by Katy Winter
"He's profoundly talented, but you know that, don't you?" He looked enquiringly at Sarssen.
"I guessed some time ago," admitted the warrior, lounging back and stretching his arms to rest them under his head. The mage sat quietly, his eyes quizzing the younger man. He puffed languidly at the pipe.
"You guess a lot, don't you?" he asked, a smile touching the blue eyes.
"The puzzle comes together sooner or later," responded Sarssen.
"Perhaps," countered Autoc. "And perhaps not. You, too, have remarkable talent."
"It is being half Yazd, mage, but I accept and know my limits."
"You haven't reached them yet," said the mage quietly but adamantly. "You have quite some way to go, my young friend." Sarssen stared thoughtfully at his companion.
"If you say so, mage," he said finally.
"Oh, I do, young man, I do," murmured Autoc, crossing his legs at the ankle. "Tell me again of your meeting with Lute."
Sarssen obligingly recounted as much as he could remember. The mage never spoke. He only did so when Sarssen finished.
"So, young warrior, we have all the brothers and the sister in northern Ambros, all so very close yet so far apart." He frowned while he absently turned the pipe.
Sarssen watched him for a while before asking quietly, "Will Malekim come north, mage, or is he already here?"
The question made the mage open his extraordinary eyes very wide indeed and his voice in reply was extremely soft.
"Adept, you never fail to surprise me, do you? Is it conjecture that's led you to this?" Sarssen shook his head.
"It was something Choja said that finally confirmed suspicions I have held for a few cycles now. I knew long ago that the so-called sorcerer could only be a powerful mage and I was certain his name was not Blach. All Adepts suspected the same. Beth does not know that and I believe he should still think Lute is with Blach the sorcerer. As part of what he's been made to learn the name Malekim in connection with his brother would be unnecessarily frightening."
"Very wise," said Autoc approvingly, his eyes holding Sarssen's. The latter tilted his head while he waited for an answer. "He has moved, young man, and is in the north. It's why we must move also. Events must occur."
"That will sadden Beth, mage."
Autoc smiled, though Sarssen thought the man's eyes were mournful. He could've sworn the mage grieved but wondered, when he looked again into the blue depths, now tranquil, whether or not he was being fanciful.
"Aye, it will, but so it must be."
"And the Gnosti, mage? What of them?"
"You'll meet them in the fullness of time, warrior. Don't be anxious for your people to do so because they're frightening when roused. Bethel knew at the instant the warlord sent out men to confront them that it was a mistake. The boy's forgotten nothing he was taught all those cycles ago in Ortok though he's repressed a very great deal."
"They are formidable?"
"Very, young warrior. You haven't yet met their like."
"I have a sense of foreboding, mage," replied Sarssen seriously, his lips pursed.
"Indeed the Churchik should," agreed the mage courteously.
Sarssen could get nothing more from him and dropped the matter almost immediately. Since he rose to leave, he didn't see the smile from the mage that followed him.
~~~
For Choja, the days passed too quickly. There was so much to learn and to discuss. He noted, with interest and amusement, that the mage disappeared from Cency early one morning only to return a few hours later, a pleased expression on his face.
Choja was unsurprised to be told by the mage that the large blond warrior with the unusual green eyes was high in the ranks of the Conclave of Reader Seekers, nor was he taken aback to realise that Bethel was a Post-Level Two. What shook the tribesman was to be told that Sarssen was an Adept.
Choja's people had long been aware of the Conclave and the status of her adherents, but no one from the Wildwind tribes had been in such close proximity to an Adept, only one of three in rank below the Mishtok. Choja took in one of his whistling breaths. When he'd had time to think he sought out the warrior who stared out at the desert at nothing in particular, his toes curling in the sand. Choja stood, eying the still figure.
"Adept," he said quietly. Startled, Sarssen swung round.
"Choja," he responded courteously, though Choja saw the challenging glint in the green eyes. "So the mage has told you, has he?"
"Yes," conceded Choja. "You enjoy the sensation of the sand on bare feet, I notice, warrior."
"I do," agreed Sarssen absently. "I believe as a child growing up in the grasslands I would have run so."
"Do you have no memory of that?"
"No," was the bald response. "My memory seems to begin on the slave caravan."
"Man can suppress much when he has borne too heavy a life burden," suggested Choja gently. He saw a slow smile come to the warrior's face.
"Choja, I believe you are a philosopher," Sarssen teased. He then sighed. "Tribesman, I was made an Adept when my mentor was executed by the warlord. I did not feel I was ready. I found the responsibility daunting, even a frightening prospect at such a young age."
"And now, Adept?"
"And now, Choja, I am resigned to my status. I will try to fulfil my obligations as will be expected of me. I am deeply conscious of the honour done me."
"Were you an Adept when Beth was taken by the warlord?"
"No, I became so some cycles after that - two or three as I recall."
"You're a man of power, Adept. I wasn't wrong in my feeling about you." Sarssen's smile broadened.
"You miss little, tribesman. I am glad you are a friend. I would not want you as an enemy."
"Likewise," replied Choja, with a grim little smile as he hunkered down on the sand and gestured to Sarssen to follow his example. "How talented was your mother?"
"Post-Level Three."
"And she taught you?"
"Along with others, from the Conclave." Choja waited. Sarssen hesitated, then went on. "I meant what I said about memory, Choja. On the day she died my mother spoke of what she and others taught me and warned me on no account to let my talent be known." Sarssen paused. "I knew what Churchik did to half-breeds."
"Do they kill them now?"
"Only if other sport is not available," was the brutal response. "There are too many of them about. The Churchik are not sparing in their use of vanquished women. It was inevitable."
"So you learned early to survive?"
"Yes."
"Did your mother know just how talented you are, Sarssen?" Sarssen had a long think.
"Yes," he said slowly. "I suspect she did though she could not expect a small boy to understand. She told me it was my destiny to survive."
"I would I'd known her," said Choja. There was no response from the warrior, only a sudden but brief warming to the eyes.
~~~
Choja spent long hours with the mage, their heads bent together in earnest discussion or one of the men drawing in the sand with a finger while the other crouched intently watching. Then further discussion would ensue. Sometimes Sarssen would be with them, the threesome walking together, sitting drinking desert cupra or standing in companionable silence looking north from the edge of the oasis before they turned.
And the days drew in, increasingly cooler by day and definitely colder by night. It was on one of these cold nights that the mage left the communal mestal after he'd eaten and unobtrusively translated, leaving Sarssen laughing over something Jochoh said and Bethel lounging back on an elbow with a cup of cupra in his free hand. The young man was relaxed and the warrior was profoundly content. Autoc returned and went into the cool air, to stand silent and still.
He sensed Choja's presence almost immediately and instantly turned to take the outstretched hand.
"The storm clouds gather, Choja," he said in his deep, calm voice.
"And the birds of prey circle, mage. I know. I can feel it," respon
ded Choja, with an involuntary shiver.
"You'll remember what we spoke about, won't you, my friend?"
"Yes, Schol, you can be very sure of that," Choja promised, feeling the pressure firm on his hand. "The warlord will believe what he hears and reads. I'll send a letter Beth will carry."
"You may not understand yet what your role will be, Choja, but I can tell you that I rely on you and the Sophy. I hope it isn't actual battle you confront."
"I understand, mage. You honour us with your trust." Choja felt his hand released.
"I'd offer you all the protection I could, Choja. Things to come are cruel and something I'd wish to spare anyone, myself included. Maybe I can – I'll try."
Another deeper shiver caught Choja. Tribesmen were afraid of little but Choja was troubled. He looked up at the face half-hidden in the shadows of gathering night.
"Will we see you again, mage, or is this farewell?" he asked, suddenly afraid of the answer he might get. He saw Autoc's head bend and knew the mage looked down at him. He could sense the gentle smile and felt the hand on his shoulder. He put his hand over Autoc's.
"I've no way of knowing that, Choja. Even mages have their limitations. I want to see you again, very much, young friend."
"When do you leave, Schol?"
"Early morning we must go."
"The two warriors go back to war, mage."
"Aye, they do." Choja let his hand drop and knew Autoc moved so he faced north. "The boy will be as he was, a slave to his warlord master and Sarssen will lead out his archers to battle. Bethel will fight, too."
"Will we lose them, mage?"
"Not if I can help it," came the reply.
"And the southern mage?"
"Ah, the southern mage, yes. He's in the north doubtless to meet up with his apprentice."
"In our scrolls he's named Malos, mage, but that isn't his full name, is it?"
"Well done, Choja," said Autoc gently. "When did you come to an understanding of that?"
"Only very recently, mage. I've listened and I know we face a threat that could destroy Ambros. Am I correct?"
"Oh yes," sighed Autoc.
"And it was Malos who wanted Chlorien all those cycles ago, wasn't it?"
"Yes," repeated the mage.
"And he has, as his slave, a brother who probably has talent like Beth?" Choja saw the head nod sharply. "And the warlord has Beth, and Lodestok is allied to Malos?" This time there was no response. "Schol, blessings be on you and your endeavours. I pray for us all that you succeed against an ancient evil."
"So do I."
Choja heard the mordant humour and then the chuckle that followed it. He found himself laughing at the mage's droll response, before he found he accompanied Autoc back into the mestal.
~~~
Choja watched the three men leave, his heart heavy with an unaccustomed foreboding. He noticed the sparkle that shone in Bethel's eyes was gone, the young man restless as he strode about prior to mounting a desert horse and settling himself comfortably. He saw uneasiness in the set of the young shoulders and knew Bethel was thinking of the man to whom he returned. A wave of pity washed over Choja.
He watched the warrior mount, his expression as bland and inscrutable as ever but his eyes, when they turned towards Choja, full of warmth and profoundly felt friendship. He nodded towards Bethel.
"I will care for the boy, Choja, you must believe that," he said very quietly, as Choja came to grasp his out-held hand.
"He has already changed, warrior."
"He knows his master only too well, tribesman, as do I."
"Bring him back to us one day, warrior. Promise me that. We'll wait for you both."
"If I can I will," promised Sarssen, dropping Choja's hand and edging his horse closer to Bethel's. "Are you ready, boy?"
"Yes, my lord," murmured Bethel.
"Courage, Beth. We have long days together in the mage's company so hold to that. I am with you, little brother."
"Thank the gods," Bethel said quietly, glancing at the mage giving the signal for forward. He swung suddenly in the saddle to face Jochoh and Choja. "I thank you," he said huskily. "You have given me peace for a while and I will want to come back if the gods will it so."
"I pray they do," muttered Jochoh, as the riders moved forward.
He didn't see his father's strained smile at the words. Jochoh just felt the strong hand resting on his shoulder as he and the Sophysun watched the riders become a mere blur against the dunes.
~~~
As the men moved steadily northwards the nights became very, very cold, so cold that the mage noticed Bethel shook and shivered as badly as Chlorien did. That made him give a sad little smile of reminiscence. No amount of heavy warrior clothing seemed to help Bethel but he never complained, his face strained as he struggled to cope. It was only when the young man hunkered near the fire that tension eased and Bethel relaxed while he cooked, often whistling as he worked. Autoc watched how unobtrusively Sarssen watched over Bethel. It made him smile.
Every night Sarssen saw the mage make Bethel sleep, his slumbers easy, dreamless, and very long. The warrior doubted Bethel had enjoyed such sustained rest since he'd been enslaved at eleven cycles. It showed. Bethel looked as well as Sarssen remembered.
What Sarssen didn't expect was the gentle presence he sensed in his mind one night that insisted he follow. To begin with, Sarssen thought he was dreaming. The voice persisted until he was prepared to respond.
For three nights the mage entered the warrior's mind, calling him gently but insistently. On the third night, when Sarssen responded to the encouragement, his mind willingly and naturally melded with the mage's. He found himself beyond his sleeping form travelling the aethyr lines with a mage who spoke encouragingly to him in support.
At first he went tentatively then with increased confidence as he was guided and taught until he was emboldened enough to be more independent. By the fifth night of such transcending the mage pushed Sarssen away to traverse the lines alone, Autoc quietly watchful and impressed with the warrior's remarkable and adaptable talent. Sarssen never forgot the patterns of threads he was shown. They became a vital part of him. The warrior was never one to take anything or anyone for granted.
He crossed the lines carefully, coming back to his resting self with a contentment that suffused his whole being. He slept deeply. For the next few nights Sarssen travelled far and wide alone, strengthening in his knowledge, his traversing assured. He made no mistakes nor would he be rushed.
On the tenth evening after he went out alone Sarssen found the mage awaiting his return, the face calm, the expression, as always, somewhat inscrutable. Choja hadn't been mistaken thinking there was much of the mage in the Adept. There was. Autoc stretched, then handed Sarssen a full cup.
"You have an adaptable talent, young warrior," he observed placidly. "You need no further teaching of that skill, do you?" Sarssen stared curiously at the mage's serene countenance.
"I will always learn," he replied quietly, taking the cup to down the contents. There was no mock humility in his voice.
"Aye, young man, that's so," nodded Autoc, now puffing gently on his pipe. He gestured with it to the sky. "But not out there." He half-closed his eyes, though they never left Sarssen's face. "Could you take the boy with you?"
"If that is your wish, mage." Autoc gave a deep chuckle.
"Yes, warrior, at the appropriate time, that's what I'll wish."
Suddenly feeling unaccountably weary Sarssen nodded and smiled across at the mage, then he had the oddest sensation that those imperturbable and often laughing eyes that held his were sending him to sleep. His head unwillingly drooping he tried to speak and raise a hand. When his hand fell and his eyes closed firmly Sarssen heard the mage's voice clearly in his mind.
"I'm closing your minds, young warrior. You'll remember only what I want you to recall and nothing else. You'll act when the time's right but not before. You're both too vulnerable to our mutual friend."
He sighed and rose stiffly, his pipe now cool and in his pocket. He pulled an assortment of jewellery from his talma pocket that he began carefully to place on the sleeping warriors. When he'd done, he straightened with a pleased gleam in his eyes. Looking at the two slumbering figures it was clear they were Churchik warriors with their full complement of jewellery festooning arms, necks, wrists and ears. All that remained to ensure they arrived back with their master was the retrieval of their warhorses and that, Autoc knew, was done. He also checked Bethel had a sealed letter.
The mage stared long at first Sarssen then at Bethel, both so young he reflected, one more a child than a man. He turned from them and raising his arms aloft he began to walk from them with his long, loping stride. He saw the huge dragon shape near him almost immediately. Amril came at speed.
"Amril," he sent, in a grateful tone.
"I sensed your need, mage," came the rumbling response that always imbued Autoc with an indescribable emotion. "I wasn't far." The dragon sent up sprays of sand as he tried to settle himself as comfortably as he could, observing austerely as he did, "Dragons do not like deserts, mage." Approaching the dragon, a laugh shook Autoc.
"Neither do certain mages," he agreed, his hand up to touch the lowered dragon head.
"What's your need, mage?" Amril's eyes expressed pleasure at the touch.
"I have two young warriors who need to be transported north to the Kyaran border. There's a band of forest several miles into Kyaran but it's just south of there they should be set down."
"Who are they?"
"It's such a long tale," murmured Autoc, leaning against the dragon flanks and rubbing gently at the scales. "Perhaps some other time?"
"As you wish, mage. Are they aware?" Autoc chuckled.
"Aye in a sense, but they're deeply asleep."
"Place them carefully in the pouches, mage, but remember I can't watch over them while I fly. Make sure they're secure."
