by Katy Winter
The huge orbs watched the mage carry first one man then another to the dragon's side, then the large head swivelled to monitor the mage clambering up the scaly side slowly, twice, a limp form over his shoulder. Finally, the mage, slightly winded, jumped lightly to the sand.
"Sarssen's heavy," he grumbled, more to himself than to anyone else. Amril's head hovered only inches from the ground.
"And you, mage? Where will you go?"
"I'll meet you there, Amril."
The dragon's head lifted to see a blur on the ground beside him. It translated to a dark harper circling above. Of the mage, there was no sign.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The warriors woke on stony ground that was decidedly uncomfortable. Sarssen was first to open his eyes and shook his head, uncertain for a moment where he was. Then he sat and shook his head again. Leaning across to Bethel he gave the young man a vigorous shake.
"Come, boy. Wake up! We should move before winter settles on us." Bethel woke, shivered and his large eyes blinked. He was quite disoriented.
"My lord," he murmured, a hand running across his face. "Where are we, my lord?"
Sarssen was already on his feet, his head turning round so he could sense their direction.
"Boy, it was so misty last night I suspect I was briefly lost." Then the warrior's frown cleared. "Thank the gods, boy, we are nearly at the Kyaran forest."
"I do not remember much, my lord," mumbled Bethel, stretching and clambering reluctantly to his feet. He stamped booted feet. His mouth felt dry and he was instantly aware of the bitter chill to the air. He shivered again.
"I do, boy," responded Sarssen turning to face Bethel, an affectionate smile in his eyes. "My mind was a trifle hazy until I woke properly but it cleared just as yours will. It has been an arduous trek." He glanced at wildly dancing black curls that escaped Bethel's queue then at the pale face before he pointed to two very large caparisoned warhorses quietly lipping at the stony ground in hope of last autumn tufts of grass. "Get the horses, Beth."
Sighing, Bethel obeyed, bringing the horses back to where he and Sarssen had slept and where the warrior now rapidly dismantled a sparsely set camp. Sarssen helped Bethel load the horses, aware as he did that they had probably just enough provisions for about five days before one of them would have to hunt. At least they'd be able to fill the skins with water soon.
Sarssen mounted immediately and signalled Bethel to do likewise though Bethel hesitated. The warrior wondered why Bethel lingered. He looked down.
"What is it, little brother?" Bethel met the look with a rueful grin.
"I am hungry, my lord." Sarssen's eyes lit up with amusement but the shake of the head was definite.
"Not yet, Beth. On your horse, boy, until we reach the shelter of that forest. We are dreadfully exposed out here and though it may only be the start of winter the weather will finally break soon. We are already later than expected." He saw the shadow cross the young face looking up at him, so added gently, "He will be pleased with our return, boy, and we have done what he asked, especially you. You have succeeded, Beth. On your horse, boy."
They rode very hard over the next days, each succeeding day becoming colder. Every warrior now knew that summers and springs in northern Ambros were hot and short, the autumns and winters invariably cruelly long and bleak. Sarssen anticipated they'd arrive back with the warlord in mid-winter as the army was well north of the Kyaran forest when they left it. He was concerned for Bethel. Once they were less open to the elements he'd be happier.
Where the ride south was pleasant and easy, now it was the reverse. Rain and sleet fell most days so keeping dry was a trial and the winds buffeting them came in unruly and icy gusts. Even Sarssen found it an ordeal though he said nothing. The ground that was full of spring flowers seasons before was muddy after the frosts cleared. Soon the frosts wouldn't clear from ground frozen solid. In the morning the warriors edged their unwilling way to a stream that had iced over, broke the ice so they could wash, then crept back to a sodden camp quickly broken. Both men thanked the gods for beards grown back.
The woods they now cantered through gave them evening shelter because Sarssen always drew up in the greenwoods. There they set up camp as best they could, their fires feeble and sputtering. Food was rationed. Sarssen gave most of it to the shivering man hunched miserably beside him. Even as late in the season as this some trees shed leaves that fluttered down on the men who rode mostly in silence.
Two days later they woke to a caking of snow. Sarssen's sense of urgency increased. They now only stopped to rest the horses, to briefly eat and drink before they rode, cautiously, through the night. Sarssen didn't relish the thought of being stranded and he wasn't sure Bethel could survive it. Life with the warlord could be hellish but there at least Bethel was well fed and kept warm at night. Sarssen's grin at that thought was a wry one.
Miserably cold and with his feet and fingers numb Bethel acquiesced to anything Sarssen suggested, his hooded head bent to avoid the chilling blasts that kept swirling around them. The snow didn't settle but they both knew it was only a matter of time. Of an evening when they briefly stopped to eat, Bethel was unable to play the desert pipes and gratefully accepted the strong arm that pulled him close in an effort to warm him. Thankfully he rested his head on the broad shoulder, neither man disposed to conversation.
A day after the first flurries of snow that gradually thickened and now settled on a barren and frozen landscape, the two riders topped a down that would give them a vista of what lay ahead. Sarssen drew up his mount quite suddenly. Surprised but obedient, Bethel did the same.
Sprawled out below them, for as far as the eye could see, was Lodestok's army settled in for the winter. Sarssen blinked, wondering if he had completely misread all his markers set out for their return. He met Bethel's enquiring look with a bland shrug.
Spurring their horses they rode quietly down towards the encampment and when the land levelled out they rode more briskly through the bolkah groves that gave the army the backbone of shelter. Sarssen was convinced the army was considerably further northwest when they left it but he was too relieved to have Bethel back in shelter to wonder at it. Quickly they reached the fringes of the camp, met the challenge to their approach and rode at a more sedate pace towards the pavilions they could see set among a sprinkling of alban copses.
Drawing up their horses Sarssen was unsurprised to see a familiar huge form emerge from the warlord's pavilion and stride unhurriedly towards them. Sarssen's glance at Bethel showed him the young man was rigid, his eyes a little wild and certainly deeply apprehensive.
As they dismounted the warrior was aware of cold, probing eyes running over each of them. A flurry of snowflakes settled on hooded and bowed heads as the two men stood silent and motionless, then, when the harsh deep voice spoke Bethel quivered as if the warlord had struck him.
"My sons, you are welcome. Raise your head, elder son."
Sarssen obeyed, his eyes fleetingly meeting Lodestok's before the warrior respectfully lowered his.
"My lord," he said.
"Did you find Menk?"
"No, my lord." Sarssen saw, from the corner of his eye, a menacing glint come to the blue eyes and automatically bent his head immediately he sensed the threat.
"No?" The question hung on the icy air. Bethel scarcely dared to breathe. "Then did you meet the Wildwind tribesmen?"
"Yes, my lord." There was a sigh of satisfaction at that.
"Raise your head, my timid little Sorien." Bethel obeyed, his eyes anxious.
"My lord," he murmured. The warlord stared at him for a long moment before his eyes flickered back to Sarssen.
"And was your younger brother successful in the way I wished, Losaren?" His gaze went back to Bethel and didn't waver.
"Yes, my lord, he was. He has a letter for you." A huge hand brushed Bethel's cheek.
"Then, my petal, all is well, is it not?" The warlord turned, his hand dropping. "Follow!" he barked. When he st
rode back into his pavilion, Bethel looked questioningly at Sarssen.
"Trust me, Beth," Sarssen said quietly, handing over the reins of his horse to a hovering slave. "You have done well, boy, so relax."
"I think I had forgotten -." Bethel broke off, his voice a stammer.
"Beth," said Sarssen gently. "I know what you confront again but you will accustom yourself, just as I will. Have courage, boy, and trust me. Now hand over your horse and follow me."
Meekly, Bethel did, his nervous stomach churning as it hadn't done in seasons. Lodestok didn't spare them. Tired, soaked and chilled though they were they were grilled, in turn, by a warlord who listened carefully so he could pick up the slightest nuance or hesitation. The warlord found Choja's letter brief to the point of curtness as all it said was that the warlord's wishes were noted and may find a favourable response in time. Lodestok would mull that over at his leisure.
Bethel found the rigorous questioning an ordeal. Sarssen was very careful indeed. He'd never underestimated the warlord's mind. When they were permitted to stand easily, Lodestok's eyes wandered idly from man to man, a smile barely touching the set mouth. There was a prolonged silence before the warlord spoke.
"You have done well and as would be expected of the sons of a warlord. You may leave, though you will find some things changed. Sorien, you will come to me this evening as is your habit, will you not?" Bethel met the cold pale eyes, bowing at his dismissal.
"Yes, my lord," he responded. After Bethel backed from the pavilion, Lodestok's glance settled on Sarssen.
"You will return to me after you have eaten and changed, elder son. Your pavilion awaits you."
"My lord," bowed Sarssen.
He found Bethel outside the pavilion waiting for him, stamping his feet and shivering so badly his teeth rattled. Sarssen draped an arm about the younger man and guided him to the pavilion he saw set slightly apart from others in a copse not far from the leading haskars. In the rapidly fading light he saw Kher's next to Bensar's and the small unsel beside it but he didn't point them out to Bethel.
Inside Sarssen's pavilion slaves were immediately in attendance, some scurrying in and out with tubs and huge pitchers full of water while others went to the two warriors to assist with the removal of sodden boots and clothing. When Bethel coughed Sarssen looked sharply at him.
He pushed away the slave who tried to remove his jerkin and strode over to Bethel. Bethel's protests as he was stripped were faint. Lowered into a tub of extremely hot water, he sank back into it with a sigh of relief. Satisfied, Sarssen allowed the slaves to treat him in the same fashion. Lounging comfortably the warrior looked across at Bethel, smiling broadly when he saw the boyhood habits still remained because surrounded by heat Bethel let himself drift and was soundly asleep.
He didn't even wake when Jane, sent for by one of the slaves, entered the pavilion with alert eyes and a welcoming, warm smile. He grasped Sarssen's outstretched hand and wrung it, his glance flickering to the still second figure.
"Ah, my lord, but am I relieved to have you both back. We've missed you." He released the wet hand. "And are you well, boy?" Sarssen grinned up at Jane, amused.
"Yes, my friend, as you see, though the boy," and he stressed the word `boy' which made Jane laugh, "is cold through."
"Aye," agreed Jane, beginning to unplait the wet queue so the blond hair fell in a silky cascade down across Sarssen's shoulders and into the water. "But you're still a lad to me, my lord, whatever else you might think."
Sarssen questioned him about the battles they'd missed. Jane talked freely but the warrior sensed something else bothered the man.
"What troubles you, Jane?"
"Sven, that's who bothers me."
"Sven?" Sarssen raised a soapy eyebrow. "Sven." He went to say something else, but found himself slipping back under the water. Re-surfacing he mumbled, "Haskar Alleghy's son."
"His eldest son, aye." Jane missed the smile that briefly touched the green eyes at that.
"What about him?"
"He took over Beth's men, my lord, and just let them be carved to pieces. Some may say he was a brilliant warrior but he went mad when he sighted the northerners almost as if the man had some insane obsession. The day he arrived he came to Beth's unsel and told us we'd be his slaves until Beth's return." Sarssen heard contempt in the usually mild voice.
"Clearly this did not happen, Jane. Why? What did you do to the man?" A reluctant laugh was dragged out of Jane in response.
"I told him I was touched by fel, as were Mishak and Seb."
"Astute of you," countered Sarssen, highly amused. "I imagine that had the desired effect?"
"Aye, it did," agreed Jane sourly. "But it didn't mean he didn't wreak havoc with the men. Kel had his work cut out, I can tell you, nor would he be here now if I hadn't gone onto the field to rescue him. And Sven had Kih and Slew flogged!"
"Tell me exactly what happened, Jane," requested Sarssen, not a little perturbed. "What did Haskar Bensar do?"
"He didn't have to do anything. The acedar died on the field eventually."
"I see. Tell me how it happened, Jane."
As Sarssen listened he was alarmed, this concern only mitigated by the news that the acedar was dead. The warrior was thinking how odd Sven would've found his father's attitude to Luton's arrival and how serious conflict between mage's apprentice and acedar could've escalated out of control.
Sarssen was also quick to realise the warlord was now a player where Luton was concerned and would know clearly he had Bethel's brother in his camp. Sarssen could foresee some awkward moments, but then dismissed them as not the immediate concern. He knew he was back in the warrior world with a vengeance and sighed. Much he'd brushed to one side now had to be confronted and dealt with.
It was as Jane poured water over his head that Sarssen spluttered and coughed with water in his mouth and eyes. He emerged to a laugh. Rubbing his eyes he saw Bethel was awake and grinned widely. The grin disappeared when Bethel saw Jane bear down purposefully on him and he squeaked when firm hands pushed him under the water.
Warmly clad, Bethel and Sarssen were ensconced in large chairs with tankards of welcome badran to hand. The slaves were gone, leaving Jane and Mishak to set out food on a table drawn forward. Bethel had a delighted hound lying ecstatically across his stockinged feet, Lute having settled after an hysterical reunion with his master. He'd all but climbed into the tub with Bethel. He soaked Jane when the man tried to haul the wet dog off the rim, Jane apostrophising him as an evil hound.
Sarssen insisted all four sit at table even though that made Mishak nervous. He was clearly happier serving, so after the boy had eaten Sarssen let him leave the table. Bethel set the boy more at ease by thanking him for caring for a dog that Mishak confessed fretted badly for some days, refused to eat and guarded a pair of Bethel's boots against all comers. Lute even threatened to bite Jane when an attempt was made to wrest free the boots.
As was bound to happen talk turned to the army itself, Jane assuring Sarssen that indeed the army had come back quite some miles to the south after two punitive battles.
"I am glad my sense of direction was not so badly out," remarked Sarssen. "I thought our time in the desert had made me completely lose my bearings."
"The first battle, my lord," said Jane, contemplating an aspar with interest, then transferring one to his platter, "was only a matter of days after you left. It lasted two, or was it three days and was extremely bloody. Then we were surprised to be so soon attacked again. I think the warlord was profoundly angered that the northeners would dare to attack us with such recklessness. I didn't think it was reckless," he said contemplatively. "I think it showed a shrewd grasp of strategy and that's why the warlord was so angered. He was in a diabolical temper." Jane glanced at Bethel. He saw how pale the young man was. "It's alright, lad," he added roughly. "I'm just glad you weren't about."
"Quite so," put in Sarssen smoothly. "And then?"
"We moved some thirty odd mi
les west over the summer before we clashed again, this time on the warlord's choosing. That battle went of for nearly three days more, my lord. It was such that I can't recall whether..." Jane's voice trailed away.
"The casualties must have been horrific," mumbled Bethel, in a subdued voice.
"Aye, lad, they were. Sven went down, Kel was badly hurt and so many of your men died, Beth. There was nothing but the smell of death." Listening, Sarssen realised the army had marched again from fields littered with the dead.
"How far did you move again, Jane?" Jane raised his head, his eyes tired and sad.
"Twenty to thirty miles, my lord. Certainly no more."
Sarssen recognised the battles were vicious with very heavy casualties on both sides and neither army victorious. It didn't surprise him because he thought the northern army potentially formidable.
"What casualties are we speaking of, Jane?" he asked, with deep concern. He saw grief on Jane's face. He waited for an answer, his eyes intent.
"My lord, we lost over twelve thousand men in the first battle in spring and even more in the second summer fight. It was some of the bloodiest fighting I've ever seen, gods help us all." Jane's hand shook as he raised his tankard. Sarssen's lips pursed in a soundless whistle.
"And the northern army?" Jane shrugged.
"Not as many, my lord, because they break off and re-group more than we do, but they were mauled as well."
"And now?"
"Gods know, my lord. The northern army moved first and we followed."
"How far away are they?" Jane thought for a moment.
"They're keeping their backs to the Chasa Mountains in Elban land now, so we'd be about sixty, maybe closer to eighty, miles apart at this stage."
"How badly hurt are my men?" asked Bethel. It was his first comment.
"You've lost half of them, lad, partly down to Sven. We have high injury count as well. The healers do their best but there are so many hurt that -." Jane broke off with a sigh.
"When was the last battle?"
"Six weeks since, Beth. Why do you ask?"
"He has moved the army quickly, my lord," said Bethel, a hand down to stroke a moist nose poking at his knee.
