A battle of this sort would also place Ra-khir in a precarious position. Assuming the situation was exactly as it appeared, if the Northmen had tracked down the fleeing Renshai and attacked them, Ra-khir had every right to join the cause of his sons. However, it seemed unlikely he would have such clear-cut answers before the situation forced him to take a side. He would not fight against Calistin and Saviar, of course; but killing Northmen while in the direct and on-duty service of the kings of Erythane and Bearn could have serious diplomatic consequences as well.
A more religious man might have prayed, but Ra-khir put his faith in himself and the rigid moral code he had vowed to follow. When he encountered the situation, his honor would tell him what to do.
All too soon, Silver Warrior whinnied a warning as they walked through a shattered copse of thistles to reveal the remains of a war. Crow wings thundered as they abandoned their feast, cawing angrily at the interruption. More patient, a buzzard looked up and studied him, beak trailing a string of bowel. Blood striped the weeds and trunks, and sword cuts gouged the bark. Bodies lay motionless, flopped across the ground in various positions. Some looked as natural as sleep, while others lay with eyes wide open, staring in rage, determination, or stark terror.
For an instant, nothing registered. Ra-khir slid from his horse's saddle and examined the dead without a hint of understanding or emotion. The buzzard finally conceded, its enormous wings slapping the air, sending an icy chill through Ra-khir's suddenly clammy skin. Then, details filtered into his consciousness. Most of the dead were Northmen: hair yellow as butterflowers or as red as his own. Others had the blander look of Erythanians or central Westerners. Many had lost their eyes to the birds, but the ones remaining looked nearly as pale as their bloodless skin. No one could mistake the scene for a mass poisoning. Sword wounds marred every body, a few missing limbs or heads, many still wearing bits or hunks of armor, even helmets.
"Oh." The word slipped past Ra-khir's mouth unbidden. "Oh, gods." His gaze became frantic as he studied the corpses, looking for anything familiar. Though he did not discover a single Renshai corpse, there could be no doubt who had fought this battle. Few swords remained, those inferiorly crafted weapons thrown haphazardly around the battlefield; but other types of weapons, valuable armor, and jewelry remained with their previous owners. Only the Renshai would overlook the inherent worth of such items while the Western world suffered from a shortage of iron ore. These were, to Renshai, items of cowardice and beneath their dignity even to touch.
A movement caught the edge of Ra-khir's vision. He whirled, still clutching Silver Warrior's reins. A small, thin donkey the size of a large dog looked back at him, its muzzle grizzled and its back bowed from age. Behind it stood a wooden cart currently holding an assortment of bric-a-brac from the battlefield. Glancing a bit further, Ra-khir discovered a boy cowering behind one of the corpses.
"Hello," Ra-khir called out, his voice a mixture of question and welcome.
Pinned by Ra-khir's gaze, the boy did not try to hide further. Instead, he stood up to reveal an unexpectedly lanky frame covered in ill-fitting, patched linen. Dirt smeared his cheeks and limbs, and his hair was a brown snarl that dangled into his face. "Hello," he returned in the Western tongue, the same one Ra-khir had used.
Uncertain where to take the awkward conversation, Ra-khir chose to introduce himself. The formality this entailed seemed ludicrous, under the circumstances. "I am Sir Ra-khir Kedrin's son, Knight to the Erythanian and Bearnian kings: His Grace, King Humfreet and His Majesty, King Griff."
The boy shuffled his bare feet in the dirt. "I'm Darby, sir."
"Darby," Ra-khir repeated, for lack of anything better to say.
"Yes, sir."
Ra-khir glanced around at the carnage before asking the obvious question. "What exactly is a boy doing on a battlefield, Darby?"
Darby cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot, stalling. "Well, sir, I wouldn't lie to a Knight of Erythane."
Ra-khir nodded encouragingly. The basest hypocrite would give no different answer. "That's good to know."
"I… thought…" Darby paused to stare at his feet. "Well, I just figured…"
Ra-khir waited patiently.
"The battle was over, and… and…" Darby sighed. So far, he had said essentially nothing in a whole lot of words. "… and the victors left so much they clearly didn't want or need. So, I thought…"
"You would take it?" Ra-khir supplied.
"Well, yes, actually, sir. My ma and I and my sister could use it." Darby finally met Ra-khir's gaze. "Is that bad, sir? It's not a crime," he added hastily, "least not in these parts. Abandoned stuff belongs to the one who found it."
Ra-khir considered. "I don't believe it's bad, no. But can your ma and sister really use these weapons? And armor?"
Darby flushed. "I thought I'd sell it, sir." He added quickly, "Is that bad?"
"No," Ra-khir admitted. "Once the combatants have moved on, and the owners of the property are dead by other hands, I see nothing inherently evil in making decent use of what's been left behind."
Darby heaved a loud sigh. "Thank you, sir."
"For what?"
"For putting my conscience at ease."
Ra-khir shrugged, surprised it mattered to the little urchin. "What's a fine boy like you, one that listens to his conscience, doing in a woodland battlefield?"
Darby stared. Then, apparently worried about the rudeness of doing so, he rubbed his eyes with a filthy fist. "No disrespect, sir. But haven't we already had this exact conversation?"
Ra-khir laughed. He had asked the same question, in a slightly different form. "I just mean, most urchins don't care much about the morality of their actions. You have some breeding, Darby. Why aren't you out apprenticing a trade, something more refined than battlefield robbery?"
Darby took a backward step, sucking air through his teeth. "Robbery, sir? Didn't you just say…?"
"Poor choice of words." Ra-khir hurried to put the boy's mind at ease. For reasons he could not wholly explain, he liked Darby. "If the owner is dead in deliberate combat, and the victor has no interest in the spoils, then they become fair game for seekers such as yourself."
Darby gave a heavy nod.
Realizing he had gotten sidetracked, Ra-khir tried again. "So how come you're legally scavenging a battlefield rather than apprenticing a regular trade?"
Darby shrugged. "I haven't any trade to apprentice." There was more to the story, they both knew.
Ra-khir continued to look at the boy, brow cocked.
Darby stared back, defiantly at first, than with less assurance. Finally, he cracked. "My pa died in an accident that involved a…" He considered his words carefully, "… popular leader. A lot of people blamed my pa for it, so hardly anyone wants to mix around with us."
"That's not fair."
Darby threw up his hands. "Fair or not, it's how it is." He rubbed his hands together, and dirt fell in peels from his palms. "My ma gets work now and then, when they can't find no one else. Same with me, when there just aren't enough other men to do the job. My sister… well, the only things men want her for, they can't have."
Ra-khir's expression became as deadly serious as Darby's.
"I'm trying to gather up as much of value as I can before bigger men find this treasure and take it."
Ra-khir sighed. He knew what he had to do, even if it meant further delays on his hunt. These corpses were fresh. He had nearly caught up with the Renshai, but duty bound him, as always. A Knight of Erythane is honorable in every situation, not just when it suits him. "Darby, you gather what you want on that wagon and your person. When you're finished, Silver Warrior and I will help you get it safely home." He patted the horse affectionately, earning a dry-nosed snuffle for his loving gesture.