by Katy Winter
"Because he's an Adept you can tell things to you're bound not to tell others. That's the Conclave way." Ensore spoke matter-of-factly, but he saw shock register on the healer's face.
"What have you been learning, my friend?"
"Much that brings considerable clarity to muddled thinking of the last cycles, Kaleb."
"I was advised not to express my fears to anyone. You've no idea what a terrible experience that was, Ensore, because I was totally unprepared for the cruelty and callousness I was exposed to. Lute's being was shredded with such utter contempt." Kaleb's voice shook. "To do what the mage did to that boy passed the bounds of evil. He unmade a living being. I could sense nothing after the boy curled himself up in an agonised attempt to save himself from the onslaught. Dase once said he'd have fought - that boy did, Ens, with every ounce of mental strength he had. And it was mocked and torn away. Gods!" Rarely had Ensore seen tears fill the clear eyes as they did now. Instinctively he leaned across to Kaleb and put his arm about the healer.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry for Lute, for Dase, and for you, Kaleb."
Kaleb shook his head, saying in a cracking voice, "Reserve your pity for that boy, Ens. I sense he's not been drained of his essence so he can be used as Lian was, nor has he been treated as Alfar was: instead he's blocked. How much of the Lute that lived in Ortok has survived intact we can't know. The young man he may have been may never resurface. Lute may survive whole or mentally impaired from all the abuse he's been subjected to. He may well die in his master's service."
"Not if Kher can help it, I think," suggested Ensore. "That boy's not without friends." Kaleb sniffed and brushed at his eyes.
"What are you saying?"
"After Leon spoke with Sarehl about Bethel the night the boy was injured, he came to me. He didn't wish to discuss Lute with Sarehl in the early hours of the morning when battle was to resume, nor did he wish to aggravate Sarehl's very real distress. So listen, my friend."
"So Malekim's here," said Kaleb, after Ensore outlined his conversation with the Adept. "Leon didn't say so in words but I suspected it was so, especially after he told me Sarssen's powers are so reduced as to make him only capable of receiving basic calls at a short distance."
"Are they?" asked Ensore, fascinated. "Who did that to him and why?" Kaleb shrugged.
"We've no idea. We thought it could be Malekim but of course it wouldn't be - he'd use Sarssen's prodigious talent, not destroy it. He'd redirect it back at the surviving members of the Conclave at anger any of us survived. He doesn't yet know the Conclave's reactivated and gods forbid that he does until the appropriate time. We're not yet ready ."
"For what?"
"For what he'll try to do. Don't forget Dase is vulnerable to that mage through Lute, Ens. We haven't forgotten."
"No," whispered Ensore paling instantly, an anxious look coming to his face.
"I wonder if this Bene has anything to do with Sarssen?" pondered Kaleb thoughtfully.
"You could ask him, since doubtless you're anxious to meet him."
"I am," admitted Kaleb frankly. "Ensore, things are complicated, aren't they? We have two mages, the daughter of one violated by the other. The result is the birth of Sarehl's little sister. It doesn't explain the scholar who was clearly another mage, nor does it explain why Sarehl was so badly hurt, or why Lute was taken. I suspect Bethel was an unexpected player, his being found by Lodestok..." The healer's voice drifted to a halt uncertainly. "No, maybe it wasn't coincidence at all. My friend, are we simply looking at two powerful mages who hate each other, the one taking revenge against the other?" That brought an amused smile to a face that had been looking very tense. Ensore's eyes lit up.
"No, Kaleb, sadly I think there's a much deeper and sinister design behind all this. For one thing, we have a mage's daughter who becomes the unthinkable, an Ice dragon. For another, we have a mage allied with a warlord whose sole intention has been to take over and dominate a whole world. He's been encouraged, maybe even pushed, to do this. For what purpose? Is it being fanciful if one wonders if it is the destruction of Ambros someone seeks? They, or he, are very close to success if you think of the state of Ambros today - it's in chaos.
And we have this same southern mage who rapaciously seeks his daughter for whatever reason, even planning her seizure cycles before the warlord came north. We can only wonder if Lodestok is indeed a tool, admittedly a very clever and dangerous one, but, who knows? No, Kaleb, we're not dealing with a mage family feud." Ensore paused to stare up at a rapidly darkening sky. "Do you believe in the gods, Kaleb?" The healer looked startled in the twilight and thought carefully before he spoke.
"The Conclave has always revered them, dear man, one in particular who was said, so our scrolls and documents tell us, to have been our somewhat erratic patron in ancient times. If you believe those very old texts, Ensore, you believe in beings not of this plane, though I think all beings may once have had their source here." Ensore sighed heavily, his fingers twisting a large blue-stoned ring on his left hand. He spoke slowly.
"Where one mage has arrived, surely comes the other."
"Inevitably," agreed Kaleb uneasily, rubbing his eyes then his beard.
"This makes me most uncomfortable," confessed Ensore, his eyes still on his ring.
"And Sarehl, my friend?" Kaleb saw the flash of a smile.
"I didn't know our friend had such rage within, because he's such a gentle man. It truly amazed me."
"He's struggled for so long to understand," said Kaleb consideringly. "He's also had most of what he holds dear torn from him, debased, tortured, whatever. No wonder he blazed at the very one he may well hold accountable for his and his family's agony, even if Bene isn't responsible. I imagine something snapped inside. It can happen and with the most unexpected people. Are they very alike?"
Ensore rose, saying invitingly, "You'll see for yourself. We shall take a turn about the eastern perimeter of the camp and then go back. That should give them time to be together and to talk." Kaleb laughed and took the hand held down to pull him to his feet.
"It'll be odd to see a mental picture of someone become a reality," he observed, dusting himself down.
"I guess," agreed the Marshal, linking arms with the healer. "Why," he asked as they began to wend their way slowly, "is your tent not here?"
"I had it put up near the injured," explained Kaleb. "I just came down here so I could rest in peace."
When they reached Sarehl's command pavilion they found the lanterns turned high and Bene and Sarehl standing quietly, both outlined in profile, though Bene looked more stooped than ever. He had his arm draped affectionately round the younger man who, when he turned his head, was sombre-faced, his eyes full of emotion. Kaleb was instantly struck by the similarity between the two men. It was unmistakeable now he saw them together in this way. Bene released Sarehl and came forward, his eyes keen.
"You must be the healer Kaleb, aren't you?" Kaleb nodded. "Then I have much to be grateful to you for, since it was you who saved my greatson. To do that and to have him as he is today is a tribute to both you and the Chamah. Bethel will know of your care one day, too. I'll not forget."
"Nonsense, mage," remonstrated Ensore, striding forward. "Sarehl's a dear friend who's more than paid back any imaginary debt you may feel exists. It's he who's brought those of conquered Ambros this far. You must believe that, mage, because it's true. Without Sarehl, we'd still be small groups trying ineffectually to control a military machine that's been running wild over Ambros for cycles. Now we confront him on equal terms and much of that's down to your greatson."
"Yes," agreed Kaleb quietly, noticing Sarehl's discomfiture and shake of the head. "We've done much, Sarehl, in our own ways, but it's you who've been the instigator, the guide, the organiser and the inspiration. Ensore's quite right." Bene glanced back at Sarehl.
"I think what you say is so. It gives me pride, Sarehl boy."
Sarehl bent his head like an embarrassed boy. It
brought a faint chuckle from the mage who caressed his greatson's cheek before he left the pavilion.
"Sire," Sarehl murmured, his mellow voice chastened and the dark troubled eyes following the old man until he disappeared. Then he stood quite still, unwilling to speak.
"Sarehl, nothing changes, lad, just because you've discovered a greatsire," said Kaleb bracingly. He heard a faint sigh.
"But it does alter things," whispered Sarehl. Ensore was disturbed to see a tear run across a cheek into the silky beard.
"No, Sarehl," he protested, striding over to his friend and holding him. "No, dear friend, this won't do and it's unlike you. I realise things have come as a shock on top of the battles, but whatever you've learned that so distresses you mustn't be kept in. Tell us why your heart's so heavy." Sarehl gestured to the outside with a wave of a slender hand. He didn't respond to Ensore's touch.
"Our family's caused this agony that confronts Ambros. Ah the gods, Ens, it was better none of us was born. Especially our mother." As he spoke, Sarehl sank painfully to his knees where he wavered precariously, because he kept forgetting his injuries. He slumped to one side. Ensore dropped with him.
"You can't think this way, Sarehl," he scolded gently. "Why should Bene being your greatsire bring you such grief? You say he's dearly loved, so surely this reunion should bring you joy."
"You don't understand," whispered Sarehl reluctantly, a hand going to his eyes in a markedly weary manner. Kaleb crossed to the twosome, his hand held down.
"Take my hand, Sarehl, so you can get up and be comfortably seated. You're causing yourself much unnecessary pain squatting in that way." Like a child Sarehl meekly took the hand, wincing when he managed to straighten then hobble to a chair. "Sit!" he was told. "Ens, do get this silly fellow wine."
"With pleasure," responded Ensore, a faint amused quiver in his voice. He'd not seen Kaleb so stern with Sarehl for cycles. Pouring the wine, he kept a wary eye on the healer but his glance flickered to Sarehl every so often.
"Now," said Kaleb calmly, after they all held goblets and Ensore was comfortably disposed. "Tell us what you've been told, Sarehl." Sarehl blinked at him, drank, and sighed.
"A mage," he muttered, through partly clenched teeth, "doesn't mate with other than his own."
"His own what?" asked Ensore reasonably.
"His own kind."
"So? Your greatsire mated with one of his own kind, didn't he?" Sarehl's eyes met his.
"Not exactly," he mumbled. He saw the incredulous lift to the Marshal's eyebrows and hurried on. "I don't entirely understand, but Bene transgressed in some way by breaking what was an accepted code regarding species. It's been an accepted belief for many aeons, for some reason I don't understand. You stay with your own kind."
"Ah!" said Kaleb intelligently. "There's been no interspecies matings for a very long time. Most species, other than our own and others such as the Gnosti, no longer inhabit Ambros."
"You've never mentioned any of them before," said Ensore with surprise. "Does the Conclave acknowledge these people as existing?"
"It would be foolish not to, my friend."
"Where do the others live then?" asked Sarehl, briefly diverted. "My greatsire spoke of Yarilo but he's had little time to explain. I know from study that Yarilo isn't here on Ambros."
"That, Sarehl, enters the realms of speculation," teased Kaleb gently. "If Bene didn't mate with another mage, who did he mate with?" Sarehl kneaded his hands together when he saw the interrogative look on the healer's face.
"He mated with a nymph," he explained desperately. He saw a blank expression cross the Marshal's face.
"They're well known to exist across Ambros, Sarehl, though rarely known or spoken of and certainly never seen. What's so wrong with mating with one? They're like us."
"Not so like," disagreed Kaleb. "Was she a nymph from the northern woodlands and mountains, Sarehl?"
"Yes, she was," Sarehl admitted in rather fascinated surprise. "Why?"
"Then, my friend, that's where your black curls come from. They're invariably dark-haired, with magnificent green eyes - so manuscripts tell us. Few Ambrosians have ever seen one, though they were written up for their beauty, charm, and often their farseeing. Many had talent they wouldn't use."
Kaleb stopped, an arrested look in his eyes that Sarehl missed, but Ensore didn't. When the latter cocked an eyebrow at the healer, he got an unmistakeable but infinitesimal shake of the head in response. Kaleb was thinking of the talented boy Jaden tried to destroy and also thought, with a shiver, of Luton who undoubtedly had inherited from both nymph and mage. Had he not, Malekim would've disposed of that young one cycles before. And Kaleb felt it explained so much about Sarehl.
"Why not?" asked Sarehl absently drinking, then running a hand through his hair.
"It was said most refused because it meant they had to leave Ambros if they wished to become mage trained. Whether that's so or not, I've no idea." Kaleb paused. "And your greatsire knew a nymph and loved her, Sarehl. I imagine he had no chance once he sighted her - they are, legend tells us, delightfully captivating. What was her name?"
"Cynthas," answered Sarehl, in a muted voice.
"Your mother very closely resembled her, didn't she?"
"Bene says Mam was in Cynthas' image. Taller though."
"So what was so terrible about flouting that established code?"
"I'm not entirely sure, Ens. Bene said that interspecies matings were always sterile, but with him and Cynthas there was a child - Melas. I know Bene cared very much for Cynthas - it showed when he spoke of how she died giving birth to Mam."
"Was he there?"
"No," murmured Sarehl. "He said it wasn't permitted he be on Ambros at that time."
"I see," said Ensore thoughtfully. "After Cynthas died, what happened?"
"She came to birth away from her northern home. When she died, those with her took the child -."
"And left her in Ortok to be raised as a fully Ambrosian child, not the daughter of a nymph and a mage presumably," finished Ensore. "Now we know. Presumably the nymph knew the child's father would seek her out and take her with him, had things turned out the way they were planned." He sighed. "They never do."
"The mage, once allowed back to Ambros, sought out his child and stayed by her because he was anxious about her existence?" asked Kaleb, wrinkling his nose in thought.
"He came because he said he'd upset the balance of Ambros in some way," mumbled Sarehl. "There was," he added with a darkling look, "only one mage who'd wish to use the tilt in the balance to his advantage. Bene said this particular mage had done it before and caused chaos." The deep voice broke.
"This is where Elbe, alias Malekim, comes in, isn't it?" asked Ensore quietly. Sarehl nodded. "Sarehl, calm yourself, my friend. No one holds you responsible for what are the consequences of a natural affection and union between two people."
"It would still be better we'd not been born. It seems my greatsire's act of love was the catalyst that gave Elbe the chance he was waiting for."
"Aye," said Ensore heavily. "It seems that's so." He paused. "Your greatsire, as Archmage of Yarilo, would never have countenanced such an act, Sarehl, had he been remotely aware of the consequences. You can be sure of that. I am. His tragedy, it seems to me, is that a seemingly innocent act of love has brought such terrible retribution on those he loves most. That's a cruel burden for anyone to carry, Sarehl, and I don't believe your greatsire deserves that." Listening, Sarehl raised his head, his eyes a little brighter. "He's lost his mate, nor was he allowed at the birth of his daughter. His daughter was raped by the most vicious of beings and disposed of in the most inhumane way along with her mate. Her first mate, Alfar, whom you say Bene deeply cherished, was left to have no life at all until Bene allowed him to die and his greatchildren have been subjected to unspeakable pain and cruelty. No, Sarehl, I rather honour your greatsire. I believe he deserves our understanding."
"So do I," responded Kaleb softly. "Gods, are
we all so above making the simplest of errors of judgement? And we speak of love, not ambition or any base emotion. It's not for us to sit in judgement on someone like Bene, Sarehl. That's for the gods, not the likes of us."
"I believe they have judged him," added Sarehl in a whisper. "We're their judgement."
"Perhaps," said Ensore. He tilted his head sceptically. "Sometimes, Sarehl, I think you're very like your greatsire now I know him."
"Am I just?" returned Sarehl on a faint grin that faded. "I'm not a mage for one thing."
"No," returned Ensore, "But you're certainly unlike other men in many ways, isn't he, Kaleb?" Kaleb merely looked quizzical, twinkled at the two men, and steadfastly refused to be drawn.
"I think," murmured Sarehl presently, after a prolonged lull, "the stories written on ancient parchment, that we always thought teaching legends for the young, weren't so simple after all." He paused, but both Kaleb and Ensore just looked expectantly at him. "They spoke, in different ways and not in as many words, of the balance of Ambros, as an entity, that was critical to its survival.
There wasn't ever much detail because the stories are for the very young, but the message that came through was very clear - that attempts to destroy the balance were made over past cycles and would recur if the opportunity for this to happen was given. In childish-wise, stories spoke of stability and equilibrium if such a fragile place as Ambros was to continue existence. Adults said most of this was myth. Gods, I've even being retelling these stories to little Beth without realising what I'm saying. Am I so stupid?" Ensore shook his head.
"How could you piece all this together with the fragmentary knowledge we've had for cycles? It's only now, in hindsight, that so many bits fall into place. In Dahkilah we have stories much like those you describe. Kaleb?"
"Oh yes," sighed Kaleb quietly. "Gods, I've been so blind, my friends. So much is now clear." Sarehl drank deeply.
"Are we all that much wiser?" he asked, on a weary yawn.
"We're considerably wiser, Sarehl, but there are still awful gaps that continue to bother me," responded Ensore, raising his goblet to Sarehl. "To your greatsire, young one," he offered.
"Let me tell you about my greatsire, the Archmage of Yarilo," said Sarehl, his goblet raised to join Kaleb and Ensore in a salute to Bene.