Warlord

by Katy Winter

  Evening drew in. To an onlooker, the scholar still looked soundly asleep. He wasn't, as his suddenly cocked head showed. Hearing voices, he was quickly on his feet, assembled his equipment and leaned against a tree trunk. He seemed to melt into it. Only minutes later Lian and Myme Chlo came into view, the little girl trotting contentedly beside the young man without any sign of anxiety. The scholar noticed that, every so often, Lian bent his head to speak to Myme Chlo who smiled back up at him before giving a hop and a skip.

  The scholar emerged from the copse and shadowed them, puzzled why Lian didn't veer to cross the canals to the eastern gate that would bring them out nearest the southern camp. Instead, he and the child moved steadily to the northwest gate. Shrugging, the scholar tailed them. As he did, he became aware someone else followed the twosome. He stopped briefly and scanned back, recognised in annoyance that it was Lban who followed and swore under his breath at this unnecessary complication.

  He realised that he'd have to revise his plans. He noticed his quarry had reached the gates and pulled back into the shadow of the wall, where they'd be undetected while they waited for a guard change. When it came, they ran swiftly through the gates, barely visible in the half-light. The scholar gently touched the guards' minds as he passed through the gates after them. A short distance ahead, he saw the two figures stand still, and Lian had his head bent to talk earnestly with Myme Chlo. The little girl was obviously inclined to hang back.

  The scholar withdrew to the wall close to him. He quickly divested himself of his bundles before he moved out again, at the same time as he completely blocked Myme Chlo's mind. Simultaneously, he suggested, urgently, to Lian that he should keep moving at speed, still with a sense he kept a child's hand in his, though the scholar knew this illusion was only temporary. He had no time to lose.

  He reached the pair. He placed a strong hand over Myme Chlo's mouth as he swung her into his arms and returned as quickly as he could to the shelter of the wall. Lian paused, looked vaguely round him before he picked up his pace, then broke into a sprint, but instead of turning right to go to the Churchik camp, to the scholar's utter astonishment he kept going straight for Blenharm forest as if irresistibly drawn.

  The scholar crouched. He saw terrified violet eyes stare up at him before he brushed his hand across the young forehead. Myme Chlo slumped back in his arms. He found he breathed at an uncomfortably rapid rate and leaned against the wall, cradling the little girl, until he felt more at ease and his heart beat relaxed. He watched Lban come through the gate and kept his gaze fixed on him till he could no longer distinguish either receding man in the gathering dark.

  He then turned his attention to his situation. He was conscious just how close the southern camp was to the forest and was also aware Churchik guards did late evening and early morning sweeps. When neither Lian nor Lban returned soon, he became uneasy, unhappy that they could be wandering in the forest, a menace to Myme Chlo. He was debating how he would proceed when he saw a shape emerge, at a jog, from the darkness and realised it was Lban. He gave a faint sigh and closed his eyes, though he didn't sleep.

  The scholar waited until barely sunrise, when there was just enough light streaking the sky to light a path and before the army patrols were on the move. Myme Chlo was lying across his legs, so he was stiff when he clambered to his feet. Having gathered all his belongings and festooned himself with them, he stooped low to pick up the child, then, noiselessly, he walked with long strides in a straight northerly direction towards the forest, hoping he wouldn't walk directly into Lian. As he walked, he heard the stirrings of an awakening army and he quickened his stride.

  He reached the forest quite quickly, thinking sadly that it might provide a refuge for any lucky enough to escape Ortok. He doubted Lodestok would allow many survivors, then shook that thought away as he concentrated on where he put his feet. The thought of Melas and the children almost overwhelmed him with unspeakable grief and he had to force them from his mind when he found he stumbled on a root and nearly dropped Myme Chlo. He didn't stop moving for several hours, his paces even and long, made no attempt to pause for food or drink, nor did he waken the girl. Every so often he'd glance down at the small face and frown, but that was all. He was trying to place as much space between himself and any pursuers as he could.

  Eventually, he sank down onto a half-rotted log. He stretched sideways to lay Myme Chlo on a bed of ferns, divested himself of all he carried, kneeling as he did so, then pulled open one bundle from which he hauled out clothing. He turned to Myme Chlo. He touched her head lightly, to see her eyes open bewildered and frightened. The scholar put a hand to her lips. He mindspoke.

  "Not a word, little one."

  "Where are we?" she shot back, sitting abruptly and pushing his hand away. "Where's Lian?"

  "Gently, my child. All in good time." The scholar pointed to the clothes spread out on the ground. "Change into those."

  Myme Chlo looked at them and then up at the scholar, saying in a baffled voice, "Those are Bethel's."

  She saw a spasm twist his face briefly before he looked away. After a moment, he turned back to face her and his voice was sad.

  "Yes, they are. Quickly now, child."

  Confused, but obedient to the unusual gravity of his expression, Myme Chlo began to undress. Roughly for him, the scholar bullied her into the breeches, and, as she began to buckle a belt about her waist to hold up the breeches, she felt the scholar take the belt and instead pull a heavy shirt over her head. A tunic followed. The scholar firmly clasped the belt over the top of the shirt and the tunic, before he lifted a boy's vest for her to slip into. It was laced up the front with leather thongs and was very warm. As she and Bethel were both tall and slight, the clothes fitted her snugly.

  Then, in the curtest tones she'd ever heard him use, the scholar ordered her to sit and pull on the stockings and boots. As she obeyed, sitting on the tree trunk to do it, she felt the strangest sensation and gasped as her waist-length hair was ruthlessly cut and when she put up a hand to her neck she was shaken like a puppy. When the scholar saw she had the boots on, he pulled her unceremoniously to her feet and began to drag a bone comb through what remained of her hair. When the scholar tugged at a knot, she gave a low moan.

  "Don't make a sound!" growled the scholar through gritted teeth. "I'm trying to make you look like a boy." She stood still and silent, suddenly deeply afraid and with watery eyes. The scholar picked up the smaller of two cloaks and flung it about Myme Chlo's shoulders. "Tie it firmly," she was instructed, as he jammed a cap hard down over her curls, its peak coming to her eyebrows. Lastly, the scholar pushed a knife down inside the top of her left boot.

  While Myme Chlo just stood there, disoriented and afraid, the scholar gathered up her discarded clothes and the long jet tresses, threw them into a pile well beyond the fernery and raised his hand slightly. They burned fiercely and quickly. The scholar strode over to stamp out the ashes, before he turned back to Myme Chlo who stared at him as if he were a stranger.

  "Who are you?" she whispered, almost too scared to ask.

  "I'm the scholar you've known all your life, child," he answered, crouching down beside her and calmly taking her chin in his hand. She stared up at him, her face white and drawn and her eyes wide with fright. "Myme Chlo," he said quietly. "I'll not lie to you, so you must listen to me and be very brave. You're in grave danger. I am more able to take care of myself than you are. We have to move as fast as we can so the Churchik have no chance of finding us." He felt the tremors and read her thoughts without being in her mind. He said gently, "No, little one, you can't go home. Very soon there'll be no home for you to return to. You must trust me, Myme Chlo."

  "Mam?" came the small, broken voice. "What about Bethel and Sar and -."

  The young voice became suspended by tears. The scholar looked very deeply into the tragic violet eyes. He quietly unblocked Myme Chlo's mind enough to let her former trust reassert itself, but not so much that she could inadvertently broad
cast as they travelled. He shook his head at her words, not trusting himself to speak. The scholar looked down at the little girl who clutched his hand, well aware of her distress and terror. Had circumstances been different he may have grinned, because Myme Chlo made a very pretty boy, not unlike Bethel, he reflected with a wrench. As it was, he just hefted the bags with his free hand, settled them comfortably on one shoulder, and then, giving the small hand he held a reassuring squeeze, he took a step forward.

  He didn't see the backward look Myme Chlo gave, nor did he see the tears begin to fall as the small head bent. He just increased his pace until Myme Chlo had to walk very fast to keep up with him.

  ~~~

  The assault on Ortok was abrupt and brutal, without any chance for defence. Once the gates to the east were opened by Lban, Lodestok's warriors stormed through with terrifying speed and savagery, their thoroughness chilling as they worked in organised units, sweeping across the city to open all the other gates to a full invasion.

  As the citizens of Ortok were slaughtered, or worse, they didn't know who'd betrayed them and were woefully unprepared as they were cut down with contempt even as they tried to form ranks of defence. Defiance died swiftly, the occasional challenge met and dismissed as though it hadn't occurred. The city of Ortok was at the mercy of the invaders within a matter of hours.

  All that Lodestok would allow to be spared were the centres of learning and the main library. He wasn't especially interested in prisoners, other than those already marked for slavery: it was to be a massacre. Those who didn't die or weren't executed were to be immediately enslaved. The wickedly barbaric barkashads, or overseers, were ready. Lodestok intended to make Ortok pay for the loss of his two beduars.

  However, before the offensive began, and even as Lban was preparing to open the gates to him, the warlord instructed Lokar to seek out the little girl. When the reader could find no trace of her, Lodestok, a cruel smile curling his mouth, turned to Bensar and said very gently,

  "Destroy them. No quarter. Do you understand me?"

  Bensar nodded and turned sharply, signalling that Sarssen was to follow. Sarssen stood still for a moment. He heard the unbridled exultation and naked ferocity in the soft voice, and knew he'd likely be a tempkar come nightfall, but it would be at the expense of many hundreds of innocent lives. He gave a shiver of compassion for the people of a doomed city and left the pavilion with his head well down.

  ~~~

  Some distance away, in the forest, the scholar came to a stumbling halt, his hands to his head.

  "Ah, the gods," he moaned in a profoundly anguished tone. Myme Chlo looked at him in concern. He shook his head and the little girl noticed tears well in the usually calm blue eyes. "The gods, spare them. Not that, not that!"

  "What is it, Scholar?" she whimpered, her eyes huge. The scholar knelt, pulled her in close and held her tightly.

  "Ortok is no more," he said, in a barely audible voice.

  When Myme Chlo began to cry she felt the tremors that shook the scholar even as he held her. He was glad she slept over the next few hours, because his agony for the sufferings of loved ones left behind and caught came in wave after wave, until he felt he could endure no more. He pressed hands to throbbing temples. He went through hours of hell until he managed, shaken to the core, to put strong blocks in place. Crouching, the scholar wept deeply and long.

  ~~~

  Lian's essence flickered in captivity, one of many that lined Blach's study walls. The sorcerer enjoyed watching these essences struggle against imprisonment, amused by their helpless fluttering as they writhed like pinned butterflies. He found them delightful, these radiant things that couldn't die.

  Blach derived considerable pleasure from tormenting the frail beams. He watched them dim almost to nothing before they strained to pulse again, at which point, when he knew he'd nearly extinguished their light, he'd pause to admire the returning glow. It was one of Blach's prized entertainments.

  No one knew how vulnerable the sorcerer was to essences. He could draw them off a living being, as he'd done with Lian, or more fully as was done with Alfar, and he could tease and torment them, but he could never be touched by one of them. His assaults on the essences occurred when he felt mildly bored, but he'd been so busy over the last two cycles he'd paid them very little attention. Lian's essence lay quiescent.

  ~~~

  The Ice Crystal dragon, very young and barely hatched, stretched her wings in the cavern where she was born. Another sign of her extreme youth were eyes that shone milkily because it was only dragons who ventured beyond the birth sciena who had clear, multi-faceted eyes in myriad colours. She was also completely white, without the ability to change to whatever colour she might choose. That would come with maturity.

  She was conscious of confusion in her dragonet mind. She knew she was dragonkind, but she had another consciousness as well that she found hard to comprehend, or reconcile, with her dragonet being. She stretched again and then went still. She was sure she'd been telethed, but also instinctively knew it was odd for that to happen to one so young, so she hesitated, unsure how to respond. She was too immature to truly understand exactly what teleth was, yet her dragon awareness responded clearly and promptly to it. She lifted her head, tilting it enquiringly.

  "Little dragon," came the call a third time. Goldlas hissed gently before replying.

  "I can hear you."

  "You're very, very young, little dragon. You're also unique in a way you can't yet understand. You're an Ice Crystal with rare talent. The last Ice Crystal of your kind died in antiquity. I'm Sophos Rox, of Lilium."

  "My consciousness knows of you and responds to you."

  "An estani butterfly dragon will need your guidance."

  "Where?"

  "In the south-east of Ambros, there's a Keep that's inhabited by a sorcerer who imprisons essences. The estani can go into the Keep, but she can't travel so far on her own, nor can she return that distance unaided. Nor is it safe for a known dragon to venture there."

  "I'm newly-born. I don't know Ambros."

  "You know more than you realise, little dragon, and your maturing will be more rapid than most. That's so with Ice Crystals. The essence the estani seeks belongs to one named Lian." The dragon mind felt an odd surge of identity, followed swiftly by a sense of loss.

  "Do I know him or her?"

  "Yes, you do. He knows Myme Chlo." The Rox sensed the insistent tug at the young mind that struggled to grapple with names that sounded familiar. "The answers will come to you suddenly, little dragon, and you'll wish to act. No one shall hinder you, though you must bring the essence, when you have it, straight back to Ice Isle. You'll know what to do with it. You may even act against the very one whose essence you retrieve. That's for you to decide."

  "When do I go?"

  "Soon," crooned Sophos Rox, very gently. "Very soon, little dragon, in Ambros time. Be patient. You'll know when to leave."

  ~~~

  Lian didn't know how long he remained unaware. He seemed suspended in limbo. He slowly became conscious and felt he floated in an uncomfortable way. Again he saw in front of him, but just beyond reach, a fluttering estani butterfly dragon. He was unsure if it was the same one he'd seen before, but sensed that it probably was as he watched it rhythmically beat irridescent wings so it could hover in front of him. He struggled to reach it but it flitted tantalisingly through a dust haze, Lian convinced the diminutive creature was a she and urged him on.

  Abruptly, he was plunged into desolate dark. The bite of the cold he'd felt before worsened and chilled him so badly he tried to wind his arms round himself for protection. He couldn't. He'd no control over any part of his body. As Lian shivered, he decided that nothing he'd endured in the past cycles came near how he suffered now. He coiled up inside, rejecting the agony of cold. And still the estani flew on, looking back every so often to see if he followed. Lian shook, unable to see anything. He stumbled on helplessly.

  His stop was sudden. Ther
e was nowhere for him to place his feet. He thought the darkness diminished. He tried to take a tentative step forward, but fell back, biting his tongue in shock at the numbing pain of frigidity that shot through him. Even his teeth screamed. He crumpled to his knees, his head bent, knowing that nothing he'd experienced at Blach's hand prepared him for this. He knew he was completely alone. He wept. As it was, ice rimed his eyebrows and his eyelashes, so tears were frozen. He felt himself weaken and succumb to the cold, moment by moment.

  The freeze became intense. Lian could feel it coming towards him, a breath of ice that turned him solid. He tried to look up. It was impossible in the paralysing cold. He felt what was left of his being was frosted out of him and fought it as he'd fought nothing in his young life. As he was slowly petrified, alive, he thought he saw a movement.

  He looked down with difficulty, knowing he was crystallised from his feet to his chest. Breathing was agonisingly difficult. He saw eyes stare up at him, and, aware he was almost entirely ice, he still struggled to comprehend what was being done to him and why. He realised he looked into the huge whirling coloured eyes of the estani's cousin, the ice dragon. It was hugely shimmering and blindingly white. Through the ice that formed on his eyelids and forced his eyes shut, Lian struggled to look closer. As he lost physical awareness and became entombed in ice, he had the fanciful notion that two pair of eyes watched him, and that one set, the purple-violet eyes, belonged to Melas, while the others were the estani.

  The white dragon stretched herself out below the block of suspended ice that swung gently above her. She flipped her left wing, spinning the block first one way and then another. She watched the block intently for a few moments, before she lifted her head and gave a last icy blast on it that made the block bounce and swing. The ice dragon ignored it. There was a monstrous blast of freezing air as she beat her wings vigorously to gain altitude, a smaller estani butterfly dragon with her. Behind her, Lian swung like a giant pendulum.

  ~~~

  The little Ice Crystal dragon matured extremely rapidly, though she was by no means fully mature and wouldn't be for cycles yet. Her eyes were no longer milky but shone deepest and unusual purple. Her eye colour, unlike her kind, never changed, but she was old enough to choose what colour she would like her body to be. She most often favoured shades of blue as she flew in and out of Ice Isle learning dragon skills.