Children of Ambros

by Katy Winter

  He opened the ball for Sarehl, who could neither dance nor escort the Chamah's sister in leading the march that signalled the formal beginning of the ball. Sarehl stood back, leaning against a painted pillar as the march began. Daxel and Kasan followed their majesties. The Strategos watched them thoughtfully as all eyes turned to the handsome couple, obviously quite at ease with each other and clearly good friends. Sarehl sensed someone next to him and glanced down to see Kaleb, likewise, intently watch the dance now forming.

  Daxel didn't disgrace himself in the opening dance. Sarehl saw the tall figure gracefully circle Kasan and was relieved and delighted to see Daxel become confident enough to laugh.

  "He's a very fine-looking lad, isn't he?" said Kaleb, beside Sarehl.

  "Aye," agreed Sarehl, on a wistful note. "He reminds me of our father, Alfar, and I wonder, too, how he and his twin would look tonight, together as they should be. The picture's incomplete. So few know how that boy aches for Lute." Kaleb touched Sarehl's arm and Sarehl looked down. The healer thought the black eyes looked profoundly sad.

  "One day," Kaleb said gently, "the gods willing, my friend, you'll know. Are you tired, Sarehl?"

  "I am a little," acknowledged Sarehl with a sigh. "The days coming here tired me more than I thought and I've not had a moment to myself since we got here. Kyaran protocol has one rising and sitting, then standing for long spells."

  "It was a very long journey, Sarehl," replied the healer calmly. "And I think there must be other ways for you to endure the grind of each day. I don't think you should have to leap up and down." Sarehl shrugged.

  "This life we lead is guaranteed to bring back twinges, Kaleb." The hand on his arm tightened.

  "What you need, my friend, is a long drink."

  Sarehl was led towards a table set aside in an alcove not far from them. Sarehl grinned down at the little healer when he saw the untouched goblets and wine.

  "Now how did you know all this was here and untouched?" he demanded. Kaleb stroked the side of his nose.

  "Second sense," he answered on a chuckle, his hands now busily pouring the wine. He handed a goblet to Sarehl with the advice that he drink well and deeply. It wasn't long before they were joined by Kalor and Sache.

  The latter said with a wry grin, "These damned protocols! You know, Kaleb, I'm going to hate going back to all this." He gestured at the dancers and then expressively at the guests. Kaleb looked reflective at that.

  "You may well find Dahkilah markedly changed, Sache. I know my people won't ever be the same after what's happened. Certainly, they won't be in the same place." Sache was silent a moment.

  "Nor yours, Sarehl," he said, after a pause.

  "Nor what's left of Samar," agreed Sarehl quietly. He drank deeply then turned back to the table for more wine. Kalor took his goblet with a grin. He nodded towards the dance floor.

  "Your little brother does you proud tonight, Sarehl," he commented. "Was it mostly Dalmin who taught him after I left this morning?"

  "No, it was Sache."

  "Ah!" Kalor's eyes twinkled roguishly at Sache. "Of course, you dance, I've observed, most prettily."

  "Not tonight, old friend," said Sache, shaking his head disparagingly at Kalor, though the grin that went with it ruined the effect. "Let the boy uphold the tradition of Dahkilah."

  "The lad is sort of Dahkilan, isn't he?" mused Kaleb, then after a moment he looked quietly up at Sarehl whose thoughtful dark eyes regarded him intently. He added hurriedly, "I don't mean that Dase isn't Ortokian. It's just that he's modelled himself to a large extent over the last five cycles on Eli and Ensore." Sarehl gave a slow smile.

  "Yes, he has," he agreed. "That was only to be expected, I suppose. You're quite right - I've been wondering what was so different about him. It's not just that he's grown from boy to man, is it?"

  "No," murmured Kaleb, to himself. "The boy could be one of them. It's the lad's colouring that makes you think twice."

  "Immersed in their culture," said Kalor meditatively. "I think Dase is all Samar myself, but with a very thorough overlay of Dahkilan. He has too much of you in him, Sarehl, to be anything else. The boy's also just about achieved respectability with that beard he's struggled with for weeks."

  There was a shout of laughter at that, before Sache said quietly, "I'd give much to see Ensore's face now, if he could but sight the boy."

  "Aye," mumbled Sarehl, downing his second goblet of wine. "What I'd give to see Ensore and all."

  The friends drifted apart, leaving Sarehl to quietly see how Daxel coped with his first ball. Sarehl crossed the floor to the far side of the ballroom while Kasan, not far away, watched Sarehl, her heart in her eyes, before she turned courteously to her partner. The girls of the court looked speculatively at the Strategos when he approached, their expressions tinged with awe. Sarehl's bow was graceful. He extricated Daxel, Kasan noticed with a smile, most deftly, guided him to a recess, sat him and poured a goblet of wine that he placed in the waiting hands.

  "Not enjoying yourself as much as you expected?" Sarehl asked, in a gently teasing voice.

  "Too much, Sar. How have you put up with this for so long?"

  "You adapt as the need arises. We thought you seemed remarkably popular, Dase, especially with the princesses."

  "It's enough," groaned Daxel, drinking again.

  "Don't ask me for help, little brother. I was never in the petticoat line and mated very young. You should ask Kalor for advice."

  "I didn't mean to bring back memories, Sar."

  "You didn't," responded Sarehl mildly. He put his hands over his brother's. "Dase, Ortok happened long ago. Alicia and the children are a vital part of me I'll never forget and I loved them dearly, but equally I know I can't live forever in the past. The memories still hurt - they always will, but they aren't nightmares of anguish that tormented me for so long. I can even think of our brief happiness and our joy at the children, small as they were."

  Daxel turned his head to study his brother, looking into Sarehl's dark reflective eyes. What he read there reassured him and he gave a faint, wavering smile.

  "I was talking with Kasan a while ago," he said hesitantly. "She didn't know about Alicia. I mentioned it without thinking, you see, and she asked me about what happened to you." Sarehl looked rather surprised.

  "What made you talk about me at all?"

  "I can't remember, Sar. When I told her you'd been mated she was quite calm about it."

  "Why shouldn't she be?" asked Sarehl, mildly amused. "Dase, are you in your cups?"

  "No!" responded Daxel indignantly. "How can I be? I have to dance again." Daxel blinked and drank more wine, then stood fidgeting with his goblet. "Sar -." Sarehl looked hard at the young man staring pensively at the floor.

  "What's on your mind, little brother? It clearly bothers you and it's making you incoherent." Daxel spoke in a rush.

  "Talking to Kasan upset me - very much. That's the point. You seem to have accepted what happened. I haven't." Sarehl nodded.

  "I had Kaleb, Dase. He made me talk and face what happened to those around me." Sarehl's eyes darkened with remembrance. "He made me accept life for what it's become, even helping me adjust to Bethel and Lute. That wasn't easy, Dase, and I still feel burning hatred that ties me in knots sometimes. I have to fight it. I'll probably always fight against accepting what was done to them. What I'm trying to say, little brother, is that Kaleb refused to let me keep all the pain in. No one's done that for you, have they?" Daxel was very quiet, the goblet held to his lips unsteady.

  "No," he said slowly. "Ens tried, early on. He was too busy. And Lute came and went in me so much."

  "And En's not a healer, is he?" Daxel shook his head. "And you've never come to terms with your loss of Lute, have you, Dase?" Sarehl saw the flare of anguish in Daxel's dark eyes when they looked into his and then at the rush of tears that threatened to drown them.

  "No," he whispered. Sarehl put his arm about the younger man.

  "Will you see
Kaleb, lad?"

  "I'm not sure I have the courage to," Daxel managed. "Something happened with Lute and me a while ago that Ens said you didn't know about. He says I need to talk about it."

  "To do what?" asked a quiet voice behind them. The brothers turned as one to see Kaleb steadily regarded them.

  "I ask again," Sarehl said, "how it is you know when one of us needs you?" Kaleb surveyed Daxel and spoke in a composed, neutral voice.

  "You're distressed, aren't you?" Daxel bent his head, unwilling to meet those clear perceptive eyes, then resolutely drew in a deep breath.

  "Sar tells me you helped him -." Daxel couldn't go on.

  "Lad," said a quiet voice next to him, "it's no disgrace to show emotion. When you've wept with Ensore, he's thought none the less of you." Daxel's voice sounded muffled, because he had a hand over his mouth.

  "It's being with Sar after such a long time. Things keep coming back to haunt me. While I've been with Ens I've not thought too much about things, or it's easier to push them away when you keep busy."

  Sarehl and Kaleb exchanged glances. Sarehl ran a hand through his hair absently.

  "I don't know why, Kaleb, but apparently Dase and Kasan talked about Alicia and me. It's badly affected you, Dase." Daxel kept his head averted and Sarehl's hand went to his scar. "You've repressed so much! Gods, do you think Brue has as well?"

  "I doubt it," murmured Kaleb, looking curiously at Daxel. "He was very young with memory that relates to abandonment and loss. Dase's memories are by far more traumatic and he was at a much more vulnerable age. Come and see me and we'll talk, just you and me. I won't hurt you." Daxel looked directly down to the healer and a rueful smile lit his eyes.

  "I'll come," he promised.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Blach's summons in the early hours was curt and cold. Luton, crouched over his desk, rose noiselessly, ran a hand through hair that fell forward across his face, and then rubbed at the silky beard that hugged his chin. He was momentarily stooped and weary, because he'd been struggling hard to learn and hadn't moved from his cramped hunch for some hours. He stretched and walked to the door, out along the landing and quickly up the flights of steps to the landing where he knew his master awaited him. His robe swished on the flagstones but there was no other noise in the Keep.

  The door was opened and Luton entered, abasing himself immediately, the dark head rested on the ground. A season had passed since Luton sought Soji for his master and life had again become difficult. When Luton was peremptorily kicked as an indication he should stand, he saw his master stand imperiously, the mage's expression one of impatience.

  "Where have you been?"

  "In my room."

  "Do you need a lesson in haste?" came the uncompromising question in Luton's mind. His answer was automatic.

  "No."

  "Then never keep me waiting."

  Luton sensibly made no response. He was aware he was analysed and assessed and bent his head in deference. Over the cycles Blach slowly became increasingly aware compulsion wasn't needed to subject Luton, all ever needed was a light hand and Luton capitulated. It didn't, however, save Luton from savage punishments.

  Blach's hollow eyes glowed. He may not have Myme Chlo, but he had the means by which he could assess and finally draw her to him. Blach found that satisfying and amusing. She'd trust her brother where she'd not necessarily trust the man who fathered her. Blach was angered he had to send Luton away, at least a cycle before his apprentice was ready, and he fully intended Soji would answer to him for that, if she still lived. Blach licked his lips with anticipation when he promised himself a singularly vicious retribution for the girl who dared defy him. His eyes continued to assess Luton.

  Luton was a young man grown to maturity, though he was still only nineteen cycles. There wasn't the development of the breadth of shoulder in Luton like Daxel. His hair was long, glossy and still unmanageably thick and curly. It fell in waves over his shoulders. His face looked graven in stone. No light shone in the black eyes and the enormously long eyelashes rarely blinked. The features remained emotionless.

  "Look at me, slave," came the gently mocking voice.

  When Luton obeyed, he ceased to be. He stood still, eyes wide and blank, while his master set commands at every level of Luton's consciousness. Blach didn't hurry; he intended there'd be no mistakes as the result of foolish, unnecessary haste. He withdrew from the mind he'd shaped, a cruel smile writhing on his lips.

  "You'll leave in four hours and know exactly what to do. Kher meets you and you'll obey him as you would me. You'll meet me when I call. The call will be unmistakable. Because you'll be distant, don't make the mistake of thinking you're far from me, slave. I can touch you wherever you are on Ambros and I can punish you with impunity. I told you, once, you're wholly bound to me. Be sure, if it's necessary, you'll feel my anger." The eyes suddenly blinked, before the dark head went down.

  "Yes."

  "You'll travel north, following the route you took to come south cycles ago." Blach stared at the bowed head and smiled again.

  "Master."

  "I'll follow you in time. That's all you need to know. You will, if you survive, return here with your sister and daughter, but that's highly doubtful. I expect your life to end by then, but you never know. Certainly, your immediate usefulness will be over." There was a long pause. Luton didn't move. "I'm very angry I have to send you north before you're as ready as I wish you to be, but so it is. It's time. You'll take a satchel of work prepared for you. Pic has it."

  "Master."

  A thin hand was raised in curt dismissal. Luton saw the movement from the corner of his eye and lifted his head in response.

  "Go, slave, I've nothing more to say to you."

  Luton turned and left. He didn't even notice the cold laugh that echoed in his head. What he couldn't understand was his master's deep, chilling anger. Soji's actions made it essential Malekim could trace Jonqi when once he thought to have her at the Keep, where she could be moulded to replace Luton should the apprentice fail. Malekim also needed a fully trained Luton to draw out Myme Chlo, the result of which could see Luton irreparably harmed, if not lost. Jonqi would follow him, so it became imperative the sorcerer found her. Malekim felt impelled to make a move before he was ready and forced to send out his apprentice before he was fully shaped.

  ~~~

  The Sinhalien moved swiftly and steadily north, Asok always quietly in command. Soji found few words were spoken among these people, their understanding of each other intuitive and easily understood through expression and gesture. There was no overt aggression such as she was accustomed to and no apparent domination of one sex over another.

  The steppe horses were smaller than she was used to but were capable of long, exhausting stints that proved their worth for stamina. Soji rode her own horse. It was taken from her at the end of the day and was cared for by a boy who travelled with them. Growing up, Soji had heard the saga about the warlord's trek over the mountain to attack the Sinhalien and knew, too, that he failed in his attempt at subjugation and didn't gain acquisition of the horses he so coveted. Living among these people, Soji began to understand why Lodestok failed.

  Soji spent her days between Setoni, who watched her health, and Sagi, who began to teach her that her gifts were a blessing but had to be controlled. Soji, an apt and eager student, listened and learned.

  Jonqi was always with her mother, her eyes bright and alert, but still the little girl made no effort to speak. One day, Soji timidly asked Sagi if she thought Jonqi was as mute as her father but was reassured by Sagi's deep chuckle. The older woman turned to stare down at the solemn-eyed child.

  "There's nothing mute about that little girl," she assured Soji. "She'll speak when she feels she needs to, that one, and not before."

  ~~~

  They'd travelled for half a cycle since they left the plains where Soji met up with the Sinhalien. They encountered some of the toughest terrain on Ambros, including inho
spitable and isolated moorland that turned into marshy swamps, perilous for animals and people alike; they crossed uncharitable highlands, sparse forest that offered little shelter, and scorched downs where the sun shone relentlessly and where they had no protection by day. Soji found it difficult to believe steppe traders once, long ago, plied north along these routes, because she could see no defined paths and was completely lost. Once, she was told, this area was heavily forested.

  They'd ridden hard across once lush uplands that skirted beetling peaks that, in turn, frowned on the riders below. They had to dismount often, too, so horses could be led round bluffs or up cliffs, the horses willing and agile but the riders sweating with anxiety.

  They now travelled, at reduced speed, through a gorge with rocks that extended sheer above them on both sides, threatening and black. It was claustrophobic and thoroughly unpleasant. Soji rode with Sagi. Neither felt conversational. Setoni rode directly behind, Jonqi perched contentedly in front of him. There was only room for horses to go two abreast and Jonqi, at two cycles, had shown a decided preference for Setoni. Though the child never spoke, she made her wishes as clearly understood as had her father as a mute slave on the caravan.

  The heat of the summer sun was merciless. It beat directly down on the backs of the riders trapped in the gorge and beat off the sides of the overhanging cliffs. Soji was near the front of the long file that moved wearily forward, but though she knew they were close to open ground, she didn't believe it.

  She sweated profusely and felt deeply tired. Without conscious thought, she closed her eyes and let her mind drift, knowing that her horse would just walk on quietly next to Sagi's. It was then she clearly saw Luton. He rode in the company of others Soji couldn't see, but she saw the slender, tall figure, fully bearded now, erect in the saddle, his head turned towards her with the same remote coldness to his eyes as she remembered in Chika. Soji saw the curls, windblown and disordered, swirl about his head. His expression was bleak and Soji thought he looked painfully frail and thin.