Flight of the Renshai

"Damn it!" Verdondi halted the match again. "Your father is an outstanding teacher, and you have incredible natural talent."

"Th-thank you," Saviar stammered, cheeks flushing. No one had ever complimented his abilities with such strong words. Renshai used praise sparingly; excellence was simply expected. Saviar also did not bother to correct the misconception. Verdondi did not need to know it was his mother, not his father, who had trained him. He sheathed his sword.

"When I become a captain, I'm coming back to recruit you. That is, if you're not caught up with knightly duties."Verdondi jammed his practice sword into place as well.

Saviar grinned, "And I might accept…" The idea suited him until the reality of the details caught up to him. Eventually, a ship full of Northman would discover his heritage, and he would have no place to hide. He would have to either slaughter all his shipmates or die on their swords. He added his one out, as Verdondi had, "… if I'm not caught up in knightly duties."

Verdondi laughed. "It's all right if you are. Among knights, I'm sure your talents won't get wasted either."

Saviar finally found a response. "Thank you for your generous compliments."

Verdondi continued, "And being shipbound isn't all excitement and glory either. There's a lot of loneliness and tedium, too." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Especially the girls. No women allowed on board."

Saviar's cheeks grew hotter. He had found himself staring at the female Renshai, enamored of their looks and grace, imagining situations of which no Knight of Erythane would approve. The girls had clearly noticed him as well.They giggled around him and found lame excuses to touch him, all of which excited him wildly. The idea of actually courting one, however, terrified him. "I… think I could handle that."

"And for every fascinating diplomatic mission, like this one, there are several hundred routine patrols."

Saviar wondered whether or not the spar had finished. He felt uncomfortable with a grubby practice weapon where his zealously tended sword should sit. He remembered what his grandfather had told him. "Did you come to barter iron ore with King Griff?"

Verdondi chuckled, then covered his mouth, clearly mortified by his reaction.

Confused, Saviar sought clarification. He shook back red-blond hair damp with sweat. "What?"

"I'm sorry." Verdondi glanced around the empty practice area, as if concerned someone might overhear. "It's just such a simple name for a man of such might and power."

Now, Saviar laughed. He had grown accustomed to the unpretentious name of Bearn's great king. It fit the childlike, bearish man whose rulings seemed guileless and easy when he spoke them. Yet, when examined, those same proclamations held a complexity belied by the man's unpretentious wording and relaxed manner. Few could remain so consistently fair and proper. He never seemed to make a single mistake.

A common feature of all the greatest kings of Bearn, that effortless shrewdness soothed the populace, who treasured it and the man who displayed it. They would not have loved him any less had he borne the name Dirt, and they spoke his common moniker with a sweet reverence that made it seem as worthy as any knight's title. For centuries, a test designed by gods chose the proper heir to the throne, and Griff had passed with ease.

"It is a simple name for such a great and wonderful man. But it suits him."

Verdondi nodded, though he had no experience on which to base his own judgment. "Any merchant could deliver a load of ore, normally. But with the pirates off Bearn's coast, it seemed prudent to bring warriors."

"Like you and your father."

"Yes." Verdondi raised his head. Sunlight sparked highlights through the pale mane of hair, sweat plastered into an array of spikes. Wispy brows seemed to disappear against skin as white as skimmed milk. "Also, we came to offer assistance against the pirate scourge and the Renshai."

Saviar shook his head, trying to clear his ears. He had to have imagined the last word. "And the… what?"

"The Renshai,"Verdondi repeated clearly. "You must have heard of the Renshai. Everyone has.You know, 'the golden-haired devils.' "

"Devils…" Saviar ran his fingers through the tangles of his hair. A lump formed in his throat. "We don't call them that."

Verdondi finally headed for the racks where he had left their true weapons. "That's because a Knight of Erythane would never deliberately offend anyone, no matter how evil or creepy. You're too polite."

Evil? Creepy! The words hit Saviar like tongues of flame. He wanted to spit back an angry retort, but he held his tongue. Not only would his father and grandfather not approve, but it might start a very real battle in the practice court. Killing the son of a visiting dignitary would result in a dangerous, international incident.

Verdondi looked away from Saviar to retrieve his sword.

At the moment, that casual gesture came across as a grave insult. No one dared turn his back on a Renshai.

"Everyone else calls them demons or devils, and rightly so."

Saviar's heart pounded. He had reached a point of no return. In his place, his mother would announce her heritage and wind up killing the brash young Northman. His father would sanction neither a lie nor a battle. Ra-khir would see an opportunity to educate, but he would also find the right words to do so. I'm not a Knight of Erythane, and I'm not Kevral. Saviar chose his own course, though it involved a lie of omission. "I appreciate warriors no matter their origins. The Renshai are superior swordsmen. They have protected the heirs of Bearn for decades, and our enemies are their enemies."

Verdondi exchanged his own sword with the mangled practice weapon, then grasped Saviar's from the rack.

The lump in Saviar's throat became a boulder. Instinctively, he sought the best way to reclaim his sword and dodge any attack the Northman might initiate. No matter who held it, any sword in any room with a Renshai could belong to him in an instant. If the Renshai wanted it, it was his.

Apparently oblivious to his companion's upheaval, Verdondi carefully turned the sword around and offered the hilt. "Here you go."

Relief washed through Saviar. "Thank you." He accepted the offering, swiftly exchanging the practice sword for his own in his sheath. Its presence calmed him.

The entire procedure came across as boring routine. Verdondi clearly had no idea he was talking to a Renshai, and Saviar had no intention of telling him. "I'm not going to argue the sins of the Renshai with you, Saviar. Knights clearly know how to find the best in everyone and everything. That's a virtue."

"I'm not a knight," Saviar reminded.

"Not yet." Verdondi smiled. "But you were raised in a family of them, and that's going to reflect strongly on your character." He raised a hand, as if to forestall an argument. "Don't get me wrong; I think that's wonderful. I can't imagine what it would be like to grow up that way, but I'd consider it a high honor, indeed."

The irony might have sent Saviar into spasms of laughter if not for the seriousness of the situation. The upbringing that so awed Verdondi was based on a misconception. Despite his parentage, for all intents and purposes, Saviar was raised the same way as any other Renshai. He answered the only way he could, "Thank you."

"But," Verdondi continued. "But you have to understand that your neighbors are not so tolerant and high in their ideals. They have not forgotten the rampage of the Renshai that left so many innocent Westerners dead."

"Rampage…?" Saviar could scarcely believe they were having this discussion. "People are holding a grudge for things that happened centuries ago?" As he understood it, the Northlands banished the Renshai for their ferocity, a quality normally prized in the warrior Northlands. Well over three hundred years ago, the other Northmen drove the Renshai out, mostly for their tactic of dismembering those dead enemies they wished to dishonor and demoralize. Then, all Northmen believed that only an intact body could ever reach Valhalla.