Children of Ambros

by Katy Winter

  Without communing, they rode a couple of miles before Luton saw the familiar pitched camp with four horses and four warriors. He felt tension drain from him at the sight and took a very deep breath of the fresh air. Beyond the foursome were more men, an armed warrior escort from Caciqua for a long journey through dangerous, disaffected and conquered lands, where Churchik were hated targets. When he and Kher dismounted, Abek came forward, glancing briefly at Luton who ignored him. Abek took the reins then noticed, when Luton turned from him, the shade that hovered not far away. The warrior recoiled.

  "My lord," he murmured to his senior. "Behind the boy."

  Kher nodded, and, leaving Luton to his own devices, went over to the fire Lus fed with sticks. Luton wandered off a short distance, the shade close behind.

  "Gods," shivered Abek, gazing after him. "What is it, Haskar?"

  "I guess the nearest description would be that it is a sort of ghost, or shadow of darkness, sent with the boy to monitor him," answered Kher carelessly, stooping to pour himself a tankard of badran.

  "Gods, is the boy possessed?"

  "Not entirely, I do not think," murmured Kher. "If he was, the shade would not be necessary. I may be wrong, but Soji not going to the Keep has meant the boy is sent north before he is considered fully ready. For Luton, that is a blessing, and Soji may have saved him in more ways than she could know."

  "Thank the gods for that," said Emil devoutly. "That thing gives me the uncomfortable feeling it knows us."

  "It probably does," replied Kher with grim humour.

  ~~~

  Once Luton returned and relaxed after eating in silence, Kher studied him unobtrusively. He could sense the young man's pleasure at his freedom. It showed in everything he did, from the way he rolled in the long grass, to how he revelled in the wind that blew his long hair all about him. Where there was sometimes faint expression on the young face two cycles before, now there was none. The black eyes absorbed, but gave nothing back and the delicately chiselled face was fully bearded, the beard black and silky. Kher thought it suited the strikingly handsome young man.

  Kher thought Luton was impervious to the shade, but, as he watched, the warrior became aware Luton was acutely conscious of it, looking at it as it sat some distance from him. Kher thought he saw some emotion flicker in the black eyes, but he couldn't be sure. The young man hadn't fleshed out anymore. In fact, Kher thought, there was more physical frailty about Luton than before and he pondered that, accurately guessing physical and mental abuse might account for it.

  Luton lounged back on his elbows, his eyes fixed on the sky above. Nearby was Kher, his thoughts far away on a boy he was pleased to see again and who meant so much to him. That Luton hadn't spoken, in whatever form, mattered not to Kher. To see Luton still alive was all that mattered, and they had time to be together on the long trail north. Kher heard a faint sigh beside him and opened his eyes wide, startled.

  "Luton?" he asked, in astonished disbelief. Luton didn't move.

  "Yes?" he answered clearly. Kher's heart skipped a beat.

  "Luton," he repeated. "Boy, you are speaking!"

  Luton turned his head to look up at the haskar consideringly. His expression was faintly surprised, an emotion new to him and one he shouldn't experience.

  "Yes," he answered again. The voice was the same deep velvety voice that had echoed in Kher's mind two cycles before. The four warriors sat, awed and silent.

  "When did you begin to speak, boy?" Luton's eyes remained expressionless, the only warmth in him the mellifluous voice.

  "I've only just spoken."

  "Is this permanent, my young friend?" asked the haskar with delight. Luton's eyes flickered oddly at the term of endearment.

  "I don't know. Master said nothing to me." Kher's eyes lit up with a smile.

  "It warms my heart to know you can speak again, Luton." Luton glanced up at him, his eyes cold.

  "Thank you," he replied courteously, then lounged back, his eyes again on the clouds.

  Kher's mind reeled and because he needed time to marshal his thoughts, he looked away contemplatively, only to be surprised by the touch on his hand. He turned his head, to see Luton sat upright, staring at him.

  "I remember," Luton said hesitantly. "You're the one who cares deeply for me, as you once did for another slave. That's so?"

  "That is so, Luton, yes."

  "I was with you sometime ago and we travelled together. You protected me."

  "I would always do that for you."

  "You wouldn't hurt me. I feel no threat from you."

  "No, boy, you would not."

  "Your feelings for me still run very deep. I don't understand, Kher, and I can't respond."

  "Give yourself time, boy, give yourself time." Kher touched the hand on his very gently, aware of intense black eyes that touched something very deep within him. Luton flinched but didn't withdraw.

  "I've been learning without rest for so long," murmured Luton, his head drooping. "I remember very little, other than what my master says I must know. I study day and night without rest. I'm allowed very little sleep." There was a long pause. "It's your longing for something connected with me that brings memory of you back. I can't allow that, because it might distract me. My master profoundly hurts me."

  "I understand, Luton," said the haskar, a catch in his throat.

  "I know it pleases me to be near you again and to be away from the heat, though why I say this I don't know."

  "Then, boy, all will be well."

  Luton lifted his head. Suddenly he got to his feet, looked down at Kher and pointed into the distance. Kher expected Luton to speak but the young man didn't, though he obviously waited for a response from the warrior.

  "Yes, boy, you are wandering again. Do not be long."

  Luton nodded and began to stride in the direction he pointed. Kher realised the young man was so in the habit of not speaking, he'd remain mute unless spoken to directly, or was asked a question. He watched the tall figure grow smaller. It was mostly scrubland so he was sure Luton wouldn't get lost. The four warriors stared after the retreating figure as well, the shade trailing it. Han stared at Kher with a question in his eyes.

  "My lord?"

  "Yes," said Kher, the grave expression on his face disappearing. "It is an oddity."

  "My lord, he spoke as though he had never lost his voice at all."

  "Singularly mellow and musical too," mused Kher.

  "What is he, my lord? He is not just an ordinary boy who has been turned into a slave, is he?" Han looked directly at his senior as he spoke.

  "Now there," replied Kher, "I cannot enlighten you. I think we now know he was chosen by the sorcerer for a reason, but who he is, or what his fate will be, remains unknown."

  "He is a northern boy, is he not?"

  "Yes, he is a Samar from Ortok. That truth has not altered."

  "Was Ortok a city of enchantment, my lord?" asked Abek curiously. Kher shook his head.

  "Not that I know of. It was a city-state of learning and the arts, to which all north Ambros came. There will be few of her people left who were not enslaved. Alleghy told me all but the centres of learning were sacked and the people mostly slaughtered. Mostly," Kher added reflectively, "the latter."

  "So the boy is a survivor, my lord."

  "I guess so, if being a slave is survival."

  "It will be interesting to see the boy's reaction to his birthplace, my lord, or to what is left of it."

  "I doubt he will even know," was the haskar's reply. He raised a hand to curtail any further discussion and rose, his eyes seeking any sign of Luton. "Get ready to ride," he said curtly to his men. "We will move upon his return."

  As if Luton knew they were to leave, he returned with a spring in his step. He glanced at the bundle near his horse, studied it, then stooped to pick it up and strapped it to his horse himself. Two cycles before Luton did nothing like that. When Luton turned to face Kher, he found the haskar held out a very heavy, long clo
ak.

  "It is autumn, Luton. You may catch cold. Please wear it."

  Obediently, Luton wrapped it round him and pulled the hood over his dishevelled mop of hair. He stared at Kher briefly, then turned again and mounted his horse. They rode until late into the night before Kher called a halt. The fire flared with the familiar flick of Luton's fingers and the meal they consumed was mostly chewed in silence. Unlike last time, Luton sank onto a mattress next to the fire and closed his eyes. The haskar didn't think the young man slept, but there was no doubt he rested. Kher let himself drift asleep.

  ~~~

  Day after day they rode, camped briefly at night and moved on. The Caciqua escort kept pace, but always stayed set apart from the haskar and his men. Once they left Churchik lands and moved into the subjugated lowlands, they saw poverty and the results of cruel conquest for the first time. The devastation around them was chilling. The towns or remains of cities they passed through were filthy. Kher rightly suspected throughout them disease was rife. Animals ran freely around settlements both inside and outside the broken down walls, mingling with people clearly distressed. Over-crowding was obvious. So was dreadful squalor. Those forced from their land, but who'd escaped slavery, sought refuge in the towns nearest, where they eked out often desperate and pitiful existences.

  In each place, Kher eased his horse through the main streets, around tables and chairs that, wobbling precariously, displayed wares no one had the will or money to buy. He led Luton and his men around and through swarms of beggars and hawkers who clamoured at the sight of any strangers. Churchik warriors were fair game. Hands tore and tugged at their boots and saddles. Kher used his whip to good effect but Luton just looked on solemnly, making no effort to push people away. Baskets and trays fell with the rise and fall of the haskar's whip, muffled yelps and curses following them in a chorus wherever they went.

  They rode through muddy markets, the rotten debris and the stench of disease assailing their nostrils. They saw very young children, no more than six or seven cycles, toiling in the fields and hauling water or produce. An older child often plied a stick to bare backs as children struggled. When they got close enough to these fields, Kher saw, with utter shock, that most of these children were half-breeds of assorted mixes, most of them slaves. When he looked into faces, he saw pale blue eyes stare up at him, full of hatred mingled with despair, the offspring of casual Churchik rape. It made him very quiet for some miles to come.

  When they neared what was once Bahr territory, they saw the banks of the river, previously rich areas of commerce, were now lined with boats converted into refuges as dingy houseboats, their roofs made of anything that could be scrounged. Ragged children turned and ran at the sight of even a small group of Churchik warriors.

  As Kher and his men rode slowly and thoughtfully past, they saw a crippled child struggle to avoid a beating from an older boy who belaboured him with a heavy stick. The child, no more than eight cycles, curled himself up in a resigned way. Kher's men weren't astonished when Kher drew up his horse next to the duo, his cold eyes watching the older boy, before he brought his riding crop hard down across the unaware back. The boy howled and spun round. The stick fell from his grasp. He uttered a filthy curse.

  "Give me the stick!" ordered Kher curtly. Sullenly, the older boy stooped to retrieve it and flung it at Kher, who quite deliberately broke it into small pieces. "Why do you beat the child?"

  "He's no use. He doesn't earn his keep."

  "Will beating him help that?"

  "No."

  "Then why do it?"

  "He's my brother. I can do as I please with him."

  "Does taking out your anger on him make you feel better?"

  "Yes."

  "How many do you care for?"

  "Five."

  "Are they all half-breeds like yourself?" Blue eyes stared up at the haskar and the boy spat.

  "Your lot made us," he replied.

  "So you are Churchik?"

  "They tell us so."

  "Do you have a mother and a father, boy?"

  "You took Pa to be a slave. Others of you raped our Ma, many times, until she died. We're what's left of that."

  Kher fished in his pocket and withdrew his hand with coins that glittered in his palm. A feral look came into the pale eyes staring up at him.

  "Take this to feed the others, as well as yourselves."

  The boy snatched at the frigils held down and then turned on his heel, running from the warriors at speed lest they change their minds. Kher glanced down at the cripple, to see incurious pale blue eyes watch him. The child had uncurled, but apart from that made no effort to move.

  "For you, little boy," said Kher gently, "I have small coins. Do you know why?" The boy shook his tousled head. "You can use them, because you can say you got them from beggary and no one will say you told a lie. The bigger boys will not beat you for such small coins, where they would hurt you for more money." Intelligence shone in the child's eyes at that. "So I shall give you many small coins in a bag that you must always hide. Use only what you need for food and shelter - that way the money will last for a very long time."

  The little boy nodded, his eyes on the warrior as he pulled a small pouch from one of his saddlebags and filled it until it was heavy. When it was dropped down into waiting hands, the boy didn't react covetously like his brother. He weighed the bag in his hands, before he carefully tucked it inside ragged breeches, then he looked up at the haskar and smiled, the little face transformed. Kher moved forward. He was withdrawn for some time.

  ~~~

  Misery was plain everywhere they travelled, as were the ruins of once populous and prosperous towns. Haunted eyes peered from jagged shadows in neglected, damaged tenement doorways. Alleys in the cities were dark and dangerous. Kher carefully skirted these, knowing that the desperate and powerful controlled such areas as pitilessly as Churchik ruled them in turn. Kher was surprised the clamour and overcrowding of the cities and towns didn't bother Luton, the young man just continuing to absorb everything he saw. There was no compassion in the dark eyes that looked on at the frustration and pain around him.

  Squatting peddlers and beggars spilled aggressively out from the towns into the ravaged countryside. The warlord's army wasn't gentle in its conquering and land where such havoc was wreaked didn't recover quickly, or, if it did, there was no organised response to its proper utilisation. In his attempt to quickly suppress peoples he over-ran and conquered, Lodestok destroyed their means of existence. He reduced most to what Luton now saw. It wasn't just to be one province in such a state - the same scenes were repeated the further north they went. The squatters stared up at Kher and his group, their hands out and their tongues flicking in and out as they hissed when they were ignored. Kher heard them spit behind him.

  It was the first the haskar and his warriors saw what their army had committed in the name of conquest, and it had a profound affect on all five men. There was little conversation. Each man was wrapped in his own thoughts that were disturbing ones.

  Had any of the warriors been asked what they felt about the treatment Luton merited, their honest responses wouldn't have pleased either warlord or sorcerer. They believed, as one, that the young man who travelled with them was hurt beyond what was acceptable for any Ambrosian. That there were doubts present in warrior minds spoke volumes for how they looked upon the devastation wrought by their people. It made them uncomfortable. No man was prepared to voice his musings.

  It was now very cold at night, so Kher insisted they sleep close together for warmth, the horses used for additional warmth. The accompanying warriors kept their camp separate on Kher's order. Luton looked incuriously at them, then ignored them. The horses were brought near to the fire, their ears flickering and their eyes rolling as they were tied close together, their tethers keeping them down so the men could lean against them.

  Luton found such close proximity to others odd, but he obeyed Kher because he'd been ordered to by his master. He found
it difficult to adjust. His eyes widened and his body flinched when a warrior lolled against him when deeply asleep. Luton kept still, his eyes staring down at the blond head that touched his shoulder. The shade stayed close.

  The winds during the day had a nip to them. Luton learned to hate the storms that blew up so suddenly and with such wanton force. His sense of communing with nature seemed to have temporarily deserted him and he'd have been glad that, by heading northwest, they avoided the desert he so disliked coming south.

  Kher insisted Luton tie back his tangled hair, so he taught himself how to plait it into a longish Churchik queue that hung over one shoulder. Kher noticed, that out in the fresh air and with no stress, Luton's strength increased, and, though the young man was still frail, the haskar thought the broad shoulders filled out a little. Luton watched everything the warriors did and copied them. The shade hovered and soon all the riders tended to forget it was there most of the time.

  By skirting the desert, they came to the western edge of the plains Luton once crossed as a sentient slave boy with Kher and his men. Kher knew the boy had loved the wide open spaces and waited now for any response when they swung directly north onto the plains. He was unsurprised, though saddened, when there was no reaction. Luton remembered nothing.

  There was no poverty here. It was the same empty expanse that stretched for miles. Now they were away from towns they covered the ground very much more quickly, nearing the foothills of the Dahkilah mountains in only weeks. Kher was relieved winter would be mostly behind them when they were reached, because he didn't relish trying to tackle the pass in mid-winter as Luton's slave caravan had done.

  ~~~

  Luton looked back across the plains they'd just crossed, because Kher again called a halt. There were no trees, no clutter, no noise - just changing light and space. There were patches of moss from which water seeped. They drew Luton, who crouched wherever there was water, even ice, his hands caressing it. Kher observed, but said nothing. The mountains loomed above him when Luton turned to look at them, clouds sweeping down across the peaks and obscuring them with wisps of mist. It still looked very cold. Luton had dismounted and now stood breathing deeply. Kher came and stood next to him.