by Katy Winter
"Eli," he greeted Sarehl. "Pleased to meet you."
"Sarehl," responded Sarehl, grinning and briefly taking the hand before releasing it. He made a guess. "Are you looking for Ensore, by any chance?"
"As it happens, yes we are," agreed the rider. He glanced at Sarehl again. "Do you know where he is?"
"Yes," replied Sarehl, his grin widening. "He's a couple of clearings away instructing my younger brother in swordsmanship."
"Is he now?" asked Eli with a reflective frown, a faint trace of annoyance in his voice. "Now why would he do that, do you think, instead of being with us?" Sarehl now leaned very heavily on his sticks. His balance wavered.
"It's a very long story," he answered quietly. "Could you please help me sit?" Eli looked up at Sarehl again and when he saw the furrow of pain on the man's forehead, he stepped forward instantly.
"I'm sorry," he said in a mortified tone. "I didn't mean to be so thoughtless."
He carefully removed the sticks, holding Sarehl steady as he helped the very tall man to a chair. Sarehl sank into it with relief and thanks.
"Ensore and my brother should be back shortly," he assured Eli with a smile. "They usually are. I was on my way to meet them when I heard your arrival."
"You've obviously suffered severe injuries," said Eli, glancing briefly down at Sarehl and aware for the first time of the scar that ran down this man's face. He turned back to the fire. He poked it vigorously. "Are you nearly recovered?"
"If I could stride about again I would be," sighed Sarehl, "but Kaleb tells me I'll always have a limp." Eli's head came up, his eyes intent.
"Kaleb's here?" he asked quickly.
Sarehl nodded, saying calmly, "He stayed behind when the camp went north, mainly I suspect to help me."
"Well, well, well," mused Eli abstractedly.
He went back to bothering the fire while Sarehl watched him. The other riders were just settling at their ease and responding to the orders of an older man, when Eli leapt to his feet and strode forward. Sarehl half-turned in his chair. Emerging from the trees, both Ensore and Daxel stopped in their tracks for a moment, before Ensore moved forward to Eli.
"What in the name of the gods?" he exclaimed, grasping Eli by the shoulder. His eyes darkened anxiously. "Why are you here? Has anything happened to Kasan?"
"No, Kasan's well and there's nothing else. What I want to know, brother, is why you haven't come back to lead your men."
"Brother?" asked Daxel in astonishment, now standing beside Ensore, dark eyes alive with curiosity. Eli looked across at him.
"And who might you be, young sprig?" he asked. Giving an embarrassed cough, Daxel took a step back, but Ensore came to his rescue by turning to smile reassuringly at him. He looked then at Eli.
"Have you met Sarehl - ah, yes I see you must have done. This lad, then, is his brother Dase. Once you see them together the familial resemblance is unmistakable. Come forward, lad, and meet my brother Eli." Daxel shyly shook Eli's hand and then retreated back another step again.
"Gods, since when have you started being a nursemaid?" asked Eli in lively surprise. Daxel flinched. He felt Ensore's hand rest firmly on his shoulder.
"Strive for conduct," the forester suggested, the hint of a warning in his voice. "You haven't told me why you're here."
"Looking for you, brother," chuckled Eli. "What else?"
"Why are you looking for me?" Eli shook Ensore's arm playfully.
"You've been gone a long time, Ens, with no word to anyone, and you wonder when a rescue party comes for you?"
"You would've known if anything had happened to me," Ensore said quietly. Daxel thought the forester didn't sound pleased.
"Not necessarily, brother. Strange times we're living in, remember? You're very necessary to us. Or have you forgotten?" There was a decided edge to Ensore's voice as he answered.
"No, I haven't forgotten. Perhaps we should postpone discussion until later when we can have a chance to talk." He released Daxel. "Lad, you can do as you wish, but don't wander far."
Daxel accepted the dismissal and immediately crossed to sit beside his brother. Sarehl watched Eli and Ensore in some amusement. One was serious and thoughtful, the other like quicksilver and impulsive. Now that he saw them together, Sarehl couldn't doubt they were brothers with their similar lineaments, chestnut hair and beards, and gray eyes. There the resemblance ended.
He couldn't hear the ensuing conversation. He courteously turned his attention instead to the other riders who now clustered about the brothers. What became apparent was that Ensore was no ordinary forester. Both the men and his brother, the latter belatedly, treated Ensore with inordinate respect and almost reverence. This intrigued Sarehl. Daxel, though, simply lounged back against Sarehl's chair and went quietly to sleep. Sarehl watched as Ensore spoke with first one man and then another, the forester calm but clearly in the habit of command. As Sarehl continued to sit and observe, Kaleb came up and crouched beside him, watching likewise.
"Kaleb, you've explaining to do," murmured Sarehl. Kaleb didn't respond immediately, then he prevaricated.
"In what way?" he asked provocatively.
"Eli knows you very well. Where from, Kaleb?"
"We've been together off and on for some time," was the evasive comment.
"Why do I feel you aren't being honest with me?"
"Ensore bade me hold my peace," admitted the healer ruefully smiling, "though why, I don't know. It makes no difference to you, does it, rank or title?" Sarehl laughed.
"None at all. We had none where I come from."
"I think," said Kaleb, regarding Ensore thoughtfully, "he'd prefer that."
"Who is he?"
"He's the Chamah of his people."
"Enlighten me, Kaleb."
"He's both the spiritual and temporal ruler of his people," the healer quietly explained.
"I thought the Churchik eliminated him," replied Sarehl, his eyebrows raised.
"They did. Ensore's father was executed. Both sons escaped, as did Ensore's young sister, Kasan. The rest of his family didn't. Many of them were slaughtered."
"Why didn't he tell me who he is?" mused Sarehl, puzzled.
"He preferred his anonymity, my friend." Kaleb looked over at Ensore again. "Can you blame him for wanting to be accepted for what he is, rather than for his role in a very highly structured and stifling society?"
"No, I can't say I do," admitted Sarehl honestly. "Where does all this leave him?"
"Ensore will decide for himself," laughed Kaleb. "He always does. He'll make an unusual Chamah."
~~~
Sarehl didn't see Ensore again until later in the day, by which time it was early evening. All the riders were busy setting up camp and looking after tired horses, while some now helped the foresters prepare a late meal. Daxel, pressed into willing service, happily did whatever was asked of him. The riders fascinated him, though he was baffled by their constant reference to Ensore as `my lord', assumed it was a courtesy title and thought no more about it.
Ensore found Sarehl, an empty plate beside him, still seated reflectively staring into the fire, so the forester sat down on the ground beside him. They sat in companionable silence for quite a long time, watching the flicker of the flames. When Ensore did speak there was constraint in his voice.
"What did Kaleb tell you?" Sarehl's answer was simple.
"Who you are."
"I wish he'd not done so."
"It makes no difference to me," came Sarehl's deep voice in reassurance.
"No," Ensore agreed, on a sigh. "I preferred things the way they were."
"They would've come to an end, sooner or later."
"I know," murmured Ensore." What appeals to me about your society is that one just is."
"What's left of it," returned Sarehl, with a trace of bitterness.
"Aye, my friend, there is that." There was a long pause before Ensore spoke again. "Sarehl, I can't leave here yet." There was an urgent undertone to the forester'
s voice. "There's so much more we have to do. As you've taught yourself to do, we have to think like the Churchik. You seem to have an uncanny insight into their mindset and as you say, they have strengths we should learn from. I know," he added hesitantly, "what you and your people suffered, and no one grieves for all of you more than I do, but we must learn from it. Dahkilans were hurt too. You, Sarehl, understand the Churchik - gods know how you do, but we need you. You have the mind of a tactician. You comprehend strategy. You can organise and plan instant countermoves almost as you speak, as if you have some rare gift of understanding other men don't possess, certainly not to such a degree. I've been waiting for you, aware what you can offer us, all of us, but now with Eli -." He stopped, then whispered vehemently, "Damn him!"
"I'm still here and able to offer help," said Sarehl quietly. "There's time, isn't there?" Ensore shook his head.
"It seems Lodestok's begun to move northwards. Eli says provisioning is well under way to follow the army. The remains of Ortok are garrisoned." A look of unease crossed Sarehl's face.
"What will you do?" he asked, turning to look at his friend's profile.
"We can't hasten your recovery, my friend," answered Ensore, suddenly aware of Sarehl's scrutiny. He turned to him with a smile. "We'll continue our military discussions as before. We'll also continue with plans you've laid out, Sarehl - but would you mind if Eli joined us? And Ongwin? I value his judgment."
"Not at all," replied Sarehl. "And I'm stronger than you think."
"No, you're not," said a voice beside him. Kaleb held down a cup. Sarehl took the goblet and drank without argument, his eyelashes blinked rapidly and his shoulders slumped. As Kaleb walked away, Eli strolled over casually to stand beside his brother.
"What now?" he asked cheerfully. Ensore indicated Sarehl.
"Can you help me get him to Kaleb's tent?" Cocking an amused eyebrow at Sarehl, Eli nodded. Both men had to keep a firm hold of him.
"What's he been drinking?" asked Eli in a whisper.
"Something of Kaleb's," answered his brother. "I don't know what it is and I'm not asking. It makes Sarehl very relaxed and consequently easier to handle." Eli sounded very surprised.
"Is he that recalcitrant? He seems very amiable to me."
"He's extremely stubborn," was the comment in reply.
"Gods, I'd hate to have Kaleb deal with me," countered Eli. "You'd never know what he'd do to you from one minute to the next."
When they reached Kaleb's tent, Sarehl was carefully lowered onto the mattress. Kaleb was waiting. In an instant, Sarehl was asleep. Kaleb quietly shifted the lantern so that it wouldn't cast light on the scarred face. The three men stood looking down, until Ensore suggested they all go back to the fire, but Eli stayed a little longer, staring down very thoughtfully.
"From what you've told me, brother, that's a very courageous man." Ensore looked across at Eli.
"Yes," he said simply. "He is."
"You hold him in deep respect and affection, don't you?"
"Yes, I do."
"And you, Kaleb?' The healer came out of the shadows.
"Had I not nursed him," he responded, "I'd still do anything for him. I know I wouldn't have survived what he has. I think your brother's right," he added, rubbing his beard.
"What's that?" Eli looked from one to the other.
"That Sarehl has a unique talent that may help in time to turn the tide against the warlord. I don't know. It's just a feeling I have." The healer ended abruptly, then said quickly, "Where's Dase?"
"With Keit, learning to play Starquon," offered Eli.
"Gods," muttered Ensore. "He's much too young to be gambling."
Ensore found Daxel, flushed and triumphant from having thrown successful dice among men entertaining themselves before they ate. Ensore crouched down beside him, quietly helping him until the end of the game.
"Your brother's asleep, youngster," Ensore said gently. "I think you should be too." Daxel scuffed his foot nervously in the dirt.
"Yes, my lord." Ensore stared at him, thinking he'd seldom seen the boy look so miserable.
"What did you call me?" he demanded.
"The men said you were called `my lord'," came the answer. "I didn't know. We don't have titles at home." Ensore looked hard at the boy.
"Dase!" he said persuasively. Daxel raised his head tentatively. "Call me `my lord' once more and I'll beat you." Daxel's head came right up. "You've called me Ensore for seasons. I'd much prefer you keep things as they were." There was palpable relief on the young face, but also deep curiosity.
"Are you a lord and why didn't you tell us?" Ensore answered only part of the question.
"For my sins, lad, yes I am, but let's not pursue the matter. What I want to ask you, as you accompany me to my tent," as he spoke Ensore had the boy on his feet and was pushing him in the right direction, "is why you never told me you're an identical twin." He heard the sharp intake of breath. "Well?"
"It makes me sad to think about it." There was a distinct break in the young voice. "I miss Lute because we're very close, you see." Daxel hesitated. "I can't feel him, or touch his mind, which is my mind too. It's as if he's not there, but I know he is and that he's been very badly hurt." There was now a sob in Daxel's voice. "He's not trying to reach me, so I know someone with power must have him, or else he's so hurt that -." The voice quavered. "Lute's not dead - I'd know if he was - but it feels as if part of him is." Daxel stopped, then began again. "Ensore, I'll call for the rest of my life. I'll never be fully alive, or even fully me, until I find Lute. If he dies, something in me will too – I doubt life will mean much then. I'd have no wish to live as only half a being." Ensore put a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder to propel him forward.
"Have you told Kaleb all this, lad?" Daxel shook his head and wiped at tears that touched his cheeks. "I think you should, because he may be able to help. He's from a race that has the ability to seek and read minds. Will you promise to see him tomorrow?"
Daxel nodded and nothing more was said. Ensore turned away, frowning.
Late meal was eaten under the stars and was accompanied by much lazy laughter and amused teasing. After food was well washed down by copious amounts of wine or ale, a new game of starquon got under way. Betting was heavy and the mulled wine fast disappeared. Ensore joined in, prepared to be entertained. The night became well advanced as one game succeeded another, the talk and laughter unrestrained.
By now Ensore was a mere observer. He watched both his brother and his private guard with enjoyment. Kaleb leaned back on a tree stump with his eyes closed. Ensore knew if danger threatened, the men would be sober in an instant. It was obvious the other foresters enjoyed the added company, Kalor, for one, chuckling heartily as he scooped up money from the centre of the circle.
Conversation became general and invariably turned to the Churchik. Ensore paid little attention until one of his guards made a casual reference to Lodestok. Not making any effort to concentrate, he listened with half an ear.
"Qual saw the warlord's boy from a distance a while back," said a voice that was faintly slurred. The speaker had obviously been imbibing freely. "That poor child must have a devilish life with such a man."
"Lodestok's a sadist where boys are concerned," commented Eli in disgust. "A few die, but mostly he passes them on for indiscriminate use by other warriors. It'd be preferable to die."
"Not necessarily," said another voice. "Staking or crucifixion is no preference, though apparently that's rare."
"He has boy slave pens for his pleasure," mumbled Eli, turning to his brother.
"So I heard," came Ensore's deep voice.
"We hear this latest boy's become an obsession," said Qual. "They say he's supposed to be out of the common way and has outlasted any others. I must admit I only saw a lad from afar, in company with a warrior, but he looked pretty enough and quite slender, almost built like a girl."
"He'd have to be unusual," remarked Eli coldly, "to survive more than a few nights
with Lodestok."
"Has anyone actually seen this boy close up? Is he a southern lad?" asked someone else.
"I have," said a voice towards the back of the group clustered about the ebbing fire. "Or I think it was probably the same lad you speak of, Qual." Eli turned around, peering in the direction of the speaker. "And he's not a southern lad either, northern or Ortokian, I'd say."
"When did you see him?" asked Eli, surprised.
"That more daring raid we did, if you recall, my lord," came the laughing response.
"Oh that, yes," said Eli hurriedly, looking quickly at his brother. He saw Ensore's raised eyebrow and knew an explanation would have to be forthcoming on the morrow. "Is the boy so attractive then?"
"Yes," said Terrin unexpectedly. "He's about as beautiful as a boy of his age could be. To be honest, I'd forgotten him, poor lad he is."
"Tell us about him," suggested Eli, in an indolent voice. "Is he the slave boy you mentioned, held and chained in the pavilion, the one you tried to help?"
"Aye, my lord. That's the one," concurred Terrin, scratching his beard. "He's a tall boy for the eleven or twelve cycles I'd judge the lad to be. He's got long, curly, dark hair and the most vividly expressive, purple eyes you can imagine set in the prettiest face. I can quite see why the warlord's so captivated - the lad has the most soulful way about him." There was a general buzz of comment and speculation until Terrin said casually, his mouth partly full of wine, "He looks like the lad with you, my lord, except this other one doesn't have the black eyes and could well be a brother to the lame man you're befriending - though very much prettier," he added consideringly. Ensore cut through the chatter, his voice like a knife.
"What's that boy's name?" His voice made everyone quiet and uncomfortable. Kaleb sat rigid, his eyes on the forester's face, dawning horror in his own.
"It couldn't be," he whispered. "Dear gods, it couldn't." Ensore's answer was cold and his expression grimly forbidding.
