Circling Birds of Prey

by Katy Winter

  Our Archmage returned briefly but has also gone again. He's alarmingly frail. We asked that he remain here but he only shook his head, smiled and said he had things as yet unresolved on Ambros that necessitated his being there. His grief over Floronderiel touched us all.

 

  Bethel has met his apprentice slave brother. We know no more than that. It seems Luton and Kher are not that far from joining the southern army. It concerned us that the son of Haskar Alleghy may await Luton in the north but that concern has passed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The winter months that cycle were harshly cruel on both armies. Food and fuel was rationed for the southern army and the injured were the first to suffer, dying by the hundreds, followed closely by slaves unlucky enough not to escape bondage. No supply caravans came from the south after summer and no one expected any more until late spring, if at all. Realists knew the army was on its own in the north.

  All winter supplies had been garnered from Kyaran and none came from further north or west as the warlord wanted. He hadn't planned on still being so far north at this time of the cycle without the logistical support of supplies from vanquished states. Kyaran was decimated but it wasn't conquered. Only southern Elban towns were utilised and nothing more came from Samar or Sushi land. Lodestok now had to move west.

  What the warlord had planned was to be in southwest Kyaran, having taken further north in Elba before winter, so that, in early spring he could move westward to take over land from the small people. These folk would bolster the diminished supply of slaves and offer rich land to supply the army before it turned sharply south to the desert. He had, of course, assumed the army would hold the western granaries and wealth to supply it on its southwards march.

  He also expected Esok would follow the southern army after his expected rapid conquest in the west and also in the north against the Shadowlanders. Lodestok could see no reason why Esok shouldn't have cleared the way for the southern army to settle briefly, but comfortably, in rich western lands to recuperate from a hard winter, well catered for by the new influx of slaves from among Shadowlanders and little people.

  So far the northerners had caused unacceptable delays to the warlord's programme and he was becoming impatient, quite determined the next battles would settle who had overlordship of the north. Come the thaw and with the northerners defeated and subjugated Lodestok intended to move west without hindrance.

  It was his discussion of these issues that prompted the warlord to call a council of war that included all haskars. It was Sarssen's first appearance and it caused muted comment, especially from Correc. It died at the first steely glance from the warlord. Sarssen listened, his forehead puckered thoughtfully. He watched each warrior in turn, carefully picking up currents and nuances, the unspoken word in Churchik society more important than the spoken. He sifted information and opinions so he could draw conclusions and assess how serious the situation was. He'd already been called in front of the warlord's Council to explain his contact with the Wildwind tribesmen.

  Now Sarssen was here among the kind who awed and intimidated a mere child. He thought back to how he'd told the warlord, all those cycles ago, that he wanted to be one of his warriors and his blood ran cold at how his childish folly could've led to his immediate destruction. He bent his head in recollection and let his mind wander. He sensed he'd lost something but unaccountably couldn't sort out what it was about himself that didn't feel right. He sighed. He paid more attention when he heard a haskar ask how the army was situated for essential supplies after winter was passed.

  "Enough to see us south and perhaps to get us to the west provided we re-provision there," came the reply from somewhere else.

  "And if we skirt or bypass the west altogether, how are we placed then?"

  "We would probably get mostly through the desert," answered another. "We may have need of tribal supplies."

  "We would get them," growled Bensar.

  The arguments continued back and forth with no resolution, the elite undecided on whether to take the west or return south through the desert to ensure better future supply lines before they returned north on another punitive expedition. A momentary lull in the conversation heard Sarssen speak very quietly.

  "We are forgetting the northern army, are we not?" A long silence fell while the warriors thought. The warlord raised an eyebrow at Sarssen and his voice would have cut ice.

  "You are saying, my son?"

  "That we ignore them at our peril. This is their territory that they understand very well." The warlord's eyes were cold but contemplative.

  "No one suggests we do, Haskar," he said gently.

  "With all respect, my lord, it seems the northern army may cut us off from the west which will deprive us of the necessities the army needs. We may suddenly have no option but to go south as fast as we can." The eyes meeting and holding with Sarssen's glittered dangerously.

  "Are you proposing we turn tail and go home, son?" The voice was very soft and very threatening.

  Sarssen shook his head, his eyes dropping from the ferocious blue ones that challenged his. He, more than most, knew how unpredictable the warlord could be. He actually shivered.

  "No, my lord, most certainly not. I would never suggest any such thing."

  "Then, son, what are you saying?"

  "That perhaps we should concentrate our planning on the next battle that will come in the spring, Father."

  "Rather than?"

  "On the west, my lord. We have yet to fight and the end result of that may make us wish to reconsider our position." Lodestok's voice was silkily menacing. All present sensed the threat.

  "Do you foresee defeat for us, Haskar?"

  Sarssen bit his lower lip, suddenly aware how perilous his position was. From the corner of his eye he saw Kher study him intently.

  "My lord," he said quietly into the sudden silence. "I never assume anything."

  There was a moment of tension because the warrior lords saw Lodestok's hand go to his knife belt. Sarssen saw the gesture and went immediately to his knees. He kept absolutely still.

  "Least of all your life, Losaren, is that not so?" Lodestok now stood over Sarssen, his huge form a physical threat and his hand stayed on his knife hilt.

  "Least of all my life, my lord," murmured Sarssen in acquiescence, his head well bent in submission. A deep, rumbling laugh met that, a hand rested on Sarssen's shoulder and the warlord's voice now held overtones of amusement.

  "You would be honest as you swung on a gibbet, would you not, son?" he jested, aware of the lightened expressions on warrior faces, except Correc's. Sarssen made no move. No one present could see how white his face was.

  "Probably, my lord," he answered. The hand on his shoulder was removed as the warlord turned away.

  "And you, Kher - what think you? Has Losaren got a point?"

  Kher watched Sarssen with interest during this interchange and it was only he who got a glimpse of the whitened cheeks and strain on the warrior's face as Sarssen slowly rose. When he got a quick glance from Sarssen, Kher read recognition of possible defeat in tired eyes that fleetingly met his. Kher became profoundly pensive. He looked across at Lodestok.

  "I think Losaren makes a sensible comment in reminder, my lord. We underestimate the northerners at our peril." Lodestok still fidgeted with his knife belt.

  "Then let us bend our minds to the next campaign," he suggested gently.

  When the assembled warriors began an animated discussion that rapidly degenerated into an argument, Kher walked over to Sarssen, his smile cool but pleasant.

  "That was courageous, Losaren, was it not?" Sarssen shrugged. He saw a slight hitch to Kher's eyebrows and replied with a faintly unsteady voice.

  "It needed to be said."

  "Not usually quite so bluntly, young one, or by one so new to haskar status." He saw the unaccustomed stress about Sarssen and added quietly, "What troubles you, Losaren?"

  "We seem to have lost close on a fifth of ou
r men, my lord, and the winters here are hard and cold. More will die before spring from one cause or another. I do not like to see unnecessary suffering."

  "Is that truly all, Haskar?" Sarssen nodded. "And you think none other than yourself cares for his men, is that it?"

  Sarssen recognised the gulf that yawned in front of him and felt suddenly drained and more tired than he had in cycles. This puzzled him, as did his sense of uncertainty.

  "No, my lord," he managed to reply, with creditable control. "That is not what I am saying. I just wish to be personally well prepared for what is to come. I imply no criticism of those superior to myself." Kher pursed his lips.

  "Sensible of you, Haskar. It seems, I have observed, that your journey south has adversely affected you. You appear to be very weary."

  Sarssen thought he'd change the topic of conversation, but Kher's eyes were too keenly watchful and his perception worried Sarssen for some inexplicable reason. He temporised.

  "A little, my lord."

  "There is something changed about you, Haskar, since we met you on your trek south. Can you explain what the change might be?" Kher's stare never wavered.

  "No, my lord. I am unaware of any change."

  "I can sense the change is there." Sarssen shrugged helplessly.

  "My lord," he replied, his arms going wide.

  Kher's look lingered on Sarssen before the haskar moved away.

  The meeting over, Sarssen left the warrior lords. He was bewildered by his exhaustion, throwing himself on his bed in his pavilion and wishing he could rest. His mind was too active for sleep yet his body yearned for rest. As he let himself drift he was unaware of the calls in his mind from the Mishtok or of the concerted efforts of the Adepts to reach him. He finally sank into a deep sleep, unconscious of the consternation caused by his failure to respond to calls.

  ~~~

  With winter coming to an end, Luton saw less and less of Bethel because the apprentice had still much to do and demands on Bethel's time increased with the improving conditions. Bethel also noticed the warlord's interest in his brother waned to such an extent he wasn't asked to report anything.

  Bethel had always loved Luton, the older brother with the merry laugh and bright sparkling, inquisitive eyes. Now he came to care deeply for the frail, emptied young man with the intense black eyes who clearly wished to respond but was unable to.

  Grief for Luton was never far from the surface of Bethel's mind, but he controlled it so he could develop as much of a relationship as possible. Luton gradually accepted Bethel about him, talked with him and spent time explaining what it was the mage had set him to do. The two dark heads would be together as they pored over manuscripts and Bethel asked enlightenment of his brother.

  They spoke of their lives since Ortok though Luton remembered nothing before the Keep. He liked to listen to Bethel talk, his dark eyes fixed to his brother's face and Bethel's music seemed to ease some profound anguish that Bethel sensed was a repressed part of Luton. The young man sat back, his restlessness abated while he listened.

  He liked, too, Bethel found, to hear of the city-state of Ortok and seemed, though it was difficult to tell, to derive comfort of a sort from hearing of a family he didn't know existed. The bond between the two deepened by the day. The mage wouldn't expect Luton to form a bond with anyone - in his state he shouldn't have. Nor would the mage have expected a brother to persist as Bethel did over those cold months. Luton's shake of his dark head or the cold indifference of his expression or responses may have hurt Bethel but they didn't repel him. Quite the reverse. And in a perverse and odd way Bethel did have an affect.

  With the advent of spring, however, the army sprang back to life. Bethel once again found himself in his usual state of teetering exhaustion as one day followed another of drilling and training men, his own training with Bensar, the organising required for his several hundred men, and, lastly, being Lodestok's slave with all that entailed.

  His twenty-first cycle came and went. If he'd been asked he'd have admitted that he remembered less and less of his younger days. Perhaps having Luton there helped because it kept what he once was alive in his mind. Without that reminder Bethel would've become so enmeshed in the Churchik lifestyle he'd have become just another acedar. Already he'd ceased to think beyond the battle that was to come.

  As the weeks went by he became aware of a subtle difference in the warlord though he thought perhaps he imagined the change. That was until late one evening. Bethel bathed Lodestok, then powdered and oiled his master, carefully combed out the long thick mane that he brushed dry until it shone, manicured the warlord's toe nails, then took him his wine and goblet. They were absently taken. Lodestok stroked his beard, his glance at Bethel brief.

  "Prepare the bed, boy," Bethel was curtly instructed. Bethel turned from the huge standing naked man and quickly made sure the bed was properly prepared before he turned back to his master to give his quaint little slave bow.

  The warlord crossed to the bed and lay back on the carefully arranged cushions. He placed the wine and goblet on the table beside him then watched as Bethel placed the furs round him. About to move from the bedside Bethel was distracted by the sight of the warlord's big frame briefly shaking as if the warrior had a fever. Tactfully he shifted, but not before he saw the chilling eyes close.

  "Do not be long," came the cold voice. "I do not wish to be kept waiting."

  Bethel was never one to linger and knew what he'd face if he did keep the warlord waiting, so it was very soon that he crept into the bed. He lay very quietly, waiting, in the slave manner. He was profoundly surprised when the warlord didn't turn to him in his usual rough and possessively passionate fashion. Lodestok was asleep. Bethel curled himself up very carefully so as not to disturb his master, his mind in turmoil. Then he went thankfully to sleep.

  Though this only happened the once Bethel was well aware, as the weeks passed, that Lodestok's physical demands lessened nor could the warlord sustain them as he'd once done. The ferocious appetite seemed to have abated. It made Bethel's life less stressful though the warlord's temper was as unpredictable as ever. Nor did Bethel know when there might be a resurgence of the warlord's often cruel and singularly violent sexual playfulness - he just prayed the quieter Lodestok wasn't a transient thing. By spring, the warlord's appetite hadn't reasserted itself. Bethel breathed just a little easier. He didn't mention the slight change to anyone not even Sarssen. He just continued to give his master whatever Lodestok demanded and received increasing signs of affection both publicly and privately. So did Sarssen.

  ~~~

  By the third week of spring intelligence advised of the northern army's move. Lodestok gave the order to move and within five days the southern army was on the march, Bethel kept beside him other than when warrior duties called him away. Bethel's unsel was removed and his pavilion that he'd not seen since he became a warrior cycles before was set up next to Sarssen's.

  Lodestok was now seldom seen without one or other of his sons in his company and though it was noticed by the Churchik nothing was said, only eyebrows raised at the signs of affection bestowed on the two young men. Their jewellery was more ornate and Sarssen, as haskar, was given a richly decorated and jewelled saddle for his destrier. The belt buckles each son wore were larger and very richly ornamented, objects of wealth, power and status.

  As a trained southern bard, Bethel was given the chain denoting his status. It was a heavy gold chain, heavily decorated, that matched the bard belt and headband he wore when called upon to entertain. The belt was so heavy it dragged down across the slender hips and the headband was so jewel encrusted its weight cut into his scalp. Gariok's was yellow. Bethel's was Valshika blue. He was gifted these tokens as a mark of his newly acquired Master Bard status. Gariok made it a formal, rich presentation that included music, poetry, feasting and pleasure, fully endorsed by the warlord who looked over his slave with approval. Bethel shyly acknowledged praise with a smile. Lodestok's later praise made him
feel pride but it was Gariok's that almost overwhelmed him and made him glow. This achievement meant so very much. Bethel thought how proud Sarehl would be and actually quivered at that.

  The Churchik noticed the warlord's sons wore richer rings, the ear-rings and bracelets worth a man's ransom. Both sons dripped wealth, though it was noticed neither man showed any outward change. Correc, in particular, noted the warlord's favour of his sons and snarled malevolently, while others made muttered comments about slaves but never directly challenged the warlord. Neither Sarssen nor Bethel missed the looks they got from certain warriors. Both were on their guard.

  ~~~

  The army's march almost took them back through the forest of Kyaran where Sarssen and Bethel had only been a short time since but now they saw the northern army had established itself at the western end of the forest, their backs still to the distant Chasa mountains. Their army filtered back into the southern tip of the Elban Princedoms, as rich a land as that of the Gnosti to the west and certainly as rich as the Kyaran land Lodestok currently occupied.

  The southerners had barely set camp before the guerrilla tactics that had worn Lodestok's temper threadbare at Blenharm Forest began again. The warlord cursed. With the flanks of his army being constantly harassed Lodestok had to get Bensar to divert men to protect vital supplies even though said men were needed elsewhere. Skirmishes occurred within two days of camp being set. Men who'd lost the will to fight were whipped into submission by short-tempered warriors. Men were hungry, cold still and reluctant to obey orders, so, in order to ensure discipline Lodestok ordered judicious beatings as examples. It made white-faced men fall cursing back into line.

  Bethel's men weren't flogged and in time became loyal to none other than the young acedar. He did his best for the men, they knew it and respected him. They took their cue from the limping Kel whom they knew would die for Bethel.

  ~~~

  By early summer, Lodestok had clear indications that attacks, not battles yet, would be launched against his army. The worst came swiftly and at night. On this evening Lodestok had ordered what amounted to a banquet for the warriors, as much to distract them from the mounting tensions as to celebrate. Slaves scurried backwards and forwards with huge platters piled high with food they were forbidden to touch, some laden down with the size and weight of casks of wine that would be consumed amid conviviality.