Circling Birds of Prey

by Katy Winter

  ~~~

  Lodestok heard the first screams that came after Luton's reunion with the mage. He heard the agony and desolation that escalated for a short time before the howls became increasingly weaker. They were no less agonised. The sounds were unlike anything the warlord had heard. He'd had men hung, crucified and he'd even flogged people but no one sounded as Luton did. The warlord blenched.

  He knew the young one crouching at his feet, his fingers stayed on the estibe, was unsure who howled but Lodestok caught the look of sheer terror and revulsion in the huge purple eyes turned up to his. He simply couldn't tell Bethel it was his brother who suffered so. Instead, involuntarily he put his hand on the dark curly head, as much for his own comfort as for Bethel's.

  "Play for me, boy," he ordered, his voice unintentionally harsh.

  Bethel began to play, but the tune was so mournful Lodestok could hardly bear it. It was if Bethel wept there and then. Unusually, however, the warlord didn't either interrupt the playing or instruct Bethel to play something else. The music poured from Bethel without him being aware of it as he played for hours, both he and the warlord unwilling to hear anything else. Lodestok summoned another slave to bring food to his pavilion and serve it.

  Luton lay sentient and in a nightmare of torment. His body convulsed. But he heard Bethel's music and clung to it, forcing himself beyond the pain to listen to it. The cruelty Malekim subjected him to receded because Luton, in order to survive, withdrew and stayed partly within the cocoon of music. And there he stayed, shielded, his cries fading to absolute silence.

  Bethel continued to play, the warlord dozing and Bethel quite unaware where he was or what he did. Kher came into the pavilion more than once, studied the lounging, resting warlord and then the intense young man whose face was covered, his fingers moving so fast across the strings they were almost blurred. Kher left each time, his hands gripped tightly, his face a mask of fury.

  After Malekim set Luton's chastisement he turned from him, not especially concerned about his slave and totally oblivious to the sounds wrenched from him on the pallet. He was unaware that the small part of Luton's consciousness, freed to let him sense and feel pain, transcended the physical as it did so long ago in the Dahkilan mountains. When his essence fled to the inner aethyr and once again hung teetering on the brink, this time it was held cocooned by a man with forbidding green eyes, who only gradually released it when physical convulsions eased and Bethel's music stilled.

  The cries weakening and stopping should've alerted Malekim. They didn't. Luton's suffering was nowhere as prolonged as the mage thought and it was that alone that saved him. In every sense he was now too frail. He couldn't have survived. After a time Malekim raised his hand, his quick glance going to the still figure on the other side of the pavilion. When Luton didn't move, the mage was unconcerned. He merely called for a slave to send for Kher.

  Kher came into the pavilion with a rapid stride, to draw up short at the sight of Luton, sprawled on the pallet, mouth half open, the thin body curled in a foetal position and the eyes staring wide.

  "Demons!" he gasped, going to his knees and his arms going immediately under the limp body. "Was this necessary, mage?"

  "He disappointed me," muttered Malekim, turning away disinterestedly. "Take him!" He was unaware of the venomous look of loathing that crossed the haskar's face as he cradled Luton close to his chest, the young man tenderly held in very strong arms. "Get him nursed back to health, Haskar," came the cold, mocking voice. "Next time he'll be fully sentient and will face his ultimate destiny."

  "The gods!" said Kher, through clenched teeth. This time the look he directed at the mage's back was one of signal hatred. Then he stared down at the white face.

  "Don't make the mistake of becoming foolishly attached to the boy," chided Malekim, with the ghost of a laugh. "You'll understand his time's limited."

  Kher didn't trust himself to speak. He just turned and stalked from the pavilion, the burden in his arms so light he was barely aware of carrying it. Gently and carefully, Kher laid Luton on his bed then sat beside him, only glancing up when one of his three surviving warriors quietly entered, his face a question. Kher nodded at Luton. Emil trod over to study the young man, his breath indrawn at the sight of the long still figure, the dark head lolled to one side.

  "Gods!" he managed. His pale blue eyes met the haskar's, before he turned sharply and left the pavilion.

  They bathed and oiled Luton. He was warmly wrapped in furs then lifted so his head and shoulders lay comfortably on cushions. He was made to drink orlos, which, though it made him conscious, also made him dreadfully sick. He feebly clutched at his stomach on a faint moan. When he finally opened his eyes they were dull and empty. They saw nothing.

  He looked blankly up at Kher when the haskar held a goblet to his mouth, too weak to help himself or make the attempt to drink. Kher spoke to him calmly and kindly, repeating his name until he saw a flicker of response in the dark eyes. Luton shivered. Furs didn't keep him warm. He sweated while he slept, moaning when he tried to get comfortable and perspiration making him wet. Kher talked in a comforting voice, his hand calming the agitation.

  Staring down at the battered young one Kher felt another surge of unspeakable rage sweep across him, because he was thinking of Luton as he was before the mage joined the southern army camp. That wasn't so long ago either. Luton walked tall, his frame filled out so he wasn't appallingly thin, the young face fleshed out, too, and Luton talked with Kher in ways that suggested Luton may at last be achieving as near a sense of peace as it was possible for an apprentice to feel.

  Kher had quite deliberately encouraged Luton to spend time with a brother to whom he was inexplicably drawn, Bethel's gentle presence and music helping Luton relax. Kher was delighted to see the dark heads together as the two young ones whiled away the minutes under trees, by the stream or just walking. Kher felt warm satisfaction. Then Malekim arrived. Kher knew the man was a mage, and, he sensed, a singularly vicious one. With all his heart, the haskar wished he'd never taken Luton to the mage from the slave train because he believed the boy he'd unwittingly betrayed to this awful existence would've been better off dead.

  Kher's regret was genuine and profound, his sorrow at obeying the warlord a gnawing guilt. His love for Luton wasn't prompted by this regret. That emotion grew from the moment the haskar saw the terrified black eyes search his, in desperate hope mingled with despair, the first evening they were together.

  Looking down now at the still, debilitated Luton Kher remembered how helplessly the boy looked at him that day on the edge of the desert, the day Luton met his new master. His fingers curling, Kher felt burning hatred of the mage lance through him.

  He knew Luton was going to be used until the young man died. Malekim's intentions were quite clear. Devastated by what was done to the young man, Kher sat with his head in his hands.

  ~~~

  Early the following morning Kher sat beside Luton, watching the young man retch distressed when he was given food, the slender hands always going to the stomach and holding. Kher removed the food and just held one hand. When he heard movement at the pavilion entrance, Kher turned his head, his eyes narrowed in an effort to see who entered. He recognised the healer garb and beckoned.

  When the healer approached, Kher gestured helplessly at Luton. The haskar didn't notice how abnormally big the healer was and would doubtless have commented had he thought about it, but he was too preoccupied by Luton's distress. He simply pointed to the still retching figure curled on one side then on the other, clutching his stomach. In a very deep voice the healer asked if he could be left alone with the boy and Kher, after a moment's deliberation, nodded curtly.

  The healer took one of the slack hands in his, his voice very quiet and gentle.

  "Ah lad, this is a sorry state you're in. Can you see me, Lute?"

  Immediately the dark eyes opened, to stare up in a confused and disbelieving way into green eyes that smiled into his. He tried to
speak, but a wave of nausea caught him and instead he coughed, curling onto his left side and again clutching his stomach. He was carefully eased onto his back.

  The very large free hand ran over Luton from his head to his feet, exploring and probing under the furs. Feeling no pain from the hand, Luton lay inert. He was aware he was badly hurt and really didn't want to be touched. The hand moved up his body for a fourth time, this time resting on his stomach for some minutes before reaching his mouth. The hand traced something on the white lips.

  Tension left Luton. He was conscious of a sense of warmth and wellbeing that made him impulsively grip the hand that still held his, his eyes meeting with and holding the green ones. This time, without conscious thought, Luton smiled, the dark eyes very alive and sensible.

  The healer sat with him until he heard Kher return, then, very gently indeed, he touched the young forehead, watching how the eyes dulled beneath him and closed. With Kher's approach, the healer rose. The haskar looked quickly down at Luton.

  "Have you been able to help the boy?" he demanded. Kher's tone was harsh but the healer heard desperation and helplessness behind the curtness.

  "He'll heal, my lord. He should now be able to eat and drink, but for a little I'd just let him rest. He's extremely weak."

  "Thank the gods," muttered Kher devoutly, bending over Luton and touching his face. He straightened, to look curiously at the healer, aware how tall and broad the man was. He frowned. His brows were hitched as he obviously struggled with recognition and an erratic memory. "I know you from somewhere, do I not, healer?" The healer smiled, but shook his head.

  "I think not, my lord," he said mildly. "If I may now be excused?"

  Kher nodded abstractedly, his attention back on Luton. When he raised his head again, the healer was gone. He shrugged, sat on the bed beside the young man and took a relaxed hand in his, thinking, as he did, that the young man looked restful, the hands no longer clenched and the face, in repose, quite calm. The breathing was deep and the whiteness to the lips and cheeks had lessened. Luton looked for all as if was in a deep restorative sleep.

  When Luton woke he gave a sigh, followed by a yawn, then stretched. He saw a face bend over him and spoke sleepily.

  "Kher?" The face drew back a little.

  "Yes, boy, it is Kher. How do you feel?" Luton felt a hand touch his hair and felt warm and comfortable.

  "Tired, Kher. It's unusual for me to be this way." Hands lifted him and he felt a goblet pressed to his lips.

  "You must try to drink for me, boy. You are all skin and bone again."

  Luton heard the note of urgency in the bass voice and responded by opening his mouth and swallowing when the goblet was tipped up. He felt no instant nausea, just dryness in his mouth that was eased when he drank. Moistening his lips, he sipped eagerly. The liquid was taken away and he felt food pushed at his mouth. He flinched, remembering how ill food made him.

  "Eat, boy," he was coolly instructed. Obediently and without fuss, Luton opened his mouth. This time he wasn't sick. After eating he was carefully helped down onto the mattress, furs were tucked firmly about him and he drifted back to sleep, conscious of a hand rested on his forehead.

  The next day passed. Luton knew Kher was there. He heard Bethel play the pipes. He was unaware the first time Bethel played, Kher saw a thin hand snake out to grasp Bethel's wrist and hold, so hard, the fingers left white marks on the young musician's wrist. Bethel spoke quietly to a brother who may or may not have heard.

  The second morning, Luton opened eyes to see Kher next to him. The haskar thought the black eyes were lucid and very penetrating. He continued to sponge Luton's forehead.

  "I failed the master, didn't I?"

  "I would not have said so," answered Kher quietly. "You tried in the manner you were taught. You could do no more."

  "He's angry with me," observed Luton thoughtfully. "I've been punished. That's so, Kher?" The sponge was now at Luton's chest where a frail hand held it still. Kher stared into black depths and paused.

  "Yes, boy, your master has punished you."

  "How badly was I hurt?" Kher shrugged and moved the long fingers from his wrist so he could continue what he was doing. "How close to dying?"

  "Very," replied Kher honestly. "I did not think you would survive. A healer saved you and your brother's music helped, too." Kher didn't see the odd expression cross Luton's face. It was an emotion he shouldn't have felt.

  "I remember a healer and I remember music."

  "For now, boy, you must eat. Your master wants you back soon."

  Kher saw cloudiness mist the dark eyes at the mention of the mage but he just placed the sponge in the bowl, pulled the furs up about Luton and began to feed the young man without comment. By midsun Luton felt stronger and indicated he wished to get up. He had to move very cautiously from one object to another to help his balance. He was debilitated, teetered and felt giddy if he moved too fast. The haskar thought he looked extremely young and defenceless, but he made no objection, merely letting the young man do what he wished. All he did was stride over to him to lend Luton his arm in support.

  For the rest of that day and the next Luton sat out in the sun, Bethel his most constant companion. Kher found them lounged under a tree. The black-eyed brother was half-lying, his thin body soaking up the heat, his pose suggestive of rest and contentment, while the purple-eyed brother was bent over the estibe, his long hair draped about him. Or Kher found Bethel leaning against a tree upright, pipes to his mouth. He never saw the brothers talk.

  The haskar hesitated to intrude but always sensed a welcome and felt comfortable being with them. Luton's mind may've been controlled and his emotions blanketed but Kher saw through the suppression to a tranquillity about the still figure that was quite new. He saw it in Bethel, too, when Kher had thought the young man tragically haunted by the loss of Sarssen. He suspected something in each brother sustained and nourished the other. That made him ponder.

  The next morning Luton rose, dressed slowly, called for food that he ate thoughtfully, before he walked, with leaden steps, to his master's pavilion. He hesitated at the entrance. Malekim didn't look up, though he knew his slave stood there.

  Tentatively, Luton advanced to fall abjectly to his knees, his head touching the dirt. He was so thin, his spine showed clearly through the light robe and his shoulder blades stood out like alpine peaks. Hands imploringly clasped, shook. When a foot shoved him, Luton spoke in a low voice.

  "I exist only to serve you."

  "You won't fail me again, slave, will you?"

  "No, Master, I won't." Another nudge made Luton shiver. "I tried to follow your instructions," he added nervously. This time he got a kick. When the mage's boot made contact with his ribs, all he could do was crouch.

  "Never make excuses for inadequacies, slave," came the coldly indifferent voice in Luton's head. "Rise."

  Luton obeyed, standing erect and pale. At that moment the languidness that characterised the slave was heightened by exhaustion. Looking at him with a curling, disdainful lip, Malekim thought the young man looked wasted. He stared at the frailty, the sunken eyes that looked too big for the pinched face, and suddenly frowned.

  "I weakened you more than I thought, slave. I forget your frailty."

  "I'll recover," offered Luton.

  "You may or you may not. It's a matter of indifference to me. I do, however, need you with a degree of strength for what comes."

  "As you will, Master," murmured Luton wearily.

  "You showed me your sister's strengths. There was never any possibility you could succeed against her, slave - did you think there was? Such vanity!"

  Luton looked into empty sockets that regarded him mockingly, his head bending in the slave fashion.

  "Then why did you send me to her, Master?"

  "To test her, boy. As you told me you did your pitiful best. I'd have thought you'd achieve more, but there you are, Luton. One can't have everything."

  "I'm expendable,
am I not?"

  "Entirely, my young mute slave, entirely."

  "Will I meet Myme Chlo again?" Luton dared a glance at his master and saw an unholy and frightening smile writhe on the thin stretched lips. The answer was spoken silkily, but with such finality, Luton knew what would come.

  "You'll help me absorb her, slave. Through that, you will, of course, cease to exist. Your function will be over. You've always known, haven't you, that I dispense with my slaves once they've served me?" The dark head was again bowed subserviently.

  "Yes," came the toneless reply.

  "Your sacrifice won't be for nothing, boy. You'll have given your sister to me."

  "Master."

  "So you'll continue to obey me until that day, won't you, my young obedient slave?" Luton felt excruciating pain in his head that passed very quickly. It always left him feeling sick.

  "Master," he repeated, his surrender to the mage's power absolute as he nodded.

  He realised, with shock, that he was tired of life and wouldn't be sad to die, though he didn't question he could even feel that way. His hidden self reasserted itself in alarming little ways that he wasn't especially conscious of.

  "What do you wish me to do?" Malekim had turned from Luton, but at that he swung round irritably.

  "You've learned all that'll be useful to me. Go, slave, and don't come to me until the call that will end your miserable life. Get out of my sight!"

  Luton backed from the pavilion as fast as weakness let him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Over the next days Luton wandered aimlessly about the camp, Kher watching him anxiously because he found it hard to believe the mage had dismissed the young man.

  "Are you sure he has given you no orders, boy?" he asked, signalling to Han that he may go from guard duty.

  "None," answered Luton, staring at his hands.

  "What then are you doing?"

  "Nothing," came the quiet answer. "I know no life other than one when I am told what to do, Kher." Kher recognised the truth of that. He answered quickly,

  "Then, boy, it is time you read for pleasure." He saw the blank look. "You must sit and read, preferably outside in the sun. When I am free from duty we shall play sequas and onfut, or have you forgotten how to play these?"