Warlord

by Katy Winter

  "Meet my little friend," he said easily. "We met a few hours ago and he's being taught some self-defence. The lad's name is Leven."

  When he and Brue came face to face with the men, Kalor looked intently at Sarehl and then down at the boy, as if he tried to recall something to mind. Sarehl still didn't move. His face was quite pale. Brue looked up at this very tall, dark man without recognition and drew closer to Kalor, who reassuringly put his hand on the boy's shoulder. Sarehl spoke in a voice that quivered.

  "Did you say Leven?" Kalor patted the shoulder he held.

  "Say who you are to the man, lad." Brue edged closer still to Kalor.

  "I'm Leven," he said clearly.

  With considerable difficulty and some degree of pain, Sarehl stooped very low and put out a hand, saying softly, "Then come here, my handsome little man, and let me look closely at you." Brue hesitated, but Kalor, with dawning comprehension, pushed the boy forward.

  Sarehl still held out his hand, so obediently the little boy took it, to stand staring speculatively up into black eyes. Sarehl's eyes searched the blue ones that looked so innocently into his.

  "Don't you know me, little man?" Sarehl asked quietly. Brue shook his head. "Not at all? Even if there was no ugly scar on my face?" Brue looked briefly at the scar and then shyly away.

  The other foresters and the healer exchanged sudden looks of understanding and very quietly turned to go to the tents clustered some distance away. Kalor was with them. Brue went to follow Kalor, but Sarehl retained a strong hold on the boy's hand and made him stay.

  "I'm going with Kalor," stated Brue clearly. "Let me go." Sarehl just gently pulled the boy forward so Brue was closer.

  "Will you listen to me, little boy, while I tell you something?" Brue nodded, at the same time twisting round to see where Kalor went. Very gently, Sarehl put his hand to Brue's curls.

  "I'm Leven," Brue reiterated. Sarehl spoke slowly and quietly.

  "I once knew a very little boy who looked like you. He had four brothers and a sister. One brother, me, had a little boy and a little girl called Saren and Chlo. Saren would be your age now." He paused, but Brue made no effort to pull away. "We had a mother we called Mam. We had brothers called Bethel, Dase and Lute. Our sister was called Myme Chlo -." He briefly stopped when he felt the little body stiffen. "And the smallest brother was called Brue." The little head came up. Blue eyes showed instant recognition of the name. "Like all the others, Brue called me Sar or Sar-da." Brue didn't move. "I lost all my brothers and my sister, then I found Dase. Brue would be between five and six cycles now, just as I imagine you are, and, like you, he had very red curly hair and the bluest eyes. I used to carry him on my shoulders. Brue called his father Da and he looked like him, as you do. You remind me so much of him." There was a long and poignant silence.

  It was broken by a half-choked little voice whispering, "Sar? Sar?" It broke. "Brue? Brue?"

  "Sar, Mam and Da – we all called the little brother Brue."

  "Sar?"

  "I'm Sar. Once Brue called me that."

  The next few moments were punctuated by wild, distressed sobs from one small boy, while tears slid silently down Sarehl's face as he drew the boy close and cradled him. Brue clung tightly to him with his arms and legs, his curly head hard against Sarehl's chest when he was lifted.

  "Are you little Brue? I think you are."

  "I'm not just Leven."

  "No, I think you're Brue." Another tearing sob came from the child. His free hand went to his heart, then his head, then pointed at Sarehl.

  "I'm Brue, Sar, I'm Brue."

  Memories flooded the child's mind and he now stood, motionless in front of Sarehl, lips working soundlessly. When the boy looked up at him, Sarehl had no doubts, because the tear-filled eyes reminded him so vividly of Bruno he nearly choked. He stooped again, and held out his arms wide to the child who'd taken a pace back to stare up at him. The boy stumbled to him and this time clutched desperately at his clothes. Sarehl stroked the red curls, as a little child cried.

  ~~~

  Later that afternoon, Sarehl stood looking down at a small curled up figure on his mattress. Brue lay on his stomach, his hair in disarray and his mouth smiling, a thumb tucked firmly between his lips.

  The little boy was sound asleep with one arm outflung. Kaleb glanced at Sarehl.

  "I've examined him, my friend, and you need have no worries because he's in very good health. He'll sleep until late meal, because I felt he was overwrought. He's still very much a little child."

  "Aye," said Sarehl softly, "Aye, he is. This'll ease Dase's suffering just a little. I'll send notice that Brue's been found, before we move on."

  "It might be advisable to ride to the camp so that you can avert any concern about the lad's disappearance."

  "I'm not taking him back there," said Sarehl calmly. "He has no place in an orphan camp."

  "I didn't think you would," replied Kaleb, with an odd little smile touching his mouth as he turned away. "Who rides with you?"

  "Kalor. He and Brue already have strong empathy for each other," responded Sarehl. "Since Kalor found the little fellow, it only seems fitting he should go with me."

  "That's so," agreed Kaleb. "Relax, my friend, and rejoice. We've found another brother." He watched thoughtfully as Sarehl limped from the tent.

  ~~~

  After the evening meal, Brue, protesting wildly that he was clean, was thoroughly scrubbed, then had his hair rigorously brushed. He was put to bed on his own mattress in Sarehl's tent. Sarehl sat beside him with his long legs stretched out to give him comfort, and his hand played lightly in Brue's curls.

  "Do you remember your brothers, little man?" he asked. Brue shook his head, his blue eyes troubled. "Never mind, lad. All you need know is that I'm your eldest brother and it was another brother, called Dase, who saved you. You've an older sister too, called Myme Chlo, but we don't know where she is. Two of your brothers are prisoners, but one day I hope they'll be free so you can know them again. You have another brother, too, called Lian." He saw recognition in the young eyes. "You recognise names." The little boy nodded. His eyes widened and became anxious.

  "I's afraid," whispered Brue, clinging to Sarehl's free hand.

  "What of, little fellow? You're safe with me and I'll care for you instead of Mam and Da."

  "Will the seniors come?" Brue quivered with stress. "They tooked me away. They did. I wanted to stay. When I's very little. Will they pull me away? Like before?"

  "No." Sarehl lifted the little body into his arms and wrapped his arms round it. "No, Brue," he repeated. "No one will come and take you anywhere. You're coming north with Kalor and me. You like Kalor, don't you?"

  "Seniors says I's to be in school."

  "The seniors know you're no longer an orphan, little brother, and they've given me all your clothes. See, they're in that bundle over there." Sarehl nodded towards the end of the mattress. Brue still clung to the arm round him.

  "No Daed?"

  "No, Brue. Who's Daed?"

  "He hits me and things."

  "The bully you told Kalor about?" Brue nodded forlornly.

  "He won't come too, will he?"

  "No, little brother," smiled Sarehl, a reassuring hand stroking the tousled mop.

  Brue knuckled his eyes rather tiredly, then asked tearfully, "Why isn't Mam here, Sar? And Da?" Biting his lower lip very hard, Sarehl bent his head, unable to meet the big, innocently enquiring eyes.

  "They tried to come to you, little man, but they got lost," he said, in a slightly cracked voice. "But they watch over you and love you, as much as I do. You must remember that."

  "Will Kalor love me, too?" Sarehl pushed the child back onto the mattress and began to cover him.

  "Of course he will," said a quiet, deep voice behind them. "He already cares for you, but you know that, don't you?" Brue's blue eyes brightened as they lighted on the tall forester coming forward, a beaker in one hand. Kalor knelt by the mattress and with an understand
ing smile, gave the beaker to Sarehl. "Kaleb thought a warm drink might help the lad sleep," he said softly.

  "Thank the gods," murmured Sarehl with relief.

  He lifted Brue into his arms again and, with Kalor, he teased and coaxed the boy to drain the beaker. Brue blinked and then slumped. Kalor held a hand down to Sarehl.

  "Come, my friend. You've some difficult days ahead, haven't you? Why don't we walk?" suggested Kalor. "Air helps one think."

  ~~~

  Sarehl and Kalor went for a walk. It was still light and was pleasantly warm and as Kalor liked being in the forest, he knew he'd know regret when they soon left it for good. Sarehl was troubled and Kalor sensed it. He'd come to know and respect Sarehl, so he waited for the man to broach any subject that bothered him, but only when his friend was ready. Sarehl's concern was a belief an emissary had no place in his hectic, erratic life for a small child, because he, and the others, often lived rough and were always on the move. There'd be no time for a child's formal education and certainly no stability. When Sarehl at last mentioned this to Kalor the Cyrenic smiled affectionately at him.

  "No," he agreed, "but then the child's had little stability until now either, has he?" Sarehl shook his head. "There's been no person to whom he could relate, or could call his own." Sarehl turned his head to Kalor. "Perhaps at this early stage of his disturbed life, Sarehl, that's more important than other things. He's just found a brother who represents all the security he lost. That's going to be very important to that small lad of yours." Sarehl sighed.

  "He can't go to Dase, because Dase's too young and too busy to care for a child. He has enough to cope with."

  "Even if he could and was willing, that boy has his own developing to do," responded Kalor, stooping to nick a long blade of grass. "Dase only now starts to recover from some of the emotional devastation that nearly destroyed him. That recovery's fragile enough without burdening him further."

  "I know you're right, Kalor. It wasn't a serious thought, but how can I look after the child, moving as we always are?"

  "You probably can't on your own," was the blunt reply. "That's going to be a very bright, lively lad in time." Sarehl ran a hand through his beard, then fingered his scar.

  "That doesn't help a great deal," he muttered. Kalor gave Sarehl a fond grin.

  "Well then, where does that leave us?" he asked, munching reflectively on the grass stalk. Sarehl was thoughtful for a moment, then he laughed.

  "Perhaps the others will have suggestions."

  "I'm thinking on it, Sarehl," said Kalor seriously. He saw Sarehl glance back to the tents behind them and added, "The lad shouldn't know of discussions, Sarehl. They could unsettle him." Sarehl nodded quickly.

  "He likes you, Kalor, very much."

  "I've a deep liking for the lad," came the imperturbable reply. "You can believe me when I say I'd let no harm come to him."

  "Not one of us is untouched, even the youngest," muttered Sarehl.

  "We'll all have to help, Sar, because that's going to be a confused child for a while." Kalor saw Sarehl become pensive and said calmly, "Shall we continue our very pleasant ramble, or shall we return to camp and see what we can hatch among ourselves?" That made Sarehl laugh.

  "Does anything ruffle you?"

  "Not much these days, Sarehl, no," responded Kalor, throwing the remains of the grass blade away. "Life's just one day at a time now, isn't it?" Sarehl sighed again.

  "I suppose it is," he agreed.

  They kept walking, Sarehl revolving schemes in his mind for Brue's future only to dismiss them. Kalor kept pace with him, enjoying the now cooling crispness of the air. Even though it was only early autumn with warm days and evenings, once light faded there was a noticeable chill to the air. Kalor scuffed the leaves as he walked, quite content to be where he was.

  When the tall dark man came to a halt, Kalor did too, quietly turning in unison with Sarehl as they began the return to camp. He was away with his thoughts when Sarehl spoke, surprised when asked if he was content. He looked across at Sarehl's profile outlined in the waning light. He could see, when Sarehl turned his head, that the scar had faded to a faint jagged line.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "I ask because you seem at one with yourself."

  "Then," responded the Cyrenic calmly, "the answer must be yes. I'm content for the time being. And you?"

  "I doubt it's ever a state I'll achieve," was the very quiet reply.

  Kalor made no comment. He'd been with Sarehl from the time the man was brought to safety and felt he was as close to him as a friend could be. He glanced again at the profile and sighed inwardly. Though Kaleb had worked unceasingly with Sarehl trying to help the man come to an acceptance of what happened to him and his family, Kalor knew his friend, even in his quieter moments, was a driven man.

  It wasn't that Sarehl was restless, because he wasn't. He spoke and moved with economy, was never rushed and always had time for people, wasn't vengeful though he had cause to be, and seldom fretted. His temper was equable and he was unfailingly gently cooperative and courteous. But there was an intensity and a singularity of purpose that seemed to haunt the man and wouldn't let him rest.

  Kalor agreed with the healer that Sarehl had recovered from the immediate shock of the loss of his mate and children, but recognised Ensore was right when he said Sarehl couldn't easily discuss his family. That he'd talked this evening of Brue, Kalor knew was a compliment and was based on affection and trust.

  Sarehl's pride in Dase showed in glowing black eyes when he read letters from his brother and from Ensore, and the same glow was in those compelling eyes when Sarehl now spoke of his youngest sibling. However, Kalor suspected, as did Kaleb, that haunting Sarehl's waking moments, as well as his dreams, was a tormenting image of Bethel and a deep grief for Daxel's twin. If Sarehl heard Bethel's name mentioned, and it rarely was, he'd perceptibly withdraw, his face looking drawn with inward suffering. And now, as Kalor walked with Sarehl who was beginning to limp more heavily, the forester sensed the same imminent withdrawal over Brue.

  Sarehl became aware of Kalor's scrutiny and lifted a hand, saying, "I shouldn't burden you with my concerns."

  "We're all involved one with the other. Brue's future concerns us because, apart from any liking we may have for him, his wellbeing touches you," Kalor said quietly.

  "Only one good thing's come out of the warlord's invasion, Kalor."

  "And what's that, Sarehl?"

  "Deep friendship," replied Sarehl softly.

  "Aye," agreed Kalor, with a smile Sarehl didn't see.

  ~~~

  The discussion round the fire that evening was amicable, suggestions tossed around, considered and often discarded. Sarehl listened to proposals and ideas without contributing very much, his dark eyes staring thoughtfully into the fire. When talk began to falter and no resolution seemed to have presented itself, Kalor spoke.

  "Do we agree the lad shouldn't return to the orphan camp?"

  "That goes without saying," said Kaleb, glancing briefly at the dark-bearded face opposite. Sarehl stayed silent.

  "Then the boy obviously goes with us." Kalor's tone was matter-of-fact.

  "Is that wise, Kalor?" asked Sache, who was quite short, slightly built and blond bearded. "Brue's only a child."

  "There's no other option is there?" responded Kalor. "If he can't go back with the orphans, he has to stay with us."

  "For how long?" queried Arth. "We can't trail a child the length of Ambros."

  "Nor," interposed the healer, "can you take a child who's as disoriented and displaced as Brue, transplant him with the only member of his family he knows, then uproot him again seasons later. If the boy goes with us, he stays with us for the foreseeable future. Can't you see what leaving him behind would do to him, let alone leave him now after he's just found his brother?"

  "I couldn't allow that," added Sarehl calmly. "If I had to, I'd take the child north and try to settle with him somewhere."

  "Not fe
asible," stated Kalor bluntly. "You're an integral and important part of our moves to establish ourselves as an opposition to the warlord, Sarehl, and you know it."

  A smile crept to black eyes. "Aye, I know."

  "Well then," went on Kalor. "We'll all have to care for the boy. We should be able to cope for at least the next cycle or so. Then we can think again about a boy who will be securer than he is now. Brue will be old enough to be confident Sarehl will always be there for him."

  "What are you proposing, Kalor?" asked Kaleb with a barely repressed grin.

  "Aye, you need to explain yourself more clearly," agreed Arth, pulling at his ginger whiskers thoughtfully. "Gods, I know nothing of the infantry. You, Sache?" The blond shrugged.

  "Well," mused Kalor. "Kaleb can teach him. So can Sarehl. Between them they should be able to get the lad along the road to being scholarly." Sarehl looked up from contemplating the fire, his dark eyes warm with amusement.

  "Undoubtedly," he responded. "Kaleb?"

  "Oh aye," sighed the healer resignedly, but there was a definite twinkle in his clear eyes.

  "And you, Arth," pursued Kalor. "You're an excellent horseman and a superb archer. You'll have time and plenty in which to instruct the boy. You taught Dase."

  "Where," demanded Arth, sitting abruptly, "do I find a horse small enough for a child?"

  "You'll manage, Arth, you always do," chuckled Sache.

  "And," objected Arth more strongly, "the boy's too young to learn archery."

  "Nonsense," chimed in Kaleb, a laugh in his voice. "He has to start somewhere." Arth subsided, mumbling.

  "You, Sache," continued Kalor, turning to study the man. "You know swordsmanship and weaponry better than most. The lad's never too young to start learning, even if he's only, what, Sarehl?"

  "He's not yet six cycles," responded Sarehl, relapsing into mirth at the expression he dimly saw on Sache's face.

  "There you are then, Sache," said Kalor cheerfully. "He's very tall for his age, more like an eight or nine cycle lad in fact, and he's quite deft - I noticed that this afternoon."

  "How can you teach a child so young to fight?" protested Sache, prodding Arth who chuckled quietly.