Neither his speed nor discomfort seemed to bother Saydee. She readjusted her clothing, which he had not bothered to fully remove, and snuggled into the crook of his shoulder with a satisfied sigh. He left an arm around her, staring at the ceiling, wondering how he ought to feel. He supposed the second time would come easier, and the third. Eventually, perhaps, he could even learn to enjoy coupling with females. Maybe Tae would accept Talamir if Subikahn also married a woman and created royal heirs. Many kings kept concubines, and Bearnian royalty married many times to assure a strong and continuing line.
Perhaps Talamir could live with that arrangement. Perhaps Tae could, too. At the moment, it seemed like a simple compromise; and Subikahn forced himself not to delve too deeply into this solution. If he did, he might discover its many flaws, might shatter the only dream that currently gave him hope.
Though engrossed in a complicated svergelse, Calistin Ra-khirsson never lost track of his surroundings or the goings-on around him. He found the scarlet cocoon of violence, the perfect world that all Renshai knew when their every movement reached the ultimate level of competence. Nevertheless, he could count and identify every member of the small crowd that invariably gathered to watch him. His swords became an invisible blur, rarely appearing to the mortal eye as streaks of dancing silver. His hands merged with the hilts, and his arms traced seamless arcs, lines, and circles through the air. At the moment, no one challenged him, a fact that both relieved and disappointed him. He enjoyed his svergelse. Few had the skill to seriously oppose him, and he remained his own most formidable opponent.
Finally, one man broke from the crowd to leap between the deadly, steel slices. Kwavirse met one of Calistin's strokes with a solid block, then parried it into a low cut. Instead of the anticipated retreat, Calistin launched a blazing neck cut with his second blade, one his opponent scarcely dodged. In total control, Calistin bore in. Kwavirse retreated, spun leftward, then lunged into a perfect, and unexpected, latense maneuver.
Calistin whirled gracefully to meet it as a small blur of movement entered his peripheral vision. A second opponent joined the first, a small redhead who seemed awkward as a plow horse. Forced to pull a solid, committed stroke, Calistin found himself off-balanced by his own momentum. He turned a stagger-step into a graceful, spinning retreat, his swords forming a flying web of steel to protect him from either opponent's next strike. Only then, he recognized his second "opponent" as the unarmed, untrained Erythanian he had rescued from bullies.
"Kid, get out of here!" Calistin bellowed, prepared to defend against Kwavirse's next move.
Grinning, Kwavirse bore in. Calistin raised a sword for an easy parry, just as Treysind threw himself between the two blades. Fear touched Kwavirse's expression, and the grin became a grimace. Both combatants pulled their strokes, Kwavirse's tearing a piece of the boy's sleeve and Calistin's missing cleanly.
Calistin swore, driving around the boy to attack Kwavirse at his weakest. "Treysind, you moron." Calistin neatly flipped his sword to the flat to score a slap on the older man's left shoulder. He had to pull the second blade to keep it from skewering Treysind on its way to Kwavirse's hip. "Get out of the damned way!"
Kwavirse withdrew and gestured an end to the battle. "You win, Calistin."
He always did. It had reached the point where only three types of Renshai dared to challenge him: the youngsters full of themselves and their progress, the most competent who could find few other opponents at their level or hoped they had reached his, and the sickest and oldest of the Renshai who would throw themselves upon Calistin, wishing to die in furious combat rather than of illness, to find their places in Valhalla.
Attention focused on Treysind, Calistin barely nodded. He spoke in hopeful Renshai, "Another spar, another time, perhaps?" He could fight every moment of every day and never get tired of it. Each new opponent, every motion, taught him something new to expect in combat.
Kwavirse rolled his eyes toward Treysind, who stood quietly in front of Calistin, examining the new hole in his sleeve. "Only if you lose the shadow. I almost killed the little guy."
Calistin gritted his teeth, already angry at the boy. "Killing him might teach him a lesson."
Kwavirse chuckled. "True, but not one he could use in the future."
Calistin seized Treysind's arm with a violence so sudden the boy cringed. He looked up at his savior with stoic blue eyes that carried only a trace of fear. Others who had grabbed him in the past had clearly beaten him. "Come on," Calistin growled in Common, half-walking, half-dragging the Erythanian toward a patch of withered briars. "We need to talk."
Once there, Calistin practically threw Treysind to the ground. "What in coldest Hel is wrong with you?"
The boy gathered his feet under him to crouch at Calistin's feet. He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Well," he started very slowly, his pace quickening with every word. "Fo' starters, I's a orphan what's growed up on tha streets. I's small an' weak ish. Kinda ugly. Not smart at all. I don't talk so good. I looks kinda like a Renshai wit' dis orange… red hair, an' a lotta folks don't like that so's they beat me 'round, but I don't know how ta 'fend mesself wit' a sword an'-"
"No, no, no!" Calistin dropped to a crouch in front of Treysind. "I don't mean 'what's wrong with you' in general. I mean, why do you feel the suicidal need to interfere with everything I do?"
Treysind lifted his head. Hair fell in wild strands in every direction, including into his face. "I's jus' pratectin' ya, Hero. I owes ya my life."
Calistin heaved an exasperated sigh. They had already debated this point several times. Treysind would not leave him, and nothing he said would convince the boy not to die for his hero. "Fine, then. You owe me your life; I get it. But what good does it do me for you to skewer yourself during a simple spar? If you just want to die for no reason, why don't you go throw yourself in the well?"
"Well, I…" Treysind rearranged his legs under him in a pattern Calistin had never seen before. "… can't do that. I's gotta die savin' ya, Hero."
The Renshai thought he knew every wary position, but this one allowed the boy to look casually relaxed while still able to move in any direction in an instant. Calistin marveled at the simple logistics of the position. He adjusted his own crouch, modeling it, and found it as comfortable as his usual cautious squat, without looking so guarded and alert. "So jump between me and an arrow sometime, would you? If you insist on spending your life for me, that would be an actual useful way."
To his credit, Treysind gave the idea due consideration before speaking. "That would be fine, if I's could. But it don't do us no good if ya's daid 'fore tha' arrow comes."
Calistin sighed. He was wasting time with this silly discussion, time he could be spending sparring or practicing. "Kid, the best thing you can do for me is go away and leave me alone."
Treysind shrugged. "Can' do that."
The poor speech threw Calistin, and he dared to hope. "Did you just say you can do that?"
Treysind shook his head vigorously, sending his inhumanly orange hair flying. "Can not be doin' that. Can not. I owes ya m'life, Hero."
Calistin hesitated, torn between two actions. It seemed a simple matter, an act of mercy, just to run a blade through the boy and be done with it. No one would miss Treysind. Yet, though Calistin had killed a few pirates and several mortally sick or injured Renshai, he found himself incapable of slaughtering an unarmed, pitiful child. Explaining anything to Treysind seemed equally abhorrent. The Erythanian appeared incapable of grasping the concept that Calistin could defend himself better than anyone else in the world. He finally settled on something quick and easy. "Look, kid. Renshai sparring may look dangerous, but it's not."