by Katy Winter
"I was bored," mumbled Brue. Sarehl stared at the bent copper head.
"Bored?" he almost yelped. "Bored? With Sache and Dalmin, not to mention Arth, Kalor and Kaleb, running round after you, giving you training and gods know what else? What more do you want?"
"I gave him lettering to do," put in Kalor, with a rueful grin. "I should've guessed something like this might happen."
"Well, it won't happen again, will it, little brother?" ground out Sarehl, glaring down at Brue.
"No," was the sulky answer.
"You were silly, Brue," observed Kaleb mildly. Brue flushed, but wisely made no answer. Kalor looked down at the copper head and spoke quietly.
"I think," he suggested, "it would be sensible if we discuss what's to be done with the lad after he's told us what he did."
Sarehl relaxed. His face lost the grimness that so unnerved his brother. Flinging himself in a chair, he gestured to Brue.
"Go on," he invited. "Tell us what you did."
The story that poured out was so jumbled, it took the three men some time to cut through the incoherence. It seemed, they gathered, Brue took the horse Arth gave him, and, for a lark, rode south across the fields well away from the city in search of adventure.
He'd ridden for a considerable distance before he got tired and reined in, tethering his horse in a spinney and settling down for a rest. When he crept to the far side of the spinney, however, he found a small camp being set up by a group of what he described as Churchik warriors. At this point, Sarehl put his hand over his eyes, but Kalor broke out laughing.
Brue pulled back into the trees and waited, watching until the men settled down and ate, then he crept forward and listened to the conversation that ensued. Brue paused in his narration to look up at Sarehl.
"I didn't know at first that they talked about Bethel, Sar, because they talked about the warlord's boy. Then they said how he'd stand out at the ceremony to be fully a warrior, because his hair's so long and black. That's when I guessed they spoke of our brother. Then they spoke of his music and how the warlord liked him to play. What does being the warlord's boy mean, Sar?"
"Nothing much," responded Kalor promptly. "It just means he's a slave to the warlord."
"Oh," said Brue vaguely. "They said other things like love-boy, but I didn't understand that either."
"Many slaves are referred to as that, if they aren't adult," put in Kaleb quickly, noticing the whiteness to Sarehl's mouth.
"Oh," said Brue again. Then he went on. "One warrior didn't think Bethel should be made a warrior because he's a Samar and is so different. He's very tall, Sar, they said, just like you, but they say he doesn't look truly a man because he's so thin. They're huge, Kalor!"
"How did you understand them?" asked Kaleb, who couldn't forebear a reluctant grin at the story Brue unfolded. "You're not telling me you speak Churchik?"
"No, course not," growled Brue impatiently. "They all speak northern, but it's pretty rough and you have to listen hard to catch what they say."
"Gods, lad," said Sarehl, taking a deep breath. "You're so lucky they didn't see you. They'd have noticed how different you are simply by looking at you. You'd have been captured. You don't look remotely like a Churchik."
"I hate to disillusion you, my friend," disagreed Kalor, "but that's exactly what he does resemble in many ways." Sarehl looked revolted.
"He's got red hair," he protested.
"So do some of them, not coppery like the lad's, I grant you, but reddish-blond," said Kalor relentlessly. "And they have blue eyes, not deep like Brue's, but there's enough there to give the lad a distinctly southern look. He could pass, at a glance, as one of their young."
"But he -." Sarehl broke off, suddenly staring at Brue. "Gods," he whispered. "Your father." Brue looked offended.
"What's wrong with our father?" he demanded.
"Not our father, little man, your father." Brue looked as nonplussed as Kalor. In all the cycles, Sarehl hadn't discussed his mother's second mate, so Kalor assumed that one of Sarehl's parents had passed on the copper hair that made the youngest brother so distinctive and different. "Oh gods," muttered Sarehl, biting his lip. "You don't know, do you?" Brue shook his head, a puzzled look in his eyes. "We have different fathers, little brother. It never entered my head to tell you because, well..." He floundered helplessly, his eyes going from Kaleb to Kalor.
"There was no need, because you're Sarehl's youngest brother," put in Kaleb smoothly. He saw the shocked look on Brue's face and said gently, "It makes no difference, you know, lad."
To their surprise, the little boy burst into tears and a storm of distressed sobbing. It took all three men some minutes to calm him, Sarehl finally drawing the boy close so Brue could cry into his older brother's chest.
"Little fellow, there's no need for tears."
"Yes there is," hiccupped Brue, raising his head and knuckling his eyes hard. "You're saying you're not really my brother." Sarehl raised an eyebrow at Kalor.
"Did I say that?" he asked.
"No, you didn't. Don't be a silly little fool, Brue. You know how Sarehl cares for you, don't you?" Brue stared across at Kalor and then nodded.
"Just because we have different fathers doesn't mean we aren't blood brothers," said Sarehl quietly, his hand stroking the copper curls. He gave a faint sigh. "We have the same mother after all."
"Then why don't I look like you?"
"You do."
"Kalor says I don't."
"Kalor's wrong."
"You once told me to listen to Kalor, because what he says is right," accused Brue, ignoring Kalor who was sorely pressed.
"Not in this case," argued Sarehl, giving Kalor a quelling look, but grinning in spite of himself.
"Am I like you, then?" persisted Brue, drying his eyes. "Why are Kalor and Kaleb laughing?"
"They're foolish fellows," Sarehl replied, his smile broadening. "I'll tell you all about it later. Just know your Da was a very striking-looking man, with a long and full red beard as you'll have one day. He was southern, from somewhere just below Dahkilah, I think." He paused and stared into the face looking up at him. "My father was dark. So was our mother. You have a strong look of our mother, little man, but you don't physically resemble her as your brothers and sister do. Myme Chlo and Bethel most closely resemble her. I believe I'm the image of Alfar, my father, as are Dase and Lute." Sarehl fell silent and brooding. It made Brue wriggle uneasily.
"I've told you everything, Sar. May I go now?" he asked, his anxious eyes on his elder brother's face.
"Of course," Sarehl murmured. He got thoughtfully to his feet.
"You're pleased I heard about Bethel, aren't you?" Brue looked apprehensive. Sarehl ruffled his curls.
"Yes, little brother. You've relieved my mind of gnawing anxiety and I'm most grateful for that." Brue looked up gratified. "But that doesn't mean I approve of what you did or the very real danger you put yourself in. You'll go with Kalor now."
Brue pulled away from Sarehl, saying, "That's not fair!"
"Life isn't fair," responded his brother, looking across at Kalor with a rueful grin. "Do you take him, my friend, and teach him to mind you in all things. You are, as he says, always so right." Kalor laughed. He stepped over to Brue, his hold on the boy's hand very firm.
"Come along, young whelp. Let's get this over with." He was pulled inexorably from the room. Sarehl met Kaleb's eyes.
"Yes, Kaleb?"
"Well, Sarehl, that's one question answered. Bethel's alive and soon, as Sasqua told us, to be fully made a warrior. He has succeeded, remarkable boy he is." The healer watched as the Strategos turned away. "And, my friend," went on Kaleb gently, "you'll have to think what to do with that young brother of yours. He's getting too old to be let loose about the place."
"I suppose he is," sighed Sarehl. "They grow so fast, Kaleb. It seems only yesterday we found him. Do you have any suggestions?"
"Not just at the moment," murmured Kaleb with a frown, "but we should
consider what would be best for the lad."
"I'm happy to be guided by you."
"Aye, Sarehl, I know that, but the decision has to be made by you."
~~~
When Sarehl was preparing for sleep that evening, Kalor came in, unannounced and yawning. The Cyrenic lounged over to the bed and sank on to it. Sarehl looked down at him.
"Comfortable?"
"Very," responded Kalor, giving Sarehl a lazy and affectionate grin. "I thought you'd like to know about your scapegrace brother."
"Is he subdued?"
"I took my belt to him, then stopped when he cried. He'd confessed so freely where he'd been I hadn't the heart to give him the thrashing he deserved. It was a token spanking he got, nothing more." There was a rueful twinkle in Kalor's eyes. Sarehl started to laugh and stripped off his shirt.
"So where does this leave us?"
"He's now barred from all activities other than schooling for the next three days."
"Kalor, you wretch!" Sarehl threw his shirt at the chuckling Cyrenic. "That means he'll be with me most of the time when I'm not in conference." There was a lurking smile in Kalor's eyes.
"He's your brother, you know."
"He'll hate it, Kalor! I'm sure he'd prefer a sound thrashing to that."
"Then you give it to him, dear friend."
"Damn you!" exclaimed Sarehl, untying his waist sash. "You know I can't."
"He needs training, Sarehl," said Kalor seriously, looking up under his lashes at Sarehl. "I know he's only young at not nine cycles, but he needs it."
"I know," came a slightly harassed voice above him. "Kaleb's already suggested that."
"And?"
"What can I do with him, as mobile as we are?"
"Leave him behind with Nakron's men." Sarehl stopped what he was doing and turned to stare down at Kalor.
"You mean that, don't you?" Kalor rested on one elbow.
"Listen to me, my friend. I've come to care for Brue as though he's my own son. We all have. But he's coming to a dangerous age, Sarehl, for such a spirited child." Kalor paused. "The lad isn't scholarly as you are and more than anything he wants to be a fighter. You can see it in him as clearly as I can - you're not blind, are you?" Sarehl perched on the edge of the bed and stroked his silky black beard thoughtfully.
"No," he replied. "He's not willing to sit and has always been an active boy. But to leave him? How can I?"
"You might be surprised how easily the boy will adjust," Kalor said tactfully. "I know he'll be upset to begin with, but that's only to be expected. He's old enough to know you'll never abandon him, Sarehl; that's his security and it's more than many his age have."
"Would Nakron agree?"
"Ask him," suggested Kalor. "Ask him if Brue could train here, under his express authority, and he'll fall on your neck." Sarehl looked sceptical. "Strategos of Ortok's brother training here? Use your head, Sarehl!"
"There is precious little of Ortok left," snapped Sarehl. "I'm a Strategos of nowhere in particular."
"You're by far too modest, Sarehl," retorted Kalor, getting to his feet. "You forget how much you're valued."
"You're very kind," said Sarehl stiffly. Kalor put a hand on Sarehl's shoulder and gripped it hard.
"Think on it, bristlehead, and see how you feel in the morning. Just remember there are plenty of good men who could take Brue in training from tomorrow if you so wanted. He needs discipline, Sarehl. Give it to him." Sarehl felt the hand lift from his shoulder. "Goodnight, my young friend."
"Goodnight," Sarehl responded very quietly. Just as Kalor got to the door he heard, "Damn you!"
He chuckled and left the room.
~~~
Nakron was delighted to be asked to train the Strategos' younger brother. He was gracious in offering Sarehl a choice of troop for Brue. Applied to, Brue instantly chose the cavalry. Nakron was pleased to grant this. A captain was summoned and Sarehl watched as the thick-set, middle-aged man came across the audience chamber, genuflecting to his Duke with just the right amount of respect, Sarehl noted. Nakron stepped forward when the captain entered and now he turned calmly to Brue.
"This, Brue, is Captain Maren." Then the Duke quietly left the chamber. Brue looked speculatively at the captain but got an unnervingly acute appraisal in response. Sarehl limped forward.
"I'm Sarehl," he said courteously. "Brue's my youngest brother."
"He's very young, Strategos. Boys are usually thirteen cycles at the least before I let them sign on. He's much too young to be in an arena of war." Brue opened his mouth to protest, but Sarehl's frown at him was a warning one.
"I've asked His Grace, as a favour, that he place the boy under the command of a reliable and sensible officer, but not to be signed on at this stage. He is, as you say, too young to understand the implications of doing so. I know he's very young, but he's capable of learning."
"That's as maybe, Strategos." Maren gave Sarehl a measuring look. "What can he do?"
"He can learn disciplined training as the least important member of a troop," suggested Sarehl, with a glint in his eyes. Maren caught the glint and looked over thoughtfully at Brue.
"Needs shaping up, does he?" He spoke directly to Brue. "You'd have to work very hard and have no privileges you didn't earn." Brue swallowed.
"Yes."
"You'd obey orders given by any member of my troop, whether you liked it or not." Maren saw the young chin lift at that and added softly, "Or you would suffer consequences I don't imagine you'd enjoy. Our way of disciplining youngsters is instant and can be singularly painful." Brue met the cool, amused blue eyes. His eyes dropped first.
"Yes," he mumbled. Maren turned back to Sarehl.
"I'll take him for you, Strategos, but only as stable boy. He'll have to prove himself to go beyond that."
"A stable boy?" repeated Brue. "Sar?" Sarehl merely grinned at his brother.
"He'd be under your specific command, Captain? That matters to me."
"You can be assured of that, Strategos. I'll keep a very close watch on him. When will he come to me?" Sarehl looked over at Brue's crestfallen face.
"Go and wait in my chamber," he said gently. "I shan't be long." Brue glanced from one man to the other, then turned and ran from the chamber. "I'd bring him tomorrow, Captain, but I need to talk with the boy first before I can confirm that. He must understand what we're proposing and be happy with it. If I thought he'd be too distressed, I wouldn't leave him." Maren smiled across at Sarehl.
"I understand," he said quietly.
"Perhaps I should explain to you, just briefly for the moment, what happened to the lad, Maren, to help you appreciate why I ask you to do this for Brue – it's him I'm most concerned about."
"Then," suggested the captain, pulling forward two chairs, "we should be able to talk uninterrupted."
~~~
Sarehl found Brue waiting anxiously inside the door of his chamber, the boy's face pale and tense.
"You're selling me to that captain," he accused his eldest brother, when Sarehl closed the door behind him. Sarehl laughed down at him, but not mockingly.
"No! Do I indeed, little brother? What a terrible thing."
"You're laughing at me," said Brue.
"Won't you enjoy being a stable-boy, lad? I thought you liked horses."
"I do, yes, but I want to be a soldier!" Sarehl chewed his lower lip, then quietly pointed to a chair.
"Sit for a moment, lad. I want to talk with you," he said calmly. Brue obliged, perching uncomfortably.
"Sar -," he began, but stopped at Sarehl's upraised hand. Sarehl drew up a chair next to him.
"No, little brother, you listen to me. We need to talk and I promise I'll listen to anything you want to say, after you've heard what I want to say to you." Sarehl stroked his beard and eyed his brother contemplatively, aware of the boy staring broodingly up at him in silence. "Lad, you're nearly nine cycles. You say you're bored. You don't like learning from books. Sometimes your behaviour goes beyo
nd what's acceptable, and you completely ignore scolds." Brue went to protest, but the look on Sarehl's face stopped him. "You've learned a lot from us, but, Brue, you've been permitted licence well beyond what could be expected for a lad your age. That's not your fault, but ours. It's led you to think you can do and say what you like on occasion.
I haven't minded your doing some silly things, because boys will be boys and we all have to grow up." There was a long pause while brother looked eye to eye, before Sarehl continued. "Your going south the other day was no prank, Brue. Do you know what could've been done to you? Do you know of the tortures warriors inflict on little boys, simply for the sheer pleasure they get from that sort of thing? Little brother, hasn't Bethel, let alone Lute, suffered enough, without you being made to suffer as well?"
Brue was very pale. He took deep breaths, his watery blue eyes wavering from contact with Sarehl's. He didn't speak. Sarehl beckoned the boy close, his hands out waiting. When the boy was firmly clasped against him, Sarehl spoke again.
"Brue, I love you very dearly – you're my baby brother. I can't let you destroy yourself, because you haven't yet developed self-control. You need firm and well-judged discipline that you understand. You've been given little chance to show what you can be, with our being on the move all the time.
I think we have to decide now how your future's to be shaped and we have to take action to ensure it happens. You're too young to fully train, but, if you show yourself willing and work hard, then other things will happen for you. You can't expect to start with a troop and have everything the way you want it. Life isn't like that." Brue hung his head and his voice was shaky.
"Am I so bad, Sarda?" The arms around him tightened. Sarehl shook his head and smiled gently down at him.
"No you're not, little man, not at all. You're just a heedless colt who needs firm reins. I can't always be with you. Nor can the others because of the life we're forced to lead, so you must be with someone who can be there for you. I only want you to understand why I'm doing this, Brue. You can't possibly think I want to leave you when I'm forced to move on, can you? You couldn't think that!" Brue clung to Sarehl as he'd done as a little boy. "Gods, little man, all I want most on Ambros is to have our home back again, where we can all be together as we were born to be. I would ask for nothing else." Sarehl wiped away a tear from the young face.