Warlord

by Katy Winter

  He arrived back at the inn with the horse laden, and, after relieving the animal of its burdens, he ordered that the horse be stabled with the others. He mounted the stairs, only to be pounced on by a relieved Chlorien who hovered waiting.

  She was highly diverted by being given a knife belt. The amusement faded from her face and she looked sober when the scholar told her she'd have to learn to be proficient with her use of the knives sheathed in it. Awed, she watched while Autoc buckled on first a sword belt and then a knife belt. Her eyes grew round when she saw the old man arm himself and slam home sword and knives with an expert air, and the big eyes became like saucers when she sighted a hefty battle-axe that seemed to her to have come from nowhere. She stared briefly at the scholar.

  "Can you use those weapons, Father?" she asked the scholar in surprise.

  "Aye, lad, I can." Chlorien drew in a breath.

  "But you're a scholar," she exclaimed.

  "Scholars, my lad," came Autoc's dry response, "can die as easily as anyone else. This place makes me nervous."

  Chlorien looked up at that, murmuring, "Me, too, Father."

  ~~~

  They spent the hour before they ate organising for the morning, no one objecting to something that would hasten their departure from the town. Before they went downstairs, all that needed doing in the morning was for them to rise, eat and pack the saddlebags they needed for the night. Autoc had already checked the horses were watered and fed. He'd hung the saddles close to the horses in case of an emergency.

  They ate later than usual, but even so the room was very full, mostly, they gathered, because a trading caravan had come in an hour or so earlier than themselves. They occupied a table as far removed from others as they could, receiving curious stares, but no comments, because the swords and knives weren't missed. Jaim attracted no attention at all - the old here seldom did, many of them, the scholar noticed, reduced to beggary. Jaim merely smiled grimly to himself as he ate stolidly and at the same time took stock of their surroundings.

  It was after they'd finished eating and were stretched back replete, that their table was approached by a slight, short man clad in a calf-length brown robe. The scholar nodded curtly in response to the man's bow.

  "May I speak with you?" asked the stranger. His eyes glinted at Chlorien. Autoc caught the swift glance at her and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

  "Yes," he replied, at his most uncompromising. He indicated a vacant chair.

  "It concerns the boy with you," came the explanation, as the seat was taken and brought forward.

  "I thought it might," responded Autoc, sending a warning to Chlorien. He noticed she sat stiffly with her tankard held tightly. Autoc lifted his full tankard and drank quietly.

  "The boy's very lovely," came the suave voice. Chlorien shivered, her instinct to move her chair closer to the scholar's sternly repressed. Autoc raised an eyebrow and looked across at her.

  "I suppose he is," he said indifferently.

  "I'd buy him from you for my master."

  "He's not for sale."

  "Ah now," came the bantering voice. "I know he's pretty, but you found him, so you must be able to replace him. You don't know what we're offering you for the boy. My master's prepared to be very generous."

  "I repeat, my son's not for sale."

  "You want me to believe you travel with your son?"

  "Yes." There was an unmistakable edge to the scholar's voice. "And with the lad's uncle." The stranger flicked a look at Jaim and his smile grew. His disbelief was patent.

  "Yes, of course," he agreed smoothly. "Now, how much would you take for the boy?" Chlorien could sense the undercurrents and she paled, her grip tightening on the tankard so that her knuckles whitened. The scholar didn't answer. The voice went on persuasively, "My master would break the boy very gently. Perhaps you've heard only of the poorly run harems where initiation to business is harsh. His is unlike most."

  Chlorien thought of Lodestok, what she'd heard of his treatment of boys and suddenly felt nauseous. An instant and sharp response came to her mind.

  "Calm yourself, little one. No one will harm you."

  Under her eyelashes, she watched the scholar and the stranger. Then she saw movement to her right, and turning, she noticed an unusually keen expression in Jaim's tawny eyes. Sometimes, she thought, Jaim didn't look like an old man at all. The thought slipped past her, as she turned her attention back to Autoc who was speaking.

  "The boy, my friend, isn't for sale. Who sent you?" The stranger's smile became forced and a little fixed.

  "My master saw the boy early this evening when you first came to dine, and decided he'd be a jewel to adorn his boy harem. He'd draw business, wouldn't he? And business would be good." Chlorien took a deep breath. She froze when one of the stranger's hands touched her face. "He's so different, isn't he?"

  "Is he?" As he spoke, Autoc's hand caught the stranger's as it moved up to Chlorien's curls, his grip extremely strong and it made the stranger wince as his hand was ungently forced down.

  "Yes," he said, pretending nothing had happened. "Yes, he is. We're dark but we don't see such curls or such light skin." The stranger rubbed his wrist and glared at the scholar for a moment.

  "And such lovely big eyes, yes I know, I've heard it said many times. So?"

  "You won't sell him? Is that your last word? If it is, it may not be wise."

  "It's my last word. The lad's not for sale." Autoc rose. His height dwarfed everybody else in the room. He looked unexpectedly powerful and menacing and his voice went very soft when he spoke to the brown-robed man. "Tell Queeb and Ohb my son's not for sale."

  The stranger drew his lips back in a snarl, rose, spat at their feet and turned. The scholar looked down at Jaim and Chlorien.

  "Let us retire," he suggested gently, putting out a hand to Chlorien.

  She clung to him, her palms sweaty. She got a reassuring squeeze, was quietly led from the room and up the stairs, until, inside their room the scholar pushed her onto one of the beds very firmly. When she went to protest, a hand brushed her brow and she fell back unresisting, her eyes closing. Jaim's eyes shone with appreciation.

  "Useful talent that," he observed, nodding at the relaxed boy.

  "Very," agreed the scholar, his face thoughtful. He went over to the window and looked out, only to give a soft whistle. "Damn," he said quietly. "Jaim!" Jaim strolled over and glanced out. One brief look was all he needed.

  "Do they no longer believe she's a boy, my friend?"

  "Oh, they don't doubt that. My guess is that they now misguidedly think it's really a boy they seek and not a girl at all, because the colouring's exact."

  "Our mutual friend in the south would know he expects a girl."

  "Yes," said Autoc morosely, "but his henchmen are a long way from him and may have decided that, as the description fits, they could do worse than bring home a brother. To fail utterly and to present empty hands to their master would possibly scare even them."

  "It would me," muttered Jaim, through clenched teeth. He went back to the window and stared down at the forms outlined against the walls opposite. He pursed his lips. "Something being better than nothing, eh?"

  "Possibly," murmured the mage, standing straight. "My friend, I'll need to stage a small diversion. Are the gates closed yet, I wonder?"

  Jaim was about to speak, but found nothing to talk to, because suddenly the mage faded to a brown bird that flew through the open window. Jaim stayed on guard. His eyes strayed every so often from the sleeping figure to the forms below on the street. When Autoc returned, he translated quickly and looked over at the Gnosti with a smile in his eyes.

  "We're in luck," he said with a grin. "The gates are being held open because a trade delegation's due very soon. So we must make our move now."

  Jaim had already gathered bundles and slung bags over his shoulders. He paused to glance down at Chlorien.

  "Leave her to me," advised Autoc. "I'll be back shortly. Take as much a
s you can, Jaim, and I'll take the rest and the child."

  ~~~

  The fire that caught the inn that night was unexpected. Autoc made several trips in and out of the yard with rubbish and odd pieces of wood that he placed in the centre of a lounging room, then, when he came in for the last time, he was gratified to be met by smoke that snaked and drifted from it. The smoke moved rapidly along the lower hall and adjacent corridors.

  The mage gave a shout that brought the innkeeper swearing from the bar room, followed by patrons curious to know what was going on. Leaving behind him a commotion of contradictory orders, Autoc strode up the stairs and walked down the landing to their room. He entered and hefted two bags over his shoulders. He lifted Chlorien into his arms, then with Jaim striding close behind, he went back out on to the landing.

  Smoke that had begun to drift upwards brought a smile to mage eyes. He moved along the landing at speed which brought him to the back stairs that ominously creaked. It didn't matter because of the noise below. Had anyone been watching Jaim, they'd have seen an old man move with surprising agility and pace. They opened a door that led out into the farthest inn courtyard beyond which the horses were stabled.

  Walking noiselessly alongside the inn walls they reached the stable just as a flicker of fire showed in a downstairs room. They could hear pandemonium from the inn and saw the shadows of customers who rushed outside, yelling, cursing and gesticulating.

  Jaim loosed the tethers of the three horses then saddled them very quickly, packing all their bags and bundles into saddlebags in no particular order. He swung himself up onto the first horse with two large bags that he hadn't bothered to tie to his mount. They were still slung over his shoulders. Autoc handed Chlorien up to him and the Gnosti settled her across the saddle, one strong hand holding her there.

  "I have the other horse," muttered the mage, as he swung himself effortlessly into the saddle of the last horse, bags also still across his shoulders.

  "I'll lead," Jaim said softly.

  They rode as quietly as they could from the stable to the street. Jaim didn't see the mage turn and flick his fingers at the inn, nor did he see flames leap where before there'd been none. Black smoke poured suddenly from the building and swirled down and around the immediate area, and with so much chaos and yelling nobody noticed the three horses cantering into the smoke-filled darkness.

  Autoc and Jaim passed through the cloud of smoke and came out coughing and sneezing. The horses were uncomfortable as well. They snorted indignantly. The two men drew up, eyes streaming, though Jaim noticed Chlorien breathed quite easily.

  "Better for you to have flown out as birds," Jaim wheezed, mopping his eyes. "I could've joined you later."

  "We need the horses and all they carry," replied Autoc. "Besides, we don't want any talk of sorcery, do we?"

  "How then, my friend, did the fire start?"

  "A small rubbish fire I put together, merely enhanced," explained the mage, sneezing again.

  "The inn's probably well ablaze by now," returned Jaim, swinging in the saddle and craning his head to look back. "Nothing but smoke, but it'll clear soon enough. Best we are moving, mage."

  "Chlorien?"

  "He's still asleep." Jaim lifted the prone figure so that Chlorien relaxed back against his chest. "That's what he's meant to do, isn't it?"

  "Aye, he was getting very nervous."

  They approached the town gate cautiously, the mage reluctant to do anything that could alert anyone to any unusual skills he might have. They drew their horses back into the shadow cast by the wall. They waited. Nothing happened for a few moments, then Autoc swore fluently and softly at the sight of guards who sauntered out from the gatehouse and stood together talking. He leaned across to Jaim.

  "I'll try for a cover of invisibility. Keep very close and once we're through, we'll have to move." Jaim nodded.

  They walked their horses forward from the blackness, keeping as far to the left of the men as they could because the mage was aware how loud the horses' hooves seemed to sound. They were just at the gap when one of the guards swung round, peering intently. He waved his arms wildly and began yelling, his gesticulations in the direction of the gate.

  "Gallop!" urged Autoc. He spurred his horse and yanked sharply on the one he led.

  ~~~

  They rode all night, alternating their pace to spare the horses. By early morning, they'd put many miles between them and Sadekak and Jaim felt it was reasonable to call a halt. Autoc dismounted, strode over to Jaim and stretched up a hand that caressed Chlorien's cheek.

  "Wake, little one, and hold out your arms to me."

  Chlorien stirred, and opening her eyes, stared up into Jaim's tawny ones. She sat so abruptly, she nearly fell from the horse and then she saw the mage's arms. She slipped into them. Set upon the ground, she blinked confusedly at her surroundings.

  "Where are we?"

  "Well on the way to the desert. You were asleep when we left." It was Jaim who answered her, a decided twinkle in his eyes as he dismounted. "Tend to the horses, that's a good lad. Your father and I haven't enjoyed your rest." Chlorien yawned and flexed her hands.

  "Did we remember water for them?" she asked. Autoc nodded, so Chlorien turned away, gathering up the reins as she went.

  Their pause was brief and they were on the move within the hour. Chlorien was delighted to have a horse again, since it meant she could range ahead on the mare and return flushed and happy. Sometimes she rode close to the mage, but at other times she'd chatter away to Jaim as if she'd known him all her life. Every so often, Autoc caught Jaim's eye to see an answering smile in the Gnosti's tawny ones.

  ~~~

  Now they approached the desert Autoc became preoccupied and Chlorien's teaching became less on the physical plane, but equally as onerous. Autoc took her, again, to the inner aethyr. This time, now she was maturer, he made her travel lines on her own which she found unnerving and frightening, her concentration on where she went, intense. Though she never knew it, Autoc was always beside her should she make an error and stray. The mage made her become comfortable and assured as she traversed the lines repeatedly, always going in a different direction and distinguishing clear markers for her return. Soon Chlorien moved smoothly and made transitions with unconscious ease.

  Her introduction to the outer aethyr frankly terrified her. It was done very gently, her mind locked to the scholar's. She saw raw power that swirled about her, barely controlled and all consuming of everything around it. She saw beyond herself and was anxious to remain within the identity that was Chlorien. She always automatically did. She instinctively knew that to attempt to shape these forces, or use them in any way, would be destructive and an abuse of power that would rebound on her. Nor did she have the ambition or desire to do so. Chlorien reacted with respect tinged with fear. When the mage saw the instinctual reaction, his lips twisted wryly as he thought of the one he was sure was her sire. Autoc felt Chlorien needed a rest, the mage content she had reached a huge milestone in understanding and control. She wasn't yet fourteen cycles.

  ~~~

  Quite suddenly, the land was no longer stony and there was no more scrub or grassland. They'd reached the desert. Here, Autoc called a halt. He unpacked and untied a bundle from which clothes spilled. There were three pairs of very loose-cuffed pants that Chlorien was told were called talma and to match them, in material and colour, were long, hooded robes with long sleeves that were tied about the waist with broad woven sashes. There were sandals too.

  After they changed, Chlorien watched while the scholar buckled on his sword and knife belts. Absently she did the same. She knelt and laced the sandals carefully, unsurprised they fitted her so well. She rolled back the robe sleeves for comfort and then tidied her discarded clothes into a small pile that she placed beside her boots. Autoc picked them up and packed them away in a saddlebag. He looked very much taller in robes, Chlorien thought.

  She was about to remount the mare, when a hand stopped her a
nd she turned to see the mage hold a piece of cloth and what looked like a plaited rope.

  "For your head, lad. You'll die of the sun if you go bareheaded in the desert. Stand still."

  The cloth was flung over her head so that the bulk of it fell down her neck and touched her shoulders. Her forehead was partly covered, but only to her eyebrows, and she felt Autoc place the plaited cord firmly over the top of the cloth.

  "Settle it so that it's comfortable," she was told, as the mage turned away to place cloth on his own head.

  Jaim had already put his skifi in place and sat waiting on his horse. Chlorien and Autoc mounted. The mage gave the signal to move.

  They entered the desert. The mage wondered idly how long it would be before they were accosted by the Wildwind tribes and tried to anticipate what their reception would be. He suspected it would be hostile and resigned himself.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Brue hid, as he often did these days, because it seemed he was forever in trouble of a minor kind. It wasn't that he was constantly naughty; he just attracted the attention of boys older than himself who wouldn't leave him alone. He was big for his five cycles, built more on the lines of a boy at least eight cycles, tall and sturdy, and with an unruly mop of flaming copper hair that was always untidy. Though it was cut short in the early days, for ease of care, the unruly curls bounced all over his head.

  He was one of hundreds of orphans who'd been moved steadily northwards, until now they were in a semi-permanent camp at the tip of the forest. There were over eighty such camps stretched along the northern perimeter, each one organised along the same lines. Each cell of children was the immediate responsibility of a mentor, usually a youth or a very young man or woman, who in turn answered to a guide. General control was in the hands of seniors who managed and maintained each camp, these men rarely sighted by the children. The seniors were only recognisable by badges they wore on their shirts.

  The children were well cared for, their physical needs always met. They never went hungry, but all became resigned to wearing clothes handed down from older children. No child owned anything. Possessions were very few and there were no toys. Brue was one of many, and as children are wont to do, he accepted his situation stoically, living each day as it came.