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.