by Katy Winter
"So do I," said Kaleb softly.
"Your half-brother's blessed to know one, Sarehl," commented Ensore, draining his goblet and, rising, placing it on the table. "It's tragic his knowledge came at such cost and suffering. How does he fare, Kaleb? Is he any better now?"
"He still rests," was the sober reply. "His mind, Sarehl, stopped at the point he was wrapped in ice. With Leon, I entered his mind the day after he arrived and while he slept, to see how much he's harmed and how we can best help him. We won't do so again because he's a fragile being, dreadfully abused. His tale's strange but true. We saw the Ice dragon, Sarehl. She's beautiful and it humbled us. She's developed a strong bond with Lian and has indeed got violet eyes. We're unsure how best to treat Lian, Sarehl, and must just take each day as it comes."
Sarehl nodded, adding sombrely, "He's aged, oh yes, he has indeed aged. You only need to look at his hair."
"In one sense, yes," agreed Kaleb. "But not his face - he has the face of a youth still, beardless, too. He looks younger than Dase. What would you ask of us, Sarehl? Time goes on and Lian must start to have a life again."
"Give him peace and sanctuary as you've offered for the last two weeks," said Sarehl simply. "He deserves that. Make sure he's well treated and respected. I wish it known he's my brother." He paused. "Will he be summoned again do you think?" Kaleb rose, well aware of the intensity of the gaze fixed on him.
"We must hope not. It's unlikely since he hasn't responded for so many cycles. His function's ended, isn't it?"
"There's more we could speak of, friends," said Ensore calmly, "but it can wait. I suggest, Sarehl, your mate will be tired. She's coming close to term, too. The time's coming when she and you will have little in the way of the luxury of time together."
Sarehl gave a rueful grin at that. Kaleb, however, obeyed the implicit command of dismissal in amusement, following Ensore from the pavilion. He knew he and Ensore would talk longer into the night.
It was, finally, a restless Marshal who tossed wakefully on his cushions later, his mind far too active for rest. Again Sarehl's sister intruded on his thoughts. Could the child be the daughter of the southern mage? Ensore wasn't quite sure how he'd made the jump between Blach and Elbe - it just came from listening very carefully to Sarehl's description of the visitor to their home. He had no reason for the link he'd made, but he suspected, with a coldness that gripped him to the marrow, that what they faced was a powerful and malevolent mage who'd stop at nothing.
Feeling restless and a little sick, Ensore realised the mage could use and destroy Daxel through Luton as easily as he could snap his fingers. Two brothers would die. He knew Sarehl wouldn't be immune either. Uneasily, Ensore drifted asleep, schemes for Daxel's safety revolving round and round in his sleepy mind. As he drifted off, he thought about what Kaleb told him of the healers, Lokar and Jaden, especially the latter in relation to what he tried to do to Bethel. The only comforting thought that Ensore took to sleep with him was the knowledge that an Adept warrior befriended and protected Bethel.
Ensore didn't discuss things with Sarehl again and curtly suggested that Kaleb not do so either. To his surprise, Kaleb merely smiled affably and nodded. Ensore studied the healer, a glint in the grey eyes but all he got was an amiable grin and another nod. Ensore had to be content with that. He knew that probably on the morrow Sarehl's mind would again be heavily blocked.
~~~
Daxel finally met Lian. The healers kept the young man resting though he nervously assured them he was able to be up and about. It was Leon who noticed how Lian had giddy spells and how difficult he found it to orient himself in the camp, wandering around looking confused and frightened before being gently led back to the pavilion set up for him near Sarehl's. The Strategos' wish that his brother be both watched and guarded was taken seriously.
Lian was uneasily aware of being a topic of interest and conversation, a fact that made him very uncomfortable. His profound fear of the healers didn't pass though he tolerated them and let them minister to him without flinching. Both healers sensed the awful pain and hurt inflicted on him by their own. It hurt.
On the seventh morning in camp after Lian's arrival Kaleb arrived in the young man's quarters, to be met by questioning blue eyes. When the healer smiled and sent reassurance and friendship he saw suspicion in response and sighed inwardly, well aware he and Leon had a long way to go before they could instil even a modicum of trust in this man.
"What is it you wish to ask me, lad?"
"How long will you keep me resting here?"
"Until we feel you're less stressed by your sudden transition from ice to camp, young one. We mean you no harm."
"I'm ready," said Lian plaintively. He rubbed his eyes. "I'm always so tired, healer."
Kaleb came and sat beside him. Lian flinched but didn't pull back as he did the day before and willingly took the full cup Kaleb held for him. With encouragement he drank to the dregs, grimacing at the bitter taste it left in his mouth and licking his lips distastefully. He gave a deep sigh and slipped back on the cushions.
"Are you drugging me, healer? Is that why I sleep?"
"Partly," replied Kaleb. "Though you were entombed in stasis in ice, your body's exhausted. We suspect your mind's not far behind. Try not to fight us, lad. Truly, we mean you no harm." The blue eyes met the clear ones looking down.
"Why did you stop me walking round the camp?" There was accusation in the weary blue depths. The eyes closed.
"You were having giddy turns, lad, and didn't know where you were. You were frightened, too, weren't you?" Kaleb put a very gentle hand on Lian's head and the blue eyes opened wide. There was no flinch this time.
"Always fear," Lian mumbled. "But not with Myme Chlo and Bethel and no pain."
"No," agreed Kaleb, his expression profoundly compassionate. "Have we caused you pain?"
"No," whispered Lian drowsily. "No, you haven't caused me pain, healer. I know you mean me no harm." As the eyes closed, Kaleb swept the very long hair from Lian's face.
"If we have our way, lad, no one will hurt you again," he said softly, looking down at the very young face that showed no signs of a beard.
~~~
Lian opened eyes to see a very tall, lean young man with a black beard and searching black eyes stare thoughtfully at him. Nervous, as he invariably was, Lian struggled up on an elbow. When the young man made no untoward or menacing move, Lian settled himself uneasily back on the cushions, his expression one of trepidation. Daxel stayed lounged back in the chair, quite at ease and comfortable, his expression deeply curious.
"Who are you?" Lian shot at him. "You look very like Sar." He was rather disconcerted at the sudden boyish grin that came to the serious young face.
"I'm your brother Dase." Lian was caught off-guard, his face a mask of disbelief.
"The twin who always got everyone into trouble?" he asked incredulously. "Look at you! You're so big."
"I had to grow!" protested Daxel, his grin broadening. "And yes, I truly am Dase."
"You got me a hiding from our father," accused Lian, still staring in fascination at the young man opposite.
"Yes," mumbled Daxel, rather flushed. "I'm sorry I got you into trouble. I was only a boy."
"I envied you your life, Dase," said Lian a little shakily. He was suddenly shy of the young man. Blushing, Daxel rose and crossed to the bed, his hand out in a gesture of welcome. Lian shrank back a little which made Daxel hesitate, though he kept his hand extended.
"I wouldn't harm you, Lian. Sar tells me how much you've suffered and I'm sorry you're hurt, but you mustn't be afraid of me. You're our brother. It brings us joy to have you alive and with us. You must understand that."
"I'm sorry," Lian whispered, taking the hand. "I know that. Sar tells me it was you who saved little Brue."
"Aye," said Daxel, sitting quietly on the edge of the bed.
"It's good to be with you again, Dase, though to be honest I only recollect the boy. Sar's as I remember him,
though older." The grin came back to Daxel's face as he firmly grasped Lian's hands in his.
"You wait till you see your baby brother now. He's eleven cycles and the image of your father. It's quite astonishing." He saw a tic briefly contort Lian's features. "He'll give you comfort, Lian. He's a delightful boy."
"Have you seen Pa?" Lian asked hesitantly. "Sar says he hasn't, and the healers say they've seen no one of that name or description." Instinctively Daxel knew he had to divert Lian's mind, but he also had to answer the immediate question.
"No," he responded quietly. "Though you must remember there are literally hundreds, if not thousands, of folks who scattered everywhere."
"True," agreed Lian, his shoulders slumped. "I thought Goldlas would tell me but she said nothing."
"Mam?" whispered Daxel, his eyes painfully intent.
"Mam, yes," replied Lian tiredly. "I told Sar that Melas is very beautiful, Dase. You'd think so if you saw her."
"Mam," whispered Daxel again, but more to himself. "Your news of her brought us such comfort, Lian, and we thank you." He glanced at the face that ironically looked younger than his own. "Do you feel more rested now?" he asked solicitously, when he saw the blue eyes close. They snapped open.
"The healers keep me resting though I'd prefer to be up and about." Daxel began to laugh.
"Do they though?" he chuckled.
"Why do you laugh?"
"It was Sar's gripe too, Lian. Shall I tell you about it?" Lian nodded on a yawn.
When Kaleb entered quietly a short time later and sat, unobtrusively watching the two young men, the healer could've blessed Daxel who quietly talked to a brother more relaxed than previously. Kaleb stayed a spectator, aware Daxel hadn't been told everything Sarehl knew, mainly because of the young man's vulnerability but also because of the renewed grief it would bring about Luton. The healer was thankful Lian said nothing of the mage who tormented him. Eventually, Daxel would learn the truth, but now wasn't the time.
It was only two days later Lian met Brue. The first sighting left Lian shaken. He knew who the copper-headed boy sliding off a horse and leaping over to his brothers was, because there could be no mistaking the image of a father that made Lian quiver.
He watched the boy bubble with pleasure, the affectionate tousling of the copper curls, the teasing and laughter, but mostly he saw the boy's vitality and youth. Lian turned away, unable to cope with such exuberance. It actually hurt him. Kaleb saw the look in Lian's eyes, crossed swiftly to Sarehl and casually greeted Brue. When the boy bounded over to Daxel to indulge in a mock fight that he always demanded of his older brother, the healer spoke quickly to Sarehl, jerking his head in Lian's direction. Sarehl didn't miss the initial trace of wistfulness on Lian's face. He nodded.
Called, Brue responded promptly, listened to his eldest brother intently, then turned hesitantly to look over at Lian who'd gone a small distance away. Sarehl nodded encouragement, so Brue took a very deep breath and walked over to where Lian had let himself slide down a tree trunk. He leaned back against it.
He watched the boy approach, seeing a very tall boy, well built on southern lines, with the makings of a very big-framed man. His skin was Mellilan fair and his eyes as deeply blue as those of his father. The bright copper curls were identical. Lian looked up into a serious face that was the image of his lost father, gave a small choked sound, then put up a hand at the sight of apprehension in those blue, blue eyes.
"Brue," whispered Lian, barely able to speak. Brue held the hand.
"They tell me," he began, in a light boyish voice that was not far from breaking, "that you're my elder brother Lian." Lian breathed deeply.
"I favour my mother," he said, "but you could be our father. I could be looking at him now."
"I'm Brue, too."
"I know," said Lian tearfully. "It's so apt. I used to cradle you and sing you lullabies when you were small."
"I'm nearly eleven cycles," said Brue, with a note of pride as he squatted down next to Lian and added confidingly, "I'm glad to meet you again. Sar's told me so much about you. We both have blue eyes, too, and that's important because before now I was the only one in the family who had."
"Ah," sighed Lian, "indeed, little brother, your eyes are very blue. It bonds us, our father."
"Yes," whispered Brue. "Sar's told me of him, but he only knew our father for a few cycles. You'll tell me more about him so I can truly know him, won't you?"
Brue looked across at his brother who held out his arms. The boy let the older man hold him close, Lian's long tapered fingers running through the mane of loose copper curls.
"The day you were born, little man, our father stood with pride, you held in his hands for me to look at. I can see him now. He said to me, `Here's your brother, Lian; he'll come to mean to you what you mean to me.' I may have lost Pa, boy, but he lives on in you. I thank the gods you were spared."
When Brue stood, Lian stood beside him, an arm about the boy's shoulder and a new expression on his face that the healer recognised as the closest emotion to pride Lian could feel. When Sarehl joined them, he saw the faint but gentle smile from Lian that spoke volumes. He hadn't seen that smile since Ortok when Myme Chlo held her half-brother's hand in absolute trust.
"He's a fine boy, Sar - just like his father."
"Oh aye, he is," chuckled Sarehl. "The family resemblance between you's unmistakeable. You're clearly brothers."
"Is it so strong?" asked Lian, in surprise.
"It's there, Lian, in the shape of the eyes, the mouth and the expression. I see Bruno in you both."
Lian looked at Brue, his singularly sweet smile widening a little. He also unconsciously straightened his shoulders.
~~~
The succeeding days were peaceful ones for Lian, his time divided between his family, often seen with Daxel, restful with Sarehl, and increasingly at ease with a younger brother he plainly adored. Brue could do no wrong. He sat or walked with Lian, avidly drinking up all he could of a father he'd never known. Sarehl watched the renewing and deepening bond with immense satisfaction, happy for Brue, but delighted by the affect the boy had on Lian.
Lian began to adapt to camp life. He was no longer disoriented but refused to go near the fringes of the camp where he'd hesitate then back away as if threatened. He learned more of Bethel, his face horrified and fear back in his eyes. His terror of the warriors was so intense nothing the healers could do dispelled it - they only had to be mentioned and Lian would pale.
When he heard of the orphaned Kalbeth, Lian asked to meet the little boy. The empathy between the two was instant, Lian holding out his arms and the child responding without thought. Kalbeth grew fast, was very pretty and very active. He was raised as Sarehl's son and now had someone else who simply adopted him, Lian's time with the boy spent telling Kalbeth about his gentle musical father. And Kalbeth asked insatiable questions of him.
Sarehl often found the boy perched on Lian's knees, his big blue eyes staring up into Lian's while Lian told him southern tales and sagas. Then Sarehl sat and listened, too, fascinated by things he'd not heard before, his eyes drifting lazily from the intrigued face of a half-Churchik boy to the calmer face of a southern man who only just showed signs of a beard.
Lian liked Kasan. He helped her whenever he could and was happy just to be in her company. Near term as she was, he was as solicitous of her as her mate. He was respectful but stood in awe of her elder brother. Ensore was always placid around Lian and was a man who prided himself on setting others at their ease, but Lian sensed the depth of authority that surrounded the Marshal and it made him keep his distance.
Ensore mentioned it to Kaleb one day and got an amused look.
"He'll probably never fully recover his confidence around men other than his immediate family, my friend," explained Kaleb prosaically. "You'll notice he's happiest with those who don't threaten him."
"I don't," objected Ensore. "I'm a most amiable fellow."
"But," laughed Kaleb, moc
king him gently, "you're a man of authority. People with such qualities will intimidate him till the day he dies unless something happens to give him back confidence." Ensore went away very thoughtful.
What Lian did accept, with time, was that the healers wouldn't hurt him, and he began, but hesitatingly at first, to speak of his home, his mother and his father. The healers learned that he was a very late child, following three other sons who were considerably older than Lian that he didn't know, because, by the time he was born, they'd left home and were spread across Mellila until the Churchik invasion. Lian had no idea if they were now alive or dead. They answered to Erth, Jute and Bure.
The desperate yearning for his father eased the more Lian spoke of the older Bruno, neither healer needing a clearer picture of the big, red-headed man than Lian gave them. It was never in doubt Bruno had cherished his youngest son and tried to give the boy everything. After Lian's mother died, the boy's bond with his father was exceptionally deep so the healers knew this fragile young man must never know the terrible fate of his father.
They feared for Lian should the southern mage reappear, something both men accepted was only a matter of time. It was inevitable. They worried about Lian who could be summoned, about Daxel so bonded to a twin, about Sarehl whom Lodestok had tried to destroy through the aegis of Jaden - the healers knew well the warlord would stop at nothing should he decide to pursue Sarehl's destruction again - and about how terrifying Lodestok's immediate power would be locked in with the mage's. Both healers had sleepless nights as they pondered what awaited them.
They learned that Lian was a Mellilan, born just south of the Dahkilan border in his mother's native land. Bruno was half-Mashhad and half-Kerulen. That, the healers thought in unison, explained the very large build like the Churchik and the coppery red hair. Lian was very like his Mellilan mother with the similar ash blond hair, blue eyes, slender build and very gentle disposition. Lian told them, very softly, that her name was Lianar, she died when Lian was nine cycles and his memories and love for her ran deep.
By the time the southern army was only a matter of weeks away, Lian was a familiar sight about the camp, nobody commenting on his presence other than to explain he was the Strategos' brother. He began to tie back his hair at the nape of the neck, Samar-fashion, and a red beard grew quickly on the boyish face. One evening Sarehl teased him about the beard. He saw pleasure in the blue eyes when he said the beard gave Lian a very much stronger look of Bruno, a comment that made Lian stroke his beard thoughtfully, before the hand went back to caressing the dark curls of the little boy curled up in his lap. Kalbeth looked up at Sarehl's entrance, his blue eyes sparkling.
