Warlord

by Katy Winter

  "How?" Bethel looked at Jane and then looked away.

  "You know as well as I do that he'll know. He'll see the change in you. You can't live an intimate life with someone without their recognising changes."

  Bethel almost shouted, "There is no change, damn you!"

  "Isn't there?" came the curt retort. "Will you accept him with the same compliance after today?" Bethel bit his lip and turned his head away. "Do I have to spell it out for you?"

  ~~~

  The following days were among the happiest Bethel had spent since his slavery began nearly five cycles before. He managed to elude his teachers and watchers, by purposefully carrying his estibe every afternoon and striding away to settle by the hedgerows. He was ostensibly there to practise. To the casual observer he'd settle himself, estibe in his lap, preparatory to playing, then, after a short while he'd disappear beneath the hedgerow and run to the field beyond where Sasqua awaited him. As the warlord had called a prolonged halt for the festivities and still showed no inclination to move, Bethel and Sasqua could meet in the same place every day.

  Each day, Bethel found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on what he was instructed to do. He was abstracted much of the time and started if someone suddenly called him to order. Sarssen watched him in growing alarm. He saw signs of a lovelorn youth, began to wonder what the boy was doing, and decided something would have to be done if his appalling suspicions were correct. He also worried Jaden may be aware there was something unusual about the boy's behaviour.

  At archery the next morning, Sarssen watched Bethel closely. He saw the smile, and, though the slender shoulders were well back, the youth carried out all his instructions in an abstracted way. When he was dismissed, Bethel barely noticed Sarssen in his haste to be away.

  Sarssen followed Bethel to the musicians and then to his other training. In the afternoon he observed Bethel at his lessons, the youth's chin rested on his hand and a dreamy look in his eyes. He saw the boy reprimanded and caught a glimpse of the smile before the head bent studiously forward; lastly, he noticed Bethel did no work of any consequence.

  After Bethel left Lotos, Sarssen noticed the boy ran. The warrior caught up with him when Bethel came from his pavilion, with the estibe held in his hands. Sarssen frowned and followed. He watched Bethel sit, then look carefully around before scrambling under the hedgerow. Sarssen didn't need to see anymore. He decided this was the boy's last meeting with Sasqua.

  ~~~

  Sarssen didn't have a chance to caution Bethel. That evening the warlord curtly told the boy he was to remain with him. Usually these days Bethel wandered for an hour or more, so this order was unexpected. He didn't demur. Obediently, he went about his preparations for serving his master, responsive to Lodestok's conversation, but detached and his answers mechanical.

  After he'd served the warlord, he settled on his mat with his estibe and alternately played and ate while the warlord lounged easily in his deep, comfortable chair, a long leg draped over one chair arm. While Bethel played, Lodestok thoughtfully regarded him, his icy blue eyes measuring him.

  He waited until the music died before he said coolly, "You seem very contented, flower." Bethel looked up then quickly back down, his fingers idly plucking a chord. "Has my slave no answer for his lord?"

  "I love the music, my lord."

  "Is that all?" Bethel started, because the voice had a bite to it. His small laugh was a nervous one.

  "Yes, my lord."

  "Forgive me, flower, if I wonder a little, will you not?" Bethel's eyes were apprehensive.

  "My lord?" The warlord swung his booted foot, his eyes never wavering from the young face.

  "You lack your usual -," Lodestok paused thoughtfully, "homage, or shall we say, prostration? I have noticed this gradual change in you, boy, over the last weeks since your maturity. Could it be that your initiation has adversely affected you, my lovely young flower?" Bethel didn't miss the deliberate malice in the cold voice.

  "No, my lord," he responded, wondering uneasily if the warlord could read him so clearly.

  "I wish I could be sure of that, flower. It would be a shame to eliminate Sasqua for no reason."

  All the old terrors and anxieties jostled wildly in Bethel's brain. He struggled to be calm and play the warlord's game. Though his heart quailed, he managed to look directly into the icy eyes, although Lodestok's cynical and appraising stare made him sweat. The warlord said nothing for a few moments. He merely raised his goblet and drank deeply several times, his cold look still bent on Bethel.

  "Have you an interest there, boy?" Bethel's mouth was dry. He was too terrified to admit feeling any emotion for anyone.

  He shook his head, saying indistinctly, "No, my lord."

  "And as my slave," the soft, silky voice went on, "you would not lie to me, would you, petal?" Bethel tried to swallow, failed, and then licked his lips.

  "No, my lord."

  "You say you have no interest in Sasqua, so you will most fully confirm that this evening, will you not, my flower?" The warlord waited until the youth looked up and locked eyes with him for a very long moment. Bethel's eyes fell first.

  "Yes, my lord," he whispered. Lodestok drank again, before lounging more comfortably and toying with his goblet.

  "Even so," he mused, "we shall have Sasqua removed from any contact with you, my adorable little petal. I imagine you tell me the truth when you say you have no interest in her, but she, flower, may be tempted by your undeniable beauty and charm."

  Bethel inwardly writhed. Lodestok's verbal lash always bested him. He'd never won against the warlord in such encounters, Lodestok a master at flaying with words. Bethel always became confused when engaged in word games and now he suddenly remembered what the warlord did to him, in the early days, when the boy couldn't match him in an argument. Any confidence he may have had evaporated. Fear took its place. He knew he was being played with. His stomach griped. Five cycles of total domination had left their mark, Bethel too threatened to stand up for himself, but, despite that, terror for Sasqua made him speak.

  "My lord, you have nothing to fear from Sasqua."

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Bethel knew he'd made a serious mistake. The warlord was instantly on his feet, his eyes blazing with icy rage. He stood over Bethel and struck him full and hard across the mouth, making the boy drop the estibe. It fell to the ground.

  "Do you forget you are a slave? Do you?" When Bethel cringed back and tried to raise a hand in self-defence, his arm was knocked to one side and Lodestok struck him again. "So I have nothing to fear, have I not, you insufferable, ill-conditioned cub? Do you expect such insolence to pass me by?" Bethel was struck hard a third time. It knocked him sideways.

  "My lord," he stammered on a whisper through bleeding lips. "I meant no disrespect, truly I did not. Please forgive me."

  The warlord hauled Bethel to his feet by his shirtfront and though Bethel was as tall as Lodestok, he still looked a stripling beside the huge Vaksh. Lodestok drew the boy's face very close to his and bared his teeth.

  "You think I fear a girl?"

  There was incredulity, as well as fury, in the deep voice. Lodestok backed the stumbling Bethel to the bed, waiting until the boy had no option but to fall back onto it.

  "Stay there!" the warlord snarled.

  He stormed from the pavilion. Bethel put a trembling hand to his bleeding mouth. Jane's words echoed mockingly. Bethel bent his head into his hands. With the savage mood Lodestok was in, Bethel didn't dare move from where he'd been flung. He knew if he put up even token resistance he'd be viciously crushed by superior strength and he was by far too intimidated and physically submissive to precipitate that. He lay there miserably indecisive, very young and helpless. His terror for Sasqua shook him. He licked his bleeding lips again.

  The warlord's familiar footfall sounded and Bethel watched as Lodestok strode back into the pavilion, his eyes glittering with the unnatural and terrifying brilliance the boy had learned
to fear. He stood in the centre of the pavilion, staring across at Bethel.

  "I should not have permitted your maturity," he said in a cold, brittle tone. "It is, however, our custom, and, for better or worse, you are now a Churchik man. We shall see if you can respond as one, shall we not?" The words were biting. Bethel couldn't meet the warlord's gaze and blinked rapidly, aware of threatening tears. He blinked harder to stall them. "Get up, little petal, and make yourself useful. Pour us both more wine!"

  Force of habit made Bethel obey. Even in his deepest misery and despair, he passively responded to any order the warlord barked at him. He got to his feet, stooped to pick up the goblet Lodestok had flung down, poured the wine, and handed the full goblet back to the warlord before edging back to the other side of the pavilion.

  As he did, he heard a noise outside the pavilion entrance. Lodestok looked over at Bethel with a distinctly cruel smile on his lips, watching the boy closely when Bethel caught his breath at the sight of Sasqua. She was in Sarssen's hard grip and she looked very frightened. Bethel took an involuntary step forward.

  "I would not if I were you," came the cold thought in his head. He tilted his head and then swung round, his eyes wild in a white face.

  "Who are you?" He mindspoke without thinking.

  "Who do you think I am?" came the cool, detached voice.

  Bethel looked instinctively at Sarssen. Though he didn't connect the voice with the warrior, he saw the warning frown in Sarssen's eyes and stood still, only brushing his sleeve across his eyes. He didn't miss the warrior's slight shake of the head. Lodestok strode over to Sasqua. He deliberately towered over her, at his most menacing. The girl hadn't been at close quarters with the warlord before, so the power emanating from him overwhelmed her. She dropped a curtsey and bent her head.

  The warlord threw his goblet at Bethel who missed it, it clanged on the ground near the bed and wine spilled red over the carpet square. Bethel scuffed at it with his boot, then, moving away, his eyes met Sasqua's. The warlord saw the exchanged glance. His expression hardened.

  "A charming curtsey, child," he said, at his silkiest. He took Sasqua's chin in one hand and tilting her head roughly, stared down at her consideringly. "Do you find this face so appealing, little flower?" he asked, his voice dropping and too gentle. He looked over at Bethel. Sasqua's eyes widened but she made no move. "Answer me, boy!"

  "At the time of maturity, yes, my lord." The warlord turned the girl's head from side to side.

  "And later, petal, days later?"

  Lodestok let the girl's head drop. He turned, walked casually to Bethel, took the boy's chin in a painful grasp and forced Bethel to face him. His voice was frigid.

  "Do not lie to me again, boy, will you?" Bethel felt he could scarcely breathe. As his chin was held, he was struck hard across the cheeks by powerful back-handers that made his head spin. "Look at me, boy!" The warlord's voice was so soft, Bethel's stomach seemed to turn over. The boy reluctantly obeyed. Lodestok read the answer to his question in the frightened eyes.

  "I see," was his comment, awful in its quiet anger. "I, on the other hand, do not see anything appealing at all. We shall have to get rid of her charms, shall we not?"

  As he spoke, Lodestok thrust Bethel to one side and strode over to Sasqua, deliberately pulling her at the same time as he drew his knife. She began to cry. When he lunged forward and tried to scream at the warlord, Bethel suddenly felt hands of steel hold him back, and when he tried incoherently to plead with the warlord he found he could only give gasps. He frantically twisted in the hands that gripped him. Lodestok glanced across at the struggling boy, the cruel smile twisting his lips.

  "You will not enjoy her again, boy. No man will. You shall see, little flower, how I deal with women."

  The warlord bent his head and raised his knife. He didn't see Sarssen swing the boy round to face him, still holding him in a strong grasp. The warrior made sure Bethel couldn't see. But Bethel heard.

  ~~~

  Sarssen very gently carried Sasqua to his pavilion. She'd stopped screaming. Her hands were up to her face. She trembled with pain and shock. Sarssen laid her gently on his bed and let her head fall onto the cushions. He poured out a goblet of wine that he liberally dosed with quineth and orlos, then went to sit beside Sasqua, put her hands round the goblet and guided it to her mouth. He lifted her with care so she could lean on his shoulder, aware any jarring would harm her. Sasqua shrank from him.

  "I will not harm you, child," he said calmly. "Drink, it will help deaden the pain."

  She obeyed, though tears dripped into the wine. While she drank, the warrior quietly stroked her hand. He held her against him for a long time. When the weeping eased, Sarssen heard a faint whisper.

  "I have pain. What has he done?" Sarssen found it difficult to meet the eyes of one so hurt and so young.

  "He has cut you about badly, child, but you can count it a blessing you are still alive under the circumstances. I have done what I can for the meantime." Sasqua responded to the pressure that made her drain the goblet.

  "I care for Beth," she murmured, turning up her tear-stained face to Sarssen's. He nodded understanding.

  "Is the pain easier, child?" She nodded. "That is good. Why do you care so for him?"

  "So gentle and unlike us, my lord. I do not think Beth could hurt anyone. He wanted me. He said so." Sarssen heaved a sigh.

  "Yes child, I know, but it was ill-judged of you both."

  Sasqua lay still in his arms, then asked in a breaking voice, "My lord, how badly am I hurt?"

  "You are seriously cut, child, and badly need the services of a healer. That is why you will leave soon. You understand you cannot come back to this camp, child, do you not?" The warrior saw frightened comprehension in the pale eyes. "The warlord will execute you, girl, you must believe that."

  Sarssen made her drink another goblet of drugged wine, before he wrapped her in a voluminous black cloak and pulled the hood firmly over her flaxen head. The warrior skirted the main camp with Sasqua in his arms, a process that took them over an hour. The girl shivered but made no sound. Sarssen finally reached a well-travelled trail and here he laid Sasqua on the ground, telling her to stay quiet. He took a few paces forward and waited a moment.

  "Jane," he called softly. "Jane."

  A thickset man emerged from behind a thicket. He led a horse.

  "Good man," said Sarssen thankfully, a hand going to Jane's shoulder. "As you see, this was necessary. The girl is badly savaged so can only ride sidesaddle. You will have to go slowly, my friend, because she bleeds despite what I have tried to do. You cannot risk going to the city either, Jane, because they will shoot first and ask questions later - apart from that, it is too far. You will have to leave her a distance away, but on the guard circuit, so I do not expect you back before earlysun at the soonest. We can only hope the child is found and rescued some time in the very early morning."

  Sasqua was carefully lifted to the saddle. A whimper escaped her as she sat. Her face was white, her lips bloodless. She sat motionless. Sarssen spoke gently.

  "Jane will take you to the outskirts of the nearest Cartokian city, child, where we must leave you to fend for yourself." He handed her a pouch. "Hide that," he advised, watching as she clumsily slid it under the cloak. "There is enough money there to help you for your first cycles in a new world. I regret we can do no more for you, child. Do you understand why you have to go?"

  "Yes, my lord," she whispered brokenly.

  "Then the gods guide you, child, to those who can help and care for you." Sarssen turned to Jane. "On your way, Jane."

  He didn't move until he saw Jane and the girl disappear into darkness. Then he swung on his heel and strode quickly back to his pavilion, his mind full of anxiety for Bethel.Ver 3.0

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