by Katy Winter
Queeb writhed desperately as Dalmin stripped off the man's jerkin and shirt, then held him flat on the wet ground. Kalor stepped forward. When he finally rose, wiping his knife distastefully on the grass, the Cyrenic looked coldly down at Malekim's servant. Dalmin's equally cold eyes met Kalor's before they walked away, slowly and in silence. Neither man looked back.
~~~
When Kaleb woke at an advanced hour, he washed and ate before he forced himself to return to the prisoner. When he saw where Queeb had been he stood still, his tongue passing over lips that felt dry. He sought out Kalor whom he found by the river, the man's demeanour remote and extremely forbidding. Kaleb approached Kalor who didn't turn.
"Where's Queeb, Kalor?"
"He's dead," replied Kalor distantly. He turned and looked down at the smaller man. "You said you'd finished with him." Kaleb nodded, his glance taking in the Cyrenic's expression.
"He threatened the boy and you'd never tolerate that, would you, Kalor?"
"No, Kaleb, I wouldn't."
"Or any threat to Sarehl or Dase."
"No."
"Will you tell Brue, or shall I?"
"I'll tell the lad Queeb's been sent away. That'll make him easy in his mind and he need know nothing else."
"And Sarehl?"
"That, Kaleb, requires more thought. I suspect we should, if for no other reason that it'll help him understand about Myme Chlo."
"At least we now know that girl's also alive. It means they all are."
"More or less," said Kalor wearily. Kaleb frowned.
"What do you mean, my friend?"
"I'd scarcely call either Bethel or Lute alive, would you? Or Dase – any of them for that matter." Kaleb chewed his lip.
"No," he agreed. "No, they aren't." He touched Kalor's arm. "You have my thanks over Queeb."
Abruptly the healer turned away.
~~~
Life went back to normal for Brue who flourished as the weeks passed. He wasn't conscious of Kalor's close surveillance, something the Cyrenic promised Sarehl after their long conversation concerning Queeb.
Maren also made sure the boy was surreptitiously watched by those in his troop, so the chances of mischief being done Brue were greatly reduced. All Brue was aware of was the curt command from Swet, Maren's senior man, that if he was found where he shouldn't be he'd suffer painful consequences and be on report and very early duty in the stables for a month. Brue wasn't easily intimidated but the look that went with the warning made him sweat. He obeyed. He'd tasted Swet's hand before and seen him thrash men. Blinking, he turned slowly away.
Ensore and Kaleb were watchful of Sarehl as they'd always been. Nor did they inform the Strategos that Kasan and Kalbeth were loosely guarded by a roster of the Chamah's special guard. Sasqua wasn't left out either. Ongwin had already, some time before, made special arrangements where Daxel was concerned, the young man entirely and blissfully unaware of the one who was his constant shadow. Ongwin had taken both Ahliah and his brother into his confidence so Daxel was never alone. All were very conscious of how vulnerable the twin was to an attack through his slave brother.
Ahliah spoke often of Luton, seeing in his friend's dark eyes sad acceptance of his twin's fate, and wishing, always, he could help that part of his friend that so clearly suffered. What those who knew Daxel well noticed about him, was how alive he'd become with Ahliah's friendship. The young man blossomed. He was seen to laugh more often and even jested with men with whom he'd been reserved for cycles. Ensore and Sarehl could've blessed the young Kyaran prince.
~~~
It was a season after the episode with Queeb, that a virulent epidemic hit the northern army, sweeping through the camps and killing with impunity. No one was fully immune to the illness that left its victims weak and nauseous for days. It left a trail of destruction and debilitated people in a way that made the army open to attack should the warlord be close enough. His victory would've been assured.
Kaleb and Sasqua watched Kalbeth, almost haunted looks in their eyes because since he'd been a small baby, the little boy tended to succumb to every ailment that affected his chest. He was a lovely child with his black curly mop and big velvety eyes that became darker with each succeeding cycle. They were already deep blue, sparkling and happy. Kalbeth was a contented child.
Sasqua showed her pleasure in the child's closeness to Sarehl, her joy at Bethel's eldest brother raising her son evident from her looks at the Strategos. She respected, admired, and had come to care very deeply for Sarehl. Kaleb observed wryly one day that she only fully trusted Sarehl and Kasan with whom she was ready to live out her life, her son bonded closely with them all.
Her absolute joy was Kalbeth whom she adored. She took pride in the fact that the dark-haired baby grew into a small boy who was the image of his father, frequently commenting to Sarehl on the boy's appearance. As he sat the little fellow on his lap, Sarehl could only agree. He told him stories as he did to a young Bethel, his hand stroking the dusky curls as if indeed little Bethel was ensconced on his knees. When Kalbeth looked up at him Sarehl still felt a twist inside, because he seemed to stare into the face of a child he'd loved so dearly. Then he fiercely clasped Kalbeth to him, his lips to the boy's head.
Kalbeth wasn't quite four cycles when the fever hit the camp. Kaleb checked the child's pulse regularly as well as his temperature. As the virulence of the illness abated, he and Leon breathed a sigh of relief, though they were still kept busy with the sick and dying. It was the third week after the first in the camp succumbed that Kasan urgently summoned Kaleb to Sasqua's tent set next to the one she and Sarehl occupied. She was worried by Sasqua's lethargy and colour. In haste, Kaleb responded. He was profoundly shocked by Sasqua. He knew the illness could move swiftly, some contracting it gone within a day. When he'd last seen Saqua early that morning she was bright, humming to herself as she fed Kalbeth, her smile at the healer still tentative but decidedly friendly.
Now she was so ill she was unable to move. The fever had struck without warning and it was vicious. Kaleb crossed to the bed, his eyes deeply troubled as they looked at the very young woman lying motionless, her long, silky blond hair falling across the cushions, her face white and lips quite bloodless. Alarmed, Kaleb lifted and held her wrist.
"No," he whispered. "Please the gods, no."
Very gently he placed her hand back on the cover, sent Kasan immediately for Sarehl and ordered the others from the tent. Then he sat beside Sasqua so he could lift her into his arms, talking quietly and calmly to her while he attempted to soothe the fever with a cool, damp cloth that Kasan had placed in a bowl by the bed. Sasqua was so sick she was too weak even to shiver. Kaleb did nothing else. He just sat there, cradling her and crooning softly in comfort.
With Sarehl's arrival, Kaleb raised his head, grief in his clear eyes. Painfully, Sarehl went to his knees beside the bed, one of Sasqua's limp hands clasped in his and his dark eyes anguished as they met the healer's.
"Kaleb, I beg of you, help her," he whispered, his gaze now down at the pale face. Kaleb shook his head.
"There's nothing I can do, Sarehl," he murmured sadly. "She's fading very fast."
"Can she hear me?"
Sarehl leaned across the mattress and touched a cheek. Tired, pale blue eyes opened to stare into dark ones, then Sasqua weakly gripped at the hand that still held hers.
"Sarehl." The voice was feeble and speaking seemed to exhaust Sasqua.
"Yes, child, I'm here with you and I'll stay."
"Kalbeth?"
"Kasan's bringing him. Don't fret for him, love, he'll be here shortly."
"I care for you, Sarehl."
"Yes, child, I know you do. You're a little sister to me, Sasqua, but you know that, don't you?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Beth was so blessed to have you raise him, Sarehl." Sarehl bit his lower lip very hard and had to blink even harder.
Kaleb sponged her face and neck before sitting quietly to brush the blond hair. Sasqua sm
iled because they knew she enjoyed the sensation of a brush on her head. It always relaxed her. Sarehl sat above Kaleb but beside her so she could rest on his shoulder as she'd learned to do from her first days with the northerners, except now her head drooped.
"Care for little Beth," she begged faintly. "Raise him as you did Beth. Promise me, as he's your son, Sarehl."
"You know he's a son to me, Sasqua. No harm shall come to him, that I promise you. Your and Bethel's son couldn't be other than precious. I promise you, again, I'll raise him as my son and will also keep his Mater alive in his mind."
The blue eyes, pupils dilated, opened then closed again. The voice was barely audible.
"Tell Beth I did love him."
Sarehl held her close, unable to respond in words. Kasan arrived with Kalbeth in her arms, the little boy's eyes wide and slightly apprehensive. Kaleb stopped brushing Sasqua's hair so he could move to the end of the bed. It enabled Kasan to sit on the other side of the bed from Sarehl. She touched Sasqua's head very gently and her voice broke as she spoke.
"Sasqua, love, it's Kasan. Little Beth's here."
Kasan pushed the little boy onto his mother's chest and carefully lifted the dying girl's arms about her son, placing one hand so that it touched the child's face.
"Mater," said a small tremulous voice. "Mater. Mater."
Sasqua's eyes opened wide and looked clearly and directly into her son's. With a surprising surge of strength she held the little boy to her, hard, even though her breathing was now laboured. Her eyelashes flickered.
"Kalbeth," she said distinctly, then the voice slurred. "Little Beth. Mater loves her little boy." The eyes closed, but the last word was quite clear. "Beth."
Kasan picked up Kalbeth when the arms about him suddenly fell slack. Holding the little boy tightly and with tears pouring down her face, Kasan left the tent. Sarehl bent his head, his hands taking Sasqua's in his. He stayed that way and unmoving for a very long time. Only Kaleb saw the tears that rolled down through the black beard and dripped onto the fur that covered Sasqua. He tactfully left the tent.
At last Sarehl raised his head, to look down at the face that was calm and at peace, as if Sasqua were only deeply asleep. It was a very young face and it belonged to the mate of a beloved brother. Sarehl stroked the hair as of habit, then he bent and kissed Sasqua on the mouth.
"I promise you, Sasqua, I'll care for them both," he said softly. "And one day I'll tell Bethel how much you cared, too."
He eased Sasqua back on the cushions. He covered her gently and looked down once more before he turned and left the tent.
It took Sarehl long days to recover from the loss of Sasqua. It was as if her death brought back unbearable memories of Bethel, because through her he learned so much of what his younger brother now was and her connection with Bethel kept the youth alive and vital in Sarehl's mind. Now the link was severed, Kaleb and Ensore noticed that Sarehl's thoughts drifted and the dark eyes were, at times, quite melancholic. Together they decided that the Strategos would become so busy he would have no time to think of family matters.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sarehl, Ensore and Kaleb spoke long about Lian, their knowledge of the events surrounding Ortok clearer but their confusion over Melas' role and that of her family continued. Ensore became profoundly contemplative. Sarehl was left to find Daxel so the young man could be told the news of his half-brother. As the days, then three weeks passed, Sarehl thought hard about what to say to young Brue.
The Strategos found Daxel, as he often was, in company with Ahliah, both young men involved in a lengthy argument over the possible disposition of troops. They looked up at Sarehl's approach, Ahliah grinning in his likeable way and Daxel smiling at his brother with an intimacy he reserved for the very few.
"Sar!" he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet, stretching and scuffing at the earth where he and the Kyaran prince were drawing.
"Strategos," said Ahliah, his grin broadening in response to Sarehl's amused chuckle.
"Organising the troops behind my back, are you, lads?"
"Nah," laughed Ahliah. "Dase just has some odd ideas on cavalry moves, haven't you, Dase?" Daxel's black eyes lit up at the challenge.
"Is that so?" he drawled. "Well let me tell you, princeling -." Ahliah's delighted chuckle made Daxel break off.
"See how wonderfully irreverent he is to the blood line," observed Ahliah, on a wheeze of mirth. "Ah, Dase, you're good for the essence. Don't you think so, Strategos?" Appealed to Sarehl shook his head disparagingly at both young men.
"Leave me out of this," he responded, a quiver of amusement in his voice. "Dase, give me a moment, will you?" Ahliah tactfully patted Daxel on the arm and turned to go.
"Don't think you've got away with anything," called Daxel after the retreating figure. "We'll sort this out later."
"Anything you wish, friend of mine," called Ahliah, giving an impudent hand gesture that made Daxel raise a mock fist at him. Ahliah's laughter floated back to them. Daxel swung round to Sarehl, his dark eyes alert.
"You want me, brother. What is it?" Sarehl saw the eager light flare in the eyes then fade when he had to say quietly that it didn't concern Luton.
"Lad," he said gently to the averted head. "When I know anything about Lute, you'll be the first to know."
"Aye." Daxel gave only the faintest of sighs.
"It's about Lian, Dase. He came to the camp some days ago, nearly two weeks now, and spends most of his time with Kaleb. Such an oddity his story is, too."
"Oh?" Sarehl saw curiosity in the large eyes that could've been his own.
"Dase, it's a long story and we haven't heard it all I'm sure because Lian's very tired, lost and he's been savagely treated. Oh, Dase, he knows nothing about his father and I believe it would be cruel for him to ever be told. The healers agree."
"I'll say nothing," said Daxel, his interest now piqued. "So tell me, big brother, what happened to our quiet, withdrawn half-brother?"
Daxel listened in silence, his face expressionless but his eyes reflecting changing emotions as the saga of Lian unfolded and the young man heard about his mother and sister. When Sarehl fell silent, Daxel heaved a deep sigh and scratched at his beard.
"Do you believe all this, Sar?"
"Yes," replied Sarehl simply.
"Who were the healers who approached Bruno in the first place?"
"I'm not sure, but whoever they were they were high enough up in the Conclave to make Leon and Kaleb look quite stunned and ill. That they have to accept their kind inflicted that sort of suffering on Lian was bad enough, but that two trusted members should've sold themselves to one of higher power distresses them."
"Sold to whom?"
"That I can't answer, lad. Sometime ago I researched about sorcerers and things, but I seem to have forgotten a lot and only know as much about the southern mage that we all hear about as you do. Lian was subjected to him, because now that I recall our conversation, he spoke of Blach. That's the name we hear spoken of, isn't it?"
"Mage or sorcerer," agreed Daxel. "And there's more recent talk that the man has an apprentice."
"Yes," murmured Sarehl, rubbing his cheek. "I've heard that, too."
"Why did Bruno have to mate with Mam, Sar?"
"That baffles me, too," confessed Sarehl, his hand now running down his beard. "There's a plot here that needs unravelling. Lian's taken to the sorcerer who sets him up to act in a predestined way, after Lian becomes part of our family. Perhaps the sorcerer thought Lian could only be a really useful tool if he was integrated in with us and Myme Chlo was taught to regard him as a brother."
"And totally trust him," supplied Daxel, frowning.
"Presumably," agreed Sarehl. "That means that poor Bruno was another unwilling and minor tool that could be dispensed with quickly because he'd served his function. And his purpose was a small one in what's clearly a carefully thought out strategy."
"And the warlord's involved, too."
"Aye, lad, that
's so."
"Why did someone like Bruno have to come so far to mate? What was it about our mother, Sar? She's like other women, to us just our beloved Mam - but to the sorcerer and the warlord she's someone else."
"I need time to think that one out," admitted Sarehl, his frown as heavy as Daxel's. "And why our family, Dase? Why us? I can think of nothing out of the ordinary about Mam at all."
"Me neither," responded Daxel quickly. "All I know, big brother, is that I loved Mam so much." The usually firm, deep voice quavered. Sarehl crossed to his brother and put an arm about him.
"Aye, Dase," was the rather husky reply. There was a prolonged silence that Daxel broke.
"What do you want me to do about Lian? What you've told me makes my heart go out to the poor devil."
"Come and meet him in a day or so. Kaleb and Leon have kept him very quiet to lessen his shock."
"Is he changed so much, Sar?"
"No. He looks just as I remember him," responded Sarehl, releasing his brother and turning as if to leave. "He's a youth without a beard and profoundly afraid."
"And Brue?"
"That'll come as a shock to them both, so we'll have to take that one very carefully."
"Lian will get the greater shock," observed Daxel wryly. He got a sudden smile from Sarehl.
"Aye, the boy's the image of Bruno. I only see Mam in his smile, don't you?"
With that Sarehl left his brother to sink back to the ground where he sat hunched, his mind busy and far away.
~~~
When Kaleb went to Sarehl's quarters he found the Strategos alone, his mate obviously busy elsewhere in the camp and the tall body stretched out on the bed. Sarehl was absorbed in a book that Kaleb recognised as one of his own and he met the apologetic grin with a broad smile.
"You're going to ask me where I got this mighty tome, aren't you?" remarked Sarehl, forestalling anything the healer might be tempted to say.
Kaleb was merely amused and made no immediate comment, just crossing to the bed and quietly bending over the prone figure. He looked deeply into the trusting black eyes. Sarehl's faith in the healer was absolute and Kaleb saw it in the unflinching gaze.
