Renshai Trilogy by Mickey Zucker Reichert

Author:Mickey Zucker Reichert
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Epic, Fantasy Fiction, General, Fantasy, American, Wizards, Fiction
Publisher: DAW
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Episte's next words made it clear that Rache had missed the point. "Of course, it doesn't matter. Because crippled or not, my father never knew his limits. My mother said he was a battle seeker who craved death more than he did her or me. Colbey taught him, and, when it came to war and death, he was just like Colbey."

Shadimar hesitated only a moment. "Your mother should not have said those things."

"Are they lies?" Episte shouted. When he did not receive an immediate answer, he repeated the question more quietly but with more force. "Are . . . they . . . lies?"

"There are ways," Shadimar said, "to say the same things with kinder words. Any Northman, especially any Renshai, might seem so to one who doesn't understand the philosophy."

Rache piped in. "Your father was a hero who died in glory and went to Valhalla. I'm proud to have him as my guardian. Have you ever heard anyone call him anything but the greatest captain and the greatest hero the town ever had? Without him, the guards would never have lived as long as they did."

"If the guards had been a little less competent, maybe we wouldn't have fought this war at all." Bitterness tainted Episte's voice, and Mitrian thought she heard fatigue as well. "And my mother might be alive. Better a slave who returns to his son than a dead hero. What good is it to have a hero for a father, or any father at all, if he never never comes home?''

The conversation had gone too far for Mitrian. She walked to the doorway with long, sweeping strides so that no one would guess that she had stood so long listening. "Good morning." She smiled, but the reference to Garn as a slave in front of his son dampened the cheerfulness of her greeting.

Shadimar sat across the table from the two young Renshai. Steam rose from their mugs, swirling in wisps toward the ceiling. All three appeared well-rested, though the teens still wore leather tunics and breeks spotted darkly with sweat and grime. A fire danced on a pile of orange bricks in the hearth, the flames licking around a hanging pot. Shadimar rose, returning Mitrian's smile. Blue robes hung loosely from his narrow frame. His beard and hair looked neatly combed, as always, and his gray eyes seemed heavy with knowledge. "Good morning, Mitrian. Join us for tea."

Secodon's head appeared from under the table. He stood, tail waving, limped to Mitrian, and pushed his nose against her hand. Laughing, she patted the wolf's head, her fingers tracing one triangular ear.

A knock echoed through the horses' room, reverberating from the net of blueberry bushes and the stumps of crumbled statues. The noise sounded feeble; had the chafnber contained furniture, Mitrian would never have heard the tap at all. The Eastern Wizard stiffened as if affronted, and his gray eyes widened with surprise. The wolf crouched, stalking the outer door.

Remembering that the wolf mirrored its master's mood, Mitrian became wary.

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