by Katy Winter
"That's enough," he said firmly, his voice not quite steady. "Finish your wine and go and attend to the reader. I'll care for the boy."
Instinctively, the healer drained the goblet and handed it to Jane as he left the pavilion. Jane crossed to the bed and sat staring down at Bethel, the sorrow he felt for him mixed with grief and pity for the warrior. He spent the next hours prowling restlessly and with increasing distress. He not only felt huge respect for the large tempkar, but also considerable affection that deepened over the cycles. Despair touched him when he thought, maybe, this time, the warlord may have irreparably hurt Sarssen. Jane began to shake. He continued to walk, his hands kneading together.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
In the early hours of the morning, Jane looked up at a slight movement at the pavilion entrance. He was instantly on his feet, his eyes very wary and his pulse racing uncomfortably. He desperately hoped it was the warrior.
"My lord?" he asked softly.
He didn't get an answer. When the tall figure limped slowly towards him, he moved cautiously forward, quickly turning back for the lantern and swinging it so it lit the man who moved hesitantly towards him. He barely recognised Sarssen. With a cry, Jane placed the lantern on the ground and strode forward so he could guide the big man to the nearest chair. He pushed the warrior into it, desperately holding a full goblet to Sarssen's mouth.
He saw then how battered the warrior was - Sarssen's lips bled, his left cheek had a nasty cut across it and the green eyes were dry and expressionless. The long blond hair fell across his shoulders, the tousled locks also on his chest in limp ringlets, both chest and shoulders had bleeding cuts, some even deeper gashes, and unbelted breeches were torn and blood flecked. The warrior was barefoot.
Jane held the goblet closer, saying urgently, "Drink, my lord, I beg of you."
Sarssen took the goblet with an unsteady hand. He winced when he tried to sip. He closed his eyes and stayed motionless, while Jane dragged extra furs from the bed, placed cushions to support Sarssen's head and then wrapped furs round the motionless man from his shoulders to his feet. He looked thoughtfully at the warrior, pulled out a small phial from his breeches pocket and, leaning forward, deliberately dripped some of the contents into Sarssen's wine.
"Drink, my lord," he urged.
Sarssen raised the goblet again, his eyes still closed. Jane gently alternately coaxed and bullied him to finish the wine, then quietly removed the goblet and drew the furs fully round the still man to keep out any creeping chill. He crouched and waited. He noticed colour seeped back into white cheeks, and, satisfied, went to another chair and watched, a goblet to his mouth.
Sarssen didn't move for over an hour. Jane suspected the warrior totally withdrew over that time: he kept still and quiet until he saw Sarssen's eyes open, alert and very cautious.
"Jane?" he asked huskily.
"Here."
"The boy?"
"Unconscious, but very much alive."
"Jaden?"
"Conscious, but described as babbling."
"Have you given me quineth?"
"No, my lord."
"What then?" Sarssen's voice was a cracked whisper.
"Angwort. I got some for just such an occasion as this. It removes exhaustion and pain for a while, but leaves one quite capable."
"Ah," came the response.
"Is it helping?"
"Yes."
"What else can I do for you, lad?" asked Jane. He came across and knelt beside the warrior, concern in his eyes. Sarssen's eyes showed instant surprise.
"Lad?" he croaked. Jane started to laugh.
"With your hair loose you look very like a young lad to me, my lord," he replied.
He saw a slight smile touch the green eyes before they closed again. Since Sarssen seemed to be going to sleep, Jane pulled over a spare fur, curled up in another chair and went to sleep as well.
He woke with a fright when he heard an impatient stride across the pavilion four hours later. A quick look to left and right assured him Bethel was still on the bed and Sarssen in the chair. Shaking off his disorientation, Jane quickly rose, head respectfully bowed, the man confronted by a hawk-faced warrior who tapped his horsewhip on one boot.
"Who the devil are you?" demanded the warrior.
"I am the young warrior's man, my lord," Jane answered, a wary eye on the whip.
"What has been going on here?" Jane went to speak, but a voice behind him made him stop.
"My lord."
Jane and Bensar turned in unison. Sarssen was on his feet, head bent as junior warrior to a senior. Bensar stared at the tall, half-naked figure. In better light, cuts all about the torso were clear.
"Explain your absence from the field, Tempkar." Jane would've remonstrated, but something told him not to.
"I have recently come from the warlord's pavilion, my lord. I had no time to ready myself."
Bensar strode over to Sarssen, his hand going ungently under the younger man's chin. His eyes narrowed when he took in the bloodied lips, the cut cheek and bruising already evident, and the slashes that went across the upper body.
"He savaged you, boy, did he not? Why you and not the other?" Sarssen gestured with his hand to the bed.
"The other is unconscious, my lord." Bensar cast a cursory glance at the prostrate figure, then turned back to study Sarssen.
"You are very badly knocked about, boy," he observed. "Can you walk?"
"Barely, my lord."
"You will be no use on a horse then, will you?"
"No, my lord." Bensar let go Sarssen's chin and turned on Jane.
"Get him a healer, fool," he snarled, lifting his whip suggestively. "Why did he turn on you so brutally, boy? How did you so anger him? It is long since I have seen you in such a bad way. This is quite unexpected." He pushed Sarssen back to the chair and looked thoughtfully down at him.
"A reading and seeking went wrong, my lord. The boy suffered and so did Jaden. I just happened to be there."
"Unwise of you," commented Bensar, a malicious grin crossing his harsh features.
"Very, my lord," agreed Sarssen.
"Do you need assistance other than from a healer, boy?"
"No, my lord." Bensar nodded.
"You are excused duty. I do not expect to see you today. Get yourself properly attended to. Report to me when you can, boy." That was as sympathetic as Bensar ever became, but Sarssen gratefully acknowledged that. Bensar didn't need to elaborate and Sarssen knew it.
"Yes, my lord."
Bensar looked a little longer at him, then left the pavilion.
Wearily, the warrior dragged himself across to the bed, where he sat carefully and gingerly, to stare down at the slumbering youth. He spoke in a very low voice.
"I am surprised I survived whole, child." He put his hands briefly to Bethel's forehead and closed his eyes. "Wake soon, boy."
With those words, the warrior dragged himself back to his chair and sank into it, teeth hard clenched.
~~~
Bethel gave a sigh and turned uncomfortably. His mouth was dry. He opened eyes that looked straight up into Jane's before his glance flickered next to Sarssen, who, Bethel thought, looked extremely battered and remote. Jane smiled, but Bethel's eyes fixed on the deep cut on the warrior's face.
"Get up, boy," Sarssen was saying.
Inured to instant obedience, Bethel struggled up onto his elbows, aware he felt both giddy and hungry. Jane helped him from the bed and handed the youth his boots. When Bethel had pulled them on, he looked back at the warrior.
"My lord?" he asked.
"Yes, boy?" Bethel swallowed nervously.
"My lord, you are very badly hurt."
Sarssen walked with a halting limp to the far table. He made no comment. Bethel got rather shakily to his feet and walked over to him, to be handed a wineskin.
"Find another goblet," he was instructed. "All these seem to be used."
When Bethel stooped and began to rummage around
, Jane quietly withdrew. Bethel straightened with a goblet that he quickly filled. Sarssen studied the young face.
"What do you remember about last night, boy?" he asked abruptly. Bethel started, the goblet part way to his mouth. His eyes were wide.
"Very little, my lord. I mind-linked with Jaden, I think."
"I see." Sarssen lounged to a chair and sank into it.
"Why, my lord?"
"The reading and seeking went wrong. The warlord was very angry when it was unsuccessful. He turned first on you, then on me."
"My lord." Bethel looked and sounded distressed. "You are so badly hurt."
"Better one than both of us, boy," Sarssen responded coolly. He kept his gaze on Bethel. "Look at me, boy," he instructed.
Obediently, Bethel did. He realised, when he blinked rapidly, he really remembered very little of the night before and had to concentrate on what the warrior opposite was saying.
"Finish your wine and return to your men, boy. It is unlikely the army will move today or tomorrow. Jane will be wondering where you are."
"Yes, my lord." Bethel placed the goblet on the ground and rose.
"I shall see you later. Make time to do so, boy."
"Yes, my lord," repeated Bethel, moving to the pavilion entrance.
~~~
Lodestok strode into the mess nearest the pavilions, his eyes challenging and threatening. Even his stand was uncompromising. His eyes scanned the benches. They came to light on Bethel, who sat quietly and consumed from a platter heaped with food. Since the warlord signalled the men to remain seated when he entered, and Bethel rarely lifted his head among the warriors, he was unaware of his master's presence. He therefore got a fright when he heard the icy voice directly above him. Hastily scrambling to his feet, he dropped his food and coughed on a crumb.
"I see you are recovered, boy."
"My lord."
"I should be grateful for that, I suppose." Bethel made no reply. Clearly, one wasn't expected. "You will be with me this evening as usual."
"Yes, my lord."
"Then sit and eat."
A strong hand on his shoulder pushed Bethel roughly onto the seat. Bethel's appetite vanished. He stared morosely at his food then began slowly to eat again. Lodestok strode further along the benches until he came to Bensar, sat beside the haskar, and called irritably for a tankard. While he waited, he stared unamiably at his second. Bensar prudently said nothing, aware of the brooding look in the pale eyes and the repressed violence in the warlord's demeanour. With a snarl, Lodestok took the tankard offered and drank deeply.
"Where is Sarssen?"
"He was to be treated by a healer when I last saw him, my lord," was Bensar's indifferent response. The warlord looked hard at Bensar.
"He is still my slave. What are you saying?" he asked softly.
"Nothing, my lord. That is the last I saw of him, early this morning."
"Why was he not out on the fields?"
"He was unable to be, my lord."
"How badly have I hurt him?"
"He is quite badly knocked about, my lord." Lodestok drank deeply again.
"I only remember being enraged. More fool him to be in my way." The grin was back on Bensar's face.
"So I told him, my lord." Lodestok saw it and a responsive smile lit the cold eyes.
"You understand me very well, do you not, Bensar?"
"I try, my lord."
When Lodestok lifted his tankard, he saw Bensar glance casually at someone entering the mess and also looked up, to see Sarssen. The smile died. The blond hair was still loose about the younger warrior's shoulders and chest, but the face, despite careful treatment, was bruised, swollen and sore. All could see torn lips, a very deep facial cut across the left cheek, body slashes, even a fine cut on the throat. The mauling, warriors knew, would be over the man's entire body. Every warrior in the mess took in Sarssen's horrid appearance and knew what caused it, so when the tempkar came forward with a slight limp, all heads tactfully went down. Conversation died. There was an unbearable silence.
When he received a tankard from a slave, Sarssen went to a bench where other warriors squeezed up to give him room. He hadn't seen the warlord and sat, his expression unreadable, whilst he sipped at the badran. He licked his lips after each mouthful. He didn't see the warlord approach either, until Lodestok was only a few feet away. He went to rise, but Lodestok's hand kept him still.
"Look up," commanded the cool voice. Sarssen raised his head and saw how the warlord studied his face. "Have you had that face attended to?"
"Yes, my lord."
"You look an utter mess."
"My lord."
"Follow me. Bring your tankard."
Lodestok strode from the mess, the warrior limping behind him. They left considerable comment and speculation behind them that Bethel tried hard to ignore. He studiously kept his head down and ate.
Outside, Lodestok turned to Sarssen standing immediately behind him, the warlord's look appraising.
"I did that to you?" Sarssen stood still, head bowed. He was silent. "Answer me!"
"Yes, my lord." Sarssen turned his head away to one side.
"Have you seen Jaden?"
"No, my lord."
"You did not deserve this, did you?" Sarssen didn't answer. Lodestok said roughly, "Look at me." As he'd always done, Sarssen obeyed immediately. "You have always been loyal, Sarssen, and never complained. I would rather you had not suffered in this way. It is most regrettable. You will return to the healer until you are fully well." The warlord put a hand to the undamaged cheek. "Do not stand willingly in front of me when I am so blindly enraged, boy. Learn to move more quickly when you see the opportunity." He stroked his hand down from the eye to the jaw-line.
"My lord."
"The boy was spared this. I repeat, I would rather you were too. Go, take your tankard. If you see Jaden, bring him to me."
"Certainly, my lord."
Lodestok turned and strode towards his pavilion. Sarssen stood watching the retreating figure for a long time before he turned and went back to the mess.
~~~
When Sarssen brought Jaden to the warlord that evening, he found Lodestok lounged in the chair in his usual casual pose, his eyes lifting from the contemplation of Bethel who sat cross-legged on his mat with the estibe in his lap. Sarssen paused on the threshold until he received a signal from the warlord. He then advanced into the pavilion, Jaden clinging to his hand.
The warlord swung his booted foot to the ground, a move that made Bethel look up, both enquiring and decidedly apprehensive. When he saw the warrior with Jaden he stopped playing, tactfully rose from the rug and backed hurriedly towards the other side of the pavilion where he went into a crouch, his estibe firmly clutched in his arms. From there, he watched the warlord stride across to Jaden, then stop, his eyes registering surprise.
"Why are you holding his hand?" he demanded of Sarssen.
"He is holding mine, my lord," explained the warrior.
"What is wrong with him?"
When the warlord gripped the healer's shoulders and shook him hard, he got absolutely no response. Jaden bounced around like a small puppet. There was no flinch - nothing. Lodestok lifted the healer's head and drew in his breath sharply at the sight of the blank eyes, the warlord unable to see any recognisable sign of intelligence in either face or eyes. He let the healer's head drop.
"Is it curable?"
"No, my lord. His brain is permanently impaired." Bethel thought the warrior's voice was sad. He, too, felt that, despite what Jaden tried to do to him, as the healer now was he made a pitiful sight for a man of such talent and intelligence.
"His mind has completely gone?"
"It seems so, my lord. Time will tell." Lodestok turned and flung himself back in his chair.
"Then he is of no further use to us, is he?"
"My lord."
"Enslave him properly then," came the callous comment. "I never had readers branded, the gods alone k
now why. Brand him and do as you will with him."
"I shall keep him, my lord," said Sarssen, looking at the drooping form with the bowed head. Lodestok gave an amused grin.
"If it affords you amusement, boy, by all means." He yawned. "We have no other reader of his standing now, have we?" The grin faded, to be replaced by an irritated scowl. Sarssen tactfully retreated, the healer's hand firmly clasped in his.
"No, my lord, "he agreed.
"Take him away," murmured the warlord, staring with distaste at Jaden. "I do not wish to sight him again. You, flower, get back on your mat. I did not tell you to either move or stop playing. Do you, too, need a thorough lesson in obedience?"
Bethel slunk back to the mat, his head well down and fingers at the strings in a moment.
~~~
Bethel's routine went back to what it was, every day the same. He greeted the norm with relief because the warlord's manner was brooding and unforgiving. He never uttered a word of reproach about Sarehl, but Bethel knew the anger festered and more often than not touched Lodestok's dealings with him. The warlord became like ice and utterly unapproachable, his temper highly uncertain and volatile. He didn't encourage Bethel to play as often either, nor did music pacify him as it did. Their evenings were frequently spent in cold silence. His times with Lodestok became a test of Bethel's fortitude - he obeyed his master without hesitation, in all things, and he didn't put a foot wrong.
The chill worsened until Bethel shivered miserably the whole time the army marched, his cloak pulled round him and his hood up for protection against howling and freezing winds. Where Lodestok chatted with Bethel whilst they rode, now he rode in silence, his harsh gaze settled grimly on the landscape. Where he once smiled, his gimlet eyes briefly responsive, now he was emotionless, his eyes calculating chips of ice. When they lighted on Bethel, the youth sweated even as he froze. The ice in the warlord's eyes was reflected in the ice that began to settle round them each night they camped.
They left Lake Imaq behind and moved steadily westward, the warlord well aware winter would halt them. He was determined the northern army wouldn't have all the advantage of position. He drove the southerners very hard. The ground became impossibly difficult to cover and ice slowed them considerably. Supply lines were over-extended. The expected supplies were delayed and thereby caused hardship among the ordinary men. Again Bethel retreated to his men and his friends.