by Katy Winter
"Yes, my lord."
"Gariok tells me you have achieved the status of Caeom. I believe that is unusual for one so very young, that level most often reached when an apprentice bard is over thirty cycles. You are only eighteen cycles, petal." Bethel kept his head down. "That is to your credit, boy. Make sure you achieve as well as one of my warriors."
"My lord."
"You will be a master bard before you are in your mid-twenty cycles, flower. Your musical talents appear to be very real." Again Bethel breathed deeply, unaware where the conversation led and accordingly apprehensive. He knew an answer was expected.
"I love my music," he managed, licking his lips.
"And being a warrior, boy?"
"It gives me pride to be one, my lord," responded Bethel, daring a glance up from under his curling eyelashes. He saw the warlord regard him pensively.
"You begin to grow your manhood, boy, though you are come to it much later than the Churchik, do you not?" he asked, no emotion in the pale eyes that seemed to impale Bethel wherever he was in Lodestok's company.
"Yes, my lord," he agreed. He wished silence would again descend on the pavilion and was suddenly aware, with Lodestok's speaking of it, that his sprouting beard was aggravatingly itchy. He stayed still.
"Play for me," he was commanded.
Obediently, Bethel stretched to the estibe that rested on a chair and began to play a quiet melody that made the warlord study him impassively for a long minute, before he closed his eyes.
~~~
In these last seasons Bethel began to feel, for the first time since his enslavement, that, in some way, he did belong in this alien society even though he'd no choice about being part of it. He felt he was a young Churchik warrior.
He learned over the last cycle, too, that among the Churchik there were codes of behaviour and honour - that not all warriors were cruel and brutal. Though they might give no quarter in war, many of them were different among themselves. Many appreciated poetry and music. Some were deeply learned. In others, he found there was unexpected sensitivity, considerable generosity, surprising control and personal discipline, even an aspiration to be the best a warrior could make of himself. He recognised, almost unwillingly, modesty in achievement and accomplishment.
He saw compassion, sometimes, but mostly he saw striving for an ideal of perfection and superiority. The Churchik warrior class genuinely believed they were a chosen people and those inferior to them should be subjugated and enslaved, so, for them, the elimination of whole peoples was acceptable. Bethel still found that concept abhorrent, but he could see why the Churchik acted in the way they did. He learned to accept that the Churchik, as a martial people, saw physical power and dominance as paramount.
He knew they had few truth-seekers in their society and heard they'd had seers. They were a complex people Bethel doubted he'd ever fully understand, but he was forced, grudgingly, to respect some of them, though he'd always fear them to the very depths of his being. Lodestok had ensured Bethel would always be subservient to the Churchik. It was now deeply part of Bethel's psyche. And the Churchik, in turn, many of them, learned to tolerate him as one who was, certainly, an outsider and inferior as a slave, but one who survived within their culture and had achieved warrior equality within it. The warriors, like Correc, who would never accept anybody outside their race, still showed dislike and contempt for Bethel, Correc still seeking him out for special treatment, the abuse intended to hurt and humiliate.
~~~
The army skirted the northern edge of Lake Imaq and now was south of the Shadowlands, marching west towards Kyaran. The trail of devastation the warlord's army left in its wake stretched from the north of Ambros, right down through Dahkilah, to the southern-most occupied lands of Kerulen and Mashhad and all lands in the west.
Lodestok's conquests were enormous and frightening, his empire vast and diverse, and the range of peoples enslaved or slaughtered almost unthinkable. The subjugation of peoples was vicious and relentless, the social costs for Ambros, colossal. Lodestok anticipated no real threat to his supremacy, because no one people stood and fought a battle with him. The skirmishes continued, but Lodestok's army was intact. It looked like a bloated insect that crawled across the landscape. He was unworried. His army wasn't crippled or disabled by attacks, the warlord only really losing his temper when he lost a warrior to the raiders. So Lodestok's army marched.
~~~
The current march wasn't especially pleasant, because the days became colder and shorter, the chill in northern Ambros cruel and biting. Heavy clothing was necessary to keep out the chill. Bethel was only warm at night and that was simply because he was smothered by the warlord who rarely suffered from the cold. Since he'd little covering on his bones, unlike the more solid Churchik, Bethel was constantly cold during the day while he rode beside the warlord.
The further west they slowly went, the more Lodestok became preoccupied. He seemed to mull something over in his mind, every so often looking across at Bethel, amusement in his bleak eyes. Bethel saw and felt it. All his old trapped feelings came in waves to swamp him. He wished himself back with his men or with his warrior troop.
Things came to a head on this particular afternoon, when Lodestok turned his head to survey the youth riding beside him.
"Flower," he said, in the gentle voice. Bethel looked across at the warlord and found his eyes met and held. Bethel didn't dare blink.
"My lord."
"You will do something for me this evening." Bethel felt a gripe in his stomach. His heart began to race.
"My lord," he answered, meekly enough.
"Yes, little flower," purred the warlord. "It should be an agreeable task for you." Bethel's foreboding deepened. The glacial stare worried him.
"My lord," he repeated.
"I have been speaking to Jaden about your reading and seeking, boy. He tells me you come along moderately well, though he thought you would learn faster. He says your skill has reached a plateau and will go no further."
"I try to learn, my lord," replied Bethel, through dry lips. "I just cannot quite understand at times."
"Some are natural readers or seekers," came the biting voice. "I suppose it is because you have not the taint of Yazd blood. That makes you slower than others. However that may be, you have enough skill to be useful."
"My lord." Lodestok yawned then continued, the chill in his voice giving Bethel goose bumps.
"You will seek out and read your eldest brother for me, flower." Bethel's stomach seemed to turn over and he barely restrained a gasp. He couldn't speak. He had the queer sensation someone disembowelled him. Helpless, he just sat, his teeth beginning to chatter. "You seem surprised, little flower," said the warlord, eying him with a considerable degree of amusement.
Without knowing what he did, Bethel sent out a powerful distress call in teleth, something he'd never done, even in moments of extreme pain or fear. He'd shown no sign of having such ability. It made his catlin instantly come to his mind, at the same instant as the cry caught a startled Sarssen who immediately sent a response that was cool and assured. It encouraged the boy to steady his nerves and respond in a suitable fashion. It soothed Bethel's terrified despair. He swallowed and felt able to talk, even if his words were breathless.
"Where, my lord?" Lodestok's amusement deepened.
"That is better, flower. I thought, for a moment, you might disgrace yourself as a warrior. You do," he prompted ever so gently, "remember your oath to me?"
"I remember distinctly, my lord." The warlord leaned over to pull at the reins of Bethel's horse.
"Excellent, little flower," he said softly, as Bethel's horse came right next to his. "Your brother was at Taki." Bethel stiffened apprehensively.
"Yes, my lord. You told me that." He remembered how he'd been threatened then and paled.
"Indeed, petal. Your behaviour as my slave and as my warrior has been exemplary." Bethel's head bowed. "However, petal, your brother is a problem we need to
resolve, is he not?"
"Why, my lord?" Lodestok caressed the dark hair that hung loose, then rubbed Bethel's cheek under the hood.
"He has organising talent, boy. I find him a nuisance. He must be restrained." He felt Bethel tense and a deep chuckle escaped him. "I think, petal, it would be poetic if you were to be the remote instrument of his control, do you not agree?" He pulled playfully on the dark curls. "He is at Krynn, so this seems to me to be an ideal time."
"My lord, no, you cannot - I could not. No!" Bethel stopped, appalled.
"I cannot what, petal? You could not what?" The tugs on Bethel's hair became insistent.
"Sarehl is my brother," whispered Bethel.
"So he is, petal," agreed the warlord smoothly. "So he will respond to you with delight, will he not?"
"I cannot betray -." Again Bethel stopped. His voice shook pitiably. Lodestok drew both their horses to a halt. His eyes meeting Bethel's glittered.
"Whose slave are you, boy?" he asked silkily.
"Yours, my lord."
"Whom do you honour, serve and obey?"
"You, my lord," repeated Bethel.
"Is your memory so short, boy?" Bethel shook his head. "Do I have to teach you, again, to obey me?" A deep shudder of remembrance shook Bethel. A tear the warlord couldn't see, slid down a white face.
"No."
"So you will be compliant and help us contact your brother this evening?"
"As my lord commands," came a broken whisper.
Bethel barely sensed either catlin or Sarssen in his mind because grief overwhelmed him. The warlord roughly caught Bethel's chin, and, making the youth turn his head, stared hard into purple depths that showed self-loathing and utter defeat. He spoke very softly.
"Had you not been obedient, boy, I would not kill you. Like you learned before, I would merely make you wish to die. I will not permit that, any more than I did before." Bethel swallowed with an effort, his eyes fixed to ones that seemed to devour his. "Do you understand, boy?"
"My lord." The warlord let the dark head fall.
"Then you may ride again, boy, and since we do not have long before I call a stop, you can entertain me with your view of the beauties of the countryside."
Sarssen sat his horse impassively, to all outward intents and purposes merely contemplating the scenery about him while he rode. He was caught completely unawares by Bethel's teleth. He realised, with grim foreboding, that Bethel's talent manifested itself extremely dangerously, particularly when he was threatened and at his most vulnerable. Only sheer terror and revulsion would make the boy react this way. It took all Sarssen's energy and time to try to pacify the turmoil and anguish he sensed in the young mind, Sarssen's desperate hope Lodestok wouldn't try to use the boy against Sarehl washed away in a wave of exasperation and anxiety.
He stayed in Bethel's mind for as long as he could, well aware how fragile and in the balance Bethel's mental state suddenly was. He communed with the catlin, who was highly agitated. Nor did the tempkar expect Bethel to survive much longer on his own. Sarssen knew, where the warlord didn't, that Sarehl was a father figure, so the suggestion Bethel should be asked to assist in a meld to restrain or control that very father was beyond the young one's ability to cope with. The boy's endurance for seven cycles, thought Sarssen savagely, was remarkable, but there was only so much anyone could take. Bethel had now reached that threshold.
~~~
Sarssen withdrew from the boy's mind, to send out an urgent call that got an immediate response. The Mishtok sounded distant.
"You call, Adept. That's dangerous," came the voice remotely.
"We have a crisis, Reverence."
"That's what you're there to cope with," came the cold response. Sarssen's voice had an edge to it.
"Not this time, Monseignore."
"Explain."
"The boy telethed." There was a faint sigh in Sarssen's mind.
"So it was him we all heard. I wondered."
"The boy has gone as far as he can, Monseignore. Do you realise the full depth of his talent?"
"We know much more than we did, Adept. Yes, I know of his prodigious talent."
"Then you had best be aware how critical his situation is." There was a strong note of exasperation in Sarssen's deep voice.
"I'm listening."
"Jaden and the warlord have arranged for the boy to assist in a mindmeld to restrain Bethel's eldest brother. You know him as the Strategos."
"Sarehl, yes; that's so."
"The boy is finely balanced, Monseignore. The eldest brother is a father to him, but there is much more to the relationship than that. It is profound in a way I do not yet understand. If we do not act now, we shall lose Bethel. This is a cruel act by the warlord. I did not expect him to use the boy so, though he does not know the depth of the relationship, or the possible consequences of what he proposes. He could not appreciate that a mind meld, with one at a much lower level than another, would irreparably harm the weaker reader. Bethel's mental state worries me." There was a long silence in Sarssen's mind.
"What level have you got the boy to?" came the question after a while.
"Level Two."
"Not high enough," mused the Mishtok.
"No," agreed Sarssen sourly. "He must be allowed to learn despite his proximity to the warlord, but I have to go slowly with him. He could endanger every one of us if he leaks like this and cannot control indiscriminate teleth." Again, there was silence.
"What level is Jaden, Adept?"
"Post-Level Three, Monseignore."
"There's a Level Four in Kyaran where the elder brother is. The reader answers to Kaleb."
"Is he open?"
"He will be. He's blanketed the immediate areas around him for some time."
"What do you advise?"
"Jaden doesn't uphold the code or his oaths. To use his talents in such a meld is despicable, as is such an abuse of an unformed mind. He's become expendable." Again there was a sigh. "He has such gifts." Another long silence followed that, then the cold voice said dispassionately, "Jaden's responsible for other acts of atrocity in the past. We can't mindmeld with you."
"No, I know that. It would alert the sorcerer if nothing else. We do not want to issue an invitation to him."
"Certainly not, Adept. Your suggestion?"
"The Fourth Level melds with me. Though I am with him, I will stay in the background until the Jaden/Bethel meld touches us. I then absorb the boy from the combined meld at the instant it makes contact with the Fourth Level. Jaden will assume the Fourth Level is Sarehl. I will then work with Jaden after I have broken his meld with Bethel – the Fourth Level stabilises and cocoons the boy."
"It's perilous, Adept."
"Very," came Sarssen's dry rejoinder. "If it fails, we all die. Have we any other option?"
"No." There was a pause. "And the boy. What then with him?"
"I shall close him down indefinitely to let him regain his balance. He has suffered more than enough. When I am satisfied he is in no danger, and no danger to anyone else, I shall continue with him. At least Jaden should be no further threat."
"Damp that boy's teleth," warned the cold voice. "It was so strong and distressed, it would've reached Yarilo."
"Possibly beyond, Reverence."
"We can only hope you're wrong about that, Adept."
"I shall block his teleth most carefully."
"Wise, Adept." The voice became remoter still. "Be very, very careful. Jaden's no fool."
"Neither am I, Monseignore."
~~~
Sarssen sent a gentle thought to Bethel. He entered a mind torn with misery and guilt. Sarssen knew it was mostly Sarehl's image Bethel clung to as his one hope over cycles of despair, his older brother a mentor, but also one so enmeshed with Bethel's essence they were, at times, simply one. He stayed with Bethel, conscious how fast he sank. The warrior struggled to hold him. He sent comfort and reassurance, but knew it touched Bethel not at all - the boy was beyond that.
Sarssen decided that while Bethel was with the warlord, he had to act swiftly. He drew his horse from the line and cantered back, his keen eye scanning for Jane whom he found after twenty minutes. Jane rode moodily, a frown on his face. He looked up as a rider approached, an eager expression coming to his eyes that faded to a look of acute anxiety when he recognised Sarssen, and it was with a sinking heart that he waited for the warrior to draw up beside him. He noticed the grim set to Sarssen's mouth and his own went dry.
"Beth, my lord?" When Sarssen looked down, Jane saw tension and misgiving in the fine green eyes.
"Jane, my good fellow, you will come with me and remain when we shortly set camp. I want you in my pavilion with the boy slave."
"Mishak?"
"Yes." Sarssen gave a slight abstracted smile.
"Is Beth hurt, again, my lord?"
"Not yet, Jane, and not if I can help it." Sarssen's smile faded. "Jane, I am afraid you will be concerned when you see Bethel. Just talk with him and try to reach him, but do not let him be on his own for a moment. Can I depend on you?"
"Aye, my lord," said Jane. He found it difficult to swallow.
"Can the men be left?" The warrior turned to face the line, his eyes sweeping over the walking men.
"I'll cope with that, my lord. Kel's a good fellow and fond of the lad."
"Good man," said Sarssen softly. He turned back to look at Jane again. "I shall do all I can for the boy."
"Aye, my lord, I know. You've helped him a lot over the cycles, haven't you?"
"You do not miss much, Jane."
"Like you, I watch over him as best I can, my lord."
"Let us just hope, Jane, others are not such keen observers," commented Sarssen. He spurred his horse and was gone.