by Katy Winter
His eyes fixed on Kaleb's back, Sarehl said, "We're all receiving shocks, aren't we?"
Ensore said very quietly, "There's much healing that's needed, Kaleb my friend, and you're needed now, more than ever."
They knew Kaleb swallowed hard several times before he turned to face them, the anger drained from his expression leaving him haggard. The voice, though, stayed steady.
"As I said, Sarssen's an Adept. I felt the surge of his power and, my friends, believe me when I tell you it's formidable. Bethel's talent is remarkable for one his age, though he's only Level Two - probably more by now if Sarssen's been able to work with him.
Sarssen had him heavily under control so I couldn't evaluate your brother, Sarehl, as you may have wished. But I can tell you this. Bethel's so deeply talented Sarssen's had to keep that boy's mind suppressed over many cycles for fear Bethel would betray himself. I can only admire Sarssen's calm control and authority. He's an extraordinary individual. That I could sense the boy's abilities even through the warrior's block suggests much to me."
"Is it common for Churchik to have such talent?" asked Ensore interestedly.
"No," admitted Kaleb, sitting and suddenly yawning. "I have to admit this puzzles me."
"Perhaps the man's not all Churchik."
"Leon said he was typical of the Churchik," reminded Sarehl.
"Whatever he is, we owe much to this Sarssen," observed Ensore thoughtfully. Kaleb faced Sarehl directly.
"Bethel owes his life to the Adept, Sarehl," he said gently. "I think you'll find their love one for the other as deep as it can be between brothers, though perhaps neither's fully aware of that at the moment. They'll recognise it soon." Sarehl stood quietly, his dark eyes tired and his body posture showing stress.
"I can share my little brother," he said finally.
Kaleb smiled up at him, his eyes warm. He'd been thinking hard while they talked. He needed to talk to Sarssen to ask whether Bethel was a target of anyone other than Jaden over the cycles. Had, he wondered, Malekim decided Bethel's time was overdue? He came back to the conversation.
"We know that, Sarehl. He's an intriguing boy all the same - so very gentle with inherent qualities that go beyond the undeniable physical beauty. You didn't exaggerate his looks, did you?" Sarehl shook his head. "And," went on the healer musingly, "he's a warrior in a military society. It's almost a contradiction in terms to speak of a musician who's a warrior."
"It's not unheard of," commented Ensore, his forehead puckered as he frowned at the effort of memory. "If I remember aright, Eli once asked Ongwin about musician warriors. We were children then, but as I recall, and we could check this with Ongwin, there were musician-warriors in Kerzaz society. And not so very long ago either. I can remember Eli scoffing at that and then being very quiet when Ongwin gave him an example. Now let me think!" Kaleb raised a sceptical eyebrow, while Sarehl just looked genuinely astonished. Lounging back in a chair, Ensore studied them. "I jest not," he assured them. "I've just recollected the example. One of them was named Jazar the Piper. Kaleb, you must remember from your histories! The Kerzaz would lull the enemy with music that they offered as a friendly gift before they attacked." Kaleb reflected, then his forehead cleared.
"He's right, Sarehl. They did. They came down upon the Mashhad as friends bringing the gift of music, then they assaulted the people and caused absolute havoc."
A lively discussion ensued about how realistic it was to believe that the sort of attack Ensore described could be effective more than once, before quiet descended on the pavilion. The men were tired and it showed.
Sarehl's thoughts wandered erratically from Luton's harrowing tale to Bethel's sufferings. He wished he could help Luton's child in the way he cared for Bethel's, but wondered, rather confusedly and sadly, whether he'd ever see a little girl called Jonqi, let alone come to know her. That Soji had escaped the mage's designs gave him scant comfort. Desperately he hoped some miracle would occur that would deliver Luton from being the person he'd been forced to become, although inside he knew miracles never happened. Timidly, he abruptly asked Kaleb about Luton again.
"Bene may be wrong, Sarehl, but I doubt it. He believes, as I do, that Lute wasn't drained and is merely blocked, leaving that young man with no memory and no emotions other than those Malekim allows for purposes of control." Kaleb saw the faint flinch. "Don't despair, Sarehl. There's much more to come, of that I'm sure."
"Could it be any worse?" muttered Sarehl.
"Perhaps not," conceded the healer honestly. "What about your sister?"
"What indeed," murmured Sarehl. "I can't tell you anything more than we know already."
"Reticent about Chlorien, your greatsire, isn't he, Sarehl?" commented Ensore, rising and lazily stretching. Sarehl and Kaleb could only agree.
~~~
Lian's introduction to Bene was easy. It happened when the mage met Lian as the young man walked, Chloris tucked in one arm and Kalbeth hanging on the other, the little boy prattling in the way of children. Bene and Sarehl saw them coming and waited. Kalbeth bounced up to Sarehl and tugged his hand.
"Da, Lian's taking Chloris walking because she cries so. Why does she cry?"
Stooping to the boy, Sarehl swung Kalbeth in the air to delighted gurgles. The black curls bounced and the ever-deepening blue eyes shone with boyish glee.
"Infants cry for many reasons, Kalbeth. Perhaps she's hungry." The dusky head was vigorously shaken. "Has Kasan just fed her?"
"Yes."
"Then she may have swallowed air and has an ache."
"Did I cry, Sar-da?" Sarehl saw the alert light in Bene's eyes at the name Kalbeth used and gave a tired smile at his greatsire.
"Yes, Little Beth, you cried at the same age." He settled the boy back on the ground.
"So did Sarehl," put in the mage, amused, his eyes dwelling on the boy's beautiful countenance that he now realised resembled a young Bethel's. The big soulful eyes were upturned to Bene.
"Did you know Da when he's a little one?" Kalbeth asked incredulously.
"Aye, young lad, I did."
"Am I like him, Sire?" Bene rested a hand on the young head and his voice was very gentle.
"But of course, little man, you're very like Sar and you look even more like your father."
"Good," said a small satisfied voice.
During this interchange Lian stood silently observing the threesome, though every so often he glanced down at the now quiet child resting in his arms. He crooned softly to her. It was easy for Sarehl to relieve his brother of Chloris in the most casual way and then, after a nod from Bene, to engage the small boy's interest so the mage could converse with Lian. When Sarehl saw Lian at ease with Bene, he tucked Kalbeth's hand in his and drew the protesting boy away.
"Da! Lian's taking me for a walk!"
"Not now, Kalbeth. Lian and Bene have much to discuss and a little boy has no place with them for that."
"I'll have to go back to my books," came the disgruntled and disconsolate comment.
"How awful!" laughed Sarehl, ruffling the long curls. "Especially when you consider you only do so for a couple of hours a morning. Kal, I think you're becoming spoiled."
"I think so too," came the disarmingly, confiding answer. Sarehl looked down to an enchanting, but thoroughly mischievous, face and his chuckles deepened.
"No more messing in the supply lines, little lad," he warned. "Or my hand will be much heavier next time."
"It was Ascor's fault we got caught," muttered Kalbeth broodingly.
"You should have been with Alder Olid, shouldn't you?"
"Yes," sighed a small voice. "I do try, Da."
"We all have to learn, Kalbeth. That's part of being a Samar. It's ignorance that's so dangerous. You're only a small child still, but we must all start somewhere. And as far as Alder Olid goes, you're lucky he's alive to be able to show you the basics of playing a lute. As far as we know, there are no masters left alive and no journeymen either, so you must be mature about wh
at Olid can show you. He's not young, lad, so perhaps he doesn't understand how you think. That's something else children have to learn to cope with."
"Is life always so hard?" It was a question wistfully uttered and it made Sarehl stop.
"No, Little Beth, it isn't," he said reassuringly, hoisting Chloris onto one arm and encircling Kalbeth with the other so he could draw the small boy close. "No, Kal, life can be very happy as it mostly is for you. It is, isn't it?"
"Yes," whispered Kalbeth into Sarehl's jacket. "I love you, Da."
"Likewise, little man," responded Sarehl softly.
~~~
It was Bene who spoke to Sarehl about Lian, his tone sad. They discussed what they'd both learned, the mage profoundly and coldly angered by how another mage so callously abused a child and his voice frigid when he referred to Jaden and Lokar. He assured Sarehl he'd do what he could for Lian. His bushy white eyebrows met in a beetling frown when he was enraged and he entwined his long sinewy fingers in the luxuriant beard, twisting and turning until they got into a knot he then had to carefully untangle. He was that way now. Sarehl watched the old man mutter as he untwined his hand.
"Lian told you about your mother, lad?" Bene saw the knowing look in the dark eyes. "Aye, she's a Crystal dragon, no doubt of that, and answers to Goldlas. She's achingly beautiful, Sar."
"Is it usual for a woman of Ambros to become a dragon, Sire?"
"No," said Bene flatly. "I've had to do considerable thinking on that, though I knew she was god-touched." He saw the surprised confusion on Sarehl's face and lifted a hand. "Too long to explain, lad. Cynthas may have named her, but the impression I got when I arrived in Ambros and came to know her, was that her adopted parents were those who named her. And Alfar once told me that they told him she named herself, that no one really knew how she'd come by her name."
"Is that significant, Sire?"
"It is, Sar, when your name means what hers did."
"So you knew she'd become a dragon?"
"No, lad, how could I know that? No, I just knew she was dragon-linked but not in what way, other than by her name and by the mark she bore on her arm. What's happened to my daughter goes beyond mage understanding, Sar - all I can say to you is, though she suffered a terrible end, she was also blessed and protected. When I was finally brought to a comprehension of that, it made my burden easier to bear, if you can comprehend that."
"Yes I can," mumbled Sarehl humbly. "Was Myme Chlo marked as unusual too?"
"She was marked," assented Bene. He looked away and seemed to be detached from his immediate environs.
"Does Mam know you're her father and you're Archmage?"
"Yes, lad, she does now. At last I know my child and she knows me." There was a long pause before Bene spoke again. "You know, lad, sometimes I think nothing changes and that life stands quite still." It was a comment that baffled Sarehl, but he remained silent. "The more fluid things become about you, lad, the more stable they really are, and the more you try to understand the less you comprehend. It's a little like learning - the more you know, the less you really do know."
"You're saying opposites are the same," said Sarehl puzzled. Bene turned to him with a smile.
"Perhaps," he quizzed gently. "Nothing alters, Sar. It's only that perceptions do. Let me tell you about Ice Crystal dragons because they're rare creatures indeed. Almost," he added with a teasing laugh, "mythical."
"Does the scholar know Mam?" asked Sarehl curiously.
"Does the mage know her?" corrected his greatsire gently. Sarehl grinned and nodded. "That I can't tell you, lad. You'll have to ask him yourself." Sarehl gave a sigh of exasperation. "But I'll tell you about Ice Crystals."
~~~
After further conversation with Bene, Sarehl felt woolly in the head and decided he needed to think of anything but a sister, mages or dragons. He began to walk to the south of the camp towards the Sushi encampment, not especially aware where he was going provided it took him from anyone who wanted to discuss family with him.
As he walked, he started to look about. He responded to courteous and respectful greetings, acknowledged his name of Strategos without a second thought and accepted the bows or murmured `my lord' as completely normal. Once, cycles ago, he wouldn't have believed where this army now was, how strong and motivated it was or how formidable it had become. Sarehl helped head a strong machine. It made him thoughtful.
He realised where he headed and drew up with a rueful grin. It was too long since he'd had a chance to discuss Brue with Maren, the boy's unofficial guardian, and he now had the urge to be part of the boy's life. Maren was a calm man of sense, too. Sarehl always left the man refreshed and with a different outlook on any problem he raised and asked Maren's opinion on. Maren may have had considerable respect and liking for the Strategos. It was decidedly mutual. Sarehl stooped at Maren's pavilion and paused at the threshold.
He saw Maren's wife, Ceda, who glanced up with a welcoming smile and pointed in the direction of the rough shelters erected to protect the warhorses of the cavalry. With a grin Sarehl nodded and backed from the pavilion. He found Maren exercising a horse that was injured, Daxel and Brue, both horsed but a little distance from him though still within hearing distance. Conversation between the two younger ones obviously had Maren thoroughly amused, although Sarehl sensed a degree of relief about the captain at his arrival.
Maren quickly dismounted. Daxel and Brue came alongside and jumping to the ground still argued vociferously over the merits of the horses they rode. Brue considered his mount to be superior, refusing to let his brother's teasing and laughter make him change his mind. He instantly appealed to Sarehl.
The blue eyes were bright and sparkling, as usual, when he demanded of Sarehl that he settle the matter once and for all. Sarehl used his diplomacy to wriggle out of that one and merely grinned at Daxel's provocative challenge that he was craven. Daxel's wicked dark eyes quizzed first Brue and then his older brother before he burst into another bout of laughter. Sarehl turned to the captain who led his warhorse on light reins. The horse still limped but Maren assured the younger ones that the animal healed as well and as fast as could be expected.
Seeing Sarehl begin to talk with the captain, Brue and Daxel began to walk their horses a little behind. Sarehl and Maren discoursed mostly on military matters as they ambled along at a pace that wasn't too strenuous for the horse, Sarehl's need to speak with the men on the field showing in the way he spoke and asked pertinent questions. His responses, Maren found, were always articulate and sensible. He'd have sworn Sarehl was in the front line throughout every battle.
Glancing across at the Strategos, Maren thought back to the charming young man who asked him to take on the bright and active copper-headed boy cycles before. He reflected on how much Sarehl had changed. The man was noticeably heavier and no longer frail, with a calmness about him that wasn't there when the captain first met him. Though the limp was permanent, no one really noticed it anymore because it was so much a part of Sarehl and the man rode as hard as any other when the army moved. And the facial scar was a fine white line that was also such an integral part of the Strategos, no one noticed it either.
The glance had become a steady regard. Sarehl felt it. He tilted his head in enquiry. Maren blushed and excused himself, said his thoughts were elsewhere and asked that Sarehl repeat himself. Giving the captain a droll look and with one raised eyebrow, Sarehl obliged. His question was about Brue.
Brue was now a member of a courier squad, all the boys in it under seventeen cycles and never permitted near the front line. They were, however, an invaluable part of the communication network Sarehl had suggested Ensore and Eli set up, long cycles ago, when the northern army was in its infancy in Blenharm Forest. Scattered groups of uncoordinated men was a thing of the past. Daxel was in a squad, then led one - Brue followed in his footsteps.
While Maren spoke of Brue, Sarehl, seeing Brue and Daxel edge close beside them, realised how quickly Brue matured from a mere
boy to a youth. He stole a quick look at the boy's profile, seeing there the man who married his mother. The features might well be more refined but the lad was the image, still, of his dead sire.
"He's reached another phase of rapid growth, Sarehl," Maren was saying when Sarehl turned back to listen again. "He's learned a very great deal, obeys orders at last and without question, and I believe will make a reliable and sensible officer one day.
This experience with fighting men may be an unusual upbringing and probably makes him mature a little faster than perhaps he would otherwise, but it does the boy no harm to realise fighting's no game, it's certainly not fun, and people get hurt or die as a result. He'll never make the mistake of glorifying war." Sarehl nodded, his eyes flickering back to Brue. "He's becoming increasingly responsive to discipline, Sarehl," added Maren pensively. "He's showing some sense of responsibility and learns to think before he acts. Not before time either," was the final rider. Sarehl grinned at that.
"You said he settled with his new tutor then became a tad difficult again. Have you had to discipline him lately, Captain?" Maren's blue eyes lit with amusement, his gaze across at the boy deeply affectionate. He shook his head.
"They were merely mild spankings," he said on a laugh. "I've not had to touch the lad for two seasons."
"Two seasons," murmured Sarehl, chewing his lower lip. "Why was that, Captain? You didn't tell me of any misdemeanour or incident, did you?"
"No, Sarehl, I didn't. The timing was inappropriate and you had more than enough to cope with, young man."
"I see. What happened?"
"Not exactly disobedience," Maren recalled, the laughter still in his voice. "More unruly and naughty I'd call it and probably insubordination in the most charming way." Sarehl heard the gurgle of mirth and gave a chuckle.