by Katy Winter
"How scarred he is, we don't know. What I haven't told you is that he has power from his master. And he could only have that if there was ability to work with in the young mind. That's an alarming thought." Autoc drew in his breath sharply. Bene continued. "You've long known Blach was Malekim, haven't you?"
"Yes. From the time Chlorien was to go to Ice Isle I've known for sure. I guessed long before that though."
"But you didn't know Lute had been to and from the Keep?"
"No."
"An Adept living with the Sinhalien tells us much of the boy, as does a young seer associated with Lute. Malekim's apprentice was still mute, with no memory and no emotions – he's Malekim's slave in every sense of the word. He'll have his uses, but he'll be expendable." Bene glanced at the face next to him and saw Autoc's face drained of colour, the eyes shocked. "Lute calls his master Blach." Autoc nodded.
"And you say the Churchik girl, with Lute's child, didn't go to the Keep?"
"That's so. It greatly enraged the mage, whose anger was so intense the Watchers saw him clearly for the first time. They thought they saw him cycles ago when he attacked the Conclave, but couldn't be sure. He shrouded himself very well."
"Does Malekim know he's been seen?"
"He's very powerful, my young friend," responded Bene sharply. "He'll know."
"Did the fury adversely affect Lute?"
"We don't know. What's suspected is that no child coming to the Keep cut short the boy's apprenticeship. Ambros may well have much to thank that Churchik girl for her courage."
"Thank the gods," whispered Autoc in shaken tones. "Where is he now?"
"He's left the Keep with one of the warlord's elite haskars."
"And what's this warrior's name again? He's been with the lad on all his travels, hasn't he?"
"His name's Kher. He and his four warriors accompany Lute wherever he goes."
Autoc asked softly, "Has anyone shown the boy kindness, Master? I grieve for him." He saw the anguish in the Archmage's eyes and looked away.
"So, Autoc, do I." There was a long silence, broken by the mage.
"Master, how skilled is Lute? Is he an unpredictable equation?"
"We know he has power because he used it after Chika, but we haven't been able to ascertain what that boy's potential is. He now speaks as well."
"I wonder if there's any of Lute left," murmured Autoc, more to himself than to the Archmage. "Where is his child now?"
"If the Adept's to be believed, the child and mother will be well on their way to the Shadowlands. He's travelling with them."
"So doubtless Malekim will now feel he has to make a move soon?" Bene smiled wistfully.
"He already has, my young friend. Lute and Kher travel northwards."
"Ah," mumbled Autoc thoughtfully. "To join up with the warlord?"
"Presumably."
"They're allied, Master, of that I'm sure. Lian was to take Chlorien to the warlord. I can only assume it was in response to a request from Malekim."
"So are we sure, though we also believe the warlord doesn't know exactly who he's allied with. He refers to Malekim as Blach, the mage. It seems to be a mutual arrangement of benefit to both at the moment. Presumably the warlord will be as casually dealt to as any other when he's no longer useful. It's Malekim's way."
"Won't Lute's arrival endanger Bethel?"
"Very likely. He'll be even more endangered by the arrival of Malekim himself."
"That presents us with appalling problems, Master." Again there was a long silence. "We'll also need to safeguard Sarehl, Dase and the little fellow with very strong blocks."
"That's been done by a Level Four and also an Adept called Leon. Those can be strengthened if necessary." Autoc turned to face the Archmage directly.
"Venerable One, before I left for Ortok, you asked me if we'd remembered and interpreted Ochleos Rox correctly. Do you recall?"
"Perfectly," came the muted response.
"The quotation, Master," said Autoc urgently. "It said, `They must look for the child who is made a shadow and becomes a child of the dark.'"
"I know," whispered Bene, bending his head in his hands. "My unspeakable folly, young one; my unspeakable culpability."
"Venerable One - can this be so? Are we living the prophecy? Is it Lute?"
"I'm sure of it," mumbled Bene, hands writhing in his hair.
"And," went on Autoc hesitantly, "`There will be a child born of light and dark, who will of all kinds be made into one.' That's Chlorien, isn't it? She's born of your daughter and Malekim, is dragon-marked and Rox-marked, and is mage-born: that makes her of all kinds. She's also Shadowlands and Samar." The Archmage nodded, miserably unable to speak. "It says the child will have power - ah, Master, she has that indeed. It said to teach the child to use the power wisely. I've tried to do that and you most certainly did." Bene stayed hunched. "Lute's path is indeed hard, Venerable One. All their paths are."
Bene rose abruptly and walked haltingly a short distance away, where he stood silent and solitary but also a presence of enormous power. Autoc respected it and sat quite still. He waited for the Archmage to return. When he did, Bene sat beside the younger mage, his hand gripping one of Autoc's and his violet eyes alive with an odd glow that made the younger mage feel slightly breathless. The Archmage's grip was surprisingly strong for one of such physical frailty.
"You were especially chosen for your qualities, Autoc. They who chose you showed depths of wisdom and Ambros will live to be grateful to you, young one."
"There's still much to do though, isn't there, Master?"
"Oh, yes," sighed Bene. "It's all only at the very beginning." Bene let Autoc go and turned away to stare into the distance for a long moment. "I'm leaving Yarilo shortly," he said unexpectedly. Autoc stared at him.
"Where do you go, Master?"
"For a time, back to my other home," Bene replied, "before I must move on. As you say there's much to do."
"To the Shadowlands?"
"To the Shadowlands, but not to my people as before. I seek serenity and solitude. I also seek answers to questions that puzzle me and must be resolved before it's too late. Endorion knows I return again." The dark haunted look, that replaced the unholy glow, faded.
"To Chlorien?"
"Not yet, young one. She'll come to me when she's ready and that's not yet."
"You go alone, Master? With Malekim stirring?" The violet eyes looked long into electric blue.
"You'll take my place, young one. That's my will and I've waited for your return to tell you this. The Masters agree with my choice. You'll act on my behalf in all things until I return. That means you undertake the study of the senior apprentices as well." Autoc looked startled.
"You've never needed anyone to do this for you before. Why now?" he demanded.
"It'll be good training for you, young one," chuckled Bene, waving away any further expostulations. "Times are uncertain, young mage, and you'll be summoned again soon enough, believe me."
"If it's your wish, Master," murmured Autoc, in slightly bewildered tones. Bene looked at the younger mage with deep affection.
"Remember all I've taught you, young mage, and pass it on. But don't repeat my mistakes, will you?" Autoc gave a shiver as he lifted one of the frail hands and touched his lips to it.
"I'll always try to make you proud of your protégé, Master," he said gently. He saw rare tears in the Archmage's eyes.
"You're a son to me, Autoc, as you're a father to Chlorien. She'll come home to you. One day she'll call, I know that. Will you hear her, as I've always heard you?" Autoc went to one knee, his voice urgent.
"Venerable One, when she calls I'll answer. I promise you in the same way I promised her. I'll always be waiting." There was no answer, so Autoc added, "You've been my father for a very long time, Master." Bene lifted his head with an effort, but his eyes were clear. They were big, soft and as luminous as Bethel's.
"Hers becomes a hard path now, young one. Her brothers' pat
hs already are. But she'll need to come back to you to be whole. One day she'll know that. She comes home to my son."
"Believe me, Master, when she calls I'll answer." Bene touched Autoc's cheek very gently.
"Bring her home, young one - bring her home. I will know, just as I'll always be with you, Ortoriol."
When he stood, the Archmage's spare frame was more stooped than ever, his thick mass of white hair thinned and his face more deeply lined than it was before Autoc left for Ambros. The younger mage noticed that every so often the intensity of the violet in the eyes dulled then faded. Bene's frailty worried Autoc profoundly, more than he cared to admit. There was something transparent about the Archmage.
Very gently Autoc suggested a walk up to the wooded slopes and was rewarded with a smile. Bene nodded. Autoc had never seen the Archmage use a stick, but this morning Bene leaned very heavily on one, his walk stiff and halting. Without making the gesture obvious, Autoc proffered his arm. Bene discarded the stick with dislike, grinned at Autoc in the way he used to and gratefully leaned on the outstretched arm.
CHAPTER FORTY
By the time Queeb left the desert of the Wildwind tribes, he was satisfied he'd caused enough havoc among the peoples there to keep them at each other's throats for cycles. He didn't forgive Choja and the Sophy for their participation in secreting the boy and the one called Schol from Indigo. He was forced to resort to other more time-consuming tactics to find those he sought in the desert, something that made him coldly angry and resolved to punish those who thwarted him.
He found Kosko an amenable ally he could depend on, though the desert man was like all his kind, changeable and prone to be treacherous should it suit him. Kosko was cruel and ambitious, easy traits for one as unscrupulous as Queeb to play on. By promising Kosko overlordship of the desert tribes, upon the intended demise of the incumbent Sophy, Queeb made Kosko willing to follow Blach's henchman wherever that individual led him as long as it suited him.
Kosko had other axes to grind as well and felt he owed Choja a long and lingering death for being part of a humiliating scene in front of the assembled desert lords. Patience was a desert virtue, but it was oddly lacking in Kosko. He was a man who demanded results. There was much of the warlord in him.
So Kosko was happy to provide an escort for the two strangers from southern Ambros. They set off after the fugitives, quite confident they could be comfortably paced until the northern reaches of the desert were reached. At that point, Queeb would be happy to dispense with their escort so he and Ohb could travel alone after the fugitives.
It was before they left Indigo, that Queeb and Ohb deliberately destabilised the status quo of the Wildwind tribes by insidious suggestion, innuendo and outright lies. It was easy to do. It fomented festering discontent among fragile alliances that Queeb knew would eventually lead to the outbreak of hostilities. He assumed that wouldn't be immediate, but was inevitable - he was just sad he wouldn't be around to see the bloodshed. He smiled contentedly when he heard the plots against the Sophy, including assassination, gather momentum. At that point, he decided to put pressure on Kosko to follow the fugitives. He left Indigo with the amused thought it was child's play to manipulate the tribesmen's fears and prejudices, but he didn't see the long, speculative look of the Sophy's when he made his barely respectful departure.
Queeb's anger was rekindled with being slowed by Ohb's painful and singularly noisy death, the henchman's cries piercing the silence of the desert, day after day, until mercifully he died. Ohb's death only touched Queeb in that he realised, with annoyance, he'd now have to work alone without the use of Ohb's far-seeing. It meant he had to be close to the fugitives to clearly recognise them. His plan to punish Choja deepened.
His impotent fury was frightening in its cold intensity when he realised those he steadily followed for half a season weren't those he sought. Queeb didn't forget how Choja and his son, with just one tribesman, led himself and Kosko's men on a wild and erratic chase east across the desert before Queeb could get close enough to identify them. He resolved to punish the Sophysun in a particularly nasty way through an attack on his father. Kosko was delighted to oblige in the scheme. When he finally reached the north-western boundary of the desert and left Kosko, Queeb left the desert with a smile on his long face.
He moved steadily northwest, wondering why the fugitives went to such a desolate, empty place, but nothing hindered him. His only problem was boredom. He was relieved when he reached the coast and camped beside it for some days while he thought. Fishing villages were few and far between, the inhabitants surly and unwelcoming, and when he asked what was there to attract travellers further north, he got frozen, unfriendly glances, followed by coldly indifferent shrugs. After several unsuccessful forays into villages, Queeb left them alone. He continued to follow the coast, not entirely sure why he went that way, but sure he was on the trail of those he sought.
When he next stopped he was thoughtful, a hand up to his lank hair and a brooding look in his eyes. He stared out to sea for a long time before returning to his camp where he flung himself down. He was unsurprised he found no trace or presence of the man and boy and had to think very carefully before he made a decision on where his quarry might have gone after being so far north. Finally, he decided to rely on instinct. He was sure Schol wouldn't head east, because that was where the warlord was. Satisfied he acted correctly, Queeb broke camp.
He rode inland, well away from the coast, and, since it was pleasant at this time of the cycle and he experienced no difficulties, his travel was untroubled. The only thing that grated on his nerves was the isolation, but he accepted that with an inward shrug. He wasn't quite two seasons behind Jaim, Chlorien and Schol when he rode up tiredly to the inn run by Jesh.
There, he quickly dismounted and called sharply for service. When he received none, he bawled so angrily it brought Jesh out at a run, the innkeeper looking Queeb over. After encountering a threatening look in return, he decided to take the horse and stable it. Queeb, meanwhile, entered the inn. Jesh's eyes brightened when Queeb advised he'd stay a few days and would require a bed. Jesh was all obligation. He placed a tankard in front of his guest with a benevolent smile that got none in response, so, shrugging, he went back to serving his other customers.
Queeb was in no hurry to move because he'd been on his own a long time, and, though he was solitary, he enjoyed the sound of others about him. He looked at Kesli too. He summed her up very quickly and toyed with a way to pass his time more pleasantly. He paid her attention, then ignored her. It got Queeb the result he wanted. She was piqued and curious, unaware the man she played with didn't play by accepted rules. Kesli had more than met her match.
The third night, in obedience to Queeb's invitation, Kesli entered his chamber where she found the man lying back on the bed propped up by cushions. She didn't know why, but this utterly unprepossessing man had magnetism she felt unable to resist. That he was physically ugly seemed to enhance his attraction. She was fascinated in a trapped way, her eyes caught by the cold fish eyes that bored down into hers, unaware that a mage's henchman could ensorcel anyone in a way that made them obedient, acquiescent and responsive.
The succeeding nights Queeb used her in the cruellest ways, binding her will to his but increasingly making her aware of what he did. Her fascination was gone and Queeb no longer mesmerised her. Queeb stayed seven nights at the inn, the last night one of continued unadulterated and unbridled pleasure for him at Kesli's expense.
He gained much information over the preceding days, because he asked questions of everyone with whom he came in contact. Though the man wasn't liked, the folk around were willing to talk with him. He was told that, yes, indeed, there'd been a dark-haired boy staying at the inn, a pretty lad he was, too, with unusual violet eyes. And yes, there was a tall man, answering to Schol, with the boy. This man had the oddest and bluest eyes anyone could remember.
The third member of the trio who stayed at the inn interested Queeb. He had
n't known that a Gnosti, as he came to know the small people were called, was associated with Lorien and Schol and it puzzled him tantalisingly while he tried to sort out where a Gnosti would be of assistance to them. The disappearance of the old man who'd been with the man and boy didn't surprise him. He'd always assumed it was a ruse to baffle him.
It was on his last day at the inn, as he ate and drank the time away, that Queeb heard of Kesli's smouldering anger over Lorien and that was only because Queeb happily listened to all conversations, whenever he could, whether intended for his ears or not. He heard chuckles about Kesli and the lad, but now things came into perspective for him. A season later she still brooded over it, so, when she served Queeb dinner this last evening and would have left his table in haste, she found her wrist firmly held.
"Not so fast, girl," said Queeb, a cruel twist to his mouth. "There's something you have to tell me." Kesli stood still, her eyes downcast.
"What is it?"
"The boy Lorien, girl. Tell me about him."
"There's nothing to say," responded Kesli, tugging at the hand that held her.
"But there is," said Queeb, so gently she went motionless and shivered.
"I wanted him," she whispered reluctantly. "He was so attractive a boy. I knew he was willing once I could make him respond. Schol ruined it all." The angry sparkle, absent for days, came back to her eyes. "He took the boy away the next day. I don't know why he was so reluctant to let Lorien come to manhood with me." Queeb listened with confused interest, a half-smile on his face that was unpleasant to look at. He winked at Kesli.
"Never mind, girl. You come to me for our final night together."
Jesh's eyes took in the exchange, nor did the innkeeper miss the change in his daughter. When Queeb was with Kesli that night, he entered her mind to re-live her experience with Lorien. He gave a grim chuckle, that she didn't hear, when he saw clearly what happened, Kesli's very brief touch of Chlorien enough for Queeb. His withdrawal from her mind was rough.
The next morning Queeb arrived downstairs in a jovial mood, to find Jesh swearing that Kesli hadn't come downstairs to assist with the early morning meal. Queeb grinned hugely. He told the innkeeper not to worry about food, but to get his horse saddled and ready, because he left immediately. He paid his reckoning and then rode away laughing heartily, his amusement not abating for quite some time.
