by Katy Winter
When the Adept entered Kaleb's mind, the younger healer felt there was nothing he'd ever done that escaped the very thorough scrutiny and assessment. It went on for a very long time. Leon lingered on Kaleb's time with Sarehl and then concentrated on Daxel's experiences with his twin, withdrawing as smoothly as he entered. He said very little afterwards, but one thing he said brought warmth to the healer that touched every part of him.
"You've been astute and skilled, Kaleb, and well earned your Post-Level Four. May you go in grace."
Kaleb couldn't reply. The Adept merely smiled at him. Later, alone, Kaleb inwardly rejoiced.
~~~
Kaleb watched Leon observe Sarehl and Daxel. At first he made no effort to converse with either of them, but merely looked on, an interested spectator. Sarehl was delighted to meet him.
He held out his hand, saying in his gentle, courtly way, "We're always pleased to welcome a countryman of Kaleb's. Are you a healer too?" Daxel simply grinned at the little man, his hand out.
"Do you put people to sleep as well?" he asked ingenuously.
Leon gave the very tall youth an amused smile. He thought the brothers were charming, unaffected and found himself drawn to them. He decided it would be no hardship to travel with Daxel, who not only had considerable charm but also possessed an unusually strong magnetism that was interesting, and he sensed unusual perception and untapped powerful talent in Sarehl that suggested caution was advisable. He and Kaleb had to choose their moments very carefully when they could catch each brother unaware, for just a moment, when dark eyes briefly met translucent ones – it was the only way Leon could meld with Kaleb to strongly reinforce blocks in the brothers' minds.
He had little time to observe Sarehl at his work with the Kyaran, before he became aware he'd again be on the move. He'd had enough time, though, to make some astute judgments on the Strategos and his friends that he was able to pass on. The more he saw of the Samars, the more he liked them. He saw, too, Ahliah's brotherly affection for Daxel and thoroughly approved of that developing relationship. He understood how deprived of young company Daxel was for too long and was pleased the young man responded to Ahliah's overtures of friendship. Though Daxel had been a courier and had worked with the young, he hadn't related to any of them as he did to Ahliah.
Leon was amused by Daxel's reaction to the news that Ahliah was to accompany him back to the Chamah. Daxel gave a tremulous smile, grasped Ahliah's hands for a moment, then strode off on his own. Methan, the elder prince, would be responsible for the troop to accompany the young pair from Krynn. Methan was twenty-four cycles and quite the opposite of his brother, a sturdy and dour young man trained from birth in his royal duties. They'd rather stifled him. He was inclined sometimes to be unintentionally pompous and somewhat hide-bound by protocol and convention. He was, though, very fond of his younger brother and very ready to accept Ahliah's friend. While he frowned on their escapades, he never made the mistake of correcting Ahliah, merely shaking his head reprovingly at both he and Daxel before going about his business. He and the Strategos had spent much time together so Sarehl, for one, was delighted Methan was going with his brother.
"You two are by far too caper-witted," he chuckled when Daxel told him. "Methan'll keep the pair of you in line."
"I like him," said Daxel, "but he's a dull fellow and not one for the women."
"No," agreed Sarehl musingly, eying his brother in amusement. "But then, there won't be any court women where you're going."
"No," sighed Daxel. "I wonder when Ens will call me back, Sar?"
"I've no idea, lad. It should be soon, I suspect."
Since Daxel was being relentlessly courted by the queen and her eldest daughter, Tamil, Sarehl was wondering how soon his brother could leave Krynn. Daxel had gradually fallen into court ways, baths no longer bothered him, he wore court clothes unselfconsciously and with flair, danced easily and frequently and was promptly responsive to the approaches of any young woman. The boy's apprehension about girls was long gone and Sarehl thought Daxel flirted in the most outrageous way, nothing, he felt, could more emphasise the boy's youth. Here, though, it could be perilous. The rough edges had rapidly disappeared, Daxel able to hold his own socially quite comfortably and he was a polished and accomplished flirt.
Sarehl noticed his brother also had an adroit way of handling boring conversations and could initiate new topics of conversation with some skill. People were willing to oblige him. He was also surprisingly diplomatic and had considerable charm that was as appealing as his youth, so much so Sarehl noticed that when Daxel was serious people stopped and listened. Daxel's respect for, and deference to his elders, won him instant approval as well.
~~~
Leon made a highly accurate assessment of the brothers, also of Kaleb, that he was ready to share with the Mishtok. The latter was silent for long moments after the meld, then his voice was pensive.
"You say the brothers are well blocked, Adept?"
"Yes, Monseignore."
"And what about the little boy?"
"Not yet, Monseignore."
"You know what to do there, don't you?"
"Yes, Monseignore, but the child is still young."
"Just enough to ensure the boy is difficult to locate."
"As soon as I reach the northern army, Monseignore."
"Thank you, Leon. The last few cycles have been a very tiring time for you, but we have much to thank you for. Are you more rested now?"
"Yes, thank you, Monseignore."
"Take care of yourself, Leon. May you travel in grace."
The Mishtok was gone.
~~~
Sarehl was very relieved to finally receive a letter from Ensore, only fifteen days after Leon arrived in Krynn, suggesting it was now safe for Daxel to return to his troop. Sarehl was increasingly concerned by Tamil's determined pursuit of his brother, so was content to see him leave because he wasn't sure Daxel was either mature or confident enough to refuse Tamil's pointed overtures.
He sent a messenger to search for Daxel and was, therefore, surprised when the young man strode into his office almost immediately, his eyes bright and inquisitive.
"A rider's come from the southeast. Is it about me?" Sarehl looked his brother over and started to laugh.
"Do you want it to be?"
"Don't tease," implored Daxel, his eyes like live coals. "Is it a message from Ensore?"
"Now why did I think you'd become content with Tamil running after you, little brother?"
"Sar!" said Daxel warningly, advancing on Sarehl. Sarehl threw up his hands.
"Yes, Dase, it's a message from Ensore. He wants you back."
"Ah!" It was a sigh of pleased satisfaction.
"So keen to leave me, are you?" mourned Sarehl.
Daxel stared at his brother incredulously. Then he saw Sarehl laugh at him and advanced most purposefully on his elder brother. They clinched playfully, until Daxel pulled back but kept his hands on Sarehl's shoulders and shook him.
"Oh my dignity," murmured Sarehl, straightening his belt. "You're a very strong young man, Dase, aren't you?" he added, eying Daxel up and down.
"I've no reason to be otherwise, best of brothers," returned Daxel, chuckling and letting Sarehl go. He pulled his tunic back into order. "You've remarkable strength in you, too, especially in your arms." He sauntered over to a chair and stretched out in his usual fashion that imitated Sarehl. He crossed his legs.
"Don't you want to know when you're to go?" quizzed Sarehl, lounging likewise.
"Doubtless you'll tell me," retorted Daxel on a grin.
"Tomorrow, little brother."
Sarehl spread out sheets on his lap, took the bottom sheet and handed it absently to Daxel who rose and stood beside him. Daxel's eyebrows rose.
"Are these my instructions?" Sarehl watched while his brother scanned the sheet before lounging back to the chair.
"In Ensore's letter here, Dase, is a strong request, that amounts to an order, that you
follow your instructions without question. Now why, little brother, would Ensore put that?"
Daxel's head came up from the sheet he perused, heightened colour in the lean cheeks. The head went down swiftly.
"Nothing," Daxel mumbled. When Sarehl continued to stare at him silently, Daxel gave his brother a quick glance and sighed. "Oh, very well, Sar. I once didn't follow instructions exactly and ended up very close to a southern sweeping party." He added defensively, "You needn't look like that, Sar. Ongwin has a heavy hand and you can believe I felt it." He paused. "So has Eli. I'll never need another reminder to follow orders explicitly, I can tell you."
"What did Ensore do to you?" asked Sarehl curiously.
"I wish he'd thrashed me as well," confessed Daxel. "He tore me to ribbons."
"Not very pleasant, I shouldn't think."
"No, it wasn't," agreed Daxel, on a shiver. "I'd never seen Ensore like that and I hope to the gods I never do again. He was singularly unnerving, Sar, because he didn't lose his temper - quite the reverse. I felt chilled to the bone."
"Yes," commented Sarehl pensively, "I wouldn't like to anger Ensore." He bent his head back to the sheets he held. "He writes that they're seventy miles west of the tip of Lake Imaq - do you have anything more than that?"
"Aye. He says I'm to meet up with the vanguard three miles northwest of the Bay of Coldth. He's sketched me a map, Sar - would you like to see?" Sarehl went over to Daxel and stared over his shoulder. The map was quite explicit.
"It means you have to backtrack a little, Dase, to the southeast."
"Only a short way," agreed Daxel. "Is the rider who brought this still with us?"
"Aye. Ensore requests that he ride back with you. He expects Methan and Ahliah too. Also accompanying you, Kaleb tells me, is the other healer, Leon."
"Why on Ambros would he want to join an army?"
"Healers are always needed, Dase." Daxel's face sobered instantly.
"Aye, of course they are. It'll come to that soon, won't it?" Sarehl nodded. "It's just the poor man looks weary and he's only just got here."
"True, but he came on foot. With you, he'll ride. It's now much too cold for anyone to walk, let alone by themselves."
"Where is the warlord's army, Sar?"
"Ensore isn't sure exactly, but he places them where I do and that's northeast of Lake Imaq, not far from cresting the tip. He should reach that in another season or so, though the winter drawing closer will slow, then halt, him. It seems he's a good three seasons behind Ensore."
"Is he as far back as Ensore would like?"
"Perhaps not," mused Sarehl. "His scouts are well ahead of his troops and those he pushes very hard indeed."
"Are the winters up north always so cold, Sar?"
"So I believe, Dase, and the further north you go the worse it gets. You certainly learn to appreciate the warmth when it comes for such a short time every cycle."
"Home was a pleasant climate, Sar, wasn't it?" Sarehl smiled affectionately at Daxel.
"Aye, Dase, it was."
"Will we ever go back there, Sar, do you think?"
"To what, Dase? There's nothing left to go to, is there?"
"One day, Sar, I want to go back, to see where I come from." Sarehl heaved a despondent sigh.
"Lad," he said gently. "The future's a long way ahead."
"We may never see it," murmured Daxel. Sarehl eyed his brother thoughtfully.
"I think we will, Dase." Sarehl rustled the sheets on his lap into some sort of order. "Now, lad, Ensore also writes that all Sushi troops have met up with the northern army. He says he's met Brue." Daxel's head came up at that and the sombre look in the dark eyes was replaced by amused curiosity.
"Aye?"
"He says, now where is it? Ah, here it is. Listen, lad, and have a chuckle. `Brue is a large lad for his age and learns very fast, though I find him quite unlike you and Dase for appearance. He obviously favours his father. I imagine he could be a handful, as he has a lively manner and a somewhat wicked face and smile. When he grins suddenly, the brotherly resemblance is extremely strong and I see you both. He's learned to ride one of the smaller warhorses and already has a good seat. Arth taught him well. I notice he obeys Maren implicitly which should be encouraging for you, my friend. There's a man worth much.'" Sarehl raised his head at that, met Daxel's eyes and then joined Daxel in laughter. Sarehl put the sheets to one side. "Poor Brue, we shouldn't laugh at him, should we?"
"Why not?" asked Daxel, with a broad smile. "He'd laugh as hard at us. It'll be good to see him again, Sar."
"Keep me informed of his progress, Dase. I can't ask Ensore to. The poor man has enough to deal with."
"I'll try," murmured Daxel. "It's difficult at times."
"I understand, Dase. It's just so the three of us are always in touch. Maren makes the lad write, but I sense it's wrung from Brue in sweat and tears." Daxel got lazily to his feet and stared down at his elder brother.
"And you, Sar? What do you do next?"
"There's still much to be done here, lad," Sarehl responded, a hand absently at his scar. "It'll be another cycle before I can move on to Elban lands. I suspect I may well be back with the army before I go. Ensore's drawing closer by the day, so soon the army will be here, on Kyaran soil, and we can meet up, however briefly."
"Ensore will welcome that day, Sar. I know he misses you."
"It's mutual," sighed Sarehl. He glanced up. "Dase, that beard's real now. Short, but definitely there and getting longer and thicker by the day."
"It's not as itchy as it was," Daxel admitted, responding instinctively to Sarehl's smile. "I'll have to leave my court clothes and manners behind, won't I?"
"For a while, lad," agreed Sarehl. "Are you glad to be going, Dase?" Sarehl rose and stood in front of his brother, his hands on shoulders that were broad and strong. Daxel met the interrogative look.
"Sar, some day we may all be together again. I pray we will. I try to believe, as Ensore does, that it will happen, but at the moment my place isn't here - yours is. You're achieving something while you're here; I'm not. Maybe I'm just restless."
"No, you're not. You're honest and you're quite right. You'll make your mark at the appropriate time. And I'll keep you posted about Kalbeth."
Sarehl let Daxel go, but took the hand held out to him for a long minute. He watched wistfully as the young man strolled whistling from the room, then he settled to writing a long letter to Ensore that Daxel could take with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The days following Ice Isle were among the most restful Chlorien could remember. There was no urgency about her travel, Autoc completely at ease, his teaching relaxed, and Jaim anticipated his homecoming to the Gnosti. When Chlorien slept, the mage and the Gnosti often talked into the early morning hours, their discussions serious and voices low.
Autoc did notice a change in Chlorien that was an undeniable result of her recent experience. There was a new calm about her, the nervous tension was gone and so, too, was the boyishness he'd come to think of as a cherished part of Chlorien. Her big eyes were still pensive, but reflective, with a maturity just come. She spoke less too.
The mage looked at her one day and a reluctant smile crept to his eyes and a hand to the silky beard. He'd stopped dyeing and cutting his hair, so it hung well below his shoulders again, tawny and thick. The hand went from beard to hair while he studied Chlorien. She was tall for a girl, willowy and slightly built, her hair now long because Autoc hadn't bothered to cut it for some seasons, not deeming it necessary. She'd begun to plait it every morning. It prompted Jaim to look sharply at her and say,
"Cynthas did her hair that way, child. You're in her image." Chlorien gave him a smile as she absently kept on plaiting the curls.
Autoc thought she still easily passed as a boy - a slender, tall lad, still a stripling, and he intended she continue her travels in that guise. But he saw the girl behind the boy in so many subtle ways. He couldn't explain what he saw. He quietly suggeste
d this morning that boys wore a queue, not plaits, and was met with a blush and a confused look. The blush deepened as she hastily undid the plaits and let her hair swing free.
Chlorien's sixteenth cycle day had come and gone without comment. Autoc realised Chlorien was no longer a child, and those who met her wouldn't see a boy but an intelligent and very pretty youth.
What didn't change was her relationship with the mage. She still kept close to him, of an evening leaning against his chest, her violet eyes looking up into his blue ones. Then she smiled and relaxed, comforted and secure, the mage's arm about her. She mindspoke more often than not, so much so that it became a habit. Sometimes Autoc answered out loud making Jaim swing round to answer, before he'd look from one to the other.
"Oh, aye," he'd say resignedly. "Tell the boy to speak out loud."
Chlorien's relationship with the Gnosti deepened too. She often walked close to him so she could listen to him talk, a slender hand on the small man's shoulder. Autoc watched the Gnosti's head come up in answer to something Chlorien said, his tawny eyes alight with affection and amusement. He'd travelled in his true form since they left Ice Isle.
It took them four weeks on foot to reach a reasonable habitation. It was a small hamlet set in attractive bush where the mage would be able to purchase horses. Chlorien wondered where their horses from the desert went but never thought to ask. They entered the only inn, a small, somewhat rude, two-storied building that didn't suggest comfort, but Chlorien soon realised exteriors can be deceptive. Inside the entrance was light and warmth and it exuded an atmosphere of benevolent welcome, to such an extent, Jaim raised an appreciative eyebrow at the mage who nodded rather amused.
They went into a spacious and clean public room that wasn't fully occupied, but was well patronised. Only a few tables were free so it was to one of these the mage strode, pulling out a chair and sinking gratefully into it. Jaim followed him, then Chlorien, who drew all eyes. As she sank into a seat she realised why she attracted such attention; nearly all the people present were shorter than she and Autoc and most were copper-headed. The mage may have had exceptional height, but he also had cinnamon-coloured hair that didn't look out of place here and would be considered unremarkable. Chlorien, with her black curls, alabas skin and violet eyes, was an immediate sensation. She sat, trying to give the appearance of being unconcerned. The attention wasn't hostile. She felt surrounded more by curiosity and a desire for friendship. She relaxed.