by Katy Winter
Ambrosian Chronicles,
Third Age,
12216/7
Autoc is active on Ambros. Sarehl has increased understanding of events on Ambros, especially as they pertain to himself and his family.
Ambros is at war. The battles are among the worst seen since the Second Age. There is colossal loss of life on both sides.
Bethel is wounded. Thankfully, he survives. If our sources are correct, then we believe he was saved by the warlord. That interests us.
Luton and Kher are with the southern army. Those with the northern army know they are there.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The days the northern army marched were hard ones because the heat during the day was extremely wearing both on horses, men and camp followers alike, and the ground they covered was as inhospitable as the stony plains Bethel and Sarssen traversed a cycle before on their mission southwards. The army was also hampered by the need for frequent pauses to treat the injured. Lodestok's army, unburdened by the like, harried the northern flanks daily. Ensore ground his teeth with irritation.
The army marched steadily for eight days then stopped, Ensore readying men for an all-out assault on the southerners if they pushed too hard. They did, and Ensore's men retaliated with a swift and punitive attack on the southern vanguard. After a break, the northern army moved again for another eight days before the Marshal called a halt.
Again he readied the men to attack but, to his surprise, he received reports that clearly indicated the warlord had camped the day before quite some miles back and there were no indications to suggest he intended another push. Ensore relaxed, though he was quick to accept Eli's suggestion that this be verified. Privately the Marshal wondered at the warlord's behaviour but he made no comment.
Bene spent his days with his greatsons, mostly with Sarehl, but often seen with Daxel, the young man clearly respectful and immediately responsive to the old man. Neither Bene nor Sarehl enlightened Daxel about the painful details of how Bene was related, but since Sarehl's acceptance of and affection for Bene was quite apparent, Daxel adopted his newly-found greatsire with delight. His pleasure at the knowledge he had another living relative was almost pitiful.
When he learned that Bene knew Alfar and was prepared to speak to the young man about a father he'd never known, Daxel couldn't hear enough from his greatsire, his big, black eyes alight with anticipation. While Bene talked he saw much of Alfar in the younger man lounging at his feet. Especially he saw the attractive, almost bewitching, smile that was identical to the smile Alfar reserved for Bene and Melas, and, of course, his eldest and adored son. Bene studied the young face below him and felt a wrench. Daxel, like Sarehl, was truly the son of Alfar. He sensed his talent too.
And it was then Bene agonised over Luton, his mind veering one way then another as he, too, struggled to come to grips with a turn of events that obviously baffled him. He wished to know how Malekim traced Luton. Once he knew that, Bene could perhaps take some action that might limit the damage Malekim would make Luton do. It absorbed much of his waking moments.
Bene met Brue who stood in a little awe of the robed, very tall man who stared thoughtfully at him. The mage sought Melas in her son and found her in the sudden dazzling and appealing smile that transfigured the young face. He saw her, too, in the shape of the face and in the long, curling black eyelashes that framed absurdly big, unbelievably blue eyes. They were almost as startling as Autoc's.
Bene found the boy interesting, because Brue was acutely aware of what went on around him, his eyes constantly thoughtful and absorbing and his unusual sensitivity allowing him to pick the moods of those in his immediate vicinity. Though others weren't necessarily aware of the boy, the boy was attuned to them in an extraordinary way. Brue, like Sarehl, tended to accurately anticipate too.
Fascinated, Bene studied the boy from a distance, conscious as Sarehl was of how very large and powerful a man Brue would become, and, though still leggy, there was none of the slenderness that characterised the other brothers. Though Daxel was strongly built and extremely athletic, Brue had the southern bone structure that suggested tremendous breadth of shoulder, a deep barrelled chest and powerful muscled thighs to come.
The copper hair was long these days, at least shoulder length in the Sushi fashion, but most often swept back Samar-style with a riband. It was thick and extremely curly. It was also hopelessly unruly, escaping the confines of the riband and falling frequently across the young face. Brue, too, had an unconscious grace in the way he swept his hair from his cheeks in an elegant gesture - had Bene seen Bethel, he'd have recognised the gesture immediately.
Bene felt in time this boy would be very like Sarehl. At the moment, Brue alternated between seriousness and quiet reflectiveness that was rather charming in one so young, and sheer mischievous devilry that prompted him to get into minor scrapes with those his own age. The blue eyes could twinkle one moment then be solemn the next. The boy was like quicksilver, but his adoration of Sarehl and Daxel wasn't in doubt. The mage noticed he also admired and worshipped Kalor.
Bene studied Kalor and liked what he saw. The Cyrenic had his own rather wicked brand of charm and insouciance, but the mage wasn't deceived and saw the reality behind the outward carelessness. He thought if young Brue modelled himself on his brothers, Kalor and Maren, then the boy couldn't do much better. Bene was unconcerned for Brue's future, where he worried about Sarehl's and especially about Daxel's should the young man lose his other half. That always brought the mage's mind back to Luton.
When Bene wasn't in discussion with Sarehl he talked with the healers and with Ensore. He developed an intimacy with the latter that was refreshing. The mage respected the Marshal's mind and he liked to hear Ensore talk. Eli amused him, but Bene was quick to see that the younger brother could never be Chamah of Dahkilah because he didn't have either the particular intellect or skills to fill a position that would be crucial in post-war Ambros. Ensore was admirably suited with exactly the strengths required, thought Bene, eying the Marshal pensively one evening.
Nor was the mage under any illusions about the future of Kaleb, a man who attracted Bene because of the odd Yazd mixture of foresight, compassion, intelligence, and wisdom that was often almost quaintly expressed. Kaleb's pivotal role in the Conclave would be invaluable in a world torn apart in confusion, anger and retribution, the healer with real commonsense that would stand those about him in good stead.
The Marshal grew used to seeing his friend with his greatsire. The pair rode close together, heads turned towards each other, the mage sometimes stretching across to pat Sarehl on the shoulder. The two were often so deep in conversation they wouldn't hear the command for a halt that echoed down the line, consequently riding directly into whoever was in front of them. They'd halt with looks of enquiry, then break into laughter.
Sarehl learned much. Bene was honestly blunt. He made Sarehl understand what happened to Melas and Bruno and spoke curtly of Luton's experiences and how he thought the young man now was. Sarehl heard grief in the mage's voice and his heart went out to Daxel's twin, so close to them, yet who may just as well have been on another world entirely.
They discussed Bethel and Sarssen, too. Bene was amused by Sarehl's questioning him over the two warriors and quickly denied he'd touched their minds. Instead, he gave a sly grin and said though he hadn't interfered in this instance he had a very clear idea who may have done so and why. That he didn't explain to Sarehl. Though the men talked of much Bene wouldn't discuss the scholar, saying the mage could speak for himself, nor would he speak of Chlorien.
All he'd say, with another roguish grin, was that the girl was well able to take care of herself. When Sarehl looked grave at their discussion of her conception, Bene's cheerful mien deserted him and he took Sarehl to task, adamantly demanding that Sarehl accept his sister for what she was and not for who helped create her.
The mage was inflexible. When Sarehl said
he'd comply he was ruthlessly shown that he wouldn't. Accepting, finally, that she had to be acknowledged without reservation by her own kin, Sarehl capitulated, his head aching with the mind meld that dealt so severely with him. His smile was a tremulous one.
"Sire," he whispered, a hand up to his throbbing temple.
"I don't wish to hurt you, child," said Bene, regretfully. "You're a stubborn one, Sar, just as you always were when you'd set your mind on something. I told your parents so when you were quite small. I guess we should thank the gods you are that way - it's what saved you, lad, and for that I'm truly thankful."
"Perhaps," mumbled Sarehl, looking ruefully at his greatsire and managing a resigned smile. "Can anyone deceive you, Sire?" He saw the answer in the violet eyes that briefly held his.
"You're tired, Sar," was all Bene would say. His voice gentled. "Ah lad, rest awhile and be at ease." Sarehl nodded and turned away.
~~~
It was after prolonged talking with Bene that Sarehl, in a way he wasn't conscious of, indicated to Kaleb he was ready to know both about Jaden and Bethel, and about what the healer had learned of Luton from the dying Churchik, Sven. Watching the Strategos closely one evening, the healer decided it was appropriate he speak out.
Sarehl listened in grieving silence to the fleshing out of the Luton saga, his eyes reflecting his shock at Soji's treatment and her subsequent flight to the mountains of the Sinhalien with Luton's daughter. When Ensore chimed in with his account of Luton's response to Bethel and his relationship with Kher, Sarehl bit his lip, his head bent as he tried to come to terms with a younger brother who could now menace everything they'd fought for.
The alienation of a youngster who'd had so much life and laughed gently at a world that treated him kindly, made Sarehl inwardly writhe. Outwardly he just paled, no longer weeping because he felt he was wrung of emotion as one day succeeded another. The tragedy of Luton cut him to the bone. It made it almost impossible for him to verbally respond, especially since he knew how Luton could affect the only person on Ambros who might conceivably reach out to help him.
He didn't need to be told how vulnerable Daxel was, nor did he need to have it pointed out how easily Malekim could destroy both twins - or worse, use Luton until the young man was a useless husk, then transfer his mage powers to the control of the twin. Anguished, Sarehl sat mute. He wasn't aware Kaleb called him. When he lifted his head, his eyes were quite blank.
"Sarehl," said Kaleb very gently. "These are things that had to be said, but having said them, neither Ensore nor I believe the worst scenarios you're thinking of will come about. You must hold to the faith that's helped you this far, my friend. Your greatsire is an Archmage." Ensore held a goblet down to Sarehl who took it automatically. As he turned to return to his seat, Ensore caught Bene's amused glance and smiled affably at him.
"Leon says Lute has power," he began calmly, his placid voice making Sarehl blink then stare at him. "Of course he has. He's the greatson of a nymph and a mage - none of you are untouched by your talented heritage. You seem to forget that Leon said Bethel touched his brother in an odd way that Malekim wouldn't have approved.
That suggests to me, that Lute's something of an unpredictable force and not utterly under mage domination. Something at some time may make him react quite unexpectedly. He may already have done so at some stage, something we know nothing about, because it's thought his persona is submerged, not destroyed. I have to wonder, too, if Lute actually closed part of himself off when he became mute, simply to cope with what he faced, so it wasn't a fully sentient Lute the mage attacked in the Keep. That's something our friend Malekim may well have overlooked because, if nothing else, he's arrogant and very sure of his power over his slave. His contempt for Lute may well prove to be his undoing. Sarehl, anything's possible. You've proved this repeatedly." At this point, Bene, who sat quietly stroking his beard, cocked his head at Ensore's words and very thoughtfully rose, unobtrusively, to leave. His brow was heavily furrowed and his eyes lit with the strangest light.
"Aye," responded Sarehl dully. "You said you had something to tell me about Bethel. What is it and how's it connected with Krynn?"
Sarehl listened to Kaleb, again in stricken silence, the healer watching the darkly bearded face in some disquiet. When Kaleb fell quiet, he glanced rather anxiously at Ensore who shrugged, rose, and crossed to collect the flask of Sushi wine.
There was a very long silence, the men drinking from goblets and not moving. When Sarehl spoke, his voice sounded strangled. He asked Kaleb to go over everything about Jaden and Bethel again. He dwelled on Bethel's appearance as well as his brother's mind. Then he asked more about Sarssen's role, appearing profoundly shaken when he was quietly informed that Sarssen, who'd helped keep Bethel alive for cycles, wasn't only a talented healer but an Adept. He listened again to the healer's description of Lodestok, before he gave a deep shuddering sigh.
"Drink," suggested Ensore sensibly. Sarehl did.
"So much I've learned," he murmured. "It exhausts me. My brain reels and teems all at once, Kaleb. I'd no idea Lodestok knew of me or my whereabouts, least of all that he wanted me dead. I've thought all this time I was just another Ortokian casualty and that his incomprehensible interest in Myme Chlo was as far as his interest in our family went. Was Bethel's discovery not coincidence at all - was his tragedy foreseen in some way - oh gods!" He drank suddenly and deeply from a goblet held unsteadily. He looked careworn.
"Clearly your talents were seen as a threat long ago, my friend, when you were still a child. Presumably it was Elbe who saw far enough into the future to make him decide you shouldn't be allowed to live," said Kaleb on a shiver. "Gods, that one such as he should've been close to you."
"It's probable Lodestok may've been instructed to destroy you, Sarehl," suggested Ensore rather uncomfortably. "And not just you either. Had Brue not managed to escape he'd have been dealt with in the same way as your mate and children, of that I'm sure." Sarehl nodded. "And Lute was meant to die as I imagine Dase was. That's become clear because any sent on the slave train suffered, many dying early, especially, from all accounts, the youngsters. Lute was only a boy."
"And Bethel?" whispered Sarehl, his face drawn.
"I think, from what we now know, had Bethel not been taken by the warlord, he'd have been on a slave train, too, where he'd have died. His fate was to be the same as Lute and Dase. Or worse, he may've been kept alive, to be sent to a southern harem where his life would've been unbearable and his death lingering, but only after he was cruelly used. We know enough about that aspect of Churchik society to guess at Beth's probable fate."
"Gods, is his existing fate any better?"
"Yes, Sarehl," said Kaleb evenly. "He's alive, a musician still, one encouraged to fulfil his talents. He's warrior trained certainly and high in the Churchik military hierarchy, but also he's the warlord's son, which gives him an odd sort of protection. That's something I think was deliberately done by Lodestok for both Bethel and Sarssen. None of this lessens what Beth's life's been or how much a slave he still is, but without Lodestok, my friend, be sure Bethel would now be dead."
"I suppose," came the resigned response.
"Answers often bring pain, Sarehl, but in the end the truth's easier to swallow than all the confusion that's swamped us for cycles. Bethel and Sarssen have suffered in ways incomprehensible to me, there's no doubt about that, nor could I have survived as they've done. Nor could I still be Lute and alive."
"No," agreed Ensore, in his reassuringly placid way. "Nor could I. Few could. I suspect some inherited talent has, in some inexplicable way, helped those two survive where others wouldn't. But at least we now know what was going on, or part of it, in the warlord's camp."
"We know, for instance," went on Kaleb in a cold voice, "how close Jaden was to the warlord and to Malekim that he'd even attempt what he did. Only a fool at his level would do it, but I guess, since Lokar was dead and as Malekim's servant he felt obliged. He may even have exu
lted in the opportunity to revel in enhanced power. He may have intended to lose Bethel in the meld. I suspect he did. Gods, it's sickening." Kaleb gulped at his wine, then continued in a more moderate tone. "We've learned two things from that episode. Sarssen's sure Lodestok didn't know exactly what it was he proposed that could cause irreparable harm to Beth, or you, Sarehl. And Jaden's actions also show us Bethel has talent. I suspect Sarssen has more than reader-seeker talent, but I can't explain why I feel this. That the man actually survived, talented, next to the warlord, will fascinate me to the end of my days because he's walked a sword blade since he was a child. He told Leon the warlord took him as his boy when Sarssen was scarcely more than seven cycles."
"A mere child in fact," said Sarehl, in a whisper. "Gods, has the man no conscience?" Neither Kaleb nor Ensore felt equal to offering an answer to that.
"Getting back to Bethel," remarked Ensore quietly. "We see he's succeeded beyond what anyone could expect in an alien culture. We've been made aware, too, haven't we, that there were people close to Malekim who betrayed what they were by destroying others to please their new master. As Lokar did." Ensore turned to Kaleb, adding softly, "Lokar gave Malekim access, through his mind, to the Conclave the day the Mishtok and so many others died, didn't he?" Sarehl jerked round in sheer disbelief and shook his head, his eyes on Kaleb's face.
"Kaleb?"
The healer's face, usually gentle with a mild, somewhat vague expression, was changed to a rigid, cold mask. The eyes were frigid.
"To the Conclave's everlasting shame, yes," he answered, through clenched teeth. "He was a Post-Level Four, my friends, barely a step from being an Adept. The Mishtok trusted him implicitly. He was held up to us as a model. Gods, how the man must have mocked us behind our backs, even as he plotted our destruction."
"And Jaden?" asked Sarehl a little nervously. The change in the healer was intimidating. Kaleb's cold anger didn't diminish.
"He abused every tenet we're taught and every vow we take," he snarled. Neither Ensore nor Sarehl had seen the healer so enraged or embittered, nor had they heard his voice come out as a growl. "We heal. We don't wilfully or gratuitously destroy. For Lokar and Jaden to take a child, such as Lian, and hand him to one who'd use him as Malekim did, is an obscenity to those of the Conclave. They watched suffering, even perpetrated it, doing nothing to mitigate it. That's unforgivable!" Kaleb turned away in unusual agitation.