Warlord

by Katy Winter

  Sarssen choked and gobbled for air. Lodestok flung the goblet on the floor, picked up the wine skin and unstoppered it with his teeth. He poured that wine down the boy's throat as well, even though Sarssen tried ineffectually to slow him down by raising a hand. Lodestok shook the youth as if he were a doll. He forced Sarssen to swallow time and again, so much so Sarssen took in as much air as he drank wine. Lodestok stared down at the youth who now hung limply in his loose grasp.

  "You will thank me for this later, boy. My benevolence never fails to surprise me."

  Lodestok pushed Sarssen down onto the cushions, Sarssen barely aware of the face so close to his. He simply felt as if the chamber spun out of control. With a faint whimper, he closed his eyes.

  The warlord got to his feet. He peremptorily called.

  "Correc!"

  Correc was a hawk-faced warrior with no trace of compassion in his eyes. He strode into the chamber flanked by two beduars who, like Correc, bent their heads in deference to Lodestok. Correc held a knife casually in one hand.

  "My lord," he said courteously, glancing briefly across at the warlord.

  "Haskar," replied Lodestok, with a curt nod in Sarssen's direction.

  The warlord stalked over to the window, jerked back the curtains and stared out. He did nothing. He heard one stifled moan. He only responded when he was alone again with Sarssen. Then he crossed the chamber to look down at the youth spread-eagled on the bed. Sarssen had a vicious jagged cut running from his left eye, across his cheek, and down to his ear. Blood welled strongly and dripped steadily on to the cushions. The warlord looked hard and long at the young face before he straightened, his expression unreadable, then he strode from the chamber with a shrug, closing the door behind him.

  ~~~

  It was some hours after Lodestok left Sarssen that Blach's persuasive voice entered the warlord's mind. Lodestok had gone for a long walk in the colonnaded gardens, his brain busy mulling over possible conquests in the future. At the moment Blach made contact the warlord was standing looking meditatively at a statue.

  He stood very still, waiting quietly.

  "My friend," came a whisper in his mind. "It is time. Bring yourself to the Keep; you know the way. Call me and I'll allow you entrance in the usual way."

  Lodestok responded suitably. The voice faded at the same time. It left the warlord frowning thoughtfully. Lodestok knew a moment of intense irritation. Blach was aware the warlord only liked going to the Keep for the knowledge he was allowed to see, which drew him, and Lodestok was equally well aware that it was used as a form of control. He was no fool and understood Blach more than the sorcerer realised. Currently, the relationship was mutually satisfactory. Lodestok shrugged and turned indoors, strode up the stairs to his chamber and flung the door wide.

  He walked over to the bed where Sarssen lay. He stood looking down at him. As it was midsummer it wasn't especially dark even at this late hour, so he could clearly see Sarssen sprawled on his back, his arms still outflung as he'd tried to fight the warriors who held him down. He breathed the deep sleep of someone very drunk. His mouth was open and his lips bled sluggishly where they'd been bitten to suppress cries of pain. Lodestok heard a sigh. A grim little smile touched his mouth. He reached down and dabbed at the drying blood on the young face, before he wrenched the boy up in one jerk. He gave him a thorough shaking.

  The green eyes opened with a dazed look, to be superseded by a look of startled pain as Sarssen reached up to his cheek, then quickly took his hand away. It went next to his lips. The youth stared up at the warlord blankly.

  "Wake up," said Lodestok, impatiently. "I know you are drunk, but listen to me."

  Sarssen blinked tears of pain away. His tongue felt swollen where he'd bitten hard down and the cut to his face stung viciously. Trying vainly to speak, he sat. This made Lodestok laugh and flick at the disordered blond hair that fell all about Sarssen's shoulders and chest.

  "Becoming a warrior and a man causes you pain, does it, boy?" The blond head was shaken as Sarssen slid from the bed, and, managing to control his quivering knees, stood still and erect. Lodestok's smile broadened. "Can you speak at all?" he enquired. He got a hoarse croak in answer.

  The warlord lounged over to a chair by the window and casually scanned the slender figure. Sarssen barely trembled through a sheer effort of will; his face was white, the green eyes very dark and big in such a pale face.

  "You will recover," observed Lodestok callously. Sarssen nodded. "Since you have trouble speaking, you will listen to me instead. I am leaving for the Keep shortly."

  Sarssen tried not to respond to that by letting his head fall, but not before the warlord saw the flicker of fear that crossed the boy's face. Lodestok continued, still watching Sarssen intently.

  "It means you remain here until I return." There was a long pause. Lodestok stared owlishly at Sarssen who met the cold, searching stare. Lodestok went on, "You will obey Haskar Bensar and Haskar Kher as you would myself. Is that quite clear?" Sarssen nodded comprehension. "Explicit obedience, boy, or you will suffer in an unpleasant way. You know exactly what I mean, do you not?" Sarssen tried to lick his lips. The warlord's voice dropped to the familiar and threatening purr. As Sarssen knew precisely what Lodestok's threat implied, he nodded again. "Haskar Bensar will have orders to tend your face mark, likewise your tongue. Hopefully the latter will be of use by the time I return. Tidy this chamber. If it looks as it does now on my return, you can expect to be soundly whipped, can you not?"

  The warlord was gone on the words. It left Sarssen to sink on to the bed, his self-control gone. His limbs trembled. His head reeled and throbbed in an endless ache and his eyes watered. In spite of his best efforts not to, he cried.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  For the cycles they'd been in contact, Lodestok and Blach had developed a mutually beneficial relationship with which both felt comfortable. Though, when the warlord thought seriously about it, he was aware there had been a subtle alteration in the last cycle or so. Blach had encouraged conquest in the early days. He was conscious that establishing a southern empire and a Vaksh/Churchik social structure throughout Ambros was Lodestok's ambition and he fostered it.

  Now, Blach mostly made demands. The warlord acquiesced, aware of the amusement this afforded Blach. The latter was the one who'd made the first overtures and it was he who'd guided Lodestok's steps to overlordship of his people. As time went on, when Blach called, the warlord was responsive. At the moment, the arrangement suited them both.

  Lodestok never felt he fully knew Blach. He couldn't explain the sensation he had that the man who spoke with him was someone else. Blach was well aware of this. He carefully cultivated this unease as a way of manipulating the warlord when the latter came on his frequent visits to the Keep. He never set Lodestok's mind at rest.

  The warlord was quite happy to fulfil Blach's ambitions as long as they coincided with his. In return for a plentiful supply of slaves, especially mutes in whom Blach had a specific interest, Blach showed Lodestok how to read minds, but of more interest to the warlord was the rare things he was shown at the Keep that he knew no one else had seen. These made him think very hard.

  Lodestok's efforts at subjugating the south met with Blach's encouragement and approval, the sorcerer both amused and pleased when he saw Lodestok was the undisputed warlord to whom all now deferred.

  With his supply of a few mutes, and slaves deliberately made that way, Blach locked himself away in a fortress called Lachir Keep. Because Blach's guards were ferocious and fanatically devoted, it was rare for anyone to visit. None of the warriors showed any inclination to go there; that was probably as well, because it was doubtful if any of them would have known how to do so. It was known that the Keep was on the fringes of the Orkno desert, but even though many knew the desert extremely well, no one had ever set eyes on the Keep. That made warrior lords uneasy too and ever increasingly responsive to one who, like the warlord, both knew of the Keep and was known to go th
ere.

  It was with reluctance that the warrior lords accepted Lodestok's friendship with the sorcerer, but in the end they had no option but to do so. Lodestok used the powers Blach gave him to devastating effect, crushing any opposition, and any warrior lord Lodestok didn't like was ruthlessly disposed of, whether he was any threat to the warlord or no.

  All the warrior lords who were left from Lodestok's purge accepted him without reservation as overlord and paid him homage. Lodestok was not a benevolent conqueror. He treated those around him with callous contempt and indifference. His cruelty was now legendary. He was a figure to be respected and very deeply feared. With the warrior lords compliant and most of the south subjugated, he had no adversary.

  ~~~

  The sorcerer bothered less with heat controls at the Keep as the cycles passed so Lodestok felt it, conscious that Blach looked comfortable while he wasn't. Blach lounged back at his ease, nibbling from a bowl of ilbits that rested at his elbow.

  He had once been a fine-looking man, very tall at almost seven feet in height and was well framed in cycles gone by. Now his thinness was accentuated by the shaven head. His face was ravaged. He had barely existent thin lips, a patrician nose and eyes that resembled restless and pitiless pits. Over the cycles Lodestok had known Blach, the latter had not aged in any way. Lodestok was reminded of that fact as he sat opposite him now, watching and waiting.

  All around them was an eerie silence that Lodestok found oppressive. He was well aware that any slaves at the Keep, if they were not already mute, lost their tongues immediately on arrival and he gave an uncharacteristic shiver before settling back as comfortably as he could. Glancing coolly at Blach, Lodestok wondered if the man had any essence left at all.

  "You don't eat, my friend," commented Blach, looking directly back at him. The warlord smiled and stretched, flexing a foot.

  "I am well satisfied, I thank you, Blach." Blach lifted a goblet and raised it in a salute. Lodestok responded suitably.

  "Then we move on to why I asked you to come," said Blach softly, taking a second sip. "I wish to entrust a seeking to you and more conquest, my friend. Beyond Mahdia and Dakhilah are northern lands as yet unknown to you." He saw Lodestok's flicker of interest. "Ah, yes, my friend," Blach whispered with perfect comprehension. "In the southern area of these lands, are a group of city states called the Samar Confederation. These city-states are merchant cities of wealth. One also is a centre of learning for central Ambros, and it has significance." Blach smacked his lips and then continued. "You, my friend, I would ask to move your army up through the Dakhilan mountain passes that lead directly into Samar. After Samar you'll undoubtedly wish to move further north - but I hurry too fast. One thing at a time." He took several sips from his goblet while Lodestok sat pensively, eying his goblet but not drinking from it. "You, Warlord," remarked Blach, "have something special to put into motion before you begin a massed move forward."

  "And what is it?" Lodestok drank deeply as he waited.

  "You, my friend, are going to arrange a meeting and then a marriage." As the warlord's eyebrows shot up in surprise, Blach's smile twisted the thin lips. It widened as he continued. "You'll find a southern man, not a Churchik; I wouldn't so insult you, Warlord. Choose a Mahdian or whatever mongrel you fancy. This man will become amenable." Here Blach paused, giving Lodestok a look of understanding when the warlord nodded affably. "This man will have a son, aged about ten cycles. Specific instructions will be implanted in the man's mind and in his son's by two reader-seekers loyal to me. They'll come to you, prior to your journey northwards. I would ask you to trust them to do as I've outlined and give them freedom of action at all times."

  Lodestok nodded again before drinking. A mute at his elbow stooped to refill the goblet as soon as he drained it. He was deeply thoughtful at the sorcerer's words concerning readers and seekers: he assumed they wouldn't be lower level practitioners and the warlord intended to keep that in mind.

  "That should not prove too difficult, Blach," he responded coolly, stretching both legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He also stretched his neck and shoulders. Blach's look never left him.

  "Too much playing with the boys?" he enquired. Lodestok looked up at that, laughing.

  "Never too much of that," he replied, shaking his head and his eyes alight with appreciation.

  "So I hear," said Blach politely. "This other boy you find, my friend, don't, I beg of you, destroy him after all your efforts to find him." He paused, staring at the floor before he continued, his lips in a tight thin line. Lodestok didn't speak. He looked contemplatively at the sorcerer, a hand crossing his lush moustache absently as he did so. Blach glanced up and his expression was merciless. "The man you find will be sent to a Samar city-state called Ortok, to an occasion they quaintly call Choice. Prior to that, my friend, he will have met and become attracted to a particular woman." The sorcerer's voice hardened. Lodestok remained immobile and calm.

  "Is she unmarried?" he asked, directing a searching look at Blach.

  "She is now," was the soft, chilling response. "Her name is Melas: that's all you need to know. The man will mate with her and both he and his son will live in her home, as part of her family. Are you clear so far?" Lodestok ran a finger down his scarred cheek.

  "Quite."

  "The group is now a family. You perceive, my friend, that I'm coming to a point." Blach gave a thin smile as he glanced down into his goblet. Lodestok inclined his head gracefully. "The boy we've included with this family, is to relate to a girl-child whose name isn't currently known. She's now five cycles and is an only daughter. The boy will -." Blach paused, idly plucking another fruit from his bowl and nibbling on it.

  "Befriend her?" suggested Lodestok, sipping reflectively.

  "Excellent, my friend. As you say, befriend her, so that she does his bidding, one way or the other. Is that understood also?"

  "Yes," murmured Lodestok, thinking through what would be required in the way of organisation and preparation. "This sounds very promising, Blach," he commented. "May I know why these actions are to be taken?" Blach raised a thin hand.

  "No," he said, his eyelashes closing briefly. "Prior to your attacking Ortok, the girl will be brought to you by this boy." Lodestok raised an eyebrow. He stayed silent though Blach saw the considering look the warlord gave him. "You'll kindly entrust the girl-child to two of my henchmen, whom you've already met." When Lodestok continued to stare at him, Blach felt unusually discomfited, saying persuasively as he watched Lodestok let his gaze wander round the room, "I merely do what's needful. You'll be told in time."

  "Well enough," was the warlord's cold rejoinder.

  Blach reminded himself not to underestimate either the warlord's intelligence, or his uncanny perception that could render others uncomfortable. Lodestok also had an enviable memory and could be unexpectedly capricious, so Blach moderated his tone. The sorcerer spoke again.

  "Before and after the man and the boy become a part of the family in Ortok, I'd ask that you send warriors to check all's well. There's also an eldest boy in the original family, by name, Sarehl. He is to die, my friend. I'd ask that you ensure he does. The other children are, I consider, irrelevant, though maybe they could be useful, and one child in particular will have remarkable beauty and charm - dispose of them as you will but dispose of them at all costs. Whether you find a use for them or no, their lives are forfeit, to me. The woman and the man are equally expendable; they're to die and in a suitably satisfactory way. You may interpret that in any way you choose. Lodestok, my friend, please don't fail me in this. Success has the highest priority." The voice was gentle, but the face was implacably cruel.

  The warlord rose carefully and placed his goblet on a table next to his chair. Blach got to his feet as well, the gown that swept the ground accentuating his height. He held out his hand to Lodestok, who clasped it briefly.

  "I will be in touch, Blach, but through correspondence only."

  "Likewise, Warlord. B
ring me wealth, slaves and any mutes, my friend. Cast fear as far as you can - it'll make things so easy for you and your warriors. Not," added Blach nonchalantly, "that I anticipate you'll find many obstacles in your way."

  "Nor, Blach, do I," agreed the warlord, a frightening grin touching his countenance.

  "You'll doubtless wish to return to Valshika to prepare." As Blach escorted Lodestok to the door, he offered the warlord his hand again. "I wish you well," he said very gently. Lodestok returned the pressure of the thin fingers and a smile of understanding passed between them.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Mishtok looked around the assembled gathering, his eyes sweeping from face to face. He was well aware of heightened tension. The raw anxiety could easily have swamped him several times over had his guards not been securely in place. Running a gnarled hand through his shock of white hair, he sighed. He felt every bit his advanced age.

  "Reverence," came a voice from the front of the hall. The Mishtok could read the speaker easily enough, but he courteously did not. "How close are they to us?"

  The Mishtok spoke out aloud, in his quiet and gentle voice. It was a light, well-modulated baritone.

  "Warriors are close enough for me to consider it advisable to close down the Conclave. You've received your instructions and know what you have to do. We'll disassemble immediately so we're not together and vulnerable to the worst and most devastating kind of attack. Should such occur while we're separate, that we can cope with. With us in mind concert here, any betrayal would nearly destroy us." The Mishtok's voice was clear and carrying. There was a murmur from all those present.

  He let them talk a little longer before he said, "We still know little about this sorcerer, but don't underestimate him. I feel the threat from him is very real. You're wise to fear him. I've told Yarilo so. He and the warlord are a fearsome combination. I may be wrong, but I'd suggest that we're only at the beginning of some plan that's hatched between the sorcerer and the warlord. They'll destroy us utterly, if we don't act."