by Katy Winter
"Yes, my lord." responded Bethel, with an inward sigh. Bensar nodded sharply and turning on his heel left the unsel. Bethel glanced down at Jane who eyed him thoughtfully as the youth began plaiting his mane again. "No rest for me, Jane," he murmured, muttering when his fingers caught in a strand and pulled.
"No, young one, none at all." Jane studied the very boyish face intently. "Shall I send Mishak for Kel?"
"Please."
Bethel unravelled his hair and carefully began the arduous process of getting it under control, his mind grappling with how he'd discipline another unit of men whilst being responsible for drilling warriors junior to himself, being drilled himself, and responding to the warlord. This time the sigh was deep and heartfelt.
His hair plaited, he sat, his mind mulling over his problems. Jane brought him a tankard, a bowl of thick soup that steamed, and a platter of bread and cheese, quietly placing them on the table beside Bethel. He didn't bother to talk when the young man was so clearly preoccupied. It was only when Mishak announced Kel that Bethel lifted his head from the food to beckon Kel in. Kel hesitated only briefly on the threshold before coming across to the table and sitting. Bethel waved at the table.
"Help yourself," he mumbled thickly, his mouth full of soup and bread. It was obvious Kel hadn't yet eaten because he needed no urging. Bethel finished the soup, applied himself enthusiastically to the cheese and lounged back satisfied, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. He ran bread round the inside of the bowl that sat in his lap, absently munching. Kel watched him, the usual smile lurking at the back of his eyes, but, like Jane before him he made no comment, merely spearing bread with his knife and accepting a tankard from Jane. He quickly downed the contents. After Bethel had obviously fully eaten and was rested back with a half empty tankard in his hands, Kel spoke.
"You wanted me, Beduar?" He bit into another hunk of bread, accepting the chunk of cheese Jane passed.
"Kel, we have a problem."
"Aye, Beduar," agreed Kel stolidly. "Twenty of them to be exact." He had Bethel's full attention.
"How do you - are they with you already?" Kel nodded, amusement on his face at Bethel's disgust. "When did they arrive, Kel?" Kel merely grinned and placed his tankard on the table.
"An hour since, lad." Bethel sighed.
"Gods, would you not know it? How bad are they, Kel?"
"No better, no worse than any others, Beduar. They and my men have had early skirmishes already." Bethel looked across at him alarmed.
"No fighting, Kel?"
"A little," acknowledged Kel. "It'll settle given time."
Bethel stared pensively at the ground, a booted foot scuffing at the dirt and a hand unconsciously twining round a curl that already escaped the confines of the queue. Finally he raised his head.
"Who do you most trust among the men, Kel? I trust Kren, but I know them less well than you do so must be guided by you."
"Kren's a good man, Beduar, and you do right to trust him, but he's not one the others will willingly follow - not yet, anyway. He lacks experience and putting him in a position where he may be challenged could be asking for trouble."
"Well then," temporised Bethel.
"Probably most would respond to Cloud. Why?"
"I thought," began Bethel, putting an empty tankard on the table and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, "that we need someone to keep the men in line, while you are relieved of time to work with the new men. Haskar Bensar demands that they are in fighting order in very short time and," Bethel paused before adding ingenuously, "I am the one who will feel his whip if they are not. I do not relish that, Kel."
"No, lad," agreed Kel quickly.
"Would my suggestion work?" The smile in Kel's eyes grew.
"Aye, Beduar, it would. It'll be done."
"I shall come with you, Kel, and speak to the men. Gods, why am I beardless now?" As Bethel ran a rueful hand over his chin and cheeks, Kel and Jane burst out laughing.
"You do look scarcely past boyhood," admitted Kel on a rich chuckle, "but I'm sure your charm will work on them, Beduar." Bethel grinned at him.
"Just let me get a cloak," he advised, rising. "It is still bitter out there. How well are these men provisioned, Kel?"
"Not especially well," was the curt rejoinder. "They also seem to be hungry judging by what they already try to steal." Bethel came back to the centre of the unsel, well wrapped in a cloak, but his face serious and reflective.
He and Kel took their time walking, both aware of the crispness of the air and talking of the impending attack and the logistics of it. It was only when they reached the campsite of Bethel's men that they heard the sounds of a fight, jeering, yells and general abusive language. Bethel automatically lengthened his stride. Kel found he had to almost run to keep up.
Upon reaching the camp they saw two groups of men ranged on either side of a brawling duo who circled each other with knives purposefully drawn. Without thought, Bethel flung back his cloak and gripped his whip. As Sarssen did to him and Manas so long ago, so did Bethel now stand to one side and bring the whip down between the combatants with unexpected force. Kel gave a quiet whistle of surprise. The whip caught both men who leapt back, hands pressed to profusely bleeding cuts. One of the men swore fluently at Bethel. Kel watched the young man turn and stare down disdainfully at him.
"Are those the only words you know, soldier?" The man glared up, his glance taking in the young face. He began to jeer until Bethel said softly, "Are you deaf as well, soldier? Answer me!" The man grasped his bleeding arm.
"No," he snarled. "I know others, boy!"
"Beduar to you," corrected Bethel, even more softly. "Get that clearly in your mind, soldier. I answer to Beduar and my orders will be obeyed. There is to be no fighting among my men."
"We aren't your men," objected the soldier, edging away a little from the tall figure.
"Stay where you are, soldier," suggested Bethel quietly. The man remained still. His hostile eyes finally met Bethel's and what he read in those purple depths made him extremely nervous. He broke eye contact. Bethel turned from him to the gathered men. "Since so many of you are here," he began calmly, flexing the whip and tucking it back in his belt, "I shall speak to you now."
His speech was short, pithy and unarguable. Kel listened to it appreciatively, the lurking smile back in eyes that rested on this most unusual youth. The new men listened in resentful silence, their eyes flickering from Bethel to Kel. Bethel finished in a gentle voice that made even Kel momentarily shiver. He saw the master, briefly, in the new son.
"I prefer not to whip men - Kel, however, has a different view of things should one of you step out of line. Through Kel, all of you are answerable to me. Shem, you knew better than to fight, regardless of the provocation - you march on short rations for four days. That may remind you not to disobey orders." Bethel swung back to the other combatant, his eyes narrowing. "With Shem you will see a healer. You have broken no rule as yet so you march on short rations for two days. Hopefully you will remember rules from now on. Dismissed, all of you." Bethel looked over at Kel and got a warm smile. "I will come to the men when I can, Kel, you know that. It is just that the warlord-."
"I understand, lad," said Kel quietly. Bethel gave a twisted sort of grin and ran a hand across his upper lip.
"They are yours, Kel."
"Aye, Beduar. They'll shape up - you'll see." Bethel nodded and turned away, leaving as noiselessly as he'd come. Watching from a distance, Bensar had a very thoughtful expression on his face. This young beduar was unusual indeed.
Camp was broken the next morning. Kel was able to report that the men had settled better than hoped and said drily there'd been no more fights.
"They seem to hold you in some awe, Beduar," he grinned. An answering smile in his eyes, Bethel just shrugged.
"Gods know why," he responded, turning away. Kel could have told him but he decided not to.
~~~
Late winter was a
ghastly time for an army to be on the move, the days passed slowly, light wasn't especially good and little ground was covered during such short daylight hours.
Bethel was so busy he ended the day crouched at the warlord's feet, barely able to keep awake. A prodding foot kept him compliant and alert. Lodestok glanced down at the figure below him, a glint in the blue eyes as he gave the curt order for Bethel to play, Bethel so tired he felt he plucked strings without being aware of it. Yawning prodigiously, he obeyed. When the warlord retired and gave the command for Bethel to go to him, the youth almost fell on the bed, falling fast asleep as soon as Lodestok pushed him away.
Bethel kept waking later, too, and he'd come to in a blind panic, his heart hammering because every time he thought he out-slept the warlord. He never did and thankfully realised that Lodestok slept considerably longer than he usually did. Since Bethel began to suffer from chronic fatigue as one day succeeded another, this was a blessing.
Bethel's new men responded with gratitude to better and regular food, adequate clothing and proper shelter. When Bethel came to talk with them he found them anxious to listen, responsive and increasingly so willing, he had hopes it wouldn't be long before he had a disciplined unit for when hostilities began.
Bethel wasn't in the vanguard when the scouting riders from each army met for the first time. The warlord was annoyed, his displeasure as always felt by the men concerned and by Bethel, because Lodestok had not wanted his advance known so early in the season. His chastisement of the scouting party made Bethel clench his teeth and ride smartly away.
The element of surprise now lost the warlord didn't push the army so hard, deciding to keep moving for several days and then halt for several more, all the time sending out his scouts for as much information as he could glean. Queeb was one of his most reliable sources, his information unerringly correct.
Lodestok began to wonder, too, when he would hear from the two groups he sent west and south, especially since couriers from the west dried up soon after those men began to skirt the southernmost tip of the Chasa mountains. At that stage the warlord thought, irritably, that perhaps the northern army had stretched itself right down the flanks of the mountain chain, then shrugged that off as unlikely as it would weaken their main force too much.
By the time the army had been marching for some weeks Lodestok received news of either Queeb's disappearance or his refusal to cooperate further. He flew into a blind rage that inevitably spilled onto Bethel. The latter endured a harrowing night. Bethel joined his men the next morning, pale, shaken, and unwilling to communicate other than in monosyllables. It was a long time since Bethel had endured such. A sympathetic hand on his arm from Kel barely elicited any response, Bethel merely excusing himself and seeking Jane. Kel watched him go with a troubled frown creasing his forehead. All the men fell quiet.
The warlord continued to ponder the exact size of the northern force but as days went on the intelligence he received didn't prove reliable, with estimates wildly differing. He missed Queeb. He was also aware he hadn't heard from Menk, but with winter only just passing he assumed Menk and his men would doubtless reappear shortly. He put them from his mind as his army continued northwards.
The only skirmish Bethel was involved in came two weeks after the northern army knew of the southern army advance. Bethel was with a patrol doing a wider than usual sweep when, coming from a northeast circuit and considering it advisable to turn and retreat, they were surprised by a small group that burst from a spinney behind them. The riders approached, swords drawn, and, with looks of grim earnestness, closed with the southern patrol. A minor clash ensued.
What struck Bethel was the sudden withdrawal by the northmen. He was puzzled. He also noticed he was unscathed because the northmen refused to either draw him out or fight him. It was unusual for Bethel to not wear a protective helm either, so his hair colour was clear.
Immediately it became obvious that he'd been recognised as a northerner, possibly an enslaved one and, as such, despite his being with southern men the northerners wouldn't touch him. He called for a prudent and precipitate retreat, thoughtfully riding back to camp with men unaware of anything unusual. They just laughed amongst themselves and called the northerners cowards. Bethel let them gloat. He was too busy thinking to notice.
Lodestok naturally heard about it and raised his mobile eyebrow at Bethel that evening as he was served. He waited while Bethel poured the wine and set the ornate goblet at the warlord's right hand.
"You met the foe, flower. Is that so?"
Bethel had turned to collect a platter, but at that he swung back with a reluctant grin.
"Not exactly, my lord," he replied.
"You did not then fight them off single-handed, little petal?"
"No, my lord. They merely skirmished and withdrew."
"Such heroism," mocked Lodestok silkily. Bethel blushed. He crossed to a small table to collect the platter and placed it in front of the warlord. With the platter settled, Bethel felt his hand taken and held in Lodestok's ferociously strong grip. "You will see battle aplenty, boy, believe me." Bethel looked down into the implacable eyes and felt a shiver take and shake him.
"Yes, my lord," he murmured.
"Your time, petal, will come. Let us hope it is not too soon, shall we, flower of mine?" Another shiver shook Bethel as he let his eyes drop from contact with Lodestok's. "You are not afraid, petal, are you?" The deep voice was very soft and Bethel's hand was still held.
"No, my lord," was the prompt response. "I am not afraid of fighting." His hand was released and the warlord's hand caressed his cheek.
"Well and good, my son," said Lodestok gently.
~~~
By mid-spring, Lodestok's army was only about fifty miles from the northern army and it was now the warlord gave the order for a halt. Since he was closeted with his elite warriors all day, he only saw Bethel in the evenings when he was abstracted and profoundly appreciative of his slave's music. He lounged in his huge chair, Bethel at his feet, his large hand rested on the dark head as Bethel played, often for hours at a time.
The preparations for war grew closer by the day. Bethel could feel the tension as a part of him. Battle veterans were quiet and thoughtful while many young, raw warriors were brash and boastful. Jane noticed that increasingly Bethel kept to himself, very quiet, his face serious and his manner one of withdrawal.
When the armies finally drew even closer, sections of each confronting the other, Bethel knew Sarehl was only a matter of miles away, yet he could no more cross that ground than Sarehl could come to him. Inside Bethel felt like weeping, but he was unable to.
This night Bethel stood atop a hillock, staring down to the distant, very faint lights of the northern army encampment, his yearning for his brother warring with his commitment to those with whom he now lived. He wondered if his private agony was being lived in anyone else and barely felt the hand that came to rest on his shoulder, until he heard Sarssen's voice.
"It does not seem real, boy, does it? After all these cycles, we confront each other." Bethel shook his head.
"All my people, including Sar, are there, my lord, but I cannot reach them, can I?" The grip on Bethel's shoulder tightened.
"Maybe, boy, who knows? Tomorrow is another day."
"I might die," whispered Bethel, his voice trembling.
"So, boy, might I," replied Sarssen calmly.
"And for what, my lord?" Sarssen met the big eyes.
"Indeed boy, for what do men fight?" Bethel's eyes filled.
"I told the warlord I was not afraid, my lord, but I am deeply afraid," he said jerkily.
"That is good, Bethel - it is well to be afraid and to face your fear. That way you may live through what is to come."
"Will you be near me, my lord?" came so quietly, Sarssen scarcely heard the words. His smile at Bethel was a caress.
"Call me, Beth, if you have need of me. I promise that if I am able, I will come."
"I thank you, big brothe
r," whispered Bethel.
"I will always try to be there for you, little brother."
Sarssen folded his arms round the slender figure and they stood still together, staring out across the downs on a cloudy night. The only lights were from lanterns and fires that flickered in the northern army camp.
Ambrosian Chronicles,
Third Age,
12215
We are astonished that Lodestok has chosen to adopt both Sarssen and Bethel as his sons. This extraordinary news has just reached us. That boys, taken as slaves, have been so elevated, leaves us wondering what the warlord's motives may be. That they have been educated in an ancient tradition, both in different ways, also makes us consider what Lodestok suspects or knows of old Ambros, as does his raising two boys to full warriorhood, high in the military hierarchy.
We share the joy of Lilium at the birth of children to Nikos and Chlorien. We also sense the relief. The children will be well guarded, especially the boy we begin to suspect has a significant role to play in the affairs of Ambros. They reside on Lilium.
We've not heard from our Archmage and wonder, with some anxiety, where he is. His safety is paramount.
CHAPTER SIX
Brue's big blue eyes were unusually solemn this day and he was extremely fidgety in a way he'd not been since he began study with Ospero. He found Kalor in his tent and entered tentatively. Seeing Sache there with Kalor made the boy hesitate, almost hopping from one foot to the other. Kalor glanced round to the entrance with his friendly and welcoming smile, an affectionately extended hand out to Brue.
"Hello, lad. Come in and sit down," he invited.
When Brue came forward and gripped the hand, his touch was convulsive and he wouldn't willingly let go. That, and the boy refusing to sit, made Kalor stare thoughtfully at him before turning his head to Sache, an eyebrow raised in surprise and enquiry. Sache rose easily, crossed to Brue's side and tousled the curls.
"I was just leaving, lad. You look as if you need to be private with Kalor."
Brue nodded. He watched until Sache left then took a very deep, quavering breath.
