by Katy Winter
The Ambrosian Chronicles.
With a range of characters rivalling "War and Peace", "The Ambrosian Chronicles" is a unique fantasy saga of epic proportions. Set in the world of Ambros, the story follows the fortunes of one family of gifted individuals, caught up in the struggle to save their world from a force of evil, bent on revenge for events in the far past. Will Ambros survive the conflict? The answer may be found in the seven volumes of the "Ambrosian Chronicles", all written by Katy Winter and published by The Furhaven Press. Available as e-books from your favourite e-book on-line booksellers.
The books making up the saga are:
Book One: Warlord
Book Two: Children of Ambros
Book Three: Circling Birds of Prey
Book Four: The Dawn of Balance
Book Five: Light Dancing on Shadows
Book Six: Quenching the Flames
Book Seven: Metamorphosis
THE AMBROSIAN CHRONICLES
BOOK THREE
CIRCLING BIRDS OF PREY
by
KATY WINTER
Published by The Furhaven Press
Copyright: Katy Winter 2013
All Rights Reserved
ISBN 978-0-473-26588-5
Some explanatory lists to aid the reader.
The Churchik warrior hierarchy:
Warlord - has overlordship of all ranks. Below him, in order of seniority are:
Elite Haskars (some were on the Warlord's Council)
Haskars
Tempkars
Acedars
Beduars
Warriors who are the lowest ranked.
The Unseen Ones and their chosen species:
Abus - Shadowlanders
Benth - Mages of Yarilo
Crue - Wildwind Desert tribesmen
Huma - Rox
Lais - Gnosti
Marl - Dragons on Ice Isle
Minac - Conclave of Reader/Seekers
Misa - Sinhalien of the southern steppes
Obli - Dryads and nymphs from the north of Ambros
Sympho - Rox
The Conclave of Reader/Seekers:
Headed by the Mishtok (Aceke)
Adepts - Setoni, Leon and Morsh (aka Morjar).
The Family of Melas and Alfar of Ortok:
Bethel (aka Beth)
Brue - son of Melas and Bruno
Myme Chlo (aka Chlorien) - daughter of Melas and Elbe
Sarehl the eldest son
Twins Daxel (aka Dase) and Luton (aka Lute)
The Dahkilan Family:
Ensore - Chamah (ruler) of the state of Dahkilah, Marshal of the United Forces of the North.
Eli - younger brother of Ensore (sets up the Intelligence network of the northern forces.)
Kasan - sister of Eli and Ensore.
Characters known by more than one name or title:
Aceke - aka Mishtok/Monseignore
Ahliah - aka Crown Prince of Kyaran
Alfarbeth - aka AlfarBeth/Alfar
Asok - aka Hasuran
Autoc - aka Scholar/Schol - 'Father' to Chlorien, and Master Mage of Yarilo
Bene - aka Benhloriel/Burelkin - Archmage of Yarilo
Bethel - aka Beth/Sorien (Churchik)
Blach - aka as Sorcerer of the Keep/Malekim
Choja - aka Sophysun
Chojoh - aka the Sophy
Daxel - answers to Dase
Ensore - aka the Marshal, also the Chamah, ruler of Dahkilah
Foresters - aka as Sache, Dalmin, Arth, Kalor, Ensore.
Gariok - aka as Dominik/ Arch/Bard
Goldlas - aka Melas
Indariol - aka Aelkin of the Shadowlands
Kalbeth - aka Lodrin (Churchik)/ Little Beth
Kalor - a Cyrenic aka as the Domon
Kasphros - aka Kash
Leon - aka Adept of the Conclave/Seignore
Luton - answers to Lute/Luteriel/Shasah (Churchik)/Karek the slave boy
Malekim - aka Elbe/Elbahkin - Master Mage of Yarilo
Master Ermyn - aka Aesthetics Academy Guildmaster
Melas - aka Goldlas
Myme Chlo - answers to Chlorien
Obli - aka Oren/Oric/Cupa/Oreth
Sarehl - aka as Strategos
Sarssen - aka Losaren (Churchik)/Adept of the Conclave
Setoni - aka as Adept of the Conclave/Seignore
Also see the Glossary at the end of the book.
THIRD AGE: THE BEGINNING
A quotation from Ochleos Rox, Guardian on Lilium, to the Mages of Yarilo, and to the Conclave of Reader-Seekers on Ambros. Third Age 0207.
Through the struggles that have come, and will come again, shall a balance be restored to Ambros. It must be understood. The Watchers and Guardians must be ever vigilant. Those to whom the balance is entrusted must fulfil their duty by ensuring it.
They must look for the child who's made a shadow and thus becomes a child of the dark. There'll be a child born of light and of dark, who'll of all kinds be made into one. The child will have power. Teach the child to use it wisely so that it doesn't become an instrument of chaos.
The paths of these children, and those touching them, will be hard. They'll be torn between powers they can't comprehend. Watch for all the children who hold the balance of Ambros in their hands. In the binding, those of the dark and the light will unite to become one.
Only then will the balance be immutable and Ambros finally at peace. This wisdom is given to me to pass on to you. Take heed. Ignore it at your peril.
CHAPTER ONE
The children of Melas are still scattered across Ambros, each child still unaware of a gift they have to recognise to ensure their survival and that of the future of their world. They are still mostly apart and unable to help each other, but, as they mature, their talents strongly manifest themselves in many ways none of the children as yet understand.
Chlorien has left her Scholar mentor and now travels the Shadowlands with a Rox. The brother, Luton, made the slave apprentice of the southern sorcerer, has been sent north from the Keep to meet up with the Warlord and his army.
The brother, Bethel, enslaved by the Warlord, is a young untried warrior by right of contest and now has to learn how to survive as such in the Warlord's army among the Churchik.
The eldest brother, Sarehl, Strategos of the northern army, has, finally, joined up with Ensore, the Marshal, and is now also in company with his twin brother, Daxel, and the youngest half-brother, Brue.
All the children of Melas are now in the north of Ambros and draw closer each season.
~~~
Winter came on the Shadowlands with cruel coldness. Every part of Chlorien felt the chill as it seeped inexorably into her and made her shiver. Skies stayed bleakly leaden day after day. The winds had a bite that left her breathless, the icy blasts making her bones ache and her muscles seize in cramps. Her feet felt numb and her fingers hurt with the cold. Though she was warmly and adequately clad for the conditions she could never get warm even in front of a meagre fire.
When the snows came in relentless sweeps across the forest she endured more misery as her fingers turned white and without enough feeling for her to grip a mug of hot stew. The snow kept a merciless grip on the Shadowlands for many weeks and though, as a canas at times, her pelt kept her from the worst of the freezing cold she was always hungry. As a bird she'd have been vulnerable, most of the birds from the Shadowlands having migrated south months ago. So Chlorien trudged beside Nikos, tears in her eyes as she felt the pain of cold that seemed to possess her inch by inch. She was conscious Nikos was almost impervious to the cold.
Late one afternoon Nikos came to a halt, ice cling
ing to his hood and riming his eyebrows and lashes. He looked down to Chlorien who halted tiredly next to him.
"We can stay here for a time if you wish, child," he said composedly. "Would that ease your misery, do you think?"
Chlorien raised her head, her lips blue-tinged. She barely nodded. She followed Nikos' pointed finger. It showed her a natural underground cave with a wide snowy mouth that wasn't especially inviting, because not only was the entrance obscured by a heavy snow drift and ice it was also bounded by the upraised roots of the giant trees above and around it.
Nikos left Chlorien standing still while he worked on clearing some sort of entry, and, though it took him only a short time, it was long enough for Chlorien to be quite unable to speak. Nikos took her arm, gently steered her forward and kneeling at the entrance pulled her down beside him. He eased his way into the cave and began crawling down, Chlorien tugged behind him. She made no protest and was like a rag doll. He was weary but didn't suffer the same fatigue or cold that left Chlorien helpless and drained in such extreme conditions. Inside shelter, Chlorien curled up in a ball. She shivered.
It was a surprisingly capacious cavern that allowed a tall man like Nikos to easily walk upright once they were at the bottom of it. It spread through high tunnels to other caverns, that much Nikos could see, but his immediate attention was the cold girl collapsed just beyond him. He stood on level ground, his eyes scanning round. He crossed to Chlorien who hadn't moved and lifting her gently in his arms, he pulled a phial from his pocket that he unstoppered and put to her lips. He made her swallow several times then took a deep swig of the liquid himself. Chlorien took in air as well as liquid. She coughed, her eyes on Nikos.
"So cold," she whispered. "How can people survive here?"
"They manage," responded Nikos, pushing her firmly upright.
"Will we stay her awhile?" she asked, her eyes imploring. Nikos touched her cheek.
"If you wish to," he said coolly. "We won't make much further progress once the weather closes in." Chlorien glanced sharply at him in surprise.
"Hasn't it yet?" He shook his head.
"It's only very early winter, little one. There's much more to come."
Chlorien just watched as Nikos busied himself sitting and constructing a fire. He judged there was more than enough wood and twigs scattered about the cavern and beyond to sustain fires for some time. Nikos looked critically up to the entrance before choosing where he'd establish a permanent hearth while Chlorien huddled into herself, blowing on her mittened hands.
"You're almost a southerner aren't you, child?" he teased.
"It must be preferable to this," she responded, with a rueful and reluctant smile. She licked her lips and then gnawed on them. "Samar's much warmer."
"We'll be quite safe here," Nikos assured her, his voice unruffled, "and we can move when the thaw comes."
"I'm agreeable," mumbled Chlorien, unaware of the long look she got from Nikos.
He didn't tell her of the faces that peered thoughtfully down at them from the entrance before withdrawing, nor did he speak of the catlin that followed them into the cavern and now sat contemplatively washing its whiskers. Nikos knew that shortly the creature would go.
They stayed in the cavern for the whole winter season. Chlorien was eighteen cycles come spring. She found it no hardship to live in close proximity to Nikos, still feeling at ease with him as she'd done with Autoc and their growing intimacy not causing her anxiety. She still loved to nestle against him when he translated to his natural form, but here, away from Ambros, he let her translate to a Rox too. He let her travel with him to Lilium, though he'd never let her linger, Chlorien always coming back with yearning and a deep sense of loss. She came back to the cavern with a profound wish to return to Lilium.
Darkness came quickly in the Shadowlands in winter and it was never especially light in the cavern. That was one reason Nikos took Chlorien outside to briefly plough through the snow before returning to their refuge. Even then she was blinded by the brightness of the snow. And so the days passed. It was as if the world of Ambros didn't touch them.
~~~
By the end of summer Lodestok's army was at the southernmost tip of the Kyaran kingdom. Despite the tragically high mortality rate from the earlier winter his army was in good heart and was huge as it sprawled across another kingdom the warlord believed would be his by the passing of another cycle.
Lodestok's attitude to prisoners remained the same. It made Bethel feel despair and queasiness. He observed Sarssen's expression was quite blank on these occasions and tried to emulate the tempkar.
There was, however, a marked change in the warlord's attitude to the towns he captured, none being torched but, instead, fully garrisoned, stripped for use and the surrounding land left intact to service the needs of the army. Lodestok had no intention of relying on erratic supplies from the south, well aware of the vulnerability that caused. He'd already sent warriors back as far as Norsham to ensure all towns were adequately garrisoned and productive. With Bethel present he ordered that Ortok be the exception, a smile touching cold eyes as they rested on the suddenly bent head.
With summer turning to autumn food supplies noticeably increased, so much so the warlord nodded his head with satisfaction. His army ate well. Though supplies from the deep south of Ambros reached him, along with small but irregular supplies of slaves, Lodestok now increasingly relied on his northern conquests to sustain him.
Fifty miles in from the Kyaran border there was a dense forest belt at least five miles deep and considerably longer. The men sent to check it out confirmed the warlord's belief that this was where he could quarter the army by the end of autumn and before winter claimed the land. He didn't want his men as exposed as they'd been the winter before, not that he cared a whit about the suffering inflicted on the slaves and the troops. All he cared about were his warriors and the horses.
Forest shelter was infinitely preferable to what the army endured previously so when the order was given to advance northwest and cut deeper into Kyaran, the men were relieved and willing. The army was well settled in by the time the season changed and the temperatures dropped to unbearable cold. Unlike the last winter there were plentiful supplies of wood that slaves had foraged for and chopped up weeks before. Food was abundant and shelter was well established.
Though Bethel was still quartered with warriors he'd adapted to the cramped conditions and the lifestyle as if he'd been born to it. He'd ensured the best site he could for his men who now numbered sixty, and, since he was no longer a very junior warrior he could command a few extras that his men hadn't previously enjoyed. They were grateful.
Kel's authority was clearly understood by the men who knew Kel was utterly loyal to Bethel, his eyes following the young man whenever he appeared, a lurking smile touching them at the sight of the shaggy dog at Bethel's side. Kel may have been considered ruthless by the mercenaries. It was a side Bethel never saw. He just saw the welcoming smile.
Bethel had been a warrior for two cycles by winter and was now just over nineteen cycles. When Alleghy was sent south to Sushi Bethel found himself back under Bensar. Luth grinned with delight while Bethel grinned rather ruefully back at him, in his mind wondering what the haskar would have to say to him. His subconscious fear of the haskars was deeply embedded so he was nervous about the response he'd get. He'd been disciplined for mistakes by Bensar in the past but he'd never been flogged - seeing Bensar administer such chastisement made Bethel's blood run cold. He encountered the haskar in early winter just as drills became cruelly difficult. The night he was told by Luth that he was to report to Bensar early in the morning, Bethel had a restless sleep. He couldn't rest properly and woke with a slightly woolly head.
Weak sunlight filtered through the bare branches onto the warlord's pavilion and it was very early, barely dawn, when yawning, Bethel opened tired eyes. He stretched then curled up, reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed. He lay staring up at the roof of the pavilion, his m
ind drifting idly and nowhere in particular. He found himself wondering if he would ever know a life other than the one he was now forced to live and his thoughts strayed once again to Sarehl. He pondered what his eldest brother might at this moment be doing with the northern army and a surge of longing just to talk with him, to touch him and to tell him none of his family were forgotten shook Bethel.
While he lay wistfully dreaming, it suddenly dawned on Bethel that in another cycle, certainly within two cycles, he'd be in an army at war against his own people. He was unsure he could reconcile what he was with what he might've been. He'd spent nearly half his life with the man who lay close and owned him.
Seasons before Bethel hadn't lied to the warlord when he said he couldn't remember his family clearly, even the image of his oldest brother who was a father to him become slightly blurred. It was gestures, smiles and expressions that were clearest as was the memory of warmth, laughter and love, all set in tranquillity. Bethel hadn't fought the inevitable. Only a small sigh escaped him when he thought of the future as the warlord's slave and warrior.
As Bethel turned gently so as not to wake the warlord a hand touched his hair. Turning back he saw Lodestok eying him with almost a quizzical look in the cold eyes.
"You have been lying awake a while, boy, have you not?"
"Yes, my lord," murmured Bethel automatically.
"Why do you not rise as is your habit?"
"I do not wish to leave the warmth, my lord," admitted Bethel honestly, his large eyes watchful and alert.
"And the sigh, flower? What prompted that?" The hand left Bethel's hair and held the young chin so Bethel had to look directly into steely depths.
"I was wondering about the future, my lord." Lodestok stared long into the velvety eyes before he let go the chin.
"Your future, petal, is with me. It will always be so. I suggest you put the question from your mind."
"Yes, my lord," responded Bethel. Lodestok's gaze stayed on the youthful face and then transferred to the long black curls falling all about the chest and shoulders in disordered profusion.
