by Katy Winter
"If anyone can, it's you, Sache. I've seen you do it before," Kalor responded.
"Oh, damn you, Kalor!" Sache exclaimed, but with a grin Kalor took for acquiescence.
"That leaves you, Dalmin," continued Kalor. Dalmin made no comment. "He needs to be taught self-defence and self-control. Do you think you could do that for the lad?"
Dalmin moved closer to the fire. "Maybe, if we're all agreed."
"And you, Kalor?" asked Kaleb. "What will you do?"
"I'll teach the lad how to survive, my friend."
"And who's to watch the little tearaway to see he doesn't get into trouble?" demanded Sache. "And he will, all boys do." Kalor and Sarehl spoke as one.
"I will." Then they broke into laughter.
"And who's to watch he's clean and eats what's good for him?" asked Arth.
"Oh, that's Sarehl's task," hiccupped Kalor. "It's his baby brother, after all!"
A decision now reached, the group became quite animated and the skins of wine that had been brought out to celebrate the finding of a brother, soon became limp. There was still verbal sparring after the fire died, but it was tired jesting. Before too long, each man made his way to his tent, all conscious they had to push further north on the morrow so that they'd be out of the forest within the week.
Sarehl entered his tent quietly. After he'd prepared for rest and lay stretched out under blankets, he turned to look across at the sleeping child next to him. Gently, he lifted Brue onto the mattress beside him, made sure the little boy was still covered, and then the tall man curled round the child protectively.
Third Age
11208-9
We've learned more of the Samar sons. With the eldest goes the child of the second father. Another son, Dase, travels with the Chamah-Elect of Dakhilah. The latter leads a massing army that becomes more cohesive daily as it moves steadily north.
All trace of the twin brother, Luton, has gone. He was tracked as the caravan left the mountains and reached the great plains. He travelled with one of the warlord's haskars. The boy's sudden and inexplicable disappearance concerns us because it's as if a power shrouds him from both us and the Watchers. Again, we wonder about Malekim. We need to trace the warrior lord who accompanied him from the slave train.
Information reaches us faster now because reader-seekers, called healers by Ambrosians, are again responding to the call of their Mishtok. He's told us he's trying to ensure all at and above Level Two are again operative across Ambros. He's still trying to locate lower levels. That the Conclave is active as it should be, relieves our minds.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Luton sensed a thought catch at his mind and looked up at the very tall stranger who eyed him as if he was an insignificant insect on a laboratory slide. He felt chilled, shivered, and was unwilling to continue looking up. He lowered his head in the slave gesture of submission. He remained still.
"Follow," came the same deep, cold voice. The robed and hooded figure turned and moved back the way it'd come. Luton stood irresolute. When a very threateningly, quiet voice entered his mind with a hiss, he jumped and looked behind.
"Don't keep me waiting." Luton shivered again, as he'd done in the cold of the mountains, then he turned back to stare at the figure ahead of him. "Yes, Luton, I'm in your mind, where I'll always be a presence. You're wholly bound to me, in ways you can't yet comprehend. Obey and follow."
Drawing in his breath and fearful, Luton did. He had to hurry because the robed figure seemed to float on air. The breath caught at the back of Luton's throat, even as his eyes intensely followed the fluttering robes that were always just ahead of him. He was so intent on keeping up with the figure he barely noticed when it stood still and then quickly stopped at a respectful distance. The voice in his head chided him.
"Always just behind me, Luton. Always. Don't forget."
As Luton hastened to obey, the sorcerer raised his arms. He uttered a guttural incantation that nearly froze the boy's blood. He found he couldn't stop shaking and had to restrain an impulse to grasp at the cloth in front of him. His mouth was dry.
Almost immediately, he noticed what looked like a cloud in the sky move directly towards them, sweeping up so fast the boy could scarcely focus on it. Then, as it drew close, Luton could see what was above him. His astonished gaze took in huge, spreading, red-veined wings that beat slowly and strongly as the great beast hovered, its breath steaming through its nostrils.
When the sorcerer lowered his arms, the dragon settled on the ground in front of them sending up clouds of dust and sand that made Luton choke. Blach was impassive, had no trouble breathing and ignored the boy behind him. Enormous clawed talons lay only feet away from Luton. As the boy struggled to get his breath, his eyes stared in awe at the feet and then travelled up the forelegs and chest to the gigantic head that belched small flames and hissed steam. Both helplessly fascinated and terrified, Luton stood still, transfixed. The voice in his mind was clinical.
"Climb up behind me, Luton. There are two pouches. You'll get into the first one. You'll find I've devised a harness to hold you secure for your first experience riding a dragon. Buckle the belt across your waist and your shoulder."
Luton shook his head disbelievingly. He watched Blach move purposefully forward to begin an effortless climb up the dragon's side, just behind the sinuous neck. The boy followed. He fell into a pouch a little in front of the sorcerer, where he obeyed instructions as he always did and had barely done so before he felt a rumble. Then he felt the steady beat of wings create a downdraught as, gracefully, the dragon ascended and wheeled.
Abruptly, they entered a wind tunnel of intense heat that channelled all around them in hot eddies. Harth flew strongly through it. Blach was oblivious of any warmth, but Luton's lungs felt compressed and he had continued difficulty breathing. Just at the moment he felt he couldn't bear any more, Luton saw they were through the tunnel and flew over a landscape that seemed from another world.
The ground was baked ochre. It split into hairline fissures with constant heat. The orange sun was like nothing the boy had ever seen, huge, bright, and pouring out immense energy and heat. Clouds were orange: everywhere was tinged with red. In time the baked earth gave way to yellow sand dunes that glittered brightly and seemed to stretch to infinity. There was no water and there were no trees. There was no sign of any vegetation or of any living thing. Luton shuddered at the utter desolation.
They flew over this undulating and harshly magnificent landscape for what seemed to Luton to be hours, the ground revealing scarred ravines and upwellings of jagged black rocks. Sometimes the sand gave way to mile after mile of blackened stones fused together by heat and shining almost as blindingly as the sun. Luton's eyes ached. He wondered idly if this sun ever slept.
"Never, boy," came a quiet thought in his mind. Luton didn't dare even twitch. His chest heaved with agitated breathing. "I'm the dragon," came the voice again. "I'm Harth. You needn't be concerned about me. No one knows I speak to you."
Luton's trembling eased and his hands, tightly clenched, relaxed, then, without hesitation he responded in a way he'd not done before. He mindspoke with the dragon effortlessly as if he'd done so for cycles, hearing, as he did, the deep belly dragon laugh of appreciation.
"I didn't speak to you," Luton sent tentatively.
"You don't need to, boy. You're open to me."
"And are you to me?"
"You already know the answer to that, boy, don't you?"
"Are we both open to-?" Luton's comprehension boggled. His thoughts were chaotic.
"To the mage, do you mean?" asked Harth.
"Mage?" repeated Luton, even more confused. "Is he more than a sorcerer?"
"Indeed, boy, you've much to learn. And no, we are not open to him." There was a deep rumble through the boy's mind. "What do you call the mage, boy?"
"I was always told I'd be bought by the sorcerer, Blach of Lachir Keep." Luton rubbed his eyes wearily, aw
are he was suddenly very tired.
"Ah," came the dragon's voice, oddly soft. "Then, young one, indeed there is much you don't know."
"What kind of a man is the sor - the mage?" came Luton's curious question.
"That," Harth replied, "you'll find out for yourself."
"Do you always serve him?"
"On occasion," came the response after a pause. "Be quiet now, boy. You talk too much, though that's understandable in one mute for so long. Be guided by me, boy. Watch, learn, don't ask questions, achieve every task you're set. Times will be dark, but light will, we hope and believe, come. Hold to that, child. Do you hear me, boy?"
"I do, Harth."
"That's well, boy." There was satisfaction in the dragon's voice. "We'll not see each other for a time, but a day will dawn, boy, when I know you'll call."
Harth broke the mind link on the words, leaving Luton thoughtful and briefly unaware of anything else around him. Then he suddenly forgot the conversation. It was as if it had never happened.
After what seemed an eternal nightmare of shifting colours in red, brown, yellow and black below them, the dragon banked sharply and went into a steep dive. Luton closed his eyes. His stomach churned. His hands gripped the harness he wore. He clung with all his strength, only opening his eyes when Harth levelled out and winged his way to what Luton thought was a fortress, a structure built of the same black stone they'd been flying over. It was a grim and forbidding place with no architectural ornamentation, its walls sheer and very shiny.
Harth landed abruptly in front of heavy and enormous gates that were being hurriedly pulled back by huge, muscled blond-headed men with eyes that seemed to stare unblinkingly red. They had magnificent physiques. Luton was flung forward on the landing and now tried, with shaking fingers, to undo the straps that held him secure. His first glimpse of what he knew was to be his final home shook him deeply.
Blach alighted easily, but paused on the descent to yank Luton from the pouch and drop the boy some distance to the ground. The earth was very hard and extremely dusty. Little dust devils skittered round both the boy and the sorcerer.
Harth didn't tarry. He rose promptly, creating more dust, before he abruptly winked from sight. Luton blinked, then felt himself cuffed forward as Blach began to glide towards the gates. Fearing the little dust devils, Luton hurried after him. The gates closed behind them with a deep and long echoing clang, bringing home to Luton how much more of a slave prisoner he was here than he'd been since he was in the caravan. He began to shake with tremors that shook him from head to toe.
Blach moved swiftly across a courtyard into a flagged compound. There was no sound in the fortress of any kind, only brooding silence that tore at Luton's nerves. He remembered Blach only took mutes, or made people that way upon arrival at the Keep, and that merely increased his terror. He saw no people either, only shadows.
Blach and the boy passed up steps, across more courtyards, up more stairs that took them through galleries situated on different levels, but always upward towards a tower that dominated the eastern side of the fortress. The tower, thought Luton, breathless with panic and exertion, seemed to touch the orange clouds. It looked a pinnacle of power and presence.
When they reached half-way up the tower Blach paused on the landing, looked frowningly at Luton, then, turning from him, the sorcerer pushed open a heavy, arched wooden door. Blach pointed to the room and Luton entered. He crossed to the tiny window that looked out over a courtyard but it gave Luton vertigo and dizzily he retreated.
Calmly putting back his hood, Blach turned to face the boy. Luton stared at his new master for a moment before respectfully lowering his head, but in that glimpse he saw a thin ascetic face, deeply lined. The thin lips were bloodless, the scalp hairless, and the eyes had a glowing hollowness that made the boy's skin crawl. He licked his lips, a habit he had in moments of distress.
"You understand, do you, Luton, that you're my slave?" The words were very quietly spoken, barely audible. Luton nodded. His heart hammered uncomfortably. "I'll rarely speak," the voice continued. "I'll mindspeak you, and, as you know you can do, you'll respond likewise, promptly. Is that quite clear?"
"Quite clear -," Luton sent, then he hesitated.
"Master will suffice, Luton."
"Quite clear, Master."
"There will be obedience in all things." Luton went to nod. Immediately he felt a pain stab behind his eyes, a sharp and extremely painful reminder he was to converse only in mindspeak. "In all things, Luton." Luton swallowed, a hand tentatively to his left temple.
"Yes, Master," he responded quickly.
"I don't keep mutes purely for entertainment, you understand." Luton shivered. "They're useful to me, as you'll be. I dispose of slaves when they no longer serve a useful function, so you can expect at some stage you'll be eliminated as is appropriate. Experiments can become boring." Luton felt another shiver take him, at the same time as he heard amusement echo in the voice in his mind. "You transgress, Luton, and this is a taste of what you can expect." Immediately, Luton put his hands to his head at the agonising pressure that pushed inwards on his skull. The sensation went as fast as it came, but it left Luton feeling sick. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master."
"You'll remain here. I'd advise you to sleep, though whether that will help you for what comes I've no idea. Nor do I care."
~~~
Blach walked quietly to the door, opened and then closed it. When Luton heard the key grate in the lock he stood rigid. Alone, he allowed terror to overcome him. He sat on the bed trembling, his fear as great as it was that day in Ortok. As he did then to try to save his sanity, Luton stopped trying to reason or understand and just sat on the bed, stared at nothing and let his mind go blank. Mercifully, sleep claimed him almost instantly. He woke disoriented to a dark room and yawned, aware he felt desperately hungry. He stretched and stood.
"Food comes later," came the uninterested voice in the boy's mind. "Lie down," advised the voice.
Luton did so with a sigh. An instant later, he flung his hands to his head, his body arched and had he possessed a voice he'd have uttered tortured screams. His body went into agonised convulsions. A mind of power coolly entered his. It disdainfully brushed aside the barrier Luton, for the sake of sanity, put in place all those cycles ago in Ortok. This probing mind began to dissect the boy slowly, cruelly, methodically, and with exquisitely vicious finesse. He was taken back to the moment of his birth, through to the day Ortok was invaded, a time he was forced to experience again in all the detailed terror, pain and horror. He was coerced to re-live it. It was as if it all happened, then and there. The aftermath on the slave trail was repeatedly analysed.
The intruding mind peeled away the layers of the boy's mind as if they were thin skins of a fruit, exposing Luton as raw and vulnerable. He tried to fight. His struggles were considered mere amusing but ineffectual barriers to be ignored as his mind was probed over and over again with ruthless indifference. There was no curiosity, only critical analysis and assessment, whilst at the same time Luton's emotions were shredded and discarded with the utmost contempt and in the most pitiless fashion. When the mind withdrew from Luton's the boy lay motionless and hunched, his head in his hands. His black eyes showed no sense whatsoever. His mouth was wide open, as he'd tried to howl.
Even though he found Luton simple to alter and utilise, Blach withdrew from the young mind somewhat pensively. He was so disdainful of the boy's efforts to protect himself that he didn't, unusually for him, bother to destroy Luton's mind, not considering it necessary. He merely closed down the part that was Luton's former existence with a simple block.
The empathy with an identical twin Blach laughingly dismissed as contemptible and of no immediate use. He didn't even bother to explore either the depths or ramifications of such a relationship and cut the one half from the other without a second thought, nor did he consider the damage, possibly irreparable or otherwise, to Luton or his twin. He was only vaguel
y interested that the other twin might still be alive. It was at the instant the sorcerer thought he'd cut Luton from Daxel that a combined consciousness asserted itself with unexpected power and sublimated itself, almost in entirety, in both individuals. Without awareness, Luton took Daxel with him.
Blach was reasonably content with the use he could put this boy to, Luton eminently suitable for his purposes. In his arrogance, the sorcerer didn't realise that Luton also managed, though barely and without conscious awareness, to reassert his uniquely individual identity in a display of defiance and will to survive as an entity that even a sophisticated practitioner would envy. He also blocked that re-assertion, of himself, more deeply than Blach blocked him. It was a manifestation of inherent talent Blach couldn't have known existed. He would have been sneering and incredulous if such ability was suggested to him, but Sarssen would have recognised it - Bethel did something similar in his first days with the warlord.
Luton came back to consciousness, unaware his body should ache from the strength of the convulsions. He felt nothing, not even hunger. It was as if he'd ceased to exist. He was unable to feel. In his mind, he knew only that he was a mute slave, that he belonged to Blach and had always lived at the Keep, a place to which, as an obedient slave, he was irrevocably bound. To him, he woke in his natural environment, this Keep his only memory. In time he'd learn that Blach allowed his mutes to feel, but only pain, nothing else, and that wasn't something to be enjoyed. Instead, it was a sign of a master's extreme displeasure. He found his torc no longer there.
He got to his feet and walked over to the window again, but, seeing nothing but blackness, went back to the bed. He should have reacted to the darkness, because though his room and what he could see was blackness, beyond that the sun shone as fiercely as ever. However, as one who had memory only as from the moment he woke, Luton didn't respond and simply accepted what was around him. He yawned.
As he sat, he heard the key grind in the lock and looked up though he made no effort to move. The door opened to admit a huge, black slave who carried a tray in one large hand that he placed on the table set out from the corner of the room. He pointed first at Luton and then at the tray. The man's face was expressionless.
