Yet, Kevral had never died. And, as the years passed, it had seemed as if she never would. Like Colbey Calistinsson himself, the more she hurled herself at danger, the more skilled she became until it seemed inevitable that the death she sought would always evade her. It was a paradox that perplexed the most competent Renshai, but it had secretly pleased Ra-khir. Despite being a consummate Renshai, Kevral had seemed destined to live to a ripe, old age. So destined, in fact, that Ra-khir had unconsciously come to count upon it. But she had not even lived long enough to meet her own grandchildren.
She's in Valhalla, Ra-khir reminded himself for the thousandth time. The boys will name a grandchild for her, and she will look down upon her young namesake and guide her every sword stroke. Yet doubts descended upon Ra-khir, as they always did. Kevral had battled demons, kings, and immortals. Though it had occurred in battle, her death fighting a mortal Northman had seemed so unnecessary, so ordinary. He worried the Valkyries might find it too inglorious to warrant Valhalla.
And there was still the item of the spirit spiders. Ra-khir had been present when Kevral got bitten by one, had heard the elves proclaim that the creatures fed upon their victims' souls. Later, Kevral had told Ra-khir that the Fates had proclaimed her intact. She had a soul, and she could still find Valhalla. Those words had never fully reassured him, however. He worried she had spoken a lie only to assuage his fears. What if Kevral had no soul? What if she never found Valhalla? The thought was too terrible for him to contemplate.
Enough! Angrily, Ra-khir chased doubt from his mind. He had dwelt too long upon his anxieties, upon his losses. The time had come to find himself again, to display the honor and courage that had, heretofore, defined his life. Right or wrong, Kevral had made her choice. Overconfident Kevral, her peers had called her; and, if that audaciousness had led to her ultimate demise, it was also the quality that had drawn him to marry her. Kevral had died the way she had lived, battling foolishness and injustice without a hint of fear.
Finding himself withdrawing into his thoughts again, Ra-khir forced himself to focus on his surroundings. Again, he marveled at the decorative patterns of the leaves and flowers, found familiarity in the pocked roadway, where the tracks of boots, hooves, and cart-wheels marked the way. The few passersby waved cheerily at Ra-khir, and he tipped his hat in silent greeting to each and every one. Birds twittered in the treetops, flitting between branches and sending showers of berries down upon the trail. Ra-khir heard a few tap down on his hat and wondered how disheveled he must look. It never failed to astound him how the older knights, especially his father, managed to look pristine and proper in every circumstance. Ra-khir always felt gritty and sweat-slicked, and his clothing seemed to require cleaning and pressing from the instant he decided to wear it. Though as long as Ra-khir's, Kedrin's hair never knew a knot, while Ra-khir's seemed to snarl in a mere whisper of breeze.
As dusk fell over the road, forest gradually gave way to tended fields and scattered buildings. Silver Warrior slowed to a walk to avoid the ankle-turning stones until they became packed into cobbles. His hooves clopped against the solid stonework, and he lowered his long, white neck to study every footfall.
Ra-khir found his own attention trained on the upcoming village. At first, he thought a herd of animals ran loose inside it; but, as he drew closer, he realized the movement came from gathered people. They stood at the border, clearly awaiting something momentous. The children ran in giggling circles, trailing long strings of knotted rags. The adults stood, attentively facing the roadway and Ra-khir. His heart quickened, and he wondered if he should skirt the town. He hated to think he might have interrupted an important celebration: perhaps a significant marriage or a local holiday.
As they drew closer, Silver Warrior's gait grew increasingly slower until each hoof fall landed with a singular, unrhythmical thump. The crowd stood in silent contemplation. Even the children went still, some to stare and others to hide behind parental legs. Finally, Ra-khir drew his steed to a halt in front of the line of waiting people.
A long silence followed. No one seemed to know what to say or do. Finally, Ra-khir executed the most formal bow he could from atop his charger, flourishing his hat in a genteel motion.
Applause followed Ra-khir's bow, gracious and loud. One man stepped forward and also bowed, his head nearly touching the roadway. "Welcome Knight of Erythane. Thank you for gracing our town with your presence."
A cheer went up. Rags of various colors fluttered through the air, and the bolder children screeched excitedly. Others peeked out from behind their parents.
This is for me? Shocked, Ra-khir could think of nothing to do but introduce himself, "I am Sir Ra-khir Kedrin's son, Knight to the Erythanian and Bearnian kings: His Grace, King Humfreet, and His Majesty, King Griff."
Cheers and more applause followed his pronouncement, as if he had performed some spectacular feat. Embarrassed by their attention, Ra-khir found himself staring at the blue-and-gold ribbons braided into Silver Warrior's snowy mane. Knightly honor decreed he remain properly dignified and in control at all times. He had not done that over the last week; but he had, apparently, managed to maintain the image.
The spokesman smiled. "Welcome to Dunford, Sir Ra-khir. Have you time to join us for a meal? Our inn is not fancy, but the food is better than tolerable."
The entire group seemed to hold their breaths collectively, awaiting his answer.
Though desperately hungry, and even a bit tired, Ra-khir wanted nothing more than to find a few answers and move onward. However, his honor as a knight would not allow him to insult good people who, he now realized, had gathered solely for him. "I would love to join you all for a better than tolerable meal."
Another cheer went up from the crowd. They stepped aside to allow Ra-khir to pass.
Ra-khir dismounted in a single, fluid motion. Flicking back his cape, he seized Silver Warrior's wide leather bridle by the cheek strap spanning between decorative conches. He flipped the reins free and gathered them into his gloved left hand.The horse regarded its master through one dark eye, its delicately arched neck sheened with foam and sweat. "Hey, old boy," Ra-khir whispered, and an ear twitched sideways to listen.
With his hands full of bridle and reins, Ra-khir could spare nothing for his clothing. His tabard hung askew, his black silk shirt lay wrinkled and sweat-plastered to his chest, and the angle of his broadsword was completely wrong. Knight-Captain Kedrin would verbally flay him, but the citizens of Dunford did not even seem to notice.
The speaker and two others led the way. Everyone else walked alongside Ra-khir in a great band, chattering amongst themselves. Ra-khir tried not to listen, but he could not help overhearing parents telling their children the significance of a knightly visit.They spoke of ancient legends and how the word of a knight should be trusted implicitly. To hear them tell it, the Knights of Erythane were the human incarnations of honesty and honor, and their word was absolute law. They pointed out his colors: the blue and gold of Bearn and the black and orange or Erythane, worn at all times by every knight. The children ogled the broadsword at his hip, and some reached out to touch him or his horse as though such a thing might heal them of afflictions.
For the first time since leaving Erythane, Ra-khir secretly wished his father had let him quit the knights. The attention, though kind, unnerved him. He would rather ride off immediately with a handful of jerky and a few answers. Though accustomed to dreary, long-winded formality, he found himself saddled with all-too-human impatience. Yet, he had no choice but to display the honor of his kind, to weather the hospitality of his hosts, and to hope the Renshai did not get too far ahead of him meanwhile.