka broke the hush first, with a suggestion clearly phrased so as not to make her sound foolish. "So, if we offered our extra land to the alsona, that would open more room for the giants. And everyone would be happy." *She's so cute,* Imorelda sent.*I'd love her, if she hadn't just tricked me into doing something hateful.*

"A clever idea." Tae knew Matrinka meant well. "Unfortunately, the giants don't want a piece of our world. They want all of it. They don't wish to live without their soldiers and servants. The soldiers don't wish to leave their homes, for the most part. And, if the alsona fail, the Kjempemagiska will become our next opponents. When they don't get what they want, they've been known to rip humans in half or kill dozens with a single spell."

As Tae expected, the news did not go over well. Matrinka gasped. Darris seemed to be desperately searching for alternatives. Worried creases marred Griff 's face, and Rantire paced furiously back and forth, as if already protecting Griff from the gods themselves.

No one asked what to do next; they had no choice but to gather every ally in the known world to repel the invaders. Because everyone, from the farthest corner of the Northlands to the deepest part of the Eastlands, had a dire and personal stake in winning this war.

Griff 's soft voice punctuated the silence. "We'll need the elves, too."

Elves, immortals, the gods themselves.

Rantire made a point even Tae had not considered. "If these magical giants are anything like demons or gods, only certain weapons can harm them. And, as far as I know, our world's only bewitched items are all in the hands of Renshai."

"Renshai." Griff managed a crooked smile. He had never wanted to banish his allies, and the idea of calling them home clearly pleased him as nothing else spoken in this room had done. "Call them," he ordered. "Call everyone in every part of the world. I'm declaring this an all-out war."

Though many of the merchants of New Loven offered a comfortable bed, Calistin and Treysind spent the night in the forest. Calistin preferred the solitude and worried about growing too soft. The concern about highwaymen and Northmen kept him sharp and might give him the opportunity to hone his sword arm again.

Treysind laid out a veritable feast, complete with fresh vegetables, soft brown bread, and even a bit of butter. "I knows why ya wants us here 'stead a nice, warm beds."

Calistin walked over and crouched in front of the food. A cyclical hum of crickets hung in the night air, occasionally pierced by the whirring call of a fox. Since Calistin already knew why he had made his decision, he did not press for an answer.

Treysind continued anyway, "Ya don't like talkin' ta pee'ple. Ya ain't no good at it, an' ya don't wanna take tha time ta learn."

Calistin reached for the bread, topped with a smear of butter. He tore off a hunk. "Most people aren't worth talking to."

Treysind ripped off a smaller piece of bread and popped it into his mouth. He spoke around chews. "All pee'ple's wort' talkin' ta, if ya knows how ta do't. It jus' takes pra'tice gettin' good at it."

Calistin took a bite off his piece of bread. It tasted freshly baked, with just a hint of some sweet spice, and the butter made a perfect contrast. He savored it, swallowing before speaking. "Why should I waste my time talking to people who don't matter? What possible good could come of that?"

"Ya might find out where all tha bestest West fighters is at."

Calistin rolled a bright orange root from the pile. "I'm finding that out just by asking. I'll talk long enough to learn what I need to know."

Treysind fished out his own root, shook off the dirt, and took a bite. It crunched loudly between his teeth. "But if theys don't trust ya, theys don't tell ya nothin' useful."

Calistin snorted. "And if they do trust you, they yammer at you ceaselessly. Nothing more boring than that."

"Ain't there?"

"No."

Treysind grinned broadly and kept the expression on his face even as he ate.

Calistin ate, too, savoring the silence for several moments before curiosity got the better of him. "What are you so happy about?"

Treysind swallowed a mouthful of root. "Tha way things turnt out. I's happy."

Still irritated by the end result, Calistin could not help saying, "You're happy I left a dangerous punk alive."

"Yup."

"Even though he'll probably regather the gang and start harassing merchants again."

Treysind grabbed another root and another piece of bread. "That ain't gonna happin." He sat back, his grin broadening. "He's gonna do's a great job cleanin', which is gonna make Khalen verry verry happy. Then Khalen's gonna hire 'im. They's gonna work tagether till they gets ta bein' bes' frien's. Evensh'ly, they's gonna be like father an' son."

Calistin stared, scarcely believing what he had just heard. "For a street punk, you sure are sunny."

Treysind shrugged. "Hain't nothin' sunny ta it, Hero. I's kin tell jus' by talkin' ta 'em.Yas could tell, too, if yas tried."

Now it was Calistin's turn to shrug. "Why should I try? I don't care what happens to them."

"An' 'stead a makin' mo' en'mies fo' yaself, ya maked some frien's this time." The smile seemed to take over Treysind's face completely. "Tha merchants was grateful 'nough ta give us lotsa stuff." He patted the fat backpack, then opened it. " 'cludin' these, which ya def 'nit'ly needs." Treysind tossed a set of clean britches and tunic toward Calistin, who caught them from habit. "Plus, a man what's needin' he'p in his shop gotted some, an' a boy what's needin' parents and direc shuns gotted 'em. An' ya learnt ya don't gotta kill ever'one ta make a diff 'rince."

Calistin snorted, twirling a root between his fingers. "I didn't learn anything like that."

Treysind studied his food. "Well, ya shoulda. 'Cause it's true."

Calistin felt the heat of rising ire; but, before he could vent it, Treysind spoke words that caught his attention completely.

"An', by talkin' ta pee'ples, I's finded out where all tha bestest West fighters is at."

Calistin straightened. The root stilled in his hand. "You mean you weren't just talking hypothetically about that?"

"Hypo what?"

"Hypo-" Calistin knew Treysind would never get the word, just as he would never properly manage the Renshai's name. "There really is a place where the best Western fighters go?"

"There's a school," Treysind explained, still eating. "Kings an' gen'rals sends they's men there fo' trainin', an' others go jus' ta learn. It ain't far from here."

Calistin's heart rate quickened. He found himself smiling as fully as his companion.

"See, talkin's good fo' somethin' "

Though grudgingly, Calistin had to admit it was. "Anyone could have found that out by asking the right question."

"No, Hero." Treysind's grin vanished and he leaned in, as if discussing something of utmost importance. "Ya can't ask tha question if ya don't know what question ta ask. This comed out talkin' 'bout other thin's that we wouldn't a been discussin' if we dint start discussin' nothin'." He threw his hands up as if making a brilliant point.

Despite the strange delivery that did not make much sense, Calistin took home the point. "So, tell me about this school."

"I's gonna do better'n that," Treysind declared. "I's gonna take ya there."

Taking Calistin to the warrior's school proved more difficult than expected. Treysind disappeared repeatedly to cast about and regain his bearings; and the Renshai took advantage of the wasted time, venting his frustrations in wild flurries of svergelse.

Finally, Treysind plopped down on his backpack in a thready roadway and stared sullenly into the distance.

Calistin studied his companion. He had never seen such a sour expression on the boy's face. "Any luck?"

"No, I ain't gotted no luck!" Treysind snapped. "If I'd a got luck, wouldn't I been takin' ya there?"

Calistin's eyes widened. The Erythanian had never used that tone of voice on him before, and he did not know how to react to it. "Treysind?" he said in a flat tone full of warning.

The boy looked up, his expression going from sullen to horrified. "I's sorry, Hero. I's rilly sorry. I shouldn't never talk ta ya like that."

Calistin had not really minded. It felt oddly good for the boy to treat him like a person rather than an idol for a moment.Yet, he did not feel comfortable encouraging disrespectful behavior in a companion either. "I understand. I'm frustrated, too."

"There's supposed ta be a big ol' twisted herbont tree nears a west-way path, but I ain't seein' it. I's thinkin' maybe we's did go tha wrong way at tha las' crossroad."

Irritation flashed through Calistin, then disappeared as quickly. It seemed impossible for him to be upset at the same time as his companion. Someone had to keep a calm head. "It's not that far back. Let's take the other fork."

Calistin's reasonability seemed to have a positive effect on Treysind, who sprang to his feet, shouldered his overstuffed pack, and waddled back the way they had come.

Calistin followed, a nasty thought occurring to him. "Treysind, you don't suppose those merchants were having a bit of fun with us."

Treysind did not look backward. "Whatcha mean?" he called over his shoulder.

"Maybe there is no school. Maybe they just told you that to get us…"

"… losted?" Treysind finished. "No, sir, Hero. They's wouldn't a done that. They's too grateful, Hero."

Calistin was not so sure. "Maybe they were having fun at our expense. Or telling you what they thought you wanted to hear."

Treysind turned to face Calistin but continued walking… backward. "No, sir. They wouldn't a done that, Hero. I kin usual tell when pee'ple's lyin'. They wasn't. Jus' like I knowed that brawly wasn't lyin'. He's gonna turn hisself aroun' an' work honest."

Calistin never doubted the sincerity of the young street tough, only how long that attitude would last after his companions' killer left New Loven. Once the danger was gone, the fear would lessen, and he might well revert to his old, vicious tactics. Treysind was right about the merchants, however. They had no reason to mistreat their saviors, other than the destruction of the fabric-seller's shop.

After a short stop for a midday meal from the backpack, Calistin and Treysind found the fork in the road, this time choosing the direction they had not yet taken. Calistin did remember that Treysind had paused in this same place a long time before selecting the pathway they now believed was incorrect. The route back to New Loven was clearly marked and well-traveled. The other two much less so.

They had taken only a few steps when Treysind stopped suddenly. "Someone's here."

Calistin squinted through the forest. A figure perched casually amidst the trees, working with something in his hands. Calistin prided himself on reading a man by build and movement. Simply by the way the gods put him together, how they arranged each muscle and sinew, he could calculate whether he faced a real opponent. Movement provided additional clues: fluid or choppy, confident or hesitant, graceful or awkward or anything between. But this man or woman was too far away to assess and had not yet made a significant motion. Perhaps it's a soldier come to train, a warrior who fancies himself competent.

Treysind finished the thought unconsciously. "Maybe he's knowin' where this school's at."

Calistin did not reply but strode toward the stranger, muttering to Treysind. "Now remember.You are not to interfere in any battle."

"But, Hero, I's gotta protec'-"

"You don't, and you know it. You played stupid for a long time, but you're not at all. You know I fight better without you, and you're…" Calistin did not have the time or energy to attempt diplomacy, "… worse than useless at it. So stay out of my way, even if I get attacked by an entire army."

"No," Treysind said petulantly, trotting at his side. "I ain't lettin' no ones kill m'hero."

"The only way someone's going to kill me is if you trip me up." Calistin did not wish to return to that stale argument. Once he had talked Treysind into letting him handle the brawlies alone, he had expected the boy to realize that the Renshai worked best without him, at least when it came to battle.

As they drew nearer, Calistin got a better look at the stranger. He sat on the tangle of branches formed by two leaning trees, a lean, grizzled man of average size and spectacular age. His hair remained full, but it had turned a pure, snowy white. His skin seemed pallid, papery, and showing every vein. Wrinkles shrouded blue-gray eyes that had probably once been steely. Nevertheless, he carried two swords, one at each hip, and their split-leather grips looked as well-worn as their owner. He glanced up quizzically as they approached but did not move from his natural seat.

Calistin stopped in front of the stranger and studied him.Treysind pulled up beside the Renshai. The stranger regarded them back but also said nothing.

At length, Treysind broke the silence, speaking the words Calistin should have said as soon as he approached. "Good day, sir."

The man leaped from his seat, more gracefully than Calistin thought possible for his age, and bowed to Treysind. "Good day, young man. I'm pleased one of you knows some manners."

Calistin scowled at the insult, though deserved. He saw no reason to waste time with amenities, especially now that the other two had handled them. "Can you point us to the warrior's school, old man?"

"That depends."

Calistin narrowed his eyes, taking a dislike to the elderly man who stood in the way of his goal. "You either know where it is, or you don't. On what can that depend?"

The stranger did not seem the least put out by Calistin's demeanor, which did not yet rise to the level of threat. "On who you are and what your purpose is there."

Calistin considered refusing to answer, but it seemed pointless. He had nothing to hide, and the old man would not guide them on their way if he refused. "I'm Calistin, and I plan to challenge their best fighters."

"Do you?" The elderly stranger walked a slow circle around Calistin, as if examining livestock for sale. "That seems a waste, Calistin. Why would you wish to humiliate yourself like that?"

"Humiliate?" It took Calistin a moment to realize what the stranger meant. "Old man, I don't intend to lose."

"No one ever does." He made a clicking noise with his tongue, as if finding something wanting in Calistin's appearance. "And yet, no matter how competent the man, there is always someone better: faster, stronger, more clever."

Calistin screwed up his features into the meanest look he could muster. "Look, old man. I don't need a lecture. I just need directions."

"No, no." The stranger continued to circle Calistin. "You don't need to challenge the school. Why, you couldn't even best an old man."

Calistin gritted his teeth. It was getting progressively harder to hold his temper. "You mean… you?"

"I suppose, for example."

Calistin laughed. When neither of the others joined him, Calistin only laughed harder. "Are you challenging me?"

The old man shrugged, as if the Renshai had just invited him for a stroll. "Why not? Aren't you up for it?"

Calistin could scarcely believe what he had heard. "But you're… you're an… old man."

"I'm an old warrior, Calistin. Surely, you realize only the best fighters live long enough to become old."

"Well I…" Calistin had never considered it. The Renshai dove into battle with such gusto, they rarely got old. At the first hint of frailty, most attacked a better warrior, usually himself, as a form of suicide. "… I imagine it's either competence… or cowardice."

The stranger's hand twitched but did not reach for a sword. "Every man who dared call me coward has gone to his grave learning otherwise."

Calistin shook back his hair and limbered his arms. A grin snaked across his lips. A battle was a battle, even against an addled old coot. "So the end point is death, then?"

"Death?"The old man spoke with an odd tone that expressed neither surprise nor concern. "Death seems a waste. Either the school loses a teacher, or an arrogant student of the sword dies way too young." He gave the matter further consideration, scratching at the white stubble on his chin. "Perhaps we can end it when one of our butts touches the ground? The one with the muddy rump loses."

It seemed like a weird and humiliating choice, but Calistin appreciated a challenge. "All… right."

"We can always fight to the death later, if you're still insistent."

Calistin frowned. Though the stranger had said nothing obviously offensive, he could not help feeling patronized. He did his best talking with his sword, however, so he gave no reply. Instead, he stepped out onto the road and gestured for the old man to make the first move.

The stranger obliged with a lightning swiftness that took even Calistin's breath away. He drew, but not fast enough, forced to dodge the first blow and barely parrying the second. He took the third stroke on his blade, only then realizing that the stranger fought with both weapons, one in each hand. He scarcely managed to draw his own second sword in time to weave a web of defense that kept the other man half an instant at bay.

The stranger stepped back. "Had enough?"

"I'm not on my ass yet!" Calistin bore in with the frenzy he usually reserved for Renshai. A lunge and a sweep met air, then a third strike became a parry as he found himself on the defensive again. He riposted with a wicked Renshai maneuver intended to carve muscle from his opponent's leg. Instead, he found his own knee hooked out from under him. He spun for balance and dropped to a crouch, saving his backside and his dignity, then launched himself at the old man again.

The assault became a whirlwind of deadly motion and fury. Swords danced, men leaped, dodged, spun. Silver glimmers flashed through the forest. Then, abruptly and without understanding exactly how, Calistin found himself on the ground, the tip of the old man's blade at his throat. Stunned silent, he froze, glancing up the line of steel to an expert, aging hand, then along the arm to an unsmiling face.

Looking as dazed as if he had taken several blows to the head, Treysind huddled behind a tree. If he had interfered with the combat in any way, Calistin had not noticed him.

The sword withdrew, replaced by a proffered hand.

Ignoring it, Calistin bounded to his feet. "Again," he growled.

The old man complied. Like quicksilver, he threaded around and through Calistin's attacks, toying with his defenses. For several moments, they waged a battle that seemed perfect and endless before Calistin found himself, once more, on the ground. He scuttled up instantly, but the damage was done. He had lost.

Without a word, the old man sheathed his swords and returned to his seat on the intertwined tree limbs.

Calistin also put his swords away, and brushed leaf mold off his posterior. He could not help staring. "Who are you?"

"I told you," the stranger seemed no more winded than Calistin. "I'm a teacher at the school."

"But you must have a name; it should be known far and wide."

The stranger shrugged. "I'm simply called Teacher or Amazir, swordmaster, because the blade is my weapon of choice. You may call me what you wish, Calistin, though I prefer you drop the address you've used so far."

Calistin had to think back to remember. "Old man." A grin stretched his lips.

"Not that it's false. It's just that, when you get to be my age, you don't need the constant reminders."

Calistin shook his head and studied the stranger again, but nothing stood out as extraordinary. His build seemed average in most ways, though Calistin could make out the well-apportioned, if not particularly large, sinews. He had keen eyes for one so old; the steeli ness had returned. Yet nothing else about him could explain his exquisite mastery of the sword.

"Why are you staring at me?"

Calistin ceased his inspection, blushing that it had become so obvious. "It's just that… well… no one's ever bested me before. Not since I've become a man."

"As I said, no matter how competent you are, there is always someone better."

"Really."The old man had no way to know that Calistin had battled every Renshai, had fought in the Pirate Wars, and had even faced a Valkyrie. He could not fully comprehend his latest victories; but Calistin did and had to ask, "Have you met anyone who can defeat you?"

The man sometimes called Amazir smiled. "Not yet. But the day I do, I'll either go to my pyre happily or find my sword instructor, depending on how I handle the situation."

Calistin was not stupid. He believed he knew exactly what this man meant. "Are you offering to teach me?" He had long outstripped his many torke and had spent the last several years creating new maneuvers to keep him improving and occupied. The idea of learning new techniques from the old warrior left him desperate with yearning. Worried he might lose the opportunity, that the old man might think he meant the question sarcastically, he added quickly, "Because I'd like that. I'd really like that. More than anything else in the world, truly."

"Well." Amazir seemed unsurprised by Calistin's enthusiasm. "I'll have to ask your current teacher if there's room in the group for me as well."

"My current…" Calistin watched in surprise as Amazir turned to address Treysind, who had stepped out from the trees once the battles ended. "But he's not…" Assuming the old man meant to humor the boy, Calistin went silent and watched their exchange.

The old man made a serious bow. "Would you allow me to assist you in training this talented, but brash and unsophisticated, young man?"

Treysind pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Ain't tha school gonna miss ya?"

Amazir shrugged. "They have other instructors." He jerked a thumb toward Calistin. "And it appears this young Renshai needs me more."

Calistin began to wonder if he would ever fully reunite his top and bottom lips. Every word this aged warrior spoke took him completely off his guard. "How… how did you know I'm…?"

Amazir laughed. "First, you have a classic Northern appearance, but you're in the Westlands."

That did not impress Calistin. Currently, it seemed, many Northmen had come this far south; and Westerners, themselves, were the most diverse people in the world.

"Second," Amazir continued, "your accent is Western, not Northern."

"I can do Northern," Calistin explained. "When I'm speaking Northern."

"Third," Amazir continued undaunted, "you're overconfident, aggressively impetuous, and socially irritating."

Treysind piped in. "Them's jus' his good traits, sir."

Calistin focused his glare on the boy.

"And fourth, you look about the same age as this fellow…" He indicated Treysind with a tip of his head, "… but you're more like his father."

"Hey!" Calistin could not let that one go. "I'm eighteen; he's like about ten."

"I's eleven," Treysind said.

Calistin threw up his hands, his point made. "So I'd have had to have had him when I was seven." Realizing he had left open a teasing point, he amended. "My wife would have to have had him when I was seven." That also needed fixing, "If I had a wife, which I don't." Even as the comment emerged, Calistin realized that put him into a potentially worse situation. "Not that I don't plan to have one eventually. I mean, I do love Treysind, but not like a lover or anything. I'm not a pervert. I love him like a…" Now, Calistin stopped completely. No matter what he said, it seemed to make perfectly innocent things sound ever more sleazy.

"… son?" Amazir inserted.

Calistin groaned. "Let's just say a brother."

Treysind wriggled like a happy puppy. "Ya loves me like… like fam'ly? Ya rilly does?" He clenched his hands and trembled, as if forcing himself not to dance with glee.

Calistin could only stare. "Well, of course. Why else would I let you travel with me? Haven't you noticed that the only people who annoy me as much as you do, and live, are my stupid, irritating brothers? If I didn't think of you as one of them, I'd have killed you a long time ago."

Treysind let out a muffled squeal of excitement.

Calistin looked at Amazir for guidance. "How could he not know that?"

"Apparently," the old man replied softly, "this is the first time you ever told him."

Though he had taken the tirade with a grain of salt, Calistin could not forget that the old man had referred to him as "socially irritating." "You mean I have to tell him?"

Amazir laughed. "Well, if you're otherwise relying on signs like 'you didn't kill him yet,' then yes. You definitely have to tell him things like that. In fact, you could start just saying a few positive things in general to him."

Treysind looked at Calistin expectantly.

Placed on the spot, Calistin flushed. He did not know what to say, and nothing upset a Renshai more than an utter disarming. "I do say positive things to him," he mumbled.

Treysind's brows slid upward.

"You do?" said Amazir.

"Sure, I… I thank him when he brings food."

"He do do that," Treysind defended.

Amazir snorted. "Nothing any man with a hint of manners wouldn't say to a total stranger who brought him an ale in some tavern."

That reminded Calistin of something else. "And I called him clever when he figured out how to find me after I ditched him."

Amazir stood on the balls of his feet, perfectly balanced. "And which part was the compliment? The 'ditching'?"

"The 'clever' part, of course. He's a smart little boy and surprisingly good with people, especially for an orphan."

Treysind beamed.

Amazir also smiled. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Actually, it was; but Calistin had no intention of admitting it. He simply grunted. "I thought you were going to train me in swordwork, not in how to humor my tagalong."

Amazir's grin widened, and he winked at Treysind. "I can't train you in anything until I've gotten permission from your other teacher." He bowed grandly to the boy. "Again, young sir, I ask you.Would you allow me to assist you in training this Renshai?"

To Calistin's surprise, Treysind did not answer right away but seriously considered the proposal and asked a studied question when he finished. "Is I gonna hafta feed ya, too?"

The boldness of the question, though reasonable, took Calistin aback. The only people in his life he had ever learned to treat with respect were those who had the talent to kill him.

Amazir nodded, "I'm afraid so."

Treysind rubbed his chin, still thoughtful. "Well, I s'pose I kin handle it. If Hero wants ya, I wants ya."

Calistin looked between his two companions, surprised to find both so serious. Obviously, they truly considered Treysind the decision-maker, no matter how ridiculous the assertion. Nevertheless, Calistin did not argue. He had what he wanted, the greatest teacher who ever lived, and he could think of nothing that mattered more.