"What do you have to say for yourself?" Tae finally demanded.
Words failed Talamir. He had never seen Tae angry before, and it unnerved him. "Sire, I'm worried to say anything. Every word from my mouth seems to further upset you."
Tae folded his arms across his chest, a seemingly indefensible position. He carried no visible weapons either, a dangerous way to confront an armed Renshai who, ordinarily, would take such disdain as a challenge. "It's your actions, not your words, that enrage me, Talamir."
Talamir had barely moved since entering the courtroom. "My actions, Sire?" He became acutely aware of the location of his right hand and was glad to find it at his side, not on his hilt.
"You… raped… my… son!"
It was the second time Tae had spoken the accusation, yet Talamir found himself equally stunned and horrified. "No!"
"You were in a superior position, and he trusted you. You used your power over him to coerce him into… unspeakable acts."
"No." Talamir dropped his voice nearly to a whisper. "No, I-" His mind raced to his relationship with the man he loved, and he could not forget the turmoil he had suffered at the same age. Always, he wondered when his interest in women would come, long after his peers already talked about little else. He even forced himself to consummate a relationship and managed it only by avoiding the parts other men craved, picturing the handsomest of his male peers in her place. Like nearly all Renshai trysts, this had not resulted in a child. The Renshai testing began before birth; hard-bodied women found conception far more difficult. An infant who could not last through the grueling workouts of its mother could never survive Renshai training. They even rushed into battle in advanced states of pregnancy.
Hailed as a hero for his unwavering dedication to his swordwork that allowed him to forswear the temptations of the flesh, Talamir endured in silence. He had gained the status of torke at a young age, his devotion to the Renshai maneuvers paying off, though he hid the secret of his passions in shame and fear. He was a true man's man, a warrior with few equals, yet nothing but a bonta to the King of Stalmize, the one man whose blessing he needed.
Talamir had not meant to fall in love with Subikahn, nor to encourage the youngster's devotion to him. It had happened in the quiet nights of desperation when the prince confided his fears and his pain to his teacher, trials that sounded all too familiar. Talamir had meant only to soothe the agony, to help the boy find enlightenment, understanding, and joy in a world stacked against them. But the closeness of their experiences, the sharing of their darkest secrets, and the heartfelt depth of knowledge that few could understand had brought them irrevocably closer. He loved Subikahn with a profundity and passion he had never before known in his life. And he knew the young prince felt the same way. "I didn't rape anyone. I never would."
"Remember," the black-clothed figure beside Talamir hissed. "The penalty for willing participation in a homosexual act is death."
Death. The warning made no sense to Talamir, who had already realized he stood in mortal peril. The Shadow Leader had promised to help him spare his life, not lose it. Being reminded of the gravity of the situation only made Talamir more nervous, more certain to make a fatal mistake. Again, he found his fist nearly on his hilt and forced himself to move it. "Sire, your son…" Talamir started.
"Yes."
"Your son…" Understanding suddenly struck Talamir. If he pressed his current point, if he made the king believe the truth, he condemned both Subikahn and himself to execution. Two willing participants equaled two killings. One rapist meant only one. "Sire," Talamir restarted, his tongue feeling suddenly swollen. He was about to condemn himself to a brutal death; yet, doing so seemed the only way to rescue his lover. "Sire, you're right. I am solely at fault; Prince Subikahn Taesson is an innocent victim of my…" The last word clung to his tongue, and he had to shake it loose. "… depravity."
Tae seemed nearly as surprised by the confession as Talamir had by the accusation. "You… you admit…" His tone abruptly changed. "I knew it. You bastard! You brutalized my son. You ruined him for any woman! You…!" He gestured inarticulately for a moment before regaining his composure. "Talamir Edminsson, you are hereby sentenced to death by torture." He made a clear, broad gesture to the three men near Talamir. "Take him to the dungeon."
"Don't fight," the Shadow Leader said.
He might as well have been talking to the wall stones. Talamir had his sword free and slashing before anyone could move to stop him. Tae flew up the spectators' seats to the chandelier in a heartbeat. The other three moved almost as quickly, but their nearness to Talamir hindered them. The tip of one's glove followed the path of the sword, trailing blood. Another clamped a hand to his ear, swearing. The third, the one who had advised Talamir, managed to completely avoid the stroke, disappearing into the shadows of the court.
Though injured, the other two put themselves between Talamir and the exit. Both suddenly clutched blades, though Talamir had seen neither carry one. He crouched into a ready position. The rumor that one Renshai was equivalent to any other three competent warriors was not exaggeration. He had trained to take his enemies in packs as well as individually, to even expect treachery from those who initially battled with him, as friends. "If I am going to die, it will be in battle, not slung from a gallows." He lunged toward the largest of Tae's guards.
The man caught the strike on his blade with a firmness that sent vibrations rippling through Talamir's fingers. He withdrew, then sliced in again, whirling to face his second opponent.
The first recoiled, barely rescuing his chest from a fatal tear. The second sprang in as Talamir cut for him. He managed an awkward riposte that spared his life but opened his defenses. Talamir jabbed for the kill.
Something slammed into Talamir's legs, sprawling him. The Renshai madness caught him then. "Modi!" he swore, twisting like a wisule to face this new threat. The Shadow Leader clutched his ankles in a death grip, and a dagger in his fist jumped for Talamir.
"No!" The Renshai kicked and rolled. A sword swept toward his face, and he met the attack with his own blade, surging free. He saw movement overhead. At the same time, the two remaining elite guards sprang as one.
"Modi!"Talamir shouted, this time in wild abandon. He was going to die, but he would do so bravely, as a Renshai man. He redirected the first stroke, wove under the second. Something pricked his hip, even as he raised his sword to impale the figure flying toward him from the chandelier. The king! he realized suddenly. Subikahn's father.
The tear in Talamir's hip burned, a shocking agony for a Renshai immersed in battle, a Renshai whose battle rage should have driven him past all pain. He could feel its every motion through his veins, tearing, blazing, coursing through his body. "Poison," he gasped out, staggering. His blade missed its mark. Tae landed on him with enough force to bear him to the ground.
Still Talamir fought, writhing and kicking, spewing out words that ceased to make sense, even to himself. Someone jerked the sword from his hand. He lunged after it, howling like a beast. His thoughts swirled, wildly unfocused, and he groped for them with the same intensity with which he would wield his sword. "No! No! No!" He had to die with it in his hands. Die with it to go to Valhalla. And take the lying bastard who stooped to poison with him.
Oblivious to Tae expertly securing his limbs, sparing no attention for the two armed men trying to pin him with threats that no longer mattered, Talamir turned his gaze directly and accusingly on the smallest of the elite guardsmen. "You coward." He spat out the worst insult in the Renshai vernacular. "You filthy, shit-stinking coward."
Then, darkness descended on Talamir, and he knew no more.
Saviar Ra-khirsson slipped quietly into the Bearnian guest quarters he shared with his father and grandfather, undressed in the dark, and crawled into bed. The sheets felt lavishly soft, silky, and cold against his flesh; and he detected a hint of lavender amidst the sword oil, leather, and horse dander smells that defined the Knights of Erythane. Saviar felt himself drifting almost immediately; exhaustion from a grueling practice, combined with the plushness of his bed, dragged him rapidly toward sleep.