by Katy Winter
"Ah, flower, in good time. We are hungry." Quickly, Bethel moved forward as habit dictated, setting platters out upon the table and serving each man in turn, always the warlord first. "How is your leg this evening, Sorien?"
"Well-nigh healed, my lord," responded Bethel, catching an amused glance from Sarssen at the acceptance of his new name; he lowered his head promptly, his lower lip caught hard between his teeth.
"Have you been in any more scraps, little petal?" Bethel shook his head as he refilled each goblet and spread a napkin out for Lodestok.
"No, my lord."
"So Bensar is making sure all his beduar are well blooded before the major battle. Sensible of him," mused Lodestok.
Bethel sat back on his mat while the two men ate, hearing bits of a conversation that centred on the lack of information from the south and the west. Untroubled by it, Bethel began to play the estibe. Finished his repast, the warlord stretched himself out comfortably but let the youth continue playing.
"Well, Losaren," he began quietly, his gaze dwelling contemplatively on the young man in front of him. "I have asked you here both as tempkar and as my son." Sarssen bowed his head respectfully.
"My lord and father," he replied, without a tremor in the smooth modulated voice. Lodestok's gaze travelled to Bethel.
"Younger son has done well."
"Yes, my lord, he has. He is certainly worthy of you as your second son." A flicker of emotion touched the warlord's face as he continued to stare at the bent dark head.
"He is fully acknowledged as my warrior son, Losaren. You should know that."
Sarssen carefully drank from the goblet as he waited. Lodestok transferred his icy look back to Sarssen.
"I would seek your comment, my son." Sarssen met the eyes briefly, then quietly stared down into his goblet.
"Father," he responded dutifully.
"There has been no contact from the men sent west and south, Losaren. The west and north does not concern me. What does this suggest to you?"
"As your elite warriors have said, my lord, it seems all may not be as you would wish," came the tactful reply.
"So you think something may have gone wrong, my son?"
"Not wrong," temporised Sarssen, on a murmur. "But that something is amiss is apparent, because I cannot believe Haskar Menk would not have reported to you by now." Lodestok drank deeply, noticed Bethel had paused in his playing and looked down at him.
"Get yourself food, younger son, then continue playing."
Bethel was on his feet immediately, his eyes going speculatively from the warlord to the warrior and then back again, before he crossed the pavilion to help himself. Quickly he retreated to his mat with a full plate and goblet in hand. Lodestok drank again. He was thoughtful and silent for some time.
"Then the matter of Menk has to be attended to, has it not?" he said finally, fidgeting with his goblet.
"Yes, my lord," agreed Sarssen, "but where, to the west or the south?"
"We shall swing westward to the land of the little people after the major battles, Losaren, so I have no concerns Esok would have failed in the mission he was sent to accomplish. It is Menk and his men I ponder over. Esok will undoubtedly follow us after he swings north, briefly, into the Shadowlands and then south again, driving slaves and supplies in front of him. It is Menk who has come across some problem, of that I am sure. I do not like unresolved problems."
"Who would be most appropriate to send south to seek him, my lord?" A cold smile lit the pale blue eyes.
"Sensible observation, son," Lodestok commented. "That begs the question of who should go."
"A senior warrior, my lord?" The warlord's eyes glittered at Sarssen.
"Why must it be a senior warrior, son?"
"If Haskar Menk has run into difficulty, my lord, he would appreciate assistance from another of his status."
"True, son, true," came the soft voice. "But you have observed the northern army, have you not?" Sarssen nodded.
"Yes, my lord."
"And your impression is?" Sarssen thought carefully before he spoke.
"They are well organised and disciplined, my lord." The voice got softer still.
"Would you say they are formidable, my son?" Sarssen felt himself on treacherous ground and became deeply thoughtful. Lodestok easily read the younger man's face and added a touch maliciously, "Come, boy, do not keep me waiting." Sarssen met the arctic eyes squarely.
"Yes, my lord, I would, but not superior to us." Lodestok's eyes gleamed approvingly.
"You were born to be an advocate, were you not, my son?" Sarssen smiled and bowed his head.
"Perhaps, Father."
The warlord studied his goblet, drained it, then turned to Bethel who was just washing down a last mouthful of cake. Lodestok clicked his fingers peremptorily.
"Sorien, more wine, then play again." Bethel hastily complied. Lodestok watched the wine in his goblet moodily.
"It will be an even battle when it comes, will it not, Losaren?"
"Yes, my lord, it will."
"So I cannot send a haskar south. I need all senior warriors here." Since Lodestok had made a statement, Sarssen did not feel obliged to respond. He waited. "A beduar such as the boy's friend Luth, or Manas, could have gone, but they lack authority though they are good warriors." The warlord got restlessly to his feet, goblet in hand, and began to stride up and down the pavilion in his usual way. Bethel was so absorbed in his music, he didn't notice.
"It comes to who can offer the most help to Menk, my lord," said Sarssen quietly. Lodestok swirled round to face Sarssen.
"Yes, son, that is exactly what it comes to. Who can we send who will not be needed on the field, but can represent my authority?"
As Lodestok spoke, his eyes came to rest on Bethel. When he looked up with a smile of triumph, he met Sarssen's surprised expression.
"My lord?" Sarssen's eyes followed the warlord's, to settle once more on Bethel.
"My son," murmured Lodestok. "He represents my authority, does he not, Losaren?"
Sarssen was briefly caught off balance, but he replied with remarkable composure.
"Yes, my lord, he does."
"And Sorien is my second son and is also warrior ranked as a beduar. He is also non-Churchik so would be seen as less of -," the warlord paused, "- a threat."
"Yes, my lord."
"And he is not essential in the field, is he?" Drinking deeply, Sarssen shook his head. "How would he deal with representing me?"
"If Haskar Bensar is to be believed, Father, the boy has an authority all his own. He would cope well if that was your wish." Sarssen spoke deliberately, his glance resting on Bethel as if a thought had just occurred to him.
"So," said the warlord contemplatively. He looked thoughtful. "He could not go alone. He will need someone I trust implicitly to guide him," he said, after a long and reflective pause.
"That, my lord, brings us back to the need for a senior warrior," commented Sarssen, half-listening to a most soothing piece Bethel played.
"Such as Unhar perhaps?" suggested Lodestok, pursing his lips. "How would the boy respond to Tempkar Unhar, son?"
Sarssen replied cautiously, "It might make it difficult for Sorien, my lord." Lodestok looked from Bethel to Sarssen with a raised eyebrow.
"Explain yourself, Losaren," he invited, a hint of menace in the cold voice.
"There are some, my lord, who serve you, who have a very decided preference for my pretty younger brother." Swift understanding showed in Lodestok's pale eyes. Looking down at Bethel he spoke silkily.
"That limits many, does it not? The boy is unavailable, my son, you know that. So do all others."
"Yes, Father, I do," responded Sarssen coolly, "but the boy is only a beduar and must obey a senior warrior." He added gently, "In everything, my lord. And he will be alone with only the warrior for company." Lodestok met the dark green eyes with complete comprehension.
"I shall miss him damnably as it is, my son, without th
at sort of anxiety. What do you suggest?" Sarssen stroked at his short beard to find the warlord watching with grim amusement. Sarssen grinned across at him.
"I keep expecting it to be long, my lord," he explained. "I wish it would grow."
"It will, Losaren, it will," came the half-chuckle. "I await your suggestion, my son."
Sarssen did a rapid mental review that came up with very few appropriately ranked warriors who wouldn't be attracted to, or tempted by, Bethel. He then thought of Kher.
"Unless, my lord, Haskar Kher is to join us. Does he not have acedars or tempkars with him?"
"He should be here now," growled Lodestok into his goblet. "Yes, son, one of his men would be our best option, damn him. Han or Emil would be excellent – so would Lus or Abek." He stared down at Bethel again. "The boy looks a mere child without a full-grown beard," he observed. "Sending two sons may be a risk, Losaren, and I would not want him or you to go alone especially as Churchik warriors would be open to attack, so that is how it will have to be. Joric will take over the archery division until your return." He saw Sarssen's expression. "Oh, you would make a good account of yourself, elder son, no doubt of that, but that is not the objective at this time. I believe Sorien will be the messenger. You will be the guide. The boy respects you and will obey you even though he represents me. You will see my wishes are carried out. I am irritated, Losaren. You are our best archer." Sarssen bent his head.
"If this is your wish, Father." Lodestok gave a curt nod.
"You will travel south, find out how Menk fares and return immediately before early winter with him and his men. I expect we shall consider a move at that point. You will ride very hard, son." Sarssen stood stretching his arms.
"When do you wish us to go, Father?"
"You will leave midsun tomorrow."
"As you will, Father." The warlord looked up at the warrior.
"Leave us, my son. I have a wish to be alone with the boy. Report early for your orders and make sure all is in readiness for Sorien. He will have no time before he leaves to do anything for himself. He remains with me till morning."
Sarssen bowed, then moved swiftly from the pavilion. Lodestok raised his voice to be heard above the music.
"Enough music, my little flower. Get us both wine. I would enjoy your company."
~~~
Bethel came to the next morning languidly stretching and yawning. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised and not a little nervous to see the warlord sat propped up by cushions, his icy gaze rested on him. He gave a little shiver and pulled a fur further round him before hauling himself up onto one elbow.
"My lord, I did not mean to oversleep," he stammered.
"You did not, boy," interrupted the cool voice. "I woke earlier than usual. Are you fully rested after last evening?" Bethel blushed. Lodestok put a large hand to the young head.
"Yes, my lord," whispered Bethel. Bethel missed the smile that touched the stern mouth.
"You have a long day ahead of you, Sorien." The warlord caught the faint sigh. "Not in the field, flower. I have other plans for you." He watched the dark head lift, the large eyes full of curiosity.
"My lord?" Lodestok pulled Bethel down beside him, an arm strongly encircling him.
"You, Sorien, are to accompany your brother south to join Menk. It will be a very brief visit, boy, then you will both return to me. You will be gone for possibly a season at the most, hopefully less, but certainly no more. Though you are the younger son, it is you who will represent my authority - do you understand?" Bethel nodded because he was unable to speak. His head was sharply tilted so he had to meet the warlord's stare. "You will return to me, petal, will you not?"
"Yes, my lord," whispered Bethel, through dry lips that he began to lick.
"You will remember who owns you, will you not, my son?" The grip on his chin hurt Bethel but he stayed motionless, mesmerised by the pale orbs that held his.
"Yes, my lord," he repeated.
"You would not attempt to do anything stupid, my son, knowing the complete trust I vest in you?" The grip tightened until Bethel's lips parted with pain.
"No," he managed.
"Because," and now the grip nearly broke Bethel's jaw, "that would anger me."
"I will not," gasped Bethel. "I swear to you I will come back, my lord."
"No, petal," said the silky voice. "You will not swear to it. You will promise me, as my son, you will return to me as soon as you are able." Lodestok released the chin.
"My lord," Bethel whispered huskily. Lodestok studied the dark head.
"Your estibe awaits your return, Sorien." The warlord paused, then said very gently, "Promise me as your father, flower."
"I promise you, Father, as your son."
Bethel felt his head lifted again. He looked into the face of the man who'd controlled every part of him for cycles and the eyes dominated him now as none would ever do again for the rest of his life.
"Then that, son, is all I ask of you, is it not?"
"Yes, Father," whispered Bethel.
Lodestok's eyes scanned the very young face and he was satisfied. He bent his head to Bethel who yielded immediately, the warlord very, very gentle.
~~~
By midsun, Bethel and Sarssen sat astride their stallions outside the warlord's pavilion where they'd been intensively instructed prior to being dismissed. Bethel wore a seal that hung from a chain about his neck, while both warriors carried sealed letters tucked inside their cloaks. Bethel shivered when he and Sarssen received the curt nod to signify their audience with the warlord was over and he followed the warrior's example by kneeing his horse forward.
Jane waited at Bethel's unsel, his eyes rather red-rimmed Sarssen noticed. Jane gripped Bethel's hands after the youth dismounted, his eyes scanning the pale young face at the same time as Lute leapt up and down in a frenzy of delight as he usually did. Bethel grasped Jane's hands in one of his, his other responding to the dog's ecstatic welcome.
"Young one," growled Jane, his eyes again watery. "Take care of yourself, you hear. We'll miss you and anxiously await your return. We know you'll come back, boy."
When Bethel looked down at the older man, he read love in grey eyes that stared up into his. His voice breaking, he flung his arms about Jane.
"I promise to come back, Jane." He hugged the older man before stepping back. "Just remember what you mean to me."
"Aye, lad, and you remember there are folk here who care for you and all."
Bethel turned to Mishak who'd just finished tying Bethel's gear to the stallion. Mishak looked back at Bethel uncertainly.
"My lord," he said shyly. Bethel crossed to him and put an affectionate arm about him.
"You are a good boy, Mishak. Obey Jane, in all things." Mishak sniffed and nodded. "And especially look after Lute for me, Mishak. Promise me you will do that. He will miss me very much."
"I'll care for him as you would wish, my lord," said the gruff young voice. Mishak's voice began to break with the onset of maturity. Bethel patted the boy's shoulder, then turned again to Jane.
"Care for Lute for me, Jane. I love that dog."
"I know you do, lad," responded Jane, with a smile. "He'll be here, healthy, waiting for you."
"We'll all care for him, Beduar," said a voice behind Bethel. He swung round to see Kel standing there, a grin on his face as he held out his hand. "Fair travelling, young one, and come back to your men soon." Bethel clasped the hand, before he knelt to hug the shaggy dog.
"Come, boy," said Sarssen. "On your horse. It is time and more we were away.
Reluctantly Bethel rose, mounted and held down his hand to Jane even as the warrior turned his horse. He saw Mishak take a firm grip on Lute as he let go Jane's hand and heard the desperate yelp.
CHAPTER TEN
Their ride was easy and pleasant in the late spring of northern Ambros. Though they didn't waste time, the pace Sarssen set wasn't too demanding so there was ample time for the riders to fully appreciate the de
lls and greenwoods they cantered through. Growth was lush, trees leafed and there were flowers in tumbling profusion everywhere. The days were warm and if Bethel felt the evening chill he didn't mention it. Sarssen thought he'd never seen the youth as relaxed and happy as he was over these days. The young shoulders untensed. Laughter bubbled from Bethel in response to the warrior's gentle teasing.
Night after night they camped in the woods, where Bethel cooked and Sarssen attended to the horses. Meals were tasty. After eating they lounged back, comfortably replete, their eyes gazing up through leafing canopy to a light and cloudless sky. Darkness came late to Ambros, in the north, in spring and summer.
Sometimes of an evening Bethel wandered to a stream or river where he squatted, as he did as a boy in company with his sister, his velvet, dreamy eyes watching the water as it flowed. He hunkered in silence, drawn. He found it restful and it made him feel at peace. Occasionally Sarssen joined him, but mostly Bethel was alone. Sarssen followed him once, to draw up still at the sight of the youth crouched low by the water, tears dripping from his cheeks he was completely unaware of. The warrior knew Bethel had gone back in time and respected the youth's need for privacy. Noiselessly, he walked away.
Other nights Bethel returned to camp with his hands full of spring flowers that he held out to Sarssen with his gentle smile. Obligingly Sarssen decked the horses with the blooms the following morning. Bethel found herbs, too, that he experimented with in cooking, and, since it was unusual for him to include anything that upset their stomachs, Sarssen never complained. He was easy to please.
Sarssen encouraged Bethel to play the pipes he managed to procure from the musicians before they left camp; he'd been unable to get an estibe but Bethel was delighted with the pipes and played them with alacrity as they rode. The horses didn't seem to mind, their ears merely flickering.
So time passed. Sarssen was profoundly content for the first time in his life that he could remember and Bethel felt freedom from a crushing burden that always seemed to have been part of his life. Away from the warlord's incessant, and now infrequently violent, demands, he blossomed. He revelled in this new freedom.
They reached the Kyaran forest by the end of spring and made good time through it, coming out into the open land within a couple of days. They'd seen no one, not even distant patrols. They rode companionably, alone other than for the birds and wildlife about them. They found they'd left Kyaran soil by the time the forest was behind them, the land they now rode across, in a south-westerly direction, unattractive by comparison.