by Katy Winter
"So it was you who closed them down," Indariol breathed.
"What else could be done?" asked Autoc reasonably. "Malekim headed their way and both were by far too vulnerable for my comfort. Just think for a moment, my young friend, what they could offer our mutual friend in the way of enhanced power.
Sarssen's power is astonishing now but he's by no means at the peak of his ability, and Bethel, though his talent's untapped, has depths of potential that'll make him formidable. That boy, Indariol, can teleth and he has a catlin." At that, Indariol gave a low whistle of disbelief. The mage considered then went on. "They'd be drained and abandoned. It was a risk I was unprepared to take."
"And now, Ortoriol?"
"And now, Indariol, I need your help," responded Autoc comfortably.
"Does Burelkin know all you've been doing?" Indariol asked curiously. He saw a slow smile touch the very blue eyes.
"When," asked Autoc quietly, "has my master not known precisely what I was doing?" Indariol gave a reluctant laugh.
"Mage, you have an answer to everything."
"But of course," chuckled the mage. "Now what worth mage would I be if I didn't?" The quip was followed by a sigh. "Indariol, I need Sarssen removed from the southern camp. Can you assist me with this if I show you a plan of the layout of the north-eastern part of the encampment?" Surprised, Indariol sat, his fascinated gaze going to a sheet Autoc spread on the ground in front of him. Swiftly, he went to his knees. "I know the light's fading, but can you see here, Indariol, where I've marked the pavilions?"
"Yes," said Indariol briskly, his eyes keenly scanning the simple but extremely clear map. "This part of the camp appears to be more loosely and lightly guarded, simply because it seems to me they wouldn't expect any attack from the north, not yet anyway. Your proposal, mage?"
"A rapid entry near the farthest pavilions. Sarssen's is closest to where the attack will be mounted and he'll be early on the scene to see what's toward." Autoc gave a small laugh. "He's very much a warrior, my friend, and he won't be easy to take alive. A boy brought to manhood by the warlord isn't someone to be taken lightly at all. Bethel may also appear but he'll be slower to arrive because he'll be with his master, and, because he must be unarmed in the warlord's pavilion, he has to return to his man to collect arms."
'That gives us a little extra time," murmured Indariol.
"You'll have to take another one or two with you, Indariol, because I don't wish Sarssen's removal to be too particular. Nor do I wish there to be any unnecessary killing."
"I understand," said Indariol calmly. "Can you tell me why it's necessary to have Sarssen removed?"
"He can't operate as he's needed, Indariol, if he stays in the camp. I need that warrior fully functional. That's critical for what comes."
"Do you wish him brought to you?"
"No," said Autoc quickly. "Keep him with you. He has much to learn by being among you. He'll know when it's time for him to return to the southern army and he'll go."
"It will be done, Ortoriol, that I promise you."
Autoc rose, his robe fluttering about him in the breeze that had sprung up. He held out his hand to Indariol, then, as quietly as he released the Shadowman's, he was gone, the harper rising and spiralling lazily above the glade. In seconds the bird vanished. Indariol sat quite still, his mind coming to grips with all he'd heard during such a brief encounter. He'd only been young when he'd last seen Ortoriol, but his childhood recollections of a charming man weren't far from the mark he decided, coming to his feet and yawning.
Riding the next day, out ahead of the others, Indariol reflected on Chlorien. That she was now with her own kin gave him satisfaction and that she was with Burelkin eased some of his anxiety for her. He knew Nikos was with her still. He wasn't surprised the two cubs weren't on Ambros. He pondered their future.
From them, his mind switched to other matters. Since the Gnosti were attacked, Indariol expected that the men Jaim led would be well on their way east by now, having mounted a probably savage counter-attack against the Churchik. Indariol had the delightful thought, that, perhaps the Churchik his people repulsed were flung back southwest into the arms of vengeful Gnosti. That brought a glint to grey eyes that looked sombre all morning. Gnosti took as strong exception as did his own people to ravaged lands, towns and villages laid waste and innocent people slaughtered, all unprovoked.
Indariol had only had to interrogate one senior captured Churchik warrior. From him the Shadowman learned all he needed to know, Leontok appreciating the finesse with which the prisoner was quickly broken. He answered all questions. Little frightened a Churchik warrior - Indariol did and with good reason. He killed the man as though he trod on or brushed off an insect, done with ruthless efficiency, cold calmness and expediency. Leontok's respect for the Aelkin began to border on awe.
As the small group of Shadowlanders neared the peninsular of land that poked down southwards between Elba and Kyaran, Indariol sent out scouts, one pair after another who were expected to report back to him on a regular basis. There were always men coming and going at bewildering speed.
~~~
He left only two men about halfway down the peninsular, with a written suggestion with them for his brother. It advised that it would be sensible for the main armed force of Shadowlanders to camp there, because at the rate the people moved they could be in an excellent fighting position in three or four days, north of the southern army. He judged that at this time that was good enough.
Then he proceeded quickly down the peninsular to the southern army camp, his other chosen men close to him. None of them rode because they felt at this stage horses would be more of a hindrance and they needed both stealth and speed. Had the warlord seen this small group headed south, he'd have had second thoughts about the wisdom of having attacked them in the first place.
A day from the camp, Indariol sent out to Jaim. The Gnosti's response was one of pleasure tempered with sorrow for Indariol's familial loss and for the Shadowlanders' grief over Floronderiel. Indariol enquired over Gnosti losses, consoled by the fact they'd not been such heavy casualties as he'd feared. Jaim gave precise details of their position and their intentions. He confirmed Indariol's suspicions that the Churchik had fallen back from the north and chuckled when he explained the troops now retreated from the Shadowlands as fast as they could. Already, he added, with another wicked chuckle, the Gnosti had caught up with some of the rear-guard and had dealt them considerable damage. He even suggested to Indariol that it would be amusing to push the rump of these Churchik hard back into the northern army. What, demanded Jaim, did Indariol think of that? Indariol sensed the unholy amusement and sent back accordingly.
~~~
The next morning, the Shadowlanders, without Indariol, moved south. They were in position by nightfall, but, though they were ready to attack Indariol's instructions were explicit. They waited until the early hours of morning before they slipped unseen into the southern army's camp and took out the sentries.
It was two days later that Indariol, tending to a hand that he scratched as he scrambled through huch bushes to get berries, glanced up enquiringly, to see one of the men he'd sent south to the warlord's camp.
"Yes?" he asked interrogatively.
The man turned his head and nodded behind him. Indariol was crouched but now he straightened, stretched and looked to the left of his man. A slight smile came to his face when he took in the sight of the very large and somewhat battered Churchik warrior. The two men eyed each other, one with interest, the other with resignation. Indariol took his time summing up the man who stood at some distance from him, his hands chained together, the head well up and proud, the expression stoical but the eyes quite passive.
In that long assessing stare, Indariol took in long blond hair that was hopelessly disordered and tangled and a bruised face above a silky ashen-coloured beard that was shorter than Indariol would've expected in a man he judged was thirty odd cycles. The mouth was sensitive and the forehea
d broad. The warrior presented the picture of a mature man, extremely powerfully built, but one who lacked the brute physique the Shadowlanders had come to associate with the Churchik. This man wasn't heavily muscled in the thighs, nor was he barrel-chested. He looked athletic and fit.
Indariol knew this man was special. Autoc hadn't said as much but Indariol was quick to pick up an inference and he judged the mage held this young man in considerable esteem, his regard showing in the warmth of his tone when he referred to Sarssen. The man was an oddity - slave-marked and yet at the same time he bore the signs of a warrior. Nor was his warrior status low. This slave was of the highest rank in Churchik society, only one step from the elite haskars who sat on the warlord's War Council.
To make him even more unusual, Indariol knew this man was now the warlord's elder son. Undoubtedly, this Sarssen was indeed a remarkable survivor. The smile in Indariol's eyes deepened as they took in the mass of jewellery the warrior wore. As did all Churchik, this very tall man wore rich multiple ear-rings, but the two triple-chained necklaces and collar composed of rare gems adorning his throat were worth a ransom, and on each finger were ornate rings holding very fine stones. His arms and wrists sported fine bangles, some filigreed, to heavily embossed silver arm-bands. Indariol knew the value of stones. He realised, with an inward grin, that this warrior dripped inordinate wealth every time he moved and the light flashed on a given plane of any of the dozens of gems bedecking his person. His belt buckle was very heavy, large and richly embellished. Indariol knew warriors only divested themselves of jewellery when they bathed.
Indariol sensed the man was powerful in a restrained way and one of authority, though it wasn't blatant. But mostly, Indariol could tell this warrior had suffered much and over a prolonged period of time. The Shadowlander also sensed this when, finally, cool green eyes met his. That was another surprise. Indariol expected to look into pale blue eyes but these were emerald, wide-opened and seemingly depthless. They were beautiful and arresting. Indariol blinked.
Indariol stepped forward, nodding dismissal to his man. He was some inches shorter than the warrior but no one seeing Indariol would notice that. He had his own aura of strength and command. Quietly, he invited the warrior to follow. He briefly saw a questioning look on Sarssen's face before the big man saw Indariol had stopped and settled in the grass. He slumped down tiredly against a tree trunk and closed his eyes. They opened courteously when Indariol spoke.
"I was told to bring you here, Haskar. Your name is Sarssen?" The warrior nodded. "Were my people unnecessarily rough with you, Haskar? Or should I correctly call you Adept?" Indariol saw a wary look creep into eyes that looked lazily at him.
"They were not rough," Sarssen answered, in his rich bass voice.
"Then," demanded Indariol interrogatively, "why are you so knocked about?"
"I am a warrior," responded Sarssen. "I did not wish to be captured. I also saw how two others with me were executed. I did not wish to invite the same fate." A smile touched the cold grey of Indariol's eyes at that.
"Of course," he murmured. "How many were needed to subdue you, warrior?" Sarssen shrugged.
"Ten I think," was the uninterested reply. Indariol considered him.
"My people will attend to your hurts. Are you harmed in any other way?"
"No," came the bald response. Indariol studied the man.
"You are uncompromising and angry, warrior. Why is that?" Fine green eyes held his.
"I was torn from one who will have need of me if he is to survive. The boy is vulnerable. I do not fear for myself if that is what you may think, Shadowman." Sarssen sighed, his head bent so he could look at his wrists. "Must I be chained?" he asked plaintively. "If you were sent to bring me here I shall stay until I know it is time to go. You have my word as a warrior. If nothing else, you may believe that as such I do know honour and I respect oaths."
"And," said Indariol softly, "your word as an Adept?" He saw a shadow cross the bearded face.
"I have no powers as an Adept, my friend, if that is what you seek of me. If you have brought me here to utilise those powers on your behalf, you have chosen badly. My talent is gone."
Indariol rose, walked calmly across to the blond man, and, kneeling beside Sarssen took a key from his cloak pocket. He unlocked the chains. He had to carefully unwind them from about the wrists because they'd become entangled with the bracelets.
"Your promise as an Adept, warrior?" Sarssen shrugged again.
"You have it."
Indariol watched Sarssen run a hand ruefully through his tangled hair then push it back from his face and shoulders impatiently. It gave Indariol the opportunity to clearly see the embedded jewel in the forehead where the hair grew in shorter like a very long fringe.
"The jewel in your forehead?" asked Indariol curiously.
"It is the mark of a chosen son," came the reply. "The jewel signifies that I am a Sarat, son of a warrior lord."
"Do all elder sons carry such a mark?"
"All sons who will control city-states as Sarats are marked thus."
"At what age is this done?"
"Seven cycles."
"You came to it late, warrior." Sarssen gave a reluctant grin that made his face light up.
"Very," he agreed, rubbing his wrists where the chains had chaffed. "I have not worn chains since I was nine cycles," he murmured, his green eyes reflective and sad.
"Who put you in chains, Sarssen, as a very small child?"
"I was enslaved," came the reply. "I am still a slave." Indariol sat again, closer to the warrior this time.
"Who did that to you?" he asked quietly. "Was it before you were taken to the warlord, or after?"
"You know much of me," commented Sarssen, his head lifting so he could look at Indariol. He flexed his fingers and wrists. "The warlord put me in chains when he took me as his boy. I was not quite eight cycles." Indariol studied a face that suddenly appeared drawn.
"And he removed them a cycle later?"
"He had no need to keep me in chains, my friend. I totally belonged to him and he knew it." Sarssen glanced across at Indariol, a smile touching his eyes. "He still does. I am as much his slave today as I was then. Only the demands he makes of me have changed. The warlord makes one's status very painfully clear from one's first hours with him, Shadowlander. Be sure I would not be here today had I forgotten that lesson."
"It sounds as if you're loyal to your master."
"It is not my place to question what the warlord may choose to do with his slave."
"You are now his son."
"True."
"Doesn't that change things?"
"Perhaps."
"Loyalty to one who has treated another cruelly is unusual, warrior."
"As I have said times before, he gave me life. Most slaves were not so lucky."
Indariol scratched his beard, contemplatively regarding the warrior whose smile unexpectedly broadened.
"You would, then, find it difficult to betray one such as the warlord?" The smile in the green eyes deepened even more.
"I do what is demanded of me, Shadowlander. If this conflicts with the wants of the warlord, then so be it. I am an Adept after all." Indariol went quiet, rocked back on his heels to better survey the warrior, then he too smiled.
"I begin to understand you, warrior," he responded, with instant comprehension. He saw the gleam shine in the green eyes. "Just so," he agreed. "The mage warned me about you, Sarssen. You're a very intelligent man. Does anyone know what card you'll play next?" Sarssen burst out laughing.
"No, never," he chuckled. "Would I be alive now if that was known?" Indariol sank back on the ground, amused.
"What a man you are," he observed. "Verbal sparring with you must be an exciting intellectual pursuit I look forward to. Sarssen, I answer to Indariol, Aelkin of the Shadowlands."
"I know of your heritage," offered Sarssen. "My mother taught me of it. You are of the direct line of Chloronderiel, are you not?"
&nb
sp; It was Indariol's turn to give a surprised start, his eyes involuntarily going to the battered face.
"You're extremely well taught, warrior. Was your mother a Churchik seer? Rare, surely?"
"My mother was a Post-Level Three reader-seeker," admitted Sarssen, stretching his arms. Indariol got gracefully to his feet.
"Then I have other answers about you, warrior," he remarked, staring down. "You are half-Yazd and not fully Churchik at all. You don't have the usual Churchik appearance so that bothered me. Nor are your eyes common. They are neither Churchik nor Yazd so that will cause me to ponder."
"I have no answer to that," said Sarssen, weariness showing in drooping lids.
"Does the warlord know this, warrior?" Green eyes opened very wide.
"No, Indariol, he does not." Indariol showed swift understanding by the quick nod.
"Come," he invited. "I want your bruising attended to and you appear to be tired. You travelled at speed."
"Yes," acknowledged Sarssen, getting ponderously to his feet.
~~~
Sarssen spent the rest of the day in the area that Indariol showed him was his to wander about freely. He was politely asked to remain with a particular group of Shadowlanders and was quite willing to comply, never drifting far and always ready to respond if he was told he was to come or go. He made no effort to speak.
That night as Sarssen lay among the soft feather ferns and herbal foliage, his head slipped sideways in sleep, a voice in his mind brought him blearily awake. He rolled onto his side onto an elbow and cocked his head questioningly. He wondered if he was dreaming.
"Why did you fight so hard, Adept?" came the amused voice. Sarssen flicked back hair that had fallen across his face and lifted his head. "You will remember for me, Sarssen. Open fully, I beg you." Sarssen took a deep, bewildered breath.
"Mage?" he sent sceptically.
"Of course," answered Autoc, the amusement in his voice deepening. "Do wake up, Sarssen! We've much to discuss and time's precious."
