by Katy Winter
"Then this evening you will make no error when I test your skills, will you?"
"No," came the toneless reply.
"You'll learn again, my young apprentice slave, that my chastisements for failure are no less painful than before. Leave!"
Luton abased himself before he left the pavilion. He saw Bethel from a distance and swerved to avoid contact. Kher saw the movement and sighed.
~~~
Sarehl's meeting with the old mage came after the northern army began the north-westward push to the Chasa Mountains. Nor was it quite what Ensore expected. Bene had joined him after they'd all eaten a sketchy meal, no one especially hungry after the last day, the only one with any appetite being Daxel who still ate huge meals and was invariably hungry shortly afterwards.
Daxel and the young Kyaran prince had drifted away, Kaleb had disappeared some time since, Kalor and Ongwin had gone to inspect a horse brought by Maren and Sarehl was with Kasan. Bene came over to where Ensore lounged out on the grass under a small spinney of trees, where he enjoyed the last of the very late sun. Bene sank heavily beside him.
Sarehl left Kasan to rest and stood at the fringe of the trees. He idly squinted into the sun, realised Ensore wasn't alone and wondered who the white-haired individual could be. He was greeted affably by the Marshal who invited him to join them, so, cheerfully Sarehl crossed the grass to ease himself down close to Ensore.
When he turned his head to study the man who sat pensively leaning against a tree trunk, Sarehl's eyes met those of someone he'd believed lost to him forever. They were the eyes of someone dear to him, Sarehl the one survivor of Ortok who escaped Autoc's careful erasure of the memory of Bene. Ensore expected an immediate reaction. There was none. Sarehl's mind went momentarily completely blank. In one way he felt numb. In another he was a child back in Ortok with this man and his mother and father. Terrifying paralysis gripped and held him almost breathless. It was only when Bene spoke that Sarehl could give a strangled gasp.
"Well, lad, you've grown into the image of your father, haven't you? Alfar would be very proud of his eldest son."
"Bene!" uttered Sarehl. "Bene!"
The emotion was too much for him. He rolled onto his stomach, his head buried in his arms. Ensore said and did nothing. He just watched intrigued. Bene stiffly rose, limped across to Sarehl to kneel slowly and painfully beside him, and ran his hand through the dark curls as he did for a little boy for eight cycles of that child's life. Sarehl shook but couldn't weep though he felt inside he tore apart. The hand caressing his head seemed to calm him because, after a few minutes, he rolled onto an elbow, his eyes shyly meeting Bene's.
The mage held the look, absorbing the younger man effortlessly so he could briefly read for himself what happened to Sarehl from the time the mage left Ortok after Myme Chlo's birth. He read the scene shown him by the Unseen Ones on Yarilo. It was even worse in reality. Ensore saw his expressions change at bewildering speed, one minute hardening with anger and grief at Sarehl's experiences with the Churchik and the loss of his mate and children, then appreciation showing in the half-smile as Bene read what Sarehl knew and suspected. Sarehl was open and Bene read him quickly, a hand still running carelessly over the dusky curls.
"Ah, lad," he murmured to himself, his eyes breaking the contact and fleetingly, even mockingly, resting on Ensore.
As Ensore curiously watched the twosome he knew intuitively that the mage was related to Sarehl. He couldn't explain how he knew. It was just so clear from seeing them together for the first time, because Sarehl was how a young mage would've been and the Marshal saw an older Sarehl in the mage. He was positive he was right. When he saw the look in Bene's eyes, he knew he was. Bene nodded approvingly at Ensore who smiled amiably back.
"Well done, Chamah. How long's it taken for you to realise that?"
"A while, mage, a while," admitted Ensore.
Sarehl stared at Bene, then gave a deep yawn, a hand going across his eyes.
"Mage?" he asked half disbelievingly. "Is that it, Bene? Are you a mage?"
"Yes, Sar, I'm a mage."
"Was Mam a mage as well, that you were with her?"
"No, though perhaps under other circumstances she might've been. Only the gods know that."
"Why were you with her?"
"There were reasons, lad. Leave it at that."
"An oddity your mother, Sarehl," observed Ensore placidly. He turned his head to Bene. "Would you agree?"
"Perhaps," was the curt response.
"Now why would a mage stay in a place like Ortok?" murmured Ensore provocatively. He got a very searching stare at that.
"It was a centre of learning," Bene said defensively.
"Mam," said Sarehl suddenly. "Mam was an orphan, Bene, brought for some reason to Ortok and then suddenly you appeared. Were you there to protect her in some way?" Ensore thought Bene looked both uncomfortable and distinctly forbidding.
The mage's eyes clouded briefly before he snapped, "Yes, Sar, that's why I was there."
"What was so unusual about her?"
"Her birth," was the bald response.
Sarehl kept a watchful eye on the old man, his stare disconcertingly acute. Seeing it, Bene knew he'd not misread this young one cycles before. He realised that Elbe, even with such a fleeting stay in Ortok, would've read Sarehl's powerful potential at once however young the boy was. No wonder, Bene thought savagely, the mage made it clear Sarehl was to die. The mage intended to leave nothing to chance, though Bene doubted Elbe could've known what sort of threat to his plans the child constituted. Still, he'd been aware enough to order the death.
"And the scholar?" asked Sarehl, then he coughed.
"He can speak for himself."
"Is he a mage, too?"
"Yes."
"Ah!" said Ensore, with satisfied comprehension. He got something of a baleful stare from Bene. Sarehl sat upright with a faint sigh.
"Why did you leave us?" There was sad longing in the deep voice.
"My time had come, Sar. It was time for me to leave and another to take my place. Mages go where they must."
"Did he come to protect Mam as you tried to do? Or was it to protect Myme Chlo?" There was no answer. "It was for my little sister, wasn't it?" whispered Sarehl, a hand now at his scar. Still Bene stayed silent, his face sad and sombre. "Dear gods," mumbled Sarehl into the sudden silence. "Your protection of Mam faltered for some reason, Bene, didn't it, because the day after you left a stranger came. Who was he?" A surge of power enhanced Bene's outline and the violet eyes spat fire.
"You'd have been a scholar, lad. You were taught your histories at the Academy of the Ancients. Who do you think he was?"
"No!" whispered Sarehl, in horrified comprehension. "No, Bene, no! It could only be another mage, couldn't it? Someone who thought to do harm by his actions."
"You've read your ancient scripts, boy. Who do you think he was?"
"No!" gasped Sarehl. "We're only ordinary beings on Ambros. What could a mage want with my mother?"
"If our southern ancients were correct," began Ensore, in a conversational tone, "and the manuscripts haven't been tampered with, there was a rogue mage who created chaos on Ambros but was considered rendered harmless. He answered to several names as I recall, Malos, Malek, Elbethan, Elbahkin and Malekim. Am I right, mage?"
Bene nodded but his eyes were fixed to Sarehl who sat absolutely still, dawning horror and revulsion drenching his dark eyes. He was quite white. The mage made no answer, merely waiting for Sarehl to respond. When Sarehl did, his voice was pitifully unsteady.
"Gods, Bene, are you telling me the stranger who raped Mam so callously was a mage like yourself?"
"That's so," came the measured reply.
"And was that mage the one of whom Ensore speaks? Pity me, Bene, and tell me it's not so."
"It is so."
"Didn't you know what he'd try to do? Don't mages know these things?"
"No, they don't. I only knew that he'd react but no on
e other than the gods could know how or when, if at all. We hoped he wouldn't harm again."
"When you left that time after Bethel was born, didn't you sense something?"
"Yes, Sar, but there was nothing I could do because I couldn't anticipate." Bene flinched at the anguish in the younger man's voice and now stared at the ground. "Mages go when they are called, for whatever reason."
"Elbethan," murmured Sarehl. "Elbe! Ah the gods, Bene, he even used his own name!"
"Always arrogant," mumbled Bene into his beard.
"He wasn't rendered harmless, was he?" asked Ensore, his eyes drawn to the grief he saw on his friend's face.
The mage shook his head, his glance at Sarehl brief. Sarehl bent his head to his knees. There was silence about them that was deafening. Ensore prayed for a bird to sing as the sun began to set, but there was nothing. It was Sarehl who broke the silence, his voice scarcely under control.
"Why our mother, Bene? Why not any other woman? What was it about her that -?" Sarehl broke off, his cheeks the colour of chalk as he stared blindly at the mage who now stood, his back partly to Ensore. "The eyes," he whispered brokenly. "Oh the gods, the eyes! Why didn't I see this before? Was our mother your daughter - is this possible?"
Still Bene didn't respond. Sarehl struggled to his feet, his dark eyes flashing with a fury Ensore had never witnessed before. It seemed to consume the tall man.
"Speak to me, damn you, whoever you are!" Sarehl stormed, his voice now shaking with raging passion that made his whole body tremble. "Tell me to my face that you let your daughter, our mother, suffer as she did. And tell me, mage if you are one, that our little sister is born of one steeped in evil, thought to be dead. Gods, man, speak to me! If you're being punished for some transgression then gods, so be it, but not us - not us in the name of the gods, no!"
Still Bene stood silent, his thin frame bent and his wild white hair all on end. He looked frail and crushed.
"Sarehl," began Ensore, rising with his hand out in a conciliatory gesture. His calm eyes met raging black ones.
"No!" snarled Sarehl, striding over to Bene. "If what I say is so, you've much to answer for, old man. Lute's gods knows where, apprenticed to a southern -." He stopped, gulped at the recognition of to whom Luton was apprenticed and ran a shaking hand across his scar. "Gods, he has Lute, hasn't he? No wonder the boy can't respond when this accursed mage has him. It's not Blach at all, is it? Bethel's -." Sarehl's voice broke. He stood next to Bene, not touching him. The fury was gone. "Why?" Sarehl whispered. "Can't you even tell me why? For the love of the gods, can't you pity us?"
Ensore had to step back when Bene swept round, now tall and straight, his violet eyes snapping with anger as great as Sarehl's. Sarehl stood beside him unflinching as he waited for what would come.
"You're as nothing," rasped Bene. "Do you understand that? In the scheme of things, you mean nothing. You're as a wisp of cloud that scuds across the skies of Ambros, yet you dare to question me and who I am? It's the Archmage of Yarilo that you question."
A sudden gust of wind swept about the two men, almost overbalancing Sarehl who stood still, teeth gritted and his hands clenched.
"You've brought suffering, old man," he said quietly, anger spent and his head bent in resignation. "I only ask you to tell me why. If nothing else I believe you owe us that much."
"I owe you nothing," spat Bene, his eyes flashing in exactly the way Sarehl's had. "How dare you judge me?"
Sarehl stood with his head in his hands and when he spoke it was in a whisper that Ensore had to strain to hear.
"I loved you as much as anyone in my life, Bene. I've been taught to accept what's happened to me and mine, but I can't ever accept what's been done to my brothers. Lute was a joy as a child though you never really knew him and Bethel -." Sarehl's voice shook. "The boy didn't deserve that, Bene, not what's been done to him."
Bene's eyes caught and held Sarehl's in a challenge. The aura of power about the tall thin frame was frightening enough to make Ensore draw in his breath at Sarehl's stubborn refusal to back down. He held out.
"You ask for my pity, do you?" asked Bene, his voice impassioned. "Then you have it, child, you have it. And you can know my deepest sorrow and regret, too. Does that satisfy you?"
The mage's wrath abated as rapidly as Sarehl's did. Ensore saw Sarehl in the old man and he imagined the mage was much like his greatson in his younger days, the likenesses heightened as they stood confronting one another. A smile crept into the Marshal's eyes as he watched the two of them stand in silence.
"Won't you both sit?" he asked quietly.
The pacific voice penetrated the turbulence in Sarehl's mind, making him almost drop to the ground, his knees drawn up as far as his injuries permitted and his arms hugged about them. He shivered in the warmth of the evening and there was a brooding expression in the still smouldering, dark eyes. Bene stood irresolute, then he glanced down at Sarehl before he again went painfully to his knees. He didn't touch Sarehl. When he spoke there was no acerbity of tone, just patient resignation and overwhelming pathos.
"May I touch you, lad, as I did for many cycles?" Sarehl lifted his head, his cheeks wet and his teeth chattering as he stammered.
"Are you our greatsire?" Bene met the fierce eyes, sorrow deep in his own. His hand touched Sarehl's shoulder and Ensore noticed Sarehl accepted the touch.
"Yes, Sar, Melas was my daughter. I never knew the growing children she bore other than you, lad, and that's always saddened me. You were much loved by me, Sar. I have few regrets, but the grief brought to you through me is one of them. I was shown an image of Bethel once, as a ten cycle boy, in the grip of a Churchik warrior, and another image of Lute in a slave caravan. The scenes are etched in my mind and will torment me until the day I'm allowed to die. I was shown you, too, Sar, a child I loved so very deeply." A shudder caught Sarehl and shook him. He couldn't speak. Bene's hand went from the shoulder to the head. "Forgive me, lad. Listen to me. Then you may presume to judge me."
The mage looked over at Ensore who held the glance, respect in his eyes as he nodded, then he left the small copse so quietly Sarehl didn't know he'd gone. Ensore sought out Kaleb. It wasn't easy to find a healer in a camp that was on the move and constantly so busy the Marshal felt everywhere he put his feet he was in someone's way. He found himself at the roughly assembled pavilions for the injured, outside them rows of bandaged fighters sitting or leaning against any sort of conveyance that helped their mobility. Each person was ready to be lifted for safe removal should the order suddenly come. There was little evidence of rest.
Ensore saw eyes dulled with pain or incipient fever as they met his, and, always he stopped if spoken to, and often it was he who halted to take a hand to thank a man for his efforts, or simply to offer words of comfort and hope. He saw responsive appreciation and gratitude. It should've warmed his heart. Instead it grieved him that men were brought to this. He saw worse injured inside one of the pavilions and stood pensively watching healers drift unobtrusively to and fro, ministering to the weak and dying as best they could.
Ensore asked quietly after Kaleb. He was told the healer had briefly gone to rest, the words uttered in deeply respectful tones that weren't missed by the Marshal. Quietly, he withdrew. He threaded his way back the way he'd come until he came to where he thought he remembered Kaleb had pitched his tent. It wasn't where he expected, so he pivoted uncertainly until he saw a small spinney with only four or five trees a little to his left.
They were spreading trees and it was under one of them that Kaleb was sprawled in an attitude of exhaustion. Ensore sat beside him, noticing how dark the rings were under the healer's eyes and how thin Kaleb had become over the last cycle. The man looked ill. Ensore stared long and hard at the prone figure, making no move that would waken the healer. He wasn't a fidgety man, but, even so, Kaleb sensed he was there and the clear eyes opened to gaze directly up into thoughtful grey ones. Kaleb yawned and stretched.
"Gods," he
mumbled muzzily. "How long have I slept?" Ensore shrugged.
"Not long enough by the look of you, my friend. I can't answer you because I've only just come." Ensore plucked grass and began to meditatively chew.
"You're troubled." Yawning again, Kaleb sat upright. "Tell me why."
Ensore obliged. Kaleb nodded every so often, interrupted to ask a question, but mostly he just sat still and quietly listened. When Ensore fell silent he let out his breath.
"Gods, Ensore. What are we facing, my friend?"
"We always suspected plans were deep laid, Kaleb. Now we know."
"So Sarehl and his siblings are greatchildren of a mage," said Kaleb, fascinated.
"Of one who calls himself Archmage of Yarilo," corrected Ensore carefully. "Let's not forget we're dealing with beings not thought to exist on Ambros, my friend, beings of inordinate power beyond our immediate understanding."
"Each greatchild is touched," commented the healer, running a hand through tousled hair that he tried to flatten into some sort of order.
"You weren't startled, Kaleb, when I mentioned a mage from antiquity who created chaos."
"Not especially," replied Kaleb evasively.
"Because you already knew who it was who had Lute, didn't you?" Kaleb looked sideways at the Marshal, then gave the hint of a smile.
"Ens, times are very difficult and my tasks at times seemed heavy burdens when I was left alone to carry them. Yes, I suspected it was no mere sorcerer who took Lute, and my awful fears that indeed we may be part of a scheme hatched by mages terrified me especially when they were confirmed by Dase."
"Dase?" demanded Ensore, turning his head sharply in alarm.
"Do you remember you sent the lad to Sarehl, when you took the army through a manoeuvre that took you close to the Churchik?"
"Of course, Dase spoke with you and you helped him in a way I couldn't. He was a different lad after that, my friend. Did I ever tell you so?"
"Yes you did. But that experience nearly tore Dase apart and I've had him deeply suppressed, enhanced by Leon, for that reason. When I melded with Dase, I was with him when he went through some of Lute's experience with his new master. Lute was sentient until that point. It was then Dase irreparably lost his twin." Kaleb paused. "I've spoken to you and Sarehl about it, and more thoroughly with Leon, because he -." The healer broke off.