Reichert, Mickey - Renshai 01 by Reichert Mickey

Author:Reichert, Mickey [Reichert, Mickey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 1 5

Becoming Renshai

Farming villages and fields dotted the woodlands west of the Granite Hills and south of the Weathered Mountains, random as seeds scattered by the wind. Mitrian, Garn, Colbey, Arduwyn, and Sterrane spent their nights in inns or rented cottages, their route an unpredictable series of loops and zigzags through towns otherwise conspicuously devoid of weapons and warriors.

For Mitrian, the weeks went by in a whirlwind of flashing steel. Every day, Colbey worked her to exhaustion, pausing only for lessons on Renshai language, history, and philosophy, often over a meal prepared by Arduwyn or Sterrane, then pressed her to exhaustion again. Early on, nausea from the pregnancy and Mitrian’s low level of conditioning limited her practices. Then the demon would flood her mind with blood lust, driving her nearly as hard as Colbey, filling in details of the past and philosophical gaps when her mind wandered or her endurance failed.

As weeks spilled into months, Mitrian’s stamina increased. Her broad-boned frame, always slender, became firm as well. The demon settled into the steel, quivering with eager interest as Colbey’s sword maneuvers grew more complicated and Mitrian laboriously mastered them.

Rache Kallmirsson drew rein in a wheat field just outside the farm town of Shidran. His horse slowed to a walk, its hooves digging rents in soil riddled with the mounds of animal burrows. With every few steps, the weakened ground collapsed into tunnels. The horse stumbled, jogging Rache and reawakening the pain of his most recent battle. Eight times in as many months he had been attacked by mixed groups of white-skinned

strangers and ardent Western youngsters who followed the albinos like adoring worshipers. Time and again, Rache had patiently turned the teens’ impetuousness against them. Not one returned alive to warn his companions or suggest strategy for the next assault; those Rache pressed for information invariably killed themselves or forced his hand against them. He learned only that they exalted a nameless, white god, half-bird and half-man.

Though Rache had won the battles, he”.seemed certain to lose the war. A chorus of bruises, strains, and gashes always accompanied him. The bony calluses of healing rib and collarbone breaks became familiar. His back ached, and he learned to protect his lower legs, because slashes there healed frustratingly slowly and seemed more prone to infection. A feeling of being watched harried him daily. He learned to sleep like an animal, always at the edge of alertness; the slightest sound awakened him, tense and ready for action.

Rache crossed the border of Shidran’s village proper. Between jagged rows of cottages, four muddy children rolled stones across a packed-earth road. Seeing no other people, Rache approached.

Glancing up from his labor, one boy spotted Rache and stared at the tattered, golden-haired warrior from beneath a fringe of dark bangs. Prompted by their companion, the others looked up as well. Long stringy hair swung from every head. One wore her patched and faded homespun as a skirt, cuing Rache that he faced three boys and a girl. In the other towns, he had met adults first, usually in the form of farmers tending crops.

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