by Katy Winter
"Remember everything, Sarehl, from conception to today. There must be no blocks." Kaleb straightened, breaking the eye contact and turning away to find a comfortable chair. He saw Sarehl sit abruptly, surprise on his face.
"My friend, you've unblocked my memory, haven't you?" he asked, quite genuinely startled. "Why?"
"Leon and I believe it's best you know much more, though we're still lacking information. I'll block you again later for your safety, Sar."
"Will you tell me all you know?" As he spoke Sarehl saw the reluctant twinkle come to weary, clear eyes. "Silly question," he murmured provocatively. "Will the Mishtok approve?" Kaleb raised an enquiring eyebrow.
"He might well, had we asked him." Sarehl gave him a quick look of astonishment.
"Haven't you?" Kaleb shook his head, a roguish smile lighting his face. "How remiss of you!" commented Sarehl, marking his place in the large book and placing it on the table beside him.
"Isn't it?" agreed the healer, adding seriously, "We've left Dase's block in place because he's the most vulnerable to an attack through Lute. What have you told him?"
"Just about Lian. He's curious but I couldn't answer his questions. I'm not sure I could now if I wanted to."
"He must be told little," said Kaleb urgently.
"Why?"
"My friend, go back to the conversation we had the day I blocked you, Sarehl. We spoke of Lute being in the power of someone and you jumped from sorcerer to mage in an extraordinary leap - do you recall?"
"Aye."
"We now know that a southern sorcerer or mage, whatever you like to call him, conceived a plan, deeply laid. It saw high-ranking members of the Conclave abandon all they were sworn to, serve him. It saw an innocent man used and destroyed in an awful way after he served his purpose and his son tortured, drained and abused. It saw your mother murdered in the cruellest way, you nearly so likewise and your father left a shambling husk.
We know that somewhere, however tenuous, there's a link with the warlord because this mage was to receive your little sister from Lodestok, for what purpose I don't know. And we know now, Sarehl, that the power who has Lute -."
"Is the mage behind all this," interrupted Sarehl, white to the lips and his eyes quite wild. Seeing this, Kaleb rose and crossed to sit on the bed by his friend. "Lute's the apprentice we hear of, isn't he? Blach's what the sorcerer calls himself," whispered Sarehl. "Is that his real name?"
"Yes," lied Kaleb, without hesitation.
"Why has he taken Lute? Was it planned or coincidental?" Kaleb pursed his lips.
"Personally," he said, frowning, "I think it was opportunism that led him to find Lute, Sarehl. All along he wanted Myme Chlo, but failing her he somehow found your brother and is using him to fit his purposes." He tactfully didn't mention that he thought Luton would be bait dangled in front of Myme Chlo, though he had no grounds for thinking in such a way.
"You said Lute was passionless."
"Yes," agreed the healer, thankfully encouraging Sarehl into less dangerous waters.
"Where is he now?"
"We only have common knowledge that the apprentice has left the Keep, Sar. I can tell you nothing more than that." That wasn't strictly true either, but Kaleb felt it was the prudent answer. He just sat quietly beside Sarehl while the younger man grappled with seething thoughts that churned. There was no need for conversation and Kaleb knew Sarehl needed time to think. He obliged and crossed to a chair.
They must have sat in the gathering darkness for at least twenty minutes, noise of camp life all about them, but the pavilion silent and the two figures still. It was Kaleb who finally spoke rather plaintively.
"Light, my friend. And where in the gods is the wine?"
Sarehl coughed, rose noiselessly to light three lanterns, just as Ensore strode across the threshold and paused.
"Who's here?" he asked quietly, his eyes straining to see through the weak flickers of light.
"I'm with Sarehl," said Kaleb, calmly getting to his feet and finding his way gropingly to the nearest table.
He touched a clay jar and with a sigh of satisfaction removed the stopper. With the light growing steadily stronger he was able to see Sarehl stood opposite with goblets dangling from his fingers and could see Ensore had found a chair he lounged in. It only took a few minutes for them all to be comfortably ensconced, full goblets in hand, the silence companionable until Ensore spoke.
"My friends, I think there's a need to talk, wouldn't you agree?" He stretched out, placed his goblet on the ground beside him and put his arms behind his head.
"I may be able to be more coherent now," said Sarehl, his voice still strained. Ensore caught the stress and exchanged a quick look with the healer.
"I've unblocked Sarehl's memory, Ensore," Kaleb explained. "For the time being." Ensore's look this time at the healer was a searching one.
"I didn't know Sarehl's memory was blocked, Kaleb. Dase's, yes. Gods, you haven't touched mine, have you?" When he caught Kaleb's smile, his grey eyes twinkled responsively. "What distresses you, Sarehl?"
"Memories," came the quiet reply. Ensore glanced thoughtfully across at Sarehl.
"It's Lian, isn't it? What's this young man brought back?"
"Partly," was the monosyllabic response.
"I'd know more about that wretched young man, Sarehl, but first, you may be interested to know a scouting party clashed with a far advance group from the southern army a while back."
This distracted Kaleb and Sarehl immediately. They stared at the Marshal astounded.
"It's barely spring!" exclaimed Sarehl incredulously. "Are you telling me the warlord's begun moving towards us at the end of winter?"
"So it seems," said Ensore equably, "though I imagine his scouts will be severely chastised for not backing off fast enough. There goes his nasty element of surprise."
"So," murmured Sarehl, meditatively. "He's about half a season away from contact."
"That sounds about right," agreed Ensore, accepting a top up of his wine from the healer. He sat more erect with a yawn.
"War comes very close," observed the healer, quietly returning to his chair, his expression sad but resigned.
"Very," nodded Ensore. "Eli anticipates barely a half season before it's so. It comes, Sarehl, after all this time. We'll no longer run, my friend. The warlord must confront us and not just on his terms. Not anymore."
"He attacked Ortok so many cycles ago," mumbled Sarehl drinking deeply. "As you say, it's been a long time coming, yet I don't welcome it." He ran a hand through his beard.
"Only fools welcome wars," responded Ensore. He broke the reflective silence again. "At least we know what the man's at."
"There's that, aye." Ensore thought Sarehl sounded melancholic yet resigned at the same time. "Let me tell you about Lian. Perhaps together we can piece together what's eluded us for so long."
When Sarehl stopped speaking, Ensore stared across at him, aware the sadness had faded from the voice and Sarehl merely looked careworn. Even so, Ensore reflected, it was an attractive face that he studied. A smile touched grey eyes that most often these days looked serious and it was because the Chamah was thinking of Kasan and his friend.
Since they'd mated Sarehl seemed to get younger and younger every season, a softness about him merging with the gentleness that'd always characterised him. The faint scar down the man's face somehow added to Sarehl's charms rather than detracted from them and Ensore knew his sister knew profound contentment with the man who sat opposite. The Chamah recognised his affection for Sarehl was as deep as Kasan's. The child of the union, not far from term now, seemed somehow to be exactly right. Ensore's sigh was imperceptible.
"It's a most deep and devious design we find ourselves meshed in," he observed placidly. "In my land you have a father and son visited by your kind, Kaleb. They're Yazd and high levels in the Conclave. That's so?" He saw Kaleb flinch and continued. "They presumably are close to the southern mage because we recognise them from their actio
ns that led to Lian's suffering. This Blach has laid plans that stretch for miles in each direction. Can you explain more about the healers that Kaleb tells me so terrified your brother?"
"Regrettably, I can," murmured Kaleb, downing his wine and holding out his goblet to Sarehl with an affectionate grin. When Sarehl turned from him, the grin faded.
"They enabled the mage to use Lian abominably," said Sarehl, an edge to his voice. "It was to enforce his father's compliance as well as to ensure Lian's obedience. How the boy could be anything else after the mage drained him in some way, I don't underst-."
"Took his essence, or most of it," interrupted the healer in such a hard, cold voice that both men stared at him. Neither had heard Kaleb speak in such a tone. Kaleb went on expressionlessly. "Some people, like the Gnosti, refer to it as the core of your being, your enlightenment and balance - your spirituality if you like: the Shadowlanders call it the soul. Friends, what it is, is your life force, your uniqueness as a sentient being. Fully drained Lian would've been a walking husk so he was left with enough to enable him to be useful. It must've angered the warlord and the mage that Lian failed."
Ensore looked gravely meditative, but Sarehl was white-cheeked and obviously shaken.
"Lute?" he whispered, his hands over the goblets stayed.
"I don't think so, Sarehl," said Kaleb in his usually gentle, reassuring voice. "I believe he still has his essential being, his self, but it's blocked in some way. What I sensed that time, through Dase, is the mage felt so much contempt for the boy's mind, he saw no reason to destroy it because it offered no threat and wasn't worth the effort."
Sarehl stammered, "Contempt for Lute's mind? He was a sentient and intelligent boy."
"To a mage like Blach who acts as we now know he did, Sarehl, Lute's mind would be as nothing to him," said Ensore soberly.
"Gods," whispered Sarehl. "What suffering that boy's endured."
"He's alive, my friend, hurt unspeakably, yes, insensate now probably, but we think his essential self is intact. That gives us some hope, Sarehl. Hold to that." Ensore spoke consideringly, his troubled eyes resting on Sarehl who hadn't moved, the wine jar still held in the air. "Get the wine, dear friend. I think we all need it." He watched Sarehl give his head a shake and then the tall figure filled the goblets and returned them to the two men. Ensore's words were measured. "We'll return to the question of the healers who sought out Lian later. We follow Lian at this stage, if we're to have any thread to cling to.
Lian was presumably conditioned, through fear and pain to obey, with warriors being sent to ensure continued obedience. That provides a distinct link to me between the warlord and the mage that goes back a very long way, well before the Churchik began their incursions and later conquests northwards. Am I right so far?" Sarehl sat quietly, his expression deeply troubled.
"Aye," he answered. Ensore went on.
"The merchant Bruno was sent north, with a son who was conditioned to act at a certain time in a certain way, so I suspect Bruno was conditioned as well to respond to your mother, Sarehl. I can't believe in coincidence, however unusual your mother was. Was she attractive?"
"They say Myme Chlo was like her," said Sarehl. "I always thought her very pretty and Ortokians spoke of her beauty. Bethel was supposed to be very like her and he was quite lovely as a child."
"True," murmured Kaleb, but so quietly only Ensore, seated close, heard the word. It made the Chamah blink.
"Once in Ortok, Lian bonded with Myme Chlo, Sarehl, as he was meant to do, in a way that ensured her complete trust in him - to such an extent, in fact, that she'd do anything he asked."
"As she did the night he took her outside the gates to be handed over to the warlord," added Sarehl on a sudden shiver.
"How many cycles was Lian with you, Sarehl?" It was Kaleb who spoke. Sarehl paused because clearly he mentally counted back the cycles.
"At least two cycles," he said eventually. "Mam was pregnant before the mating at Choice, so it may have been longer. Brue was born a season after Choice as I recall. I was mated myself at the time and had a pregnant mate and Saren, so I can't be absolutely sure. I know young Brue's not quite a cycle older than Saren would be if my son was still alive."
"And Lian was to take Myme Chlo to the warlord before Ortok fell?" asked Ensore, trying to clarify events in his mind.
"Aye," murmured Sarehl. "After that he was to betray Ortok by opening the gates."
"But Lian wasn't able to, was he?" argued Kaleb. "So that begs the question of who did betray Ortok, Sarehl. Have you any ideas at all?" Sarehl shook his head.
"What about this Lban that Lian spoke of?" asked Ensore puzzled.
"I know nothing of him other than that he was something of a bully, tormenting younger or smaller children and rather cruel in his teasing of Bethel who was so pretty and musical. I had to speak to him once about that." Sarehl drank deeply.
"Did Lban bear a grudge for that?" Sarehl stared surprised at Ensore.
"So much so that he betrayed a whole city-state? I can't believe that."
"People do strange things, my friend," cautioned the Marshal. "We shall bear the name Lban in mind for the future. He's not in our camp is he?"
"I think not," said Sarehl, shrugging indifferently. He'd no idea that Ensore stored the name away, nor that Eli would be asked to search out any information on one named Lban.
"And after Ortok fell?" mused Kaleb.
"Queeb and the other henchman you mentioned, Kaleb, were to return south with Myme Chlo, to the mage." Another shiver ran over Sarehl and his eyes looked suddenly very black. "Gods, thank all beings that Lian failed," he whispered.
"So, losing her, are you saying the mage took Lute?" asked Ensore.
"No," was Kaleb's definite response. "That, I suspect, was fortuitous for the mage."
"How did he find Lute?"
"We'd all dearly love to know that," said Kaleb rather tartly.
"But I begin to comprehend why the mage wanted my little sister."
Sarehl's voice was low and there was new alertness and understanding in the big eyes that met those of his friends. Ensore tilted his head enquiringly. Kaleb was startled.
"What are you saying, Sarehl?"
"Myme Chlo was always different in so many ways - little things that I hadn't thought about until now," began Sarehl absently. "We knew she had unusual abilities, not just in a scholarly way, but in other ways that were being fostered by -." Sarehl broke off, his expression disbelieving. "Could it be? No, that's not possible."
"Do enlighten us, dear friend," entreated Ensore, his eyes warm with amusement. "I am," he confided to the healer, "getting a little lost." Kaleb twinkled at him appreciatively. Sarehl gave a reluctant laugh.
"Myme Chlo spent most of her days, other than when she was at school you understand, with Scholar."
"As his name suggests?" asked the healer.
"Aye," agreed Sarehl. "That's all anyone called him. He was known to have a sense of..." Sarehl paused, groping for words, "power, I suppose, though it wasn't obvious in any way. Everyone respected the man, he was very learned and very liked. He was a part of my childhood and family, always there. He was like a father to me in many ways. I cared profoundly for Scholar."
"Unusual name that," observed Ensore serenely. "What was the man like, Sarehl?"
'"You think I'm tall, friends. The scholar topped me. He was rangy in build though not slender as I am, more perhaps with Dase's stronger build. He had tawny hair, but the most extraordinary blue eyes I've ever seen. They were so vivid and they smiled." Ensore and Kaleb heard wrenching sadness in the deep voice. "I wonder," added Sarehl thoughtfully, "who Scholar really was."
"That's something that'll tease us for time to come," said Kaleb a tad morosely. "Just another puzzle."
"So why," prodded Ensore, "do you think you know why the mage wanted your sister?"
"Because I now believe she had some sort of talent he wished to access for some reason."
"It's
a pity we can't find this scholar to ask him what made your sister different, Sarehl." Ensore sighed.
"I think Myme Chlo went with him," said Sarehl abruptly. "It's my belief he took her from Ortok before the city fell."
"But," protested Kaleb, "she left the city with Lian."
"Yes," reminded Ensore, his grey eyes twinkling, "but remember what Lian said - `we got outside the gates and the next thing I knew I was running alone in the forest'." Sarehl gave Ensore an admiring glance.
"You have an excellent memory, Ens."
"Try," suggested Ensore, "growing up as a prince in a Dahkilan court. You'd have an excellent memory, too." Sarehl grinned.
"Like that, was it?"
"Aye, it was." Ensore paused. "You believe Myme Chlo went with Scholar?"
"I'm quite sure," stated Sarehl firmly. "The more I think about it, the surer I am."
"And now we have your mother, Sarehl, a dragon who tried to protect her Ambrosian child from the machinations of those who would harm her. Mistakenly, she thought Lian responsible for his actions." Kaleb's goblet was empty. He set it beside him with a sigh. "An Ice Crystal dragon who came to Lian, spoke with him, as did a man I would know more of, then released Lian from a block of living ice? This is too fantastic."
"Is it?" queried Ensore. "Dahkilans believe in the old tales and sagas and though it's rare for one species to choose another, it wasn't unknown. Species mated freely across Ambros once, so the sagas tell us."
"I believe it," mumbled the healer, rubbing his beard. "But thousands wouldn't. They'd think Lian was raving." Ensore studied the design on his goblet then raised his head.
"What was it about your mother that was so different, Sarehl? Now you're able to remember everything, can't you think of anything?" Sarehl shrugged.
"She was dark which was unusual for Samarans, though my father was dark, too. He had Lenten blood so his darkness was explained, I suppose."
"Nothing else?"
"I've had no time to think of Ortok before the attacks so…" The voice trailed away then Sarehl added thoughtfully, "Only that Mam was found as a baby. She told me that once."
"Found as a baby?" repeated Ensore. "What do you mean? Don't you know your parentage?"
"Not entirely," admitted Sarehl, with another shrug that was very like Luton's habit. "She was found in Ortok under trees in the avenue that run from the main gate. She was only a day old. I know nothing more than that." Ensore and Kaleb exchanged eloquent glances and seeing it, Sarehl threw up his hands in despair. "I know nothing else," he repeated, then a frown came to his face as he recalled something. "There was something odd once. When Bethel was only a few months old, my Mam behaved..." Sarehl's voice trailed away, his frown deepening in the effort of memory.
