Prince Of Demons

Book 2: Renshai Chronicles

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

Genres: Fantasy; Fantasy action & adventure; Epic Fantasy

Synopsis

THE BALANCE BETWEEN LAW AND CHAOS has long been maintained by the rulers of Béarn, but the death of the current king has enabled the elves to magically substitute one of their own on the throne. And, under the leadership of Dh'arlo'mé, the dark elves are preparing to claim their long-sought vengeance on mankind. But when the small party which set out to find and bring back the last possible heir to the throne returns to Béarn, Dh'arlo'mé realizes that even magic and murder combined will not be enough to overturn the balance. Now his solution must hinge on Béarn's burden and treasure: the Staffs of Law and Chaos. Within these plain-pieces of wood dwell the essences of Law and Chaos, each eternally seeking its Champion to destroy the other. Lured into one Staff's power, Dh'arlo'mé seeks to seduce the mortals into championing the other. And with all the worlds teetering on the brink of doom, it falls to Colbey Calistinsson - son of the god Thor and the greatest of Renshai warriors - to select that Champion. If he chooses wrongly, all life will come to an end. Yet even success will come at a high price. For the only way to insure that this danger can never arise again, is for both Champions and Staffs to be totally annihilated.

Release date: November 1, 1997

Publisher: DAW

Print pages: 704

Sample

CLOUDS embroidered netlike patterns across a sapphire sky, and muted sunlight glowed along their margins. The ocean lay calm as glass, a rare breeze chopping the water into stray bits of froth. Kevral Tainharsdatter stared over the taffrail, ignoring the elf captain who manned the tiller, singing his sweet, quiet song of the sea. Joy entwined inseparably with dread, and her inability to concentrate on one emotion bothered Kevral. Though only fifteen, she had achieved the sequence of sword training, knowledge, and mental control that signaled her passage to Renshai adulthood nearly three years ago.

The Sea Seraph glided through the Southern Sea despite the dearth of wind. Kevral’s understanding of seamanship was spotty, yet it required little more than logic to realize the tiny craft should lie becalmed upon the wind-shy waters. Captain’s millennia of piloting had gained him skills mortal sailors could only envy. She turned her gaze to the triangular wavelets and foam spirals the rudder churned in their wake. Her companions’ voices wafted from the bow, their conversation distant murmurs carried on the intermittent breeze. The music of clamps thumping and clanking, the hum of lines, and the flap of canvas drowned out individual words.

Kevral had slipped aft to think, certain their elfin captain, unlike her friends, would not disturb her contemplation. She had maintained her position for more than half an hour, her mind distant but her senses keenly pitched for danger. By Renshai law, her people had become the guardians of the high king’s heirs; and Kevral had protected Princess Matrinka from assassins for long enough to keep a part of her constantly alert even while she brooded. Insignificant details disappeared. Outside noises, however, always filtered through, processed by a finely-honed awareness, and discarded or retained without need for conscious thought.

At length, Kevral pulled herself from her musing. Unsorted concerns remained so, raising an irritation that could not assist the problem but managed to usurp it for the moment. She spun to face Captain, deliberation reluctantly yielding to reality. Though hacked functionally short, her blonde hair had become ruffled into tangles by the ship’s momentum. Salt stung large blue eyes that well-matched her rounded cheeks and the soft, childlike contours of her face. The Renshai racial tendency to appear younger than her age had never bothered her, but now that romance had blossomed, adolescent awkwardness undermined her usually unflappable confidence.

Captain broke the long silence. “Violence cannot solve every problem.”

Kevral blinked. The comment appeared sourceless, and annoyance over unrelated matters nearly drove her to rudeness. Only then, she realized her fist had winched closed around her sword hilt. She released it, indentations from the knurling etched against her calluses. “I wouldn’t have harmed you,” Kevral felt obligated to reassure him.

To Captain’s credit, he did not laugh. To do so would have besmirched her honor and might have sparked the very brutality she had just dismissed. “I wasn’t afraid.” The reply still bordered on insult, and Captain rescued the situation with a compliment. “Renshai violence is swift and merciless, but never without cause.” The elf smiled, engraving the familiar wrinkles deeper onto his timeless features. Amber eyes, homogeneous as gemstones, studied her mildly from canted sockets; and the sun lit red highlights into mahogany hair faded from salt and weather. Rare silver wound through the brown, little resembling the gray of human elders. He wore his locks swept back and tied at the nape of his neck, opening the high-set cheekbones, broad mouth, and low ears and making him appear more alien.

Footsteps midship rescued Kevral from a reply. Four of her six companions headed toward the stern, Matrinka and Darris in the lead. The princess sported the massive bone structure that defined even the women and children of Béarn, especially those of the king’s line. Thick black hair flowed past pleasant features and enveloped the calico cat, named Mior, so often perched upon her shoulders. Mior studied Kevral, wearing the smug expression cats had perfected. Darris held Matrinka’s arm under the pretext of steadying her, though the gentle drift of the Sea Seraph threatened no one’s balance. The love those two could never consummate had become too familiar for Kevral to pity any longer. At least, they had stopped denying their feelings for one another, though the difference in station between the princess and the bard would never allow them to marry.

Darris’ gentle features had slackened since learning of his mother’s death only a few days earlier. Grief softened his hazel eyes, usually peaceful and now nearly glazed. Brown curls flopped across his forehead, hiding the fine, Pudarian brows and drawing attention from the large but straight nose and broad lips. He wore a sword at his hip and his favorite lute slung across his back. His sorrow, Kevral guessed, stemmed not only from the loss of a parent but also from the responsibilities her death had heaped upon him. An ancient curse on the bard’s line, passed always to the eldest child, imbued them with insatiable curiosity yet forbade them from passing on the knowledge this gained them in any form except song. In addition, the bard was always the personal bodyguard of Béarn’s ruler.

Kevral acknowledged her friends with well-directed nods, then turned her attention to the young man behind them. Though only a year older than the Renshai, Griff towered over the others, his huge frame packed with Béarnian muscle and fat. His features contrasted starkly with his size. Cowlike, dark eyes looked out from a rotund face wearing a vast, friendly grin. Black bangs dangled into his eyes. Only the day before, Kevral and her companions had rescued him from the elves’ dungeon, yet he looked none the worse for captivity. Griff did not even seem to realize the significance of his being the last untested Béarnian heir, the only descendant of King Kohleran left to pass a trial crafted by Odin to judge the neutrality and innocence of king or queen. But Kevral knew that, without the proper heir on Béarn’s throne, the balance would dissolve and the world would fragment into chaos.

Rantire followed Griff, hand on hilt and gaze wary. Though a distant cousin to Kevral, she bore little resemblance. Her bronze hair and gray eyes broadcast her descent from one of the less pure-blooded Renshai lines, the tribe of Rache. Her face still bore evidence of her much longer imprisonment by elves. Unlike Griff, Rantire had been tortured for information, and Matrinka had spent the better part of the night tending her myriad wounds and scars. Kevral’s private discussion with her cousin revealed that the elves had inflicted far worse than kindhearted Matrinka could know. Between sessions of brutality, they had magically healed the vast majority of Rantire’s injuries.

Now, Rantire fairly shackled herself to Griff’s side, his self-appointed guardian, at least until he took the throne. Kevral did not begrudge her cousin an honor won, with words, faith, and courage from Ravn, a young god descended from Renshai. As a token of his trust, Ravn had awarded her one of his own swords, a blade she wore proudly at her hip. Rantire’s eyes zipped to every motion, never still; and her stance remained perpetually alert.

Kevral could not resist teasing. “Rantire, if you got any tenser, you’d explode.”

Rantire’s eyes narrowed, and she glared. “Perhaps, Kevralyn the Overconfident, if you became as serious about your charge as I am about mine, you wouldn’t see a need for jokes.”

Anger splashed through Kevral at the use of the full name she despised, the hateful nickname that suggested her self-assurance stemmed more from arrogance than ability, and the questioning of her loyalty to duty. Attributing Rantire’s hostility to stress, Kevral forced herself to forgive it, resorting to sarcasm rather than blows. “I apologize for the affront.” She curtsied, passing the victory to Rantire. “It takes more skill than I have to deliver three insults in one sentence.”

Matrinka joined in before the dispute could escalate. Unlike Kevral, she could not see that a wild spar between Renshai warriors would probably do both participants good. “We were just discussing how much smoother things could go from here if we knew more about the elves.” She walked to Kevral’s side, settled against the gunwale, and faced Captain directly. Darris waited until she found her position, then took a comfortable one beside her. In contrast, Rantire placed herself between Griff and every rail until he finally sat with his back against the jib mast. Even then, Rantire violated his personal space, an imposition he did not seem to notice.

Captain clung to the tiller, though his features revealed no discomfort. “What would you like to know?”

“Everything.” Matrinka glanced at Kevral for a reassurance the Renshai felt ill-prepared to give. Too late, Kevral wished she had directed the conversation to the facts necessary to stand against the enemy. Matrinka’s book schooling would steer her toward history and details that little interested Kevral. “Like why haven’t they had dealings with people before this? And why do they hate us?” Matrinka’s face suddenly tightened into a painful grimace. “I’m sorry. Was omitting elves from ‘people’ insulting?”

Captain shrugged, taking no offense. “I never thought about it, really. The elfin terms and mind-concepts for humans and elfinkind are quite distinct. Common trading is your tongue. You decide.”

Matrinka obliged. “I think ‘people’ ought to refer to humans and elves.”

Worry about semantics seemed a waste of time to Kevral.

Captain smiled. “I like that. A word that lumps us together. It suggests the potential for cooperation.”

Kevral believed Captain’s choosing to work with them demonstrated the concept far more aptly, but raising the issue might only prompt a longer discussion about terminology. She waited patiently for them to continue.

Darris interrupted, and Kevral cringed reflexively. The bard’s curse rendered his every utterance either an aria or paradoxically succinct. Although she delighted in listening to his peerless musical talent on most occasions, breaking for song in the middle of a conversation sometimes made him tedious. This time, Darris kept his comment mercifully brief. “If we’re going to talk about something important, shouldn’t Ra-khir and Tae hear, too?”

Matrinka nodded agreement.

“I’ll get them,” Kevral said, ignoring Rantire’s disdainful look as she abandoned her charge once again. It was not that her guardianship had grown negligent; simply that she had come to trust her companions. The self-assurance other Renshai condemned as overconfidence stemmed from proven ability. Kevral trusted herself to handle any situation that might arise, no matter how sudden or unexpected. She headed amidships.

“They’re below,” Matrinka called.

Kevral nodded without turning or bothering to reply. Soon enough she could see if Ra-khir and Tae stood at the foredeck, and the tiny Sea Seraph left them no other place but the cabin to hide. The customary mixture of excitement and discomfort assailed her as she set to the task. In the months they had spent traveling together, both men had fallen in love with her and she with them. It had become a strange triangle, devoid of deceit. Everyone knew where the others stood, and both men had promised to wait for her decision. Even before this competition, the two had hated one another. Yet circumstance had intervened, and they had managed to become friends. That bond, too, ultimately hinged on her. Kevral shook free of the burden of responsibility for now. The choice would have to wait until they delivered Griff to his inheritance and saw him safely ruling.

Kevral reached the hatchway and pried it open. Sunlight filtered through the hole and into a single room sparsely lit by lanterns. Tae’s voice funneled upward. “… saying you’d starve to death rather than steal to eat?”

“That is correct.” Ra-khir’s crisply enunciated trading tongue followed.

“Yeah? Well, what if it wasn’t just your life? What if you had a wife and thirteen little redheaded brats? Would you let them starve to death, too?”

Ra-khir ignored the jab against innocent children who did not yet exist to focus upon the question. “I’d get a job, no matter how demeaning.”

“We already said there aren’t any jobs.”

“Tae, this is a ridiculous discussion.”

Kevral had had her share of honor arguments with these two. This one seemed particularly pointless. “If either of you are counting on me to supply those thirteen brats, think again.”

Ra-khir rushed to the bottom of the companion ladder. Even the strange play of light and shadow could not hide the classic handsomeness of his face. “Tae was just … I mean, he wasn’t trying—”

Tae interrupted, “Easy, Red. She was joking.” He moved up beside Ra-khir, his Eastern features coarser and diminished by his companion’s natural radiance. He winked. “Besides, I was talking about his future wife …” He jerked a thumb toward Ra-khir. “… not mine.”

“Aaah.” Ra-khir joined the lighthearted banter. His months with Tae and Kevral had developed a sarcastic edge he reserved for them. “But it was Tae who picked the number.”

Kevral smiled, many quips coming to mind, but she shoved those aside for the more important matter of Captain’s explanation. “Come join the rest of us in back.” She jerked a thumb aft, ship terminology a second language she had not yet bothered to learn. “We’re going to talk about elves and their motives. That seems far more important than speculating about how a Knight of Erythane would survive on the streets if he was a completely different person living in a completely different world.”

“Apprentice Knight of Erythane.” Ra-khir’s sense of honor forced him to correct. He had not yet passed the tests required to take his place among the rigidly honorable and maddeningly honest knights. He headed up the companionway, each step steady.

Tae scrambled up behind Ra-khir, his motions comparatively quick and light. “Knight, apprentice knight. A matter of formality.”

Ra-khir heaved onto the deck as Kevral back-stepped to give the men room. “Don’t let Knight-Armsman Edwin hear you say that. He’ll take it out of my hide.”

“Promises. Promises.” Tae scurried up beside the muscular redhead. Though seventeen and a year younger than Tae, Ra-khir carried far more height and bulk than the wiry Easterner. They seemed a study in opposites. Ra-khir’s hair lay neatly combed around comely features, and his green eyes sparkled with affection. He always dressed in the colors of Erythane and Béarn, like all the knights, yet he somehow managed to bring together the orange and black and the blue and tan without it clashing. His every movement seemed poised and his every action polite.

The son of a criminal lord, Tae had grown up surrounded by thieves, thugs, and murderers. He looked the part. Shaggy black hair tumbled over his forehead and spilled into his face. Restless eyes seemed never still, and his simple garb did little to enhance his narrow, sinewy body. An edge of a scar peeked from beneath one sleeve, mute testimony to the night enemies of his father slaughtered his mother, stabbed him sixteen times, and left him for dead. Kevral knew most women would believe her insane for even considering a life with Tae after a proposal from Ra-khir. Yet his wild spontaneity and quick sarcasm attracted her every bit as much as Ra-khir’s gentle kindness. Both had touched her heart with their honest openness and competence. There was more to Tae than even she would have believed and more to Ra-khir than most would believe possible.

“Stop staring at us and let’s go,” Tae cut to the obvious with a directness that made his companions blush. He headed aft without savoring the results of his words.

Ra-khir inclined, then raised his head toward Tae’s back, the gesture plainly conveying respect as well as indicating Kevral should precede him. She obliged, and Ra-khir followed.

As the three fell silent, the voices of their companions at the stern reached them as whispers. Matrinka and Darris enjoyed a rising wind off the port rail, and Mior threaded between the gunwale gaffs as the wind ruffled her fur in patches. Captain tacked smoothly to take advantage of the wind. Griff remained in place with his back against the mast as the boom swung harmlessly overhead, forcing Rantire to shift position. Kevral hopped into a crouch on the gunwale, without supporting her weight against the rail. She chose the port side mostly to appease Rantire as it placed her in a better position for guarding Matrinka. Tae hunkered in the stern, and Ra-khir picked an attentive position toward starboard, one hand balanced on the rail.

Captain waited only until all of the humans had settled before commencing. A strand of his red-brown hair floated on the breeze, and his yellow eyes gazed out over the sea. “At one time the elves lived on a world called Alfheim, without worry or weather, without need for sleep or shelter. Our magic served no purpose except enhancement of play. We lived too long to concern ourselves with time, and the concepts of need and power held no meaning. Our language did not acknowledge any of these.

“The gods could reach our realm freely. Frey, our creator, lived on our world. Our only contact with humans consisted of rare visits by the Northern Wizard, he or she who championed the cause of good. The elves were his charge along with the Northern peoples, while evil claimed the East and neutrality the West. No magic existed among humans, so they could never find us, and the elves never thought to concentrate their magic or visit the world of mankind. I came at the request of a Northern Wizard to navigate the seas to the Wizards’ Isle where they met for matters of import. I was considered ponderous and too serious by the others of my ilk.”

Captain frowned at an irony too obvious to deny. He had become outcast for his wish to restore the elves to the lighthearted state they had once defined without need to question. “Elves had no laws, no conventions to govern behavior—such was unnecessary. Every elf did as he or she pleased. When Odin created our worlds, he took all chaos from man’s world, believing they could not handle it. For whatever reason, he left the elves a balance of sorts, though the fulcrum falls far more toward chaos than the one eventually intended for mankind.”

Matrinka cleared her throat, brows low in concentration. “But I’ve always heard chaos is the root of deception and treachery as well as idea.”

Captain mulled the words, mouth tightened to a slit that scarcely lessened the broad lips. At length, he spoke “Thank you, m’lady. You’ve brought a detail into focus I’d never considered before. I’ve always accepted that Alfheim’s balance falls farther to chaos while Midgard’s shows a preference for law. It explains why elves never banded together in causes, never built dwellings, and never combined abilities until we came to Midgard.” He smiled, his mouth appearing enormous in the wake of the pursed line it had previously formed. “Or, depending on your viewpoint, why humans did do those things. Think of law as structure and chaos as planning. Evil is self-interest and good a sense of brotherhood.”

Kevral fidgeted, glancing around at her companions. Everyone seemed riveted. Aside from Rantire, who attended her charge, they all stared directly at Captain. Kevral forced herself to focus on the elf’s words, though they had begun to seem more tedious than any song of Darris’.

Captain continued, “Long ago for you, but within my lifetime.” Catching Kevral’s eye, he winked. “And Colbey Calistinsson’s.…”

Now, Captain gained Kevral’s attention, too. She had modeled every aspect of her life after the legendary Renshai hero who had lived centuries before her time. No swordsman had ever neared his weapon skill, but Kevral set her sights on that goal. Once, she believed she had come close; but a recent meeting and spar with the Renshai-turned-immortal had proved her far wrong.

“… Midgard contained law but not chaos. The Northern Wizard championed good. All Northerners, including elves, had no concept of evil. The so-called Southern Wizard championed evil and the East; and his people knew no good. Between them stretched the Westlands all but one of you call home.”

Tae corrected the misconception. “The West is my home, too. Now.” He did not explain further, but Kevral understood. Tae’s father had sent him westward with the instructions to return East at the age of twenty-one, if he survived, to claim leadership of the underground, his birthright. Hunted by his father’s enemies and disinterested in organizing criminals, Tae had no intention of going back.

Captain accepted the words without question. “All of you call home, then. The Eastern and Western Wizards championed neutrality, unaware that Odin planned eventually to give them charge of law and chaos. The Wizards maintained the balance for millennia.

Matrinka redirected the story back to her question. “So elfin chaos consisted only of genius because Alfheim had no evil and therefore no self-interest.”

Captain nodded. “My assumption exactly.”

Rantire added dubiously, “So adding chaos to Northmen could have turned them into elves?”

“Theoretically.” Captain turned to look directly at Rantire. “Not physically, of course. Which might explain why our languages and religious beliefs are similar. But humans didn’t start of a single mind, as elves did. There’re many different types of people. As evil tried to persuade good and good evil, the lines blurred. That started fairly early on after creation, from what I’ve read.”

“The point being?” Kevral’s warrior need for swift answers made her impatient.

“An important one for me.” Captain swung back to Kevral without disturbing the tiller. “Elves did as they pleased, which, essentially consisted of whatever felt good. Ultimately, they all carried the same deeply ingrained, innate sense of values. Elves always agreed.”

Tae asked the significant questions, the ones that had initiated the conversation. “So how did elves get here? And why do they hate humans?”

“That’s where Colbey Calistinsson enters.”

Interest piqued, Kevral rose. Relying on holy tenets, she took up the tale. “Colbey unwillingly became the Western Wizard and brought chaos to the world.” She corrected. “ Our world. He championed law and the Eastern Wizard chaos. But everyone thought it was the other way around, and everyone was afraid of chaos, so they all tried to destroy Colbey.” Finding every eye on her, Kevral turned the story back to Captain. “Right?”

“Not exactly.” Captain sucked in a deep lungful of sea air. “Colbey did carry the Staff of Law and hand over the Staff of Chaos to the Eastern Wizard. And everyone did believe he had done the reverse. But Colbey never championed law or chaos. He believed ultimate balance could exist between law and chaos, as it did for good and evil. That view was shared by few, at best. Colbey gained more enemies, including the other Wizards, and the very gods he worshiped.”

Darris twisted as if in pain, the need to question a brand for his bard’s fiery curiosity. Matrinka saved him the stress of finding proper wording so as not to spark the requirement for song. “So the Renshai’s twist on religion is correct?”

“From what I understand, in almost every detail,” Captain admitted.

Darris finally found his tongue. “So the Ragnarok occurred?” It was the major point of contention between Renshai and others who followed the once only Northern religion, including Béarn and most of the Westlands.

“Of that, my friend, I am absolutely certain.”

Kevral’s heart pounded a slow cadence. Where once she found the elf’s story a chore, now she would not have missed a syllable.

“The system of Wizards championing causes gave way to a balance that hinged upon the Béarnian ruler’s neutrality. Colbey became the immortal overseer of balance, charging his people, the Renshai, with protecting the heirs. The Staves of Law and Chaos became the test by which the rulers are measured, and magic otherwise disappeared from man’s world. Poised on the very brink of Ragnarok, Odin talked Colbey into joining the gods at the final battle.”

“I’m sure that was difficult,” Kevral inserted with a smile and obvious sarcasm. Death in valiant combat with its guarantee of Valhalla—the goal of Northmen for eternity. Heroic death established a place among the Einherjar, those souls who battled on the side of gods in the greatest of all wars. Even now, the Renshai still fought for that goal, believing a second Ragnarok would come. Kevral could think of no greater reward than a place among the gods during the Ragnarok while still alive. Nothing could please a Renshai more.

Captain grinned at the interruption. “Now, the gods entered Ragnarok knowing in advance who would live and die, and the means of their deaths. No one suspected Odin had groomed Colbey to rescue him at the final battle. Odin intended for Colbey to shift the tide of the war, to help him fight the Fenris Wolf destined to kill him. Together, Odin reasoned, they could slay the wolf, and Odin would defy his fate.”

Kevral listened, rapt. She could hear the voices of the gods surrounding her, the rasp of sharpening weapons, and the clatter of warriors arming for battle. She savored the perfume of enemy blood, and the sweet cries of battle seemed to echo through her head. She could imagine no honor greater than exchanging attacks with the massive wolf and dying so that the gods’ AllFather might live.

Captain chuckled at his own image of what came next. “But even Odin’s power was not strong enough to stay Colbey from his own cause. Frey, the elves’ creator, was fated to die on the sword of the fire giant, Surtr. The giant would then live to kindle great conflagrations on the worlds of man and elfin kind, destroying them. Setting his sights on saving humans, Colbey betrayed Odin and assisted Frey instead. Odin was killed, and the fire giant, too. But, in the moments before his death, Surtr still managed to set both worlds ablaze. There was no time to save Alfheim and Midgard. Frey chose the former and Colbey the latter. Neither could battle the fire alone, and they could not reach a compromise. Colbey won through guile and strength of mental will. Their combined efforts rescued Midgard, but Alfheim was lost.”

Tae tapped the taffrail. “Which explains the elves’ hatred for humans. But how did they survive? And how did they get here?”

“Dh’arlo’mé, now the leader of the elves, was the Northern Sorceress’ apprentice when the system of Wizards was destroyed. Knowing the Ragnarok was imminent, he taught the elves to combine magic—a difficult task given the nature of elves. Eventually, they opened a gate to Midgard. Those nearest escaped in time, but most elves perished in the fires. Even those who survived got badly burned. Bitterness scarred them as deeply.”

Silence followed Captain’s tale as the humans considered the implications of what they had heard. Kevral tore her thoughts from the conjured images of Ragnarok to understanding of the elves’ trials.

Griff broke the hush at length. “I don’t understand.”

The simple statement fit the heir’s childlike innocence, though it required elaboration.

Captain indulged without patronizing. “Which part doesn’t make sense to you?”

Griff rose, towering over his guardian. “I could understand why elves might not like Colbey, though surely they realized the difficulty of his decision.” He scratched his mop of black hair. “But why do the elves hate us? We weren’t even born when all this happened. We didn’t even know they existed. At least, I didn’t.”

“None of us did,” Rantire asserted, protecting Griff’s feelings as well as his safety.

Captain gestured Rantire and Griff away from the jib sail. They complied. As the wind shifted over the starboard bow, he brought the Sea Seraph about. The boom swung through a perfect arc as the canvas took its new position. “Elves live centuries or millennia. The concept of generations means nothing to them. Also, remember, elves exist as a single, ethical unit.” He lowered his head. “At least, they used to. They assumed humans do the same. It’s only natural to apply your own experiences to others and expect them to react as you would.”

Thoughtful nods joined Griff’s.

The story meshed perfectly with Kevral’s understanding of Renshai religion. Only one thing jarred, and that was a detail outside the story. All Renshai believed Colbey had died battling Surtr’s fire, sacrificing his life for mankind. Some factions maintained that Renshai prayer and dedication to his causes raised him from the dead to live among the gods. Kevral, Matrinka, Darris, Tae, and Ra-khir had briefly traveled with Colbey prior to joining Captain. From him, she had learned that both interpretations were wrong. Colbey had survived the battle and now lived in Asgard with his wife, Freya, and his son, Ravn.

Ra-khir indicated a wish to speak with a gesture as formal as court. “Is it correct, then, to assume the sudd