Child of Thunder (Renshai Trilogy) Read online

  Colbey and Shadimar reached the deep-seated pocket of bitterness simultaneously, though from different directions. Though weeks had passed, Colbey could still see the hawk-nosed visage of Valr Kirin, a Nordmirian officer who had proven the noblest enemy he had ever faced. At that final battle, Colbey’s sword, Harval, had accidentally claimed an arm as well as Kirin’s life. By Northern religion, the loss of a body part should have barred the Nordmirian from Valhalla, the haven for the finest warriors slain in battle. Yet Colbey had personally seen a Valkyrie claim the body for Valhalla.

  Shadimar’s consciousness circled the event, alternately horrified and awed by the disruption of a faith Colbey had clung to since birth. It was the Renshai’s practice of dismembering Northern enemies to destroy morale that had led to their exile from the North, an exile that had turned an entire world against them. Yet, all of the pain and hatred, all of the racial prejudice, and all of the fiery vengeance that had led to the extermination of the tribe had hinged upon a lie. On the day of Valr Kirin’s death, Colbey had waffled between denying his vision and denying the very foundation of his belief and being through seventy-seven years.

  Shadimar’s discomfort turned to interest as he held Colbey’s choices and deeds in judgment. Now Colbey backed away, already knowing what the Eastern Wizard would find. At the time, Colbey had combed his memories, using logic and experience to decide which religious tenets to keep and which to discard, which came from the gods themselves and which from the more arbitrary laws of mankind. In the end, the event had redefined and strengthened, rather than shattered, his faith.

  Momentary pleasure radiated from the Eastern Wizard, liberally mixed with surprise. Obviously, he had never anticipated such complexity from a Renshai sword master.

  Though Colbey expected nothing else, the Wizard’s underestimation grated on him. He had tired of the jokes that had become standard belief, the foolish gibes that the quicker the warrior, the slower his intellect. These, Colbey knew, sprang from the need of those unwilling to suffer the constant pain and effort required for competence at anything to explain away ability as magic or natural from birth. Underestimating Colbey Calistinsson had cost more than one man his life.

  Shadimar poked into a few pockets of memory that Colbey felt were better left undisturbed. Among those, Shadimar found an agony of grief for a young man, Episte Rachesson, the orphaned child of the last full-blooded Renshai other than Colbey. The boy had seemed as much a son as a student to Colbey. Lost to chaos’ madness, Episte could not be salvaged, though Colbey had driven himself to the edge of death trying to fix the damage. Shadimar found the sorrow the old Renshai knew over leaving what remained of the Renshai to fend for themselves. He also discovered a tie whose strength even Colbey had not recognized, until that moment. He had left his white stallion, Frost Reaver, with a farmer in Bruen. He had owned the horse for less than a year, yet he missed the animal’s surefootedness, agility, and loyalty. And then, Shadimar found the heart and core of Colbey’s existence, the thing that had driven and steered his life since birth: the need to die with courage, honor, and glory in battle.

  Shadimar withdrew.

  Colbey dropped his concentration with an eager sigh. Exhaustion gathered at the edges of his awareness, and he lowered his center of balance to relax. The effort of protecting Shadimar’s hunt had taxed him more than he had expected.

  Shadimar sat back against the stone, his head bowed and his eyes closed. His white beard trickled over his laced fingers and curled knees. Secodon remained before his master, watchful and alert, revealing the fatigue his master hid so well.

  For a long time, Wizard and Renshai sat in silence. The quiet windlessness seemed to stretch the moment into an eternity, and Colbey’s patience broke first. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Slowly, Shadimar raised his head. His gray eyes flared open, fixed stolidly on his companion. “Can you truly say I was looking for something, when, in truth, I hoped not to find it?”

  Colbey had no desire to discuss semantics. “Fine, then. Did you not find what you weren’t looking for?”

  “Yes,” Shadimar replied.

  Colbey considered the reply, eyes narrowing as he tried to interpret the answer in the wake of a doubly negative question.

  Shadimar let him off the hook. “I did not find what I wasn’t looking for. No evidence of demons. No sign that you are other than you claim.”

  Tired of others doubting his integrity, Colbey pressed. “Did that surprise you?”

  “Many things about you surprised me.” Shadimar dodged the question, creating many others in the process.

  Colbey let the initial issue drop. Shadimar’s doubts had been quelled. And, though it bothered Colbey that Shadimar questioned his integrity enough to require a mental exploration, it was over now. The healing process could begin for both of them, as long as the Eastern Wizard did not mistrust him again.

  The darkness deepened. Colbey glanced upward, concerned that the mental process had taken far longer than it had seemed to and that day had passed into night without his knowledge. But the sun remained high, all but lost beneath a thickening cover of clouds. Streamers poked through tears in the clouds, their light feeble and diffuse.

  “You are a more capable thinker than I ever would have guessed.” Shadimar brushed his beard away from his hands.

  Colbey did not reply to the faint praise. A “thank you” did not seem in order.

  Apparently recognizing his words as a backhanded insult, Shadimar added, “I think you could make a competent Wizard.”

  Something about Shadimar’s tone did not ring solid enough for Colbey’s liking. “If . . .?”

  “If?” Shadimar repeated, brows rising in question.

  “I could make a competent Wizard if what?”

  Shadimar opened his mouth, as if to remind Colbey that he was the one who had added the qualifier. Then, apparently seeing the futility of such an argument, he pursed his lips and started again. “Colbey, no man is born a Cardinal Wizard. As a Wizard comes within about half a century of his time of passing, he selects an apprentice. He then spends the half a century training that apprentice. After the Wizard’s rite of passage, his successor has the strengths, knowledge, and experience of his predecessors to call upon. Without training or knowledge, none of us expects you to slip right into your niche.” He hesitated only an instant, his composure unbroken, but the lapse spoke volumes to Colbey.

  The Renshai caught a flash of realization that Shadimar wanted to explain some detail about the tasks that an apprentice who had undergone the proper training would have known.

  The concept disappeared as quickly as it came, suppressed by a law and propriety as old as creation. Only a splash of guilt at his need for silence lingered, and Shadimar finished his previous thought. “Some of the best prepared have fallen prey to the power or to the strange eclipsing and dragging of time that comes with near immortality.”

  Colbey shook his head, not pressing the matter. To admit he had read Shadimar’s thoughts, even unintentionally, would reawaken all the suspicion he had only just set to rest. Instead, he considered Shadimar’s words. All his life, Colbey had cared only for his sword, his tribe, and his goddess. He had dedicated his soul to his honor and to earning the glory of a death in battle that would bring him the promised rewards of Valhalla. Neither the power nor the responsibilities of becoming a Cardinal Wizard enticed him. “Becoming a competent Wizard means nothing to me. I’m not interested in becoming a Wizard at all.”

  Shadimar’s eyes went as dark as the roiling clouds. “You are the Western Wizard already. The time for choices is past.”

  Colbey scowled. “The choice was never given to me.”

  “That is of no consequence any longer.”

  “Perhaps not.” Colbey gathered his composure, though anger still hovered tangibly, easily sparked. “But don’t expect me not to question or resist now that I’m starting to understand what Tokar forced on me.”

  Shad
imar’s expression softened. “That is a point well taken. Still, it doesn’t change the facts. The sooner you accept the way things are, and that they cannot be changed, the better Wizard you will become.”

  “You don’t understand, do you?” The lengthy pause had restored Colbey’s lost energy. He rose suddenly. “If I don’t care to be a Wizard, why do you expect me to care to be a competent one?”

  “Because you are a Wizard. And I can’t imagine Colbey Calistinsson not working to become the best at whatever he might be.”

  Colbey’s rage receded. This compliment inspired all the goodwill and appreciation that the other had not. “You are assuming, my friend, that there’s no way to refuse the title. That may be so, but I won’t take that as fact until I prove there’s no escape.”

  “You selfish, arrogant bastard.” The Wizard stood, the taller of the two by a full head. “Would you leave the peoples of the West, including your own beloved Renshai, without a guardian? Would you let Trilless’ goodness eat at the northern border and Carcophan’s evil infect the east and south until nothing remains but absolutes?”

  The names of the Northern and Southern Wizards rekindled Colbey’s anger. Trilless had misinterpreted a prophecy, hounding Colbey with champions and a demon sent to slay him. Although the three Swords coming together on the world of men had caused Episte’s madness, it was Carcophan who had ignorantly summoned the final blade and placed it in the young Renshai’s hands. Then, the Southern Wizard had preyed upon the damage he had caused, turning the youngster against his own tribe in order to further the causes of evil. Thoughts of Episte Rachesson drained away the rage as quickly as it had come, and grief replaced it.

  Shadimar continued his tirade. “You were the one who claimed that law and morality become too fixed and rigid when strict definitions are placed on good and evil. You are the Northman who abandoned the tenets of good for those of neutrality. Now, when the time has come for you to defend those bold words and choices, you would abandon your responsibilities and the many whose lives depend on the Western Wizard because someone made one decision for you.”

  “The Westlands have you. And you can find another Wizard to fill my place.”

  Shadimar turned away. He gazed out over the ocean, and his voice fell nearly to a whisper. “It’s not that easy. When he created the world and banished chaos to its plane, Odin created the system of the Cardinal Wizards, placing us as the mediators between gods and men. Clearly, the balance he created between us has a purpose. If he believes we need four, then four is what we need. At this time, we can’t risk any deviation from Odin’s plan. Too much lies at stake.”

  “Fixed and rigid.”

  Shadimar did not deny the accusation. He continued to stare out over the Amirannak Sea. “But still less so than good or evil. And it’s better than the alternative.”

  Colbey followed Shadimar’s gaze to a black spot on the horizon, an approaching ship. “Ragnarok?” he guessed. Once, he had intruded on Shadimar’s mind, and that search had uncovered an ancient prophecy:

  “A Sword of Gray,

  A Sword of White,

  A Sword of Black and chill as night.

  Each one forged,

  Its craftsmen a Mage;

  The three Blades together shall close the age.

  “When their oath of peace

  The Wizards forsake,

  Their own destruction they undertake.

  Only these Swords

  Their craftsmen can slay.

  Each Sword shall be blooded the same rueful day.

  “When that fateful day comes

  The Wolf’s Age has begun.

  Hati swallows the moon, and Sköll tears up the sun.”

  The rhyme foretold that the day of destruction for men, gods, and Wizards would come after the three Swords of Power were all called to man’s world of law at once. Colbey carried the Gray Sword, Harval. The others he had faced, in the hands of Trilless’ and Carcophan’s champions, first Valr Kirin then Episte Rachesson. Shadimar had banished the White Sword back to the plain of magic as soon as the battle had ended. Yet, clearly, there had been at least a moment when all three swords had existed on their world at once. Colbey recalled the chaos attack he had shared through Episte’s memories, a brutal assault that had left neither time nor thought for defense. Chaos had accentuated every shred of bitterness and rage that Episte had known, inflaming them far out of proportion, turning the boy into a warped and vengeful caricature of his former self. Having relived the remembrance too many times, Colbey forced emotion away, concentrating on the approaching ship.

  “The final destruction. The end of the world. Do you want to be responsible for causing that?”

  As the vessel approached, Colbey realized that its size had made it appear farther than it was; it seemed too small to call it more than a boat. “Ship” would be a kindness. Yet, from Colbey’s experience, “boat” would insult its captain, so he chose to think of it as a ship. Around it, the air lay too calm before the growing storm for it to remain in motion. Colbey had joined enough pirating raids to know that it should have sat, in irons, on the darkening sea. But the ghostly white sails, devoid of symbol or standard, spilled wind. Faint ripples on the water showed that the gaily-painted craft was gliding toward them at an impossible speed.

  Colbey watched the ship, his mind clicking through the combinations of wind that could account for its movement on the Amirannak Sea. But, always, his calculations fell short. Something felt misplaced, beyond the realm of logic. Still, he managed to pull his thoughts from the vessel to concentrate on their conversation. “I fail to see where my decision could cause the Ragnarok. In fact, you’ve often told me that prophecies don’t just happen. The Cardinal Wizards have to make those prophecies occur. It seems to me that all that’s needed to avert Ragnarok is for the Wizards not to cause it.”

  Now, Shadimar returned his attention to the ship as well. “You of all people know it’s not that simple. There is no single being more powerful than Odin. Some would say that all other life together cannot equal him. Yet even he could not destroy chaos, only banish it to another realm. And his hold on it has weakened. You see that every day when vows give way to lies and men violate the laws of their countries. There was a time, Colbey, within your lifetime I believe, when falsehoods and treason did not exist at all.”

  “So what are you saying?” Colbey no longer needed to struggle to focus interest on Shadimar’s words. “That the Ragnarok is inevitable? That the world will lapse back into the primordial chaos, with or without us?”

  “I’m saying only that these are desperate times. It was predicted that the Great Destruction would occur during my time as a Cardinal Wizard. I now worry that it may come sooner rather than later.” Shadimar caught Colbey’s arm. As the Renshai turned, the Eastern Wizard met his gaze directly. The ancient gray eyes became earnest to the edge of desperation. “I’m not sure I can explain this in a way you can understand.”

  Colbey scowled. “Remember? I can spell ‘sword’ as well as I can use one.”

  The ship drifted closer. Shadimar sighed deeply, trapped by his own choice of words. To avoid an explanation now would offend Colbey. “Our ship is about to land.” He gestured around an outcropping toward a low, relatively accessible flat amid the fjords. “So forgive me if I keep my clarification brief and to the point.”

  Colbey resisted a smile. He could think of few things that would delight him more than a short, direct discussion with Shadimar, without the morals and Wizardly subtleties.

  “Law is the direct opponent of chaos. If we work within the tenets of law to bring the Ragnarok, our efforts could do exactly the opposite. If, however, we turn against Odin’s laws and break our Wizards’ vows in order to avert the Ragnarok, we are virtually guaranteed to cause it.” Without bothering to explain further, Shadimar motioned to Secodon and headed for the docking site. “When the time comes, I hope we will all have the sense and competence to choose our actions wisely. Quite literally, t
he world and everything in it will lie in our hands.”

  Colbey’s gaze traced the rain squalls stalking the horizon, and the idea of sea travel seemed as illogical as the tiny ship’s movement across a windless ocean. The Eastern Wizard’s words sat in his mind like lead, unpondered. Too many questions remained unanswered for him to make decisions of such earth-shattering proportions, so he left the idea to lie idle for the moment. Decades on the battlefield had forced his gravest decisions to be made in an instant. When the time came, he trusted his own instincts. But he and the Renshai as a tribe had suffered from misinterpretations by Trilless, Carcophan, and Shadimar. Though he felt embarrassed to the point of sacrilege to place his judgment and knowledge over that of Cardinal Wizards centuries old, experience told him to believe in himself rather than them. He followed Shadimar to the cliffs leading down to the flatter lowland of the shore.

  Shadimar climbed gingerly down the rock face, choosing each hand- and toehold with patient care. “You should know our captain is an outworlder.”

  Colbey waited at the peak with Secodon, seeing no reason to crowd the Eastern Wizard. The ship had drawn close enough for him to see the carved dolphin on its prow and to read the name, Sea Seraph, written in the Western trading tongue on the bow. “What’s an outworlder?”

  “A creature of Faery.” Shadimar clambered the last short distance to the plain.

  Secodon looked at Colbey. The old Renshai gestured for the wolf to go first. “Like an elf?” Even the most pious priest that Colbey had known believed in elves only as cute mythology to draw children to their religious studies. The irony of discovering the tales to be fact, after the shock that had shaken the more deeply rooted foundations of his faith, did not escape Colbey. He loosed a bitter laugh, gaze channeling naturally on the tall, slender figure at the tiller. From a distance, the sailor held the appearance of a gawky teenager. “You’re joking, right?”

  Secodon leapt from the jagged peak of the fjord to the stone beside Shadimar. The Eastern Wizard raised a hand in greeting to the approaching ship. “Not at all. Elves are real. Like chaos, they exist on another plane or world. Captain’s probably the only elf you’ll ever meet. He’s navigated these waters for centuries, at least, carrying the Cardinal Wizards to the Meeting Isle. There’s no other way that I know of to get there.”