"Father," she whispered. "Do we sleep in those?" Autoc glanced down surprised, then he began to laugh.
"Yes, little one, we do. Jaim's quarters are equally rich."
Chlorien drew in her breath. Her eyes took in the painting and plaster ornamentation of the ceilings and walls and the floors painted in a similar style. The furniture looked delicately constructed but Autoc, throwing himself into a chair, found it was remarkably sturdy. He sat back and watched Chlorien's tentative exploration of the rooms with amusement.
A disturbance at the door made them both swing round, Chlorien from the far room and Autoc swivelling in the chair, his eyebrows raised. He watched as two young women entered, three boys following. They went to the far corner of the room Autoc was in and he watched as they stood around a large bath set into the floor and turned taps, hands in the water on and off to check for temperature. The mage thought appreciatively about desert aquifers and the desertmen's skill in water conservation and recycling. It was impressive. The women set washing accessories round the bath then effaced themselves, while the boys stayed until the bath was full. One laid out clothes on the mage's bed, another laid out towels, and the third draped robes over a chair he drew close to the bath. Then they, too, quietly left. Autoc walked calmly over to Chlorien.
"Off with everything, lad, and in you go," he said on a chuckle. She got carefully in the bath, then promptly sank it was so deep.
"What if they return?"
"Keep well down," advised the mage.
Autoc gathered up her clothes and threw them in a heap on a chair, her boots neatly under it. Then he lounged back in his chair, his half-shut eyes watching Chlorien as she idly splashed. When a boy re-entered the chamber with brushes and a jar of perfumed oil, he glanced across at Chlorien who promptly sank under the water again. The boy bowed to Autoc as he laid what he carried on another chair. He nodded at the clothes.
"We humbly ask that you accept this clothing, master. It's hoped it fits, even though you're so tall. There are clothes for the boysun as well."
The mage smiled gently at the serving boy, saying quietly, "We thank you, lad, and those who make us the offer. We gratefully accept." The boy bowed again then withdrew.
Autoc thoroughly enjoyed his bath, singing lustily and wallowing to such an extent the water over-lapped the tub and spilled onto the floor. As Chlorien quickly dried herself, she watched the mage, thinking of the scholar from what now seemed so long ago, and her heart gave a slight twist before she deliberately looked away. She wrapped the robe around her then sat with a sigh of relief.
She shook her head to let the curls feather, then walked over to the nearer bed to look at the clothes carefully laid out and considered them for a moment. With a shrug she pulled them on, assuming all the smaller clothes were for her. The pants were followed by an under vest, long and fitting, with long sleeves. She tucked it into her pants and stood staring at the bed. The robe, that she lifted next, was very long. It went from throat to thigh, was split up the sides almost to her waist, had tight wrist cuffs and a high stand up collar. She wasn't sure if she was comfortable, but she was resigned.
She stood still, her eyes resting on a brush. She moved to pick it up, heard a movement and turned to see a serving boy enter with boots in his arms. He eyed Chlorien speculatively, but as the others had done, he made Autoc a deep obeisance before he left the chamber.
The mage continued to lounge comfortably, his eyes lighting on the boy and watched idly as Chlorien stooped over the boots, then lifted a pair. They were deep purple, almost black, soft leather and they were calf-length. She pulled them on. She flexed her feet, aware the boots were a little too big but reasonably comfortable. Autoc eyed her in some amusement.
"What a strutting lad you look," he observed. Chlorien grinned across at him. Dressed, Autoc stretched and turned to face Chlorien.
"Fetch one of the brushes, lad."
Chlorien picked up a brush and obediently sat on the bed so the mage, in his usual vague way, could pull and tug at extremely knotty curls. She was very good, sitting in watery-eyed silence until the brush slid easily through her dense mop, then, once the curls were bullied into order, she slipped from the bed and crossed to a window. Autoc took the brush to his hair become very much longer over the cycles and as knotted as Chlorien's. He winced and growled as he brushed.
"Father?"
"Yes, little one?"
"What season is it?"
"Early spring. Damn!" He yelped as he struck another knot. Chlorien came over.
"I'll do it, Father," she said, firmly taking the brush.
"That'll punish me," growled Autoc, as Chlorien began to brush vigorously. He winced again. "Why do you ask, lad?"
"I'm nearly fifteen cycles, aren't I?"
"You were that, little one, two days ago."
"Why are we going to Ice Isle and where is it?" The brush was paused in mid-stroke. When Autoc spoke, the brushing resumed.
"Because I have a mind to go there, child. Why else?"
"You seem very determined to do so, Father. What if the desert lord doesn't let us?"
"We'll have to fly," the mage answered flippantly. The brush came down hard on his head.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was early evening that saw them escorted to a huge dining hall that made Autoc blink. There was marble and crystal everywhere, even the chairs intricately carved from marble. The cups were delicate crystal and feather-light to lift. With an appreciative twinkle, Autoc surveyed the sumptuous assortment that graced the huge carved table.
Chojoh was at the head of the table and rose when he saw Chlorien and the mage pause under the ornate archway at the entrance. Choja sat on his right and a boy, not much older than Chlorien, sat on his left. Beside each was a vacant seat.
"You grace us with your presence, Schol," came the deep, cold voice. "Please be seated beside my son. You, boy, will sit next to the Sophysun's Jochoh."
Serving men came forward to escort them to their seats and once they were seated, the mage looked across opposite to see Jaim eye him, a reluctant twinkle in the Gnosti's eyes that Autoc responded to, the mage thinking at the same time that Jaim looked supremely uncomfortable in his new clothes. Chlorien, however, thought he looked venerable and respectable, but almost got the giggles when he winked conspiratorially at her. The Sophy sat at a table full of people.
It was a very long meal of many courses that gained Jaim's thorough approval. Chlorien ate heartily. She only vaguely followed the conversation that seemed to ebb and flow like a tide around her; she wasn't fully attending to anyone, her eyes coming to rest every so often on Jochoh who sneaked surreptitious looks at her as well. Neither she nor Jochoh was included in the conversations and Chlorien could see he was as bored as she was.
It was during a lull in the talk that Chlorien realised she was being addressed, looked up, and saw a quizzical look in Autoc's eyes.
"I beg your pardon," she mumbled to the Sophy. He merely seemed amused.
"Do you wish to be excused, boy?" he repeated. "Jochoh's about as interested as you." Autoc nodded absently. The Sophy glanced down at the boy next to him. "Look after your guest, Jochoh," he said softly.
Talk turned to the wars in the south of Ambros that Autoc thought seemed unreal while he sat in an atmosphere such as this. He and Jaim became interested listeners, neither making any effort to contribute to the conversation. The mage observed how quiet these people were, how unusual it was for a voice to be raised and realised the measure of the Sophy's anger that he'd earlier raised his voice to his son. Finally, he was addressed by the Sophy.
"And you, Schol, what can you tell us?"
Autoc's blue eyes swept the company contemplatively, all there later commenting on the compelling presence and power that swathed the man like a cloak; mention was made, too, of how perceptive and shrewd those eyes were. He lifted his elegantly decorated cup, quietly studying its design before he spoke.
The Sophy watched him and though
t how calm a man this was, even though he found himself in what was quite clearly a strange environment. Chojoh noted that with quiet satisfaction, as well as the placid assurance of the older man who sat opposite Schol. The Sophy was intrigued by these travellers.
He decided the boy was an enigma. The Sophy had learned much from Choja, including that the boy was allowed to undergo the desert trial but his father let no one near to harm the boy. Chojoh had a tidy mind and he was curious. It was obvious the boy was unusual and talented in some way. The Sophy mused as he listened to the deep, placid voice that began speaking.
"I can't tell you much, other than that we're from the states that were attacked by the southern army."
"The Samar Confederation or from further south?" asked Choja, his eyes fixed to Autoc's face.
"Aye, the Samar states. They're well east of here, beyond Sindabar, and were powerful and rich states of remarkable scholarship." Autoc paused, a sad note to his voice.
"You say were, Schol," commented the Sophy quietly, signalling to a serving man that he wanted more to drink. He smiled and thanked the man who hastened forward.
"Yes." The Sophy heard weariness in the voice as well as grief. "The warlord destroys all in his path. That's something you'd be well advised to remember. He has those who act for him too. Where we came from was a city-state called Ortok. It was annihilated."
"Were you there?"
"No, the lad and I'd left by then, but we met up with survivors and that was enough. We had friends there too. We're travellers, Sophy. My son travels with me. We listen and we learn. I can assure you the Samar states will no longer exist." There was a very long silence before a man further down the table spoke.
"It was from Samar that fine porcelain came, wasn't it?" Autoc lifted his head.
"Aye, it was. Norshami porcelain was exquisite and Ortokian pottery was some of the finest on Ambros."
"A soft blue glaze," went on the voice.
"Ortok was a centre of learning," said an older man next to Jaim. "They had a music Academy that drew students from all over Ambros and had masters who excelled above those from any other states."
"Aye, that's so," agreed Autoc.
"And all that's been destroyed by this warlord we hear of, is that so, Schol?" Autoc stretched.
"It serves no purpose to describe the destruction. That helps no one. Let it suffice, my friends, that you know of cruelty that's unspeakable. The atrocities..." The mage fell silent and sipped from his cup.
"We've heard things," said Choja, filling the gap of an uncomfortable silence. "He takes prisoners as slaves, doesn't he?"
"Oh yes, he does that. They're sent south in slave caravans, chained, starved and brutalised by guards who care not a damn for them. I think," Autoc mused, "I'd rather have died than be subject to slavery in one of Lodestok's caravans." A general murmur swept the hall. It was the Sophy who spoke.
"Where was he moving, Schol? Could you sense his direction?"
"After Samar?" The Sophy nodded. "Samar extends into the north, so that was where he would move so he could completely annihilate the states. He was definitely headed north around a huge forest that stretches for many leagues. He couldn't go through it, because we found it full of refugees from everywhere. He'd take and fire Lenten after he left Ortok. I'm sure Lenten's fallen by now."
"It has," came Choja's quiet voice. "Sometime since. Our sources tell us he's swung north again, though more westerly. Where exactly would that take him?"
"Into the Cartokian kingdom."
"So," mused Chojoh thoughtfully. "He goes north, then will presumably swing fully west. We're not threatened, nor are our trade routes."
"Not yet," said Autoc very gently. All eyes turned to him.
"What are you saying, Schol?" demanded the Sophy. Autoc raised his cup again.
"You mustn't forget he's a man of conquest. Your western trade may be safe for now, but don't expect it to stay that way and don't ever underestimate the warlord. He's a very intelligent man. He'll swing from the north down this way to return to his home in the south and you deceive yourselves if you think he'd treat you any differently from others he's vanquished. This way would be his easiest route. Not only that, he'd appreciate and utilise your desert skills."
"Are you saying, Schol, that he's not a man you could treat with?" asked Chojoh, his eyes never leaving the mage's face. Autoc lifted his head and his eyes met the Sophy's, so much bleakness in the blue orbs that Chojoh got a deep shock. He was shaken.
"The warlord takes all, Sophy. He gives nothing." There was a long silence as everyone absorbed the implications of what they'd heard.
It was Choja who broke the uneasy silence, by asking, "This southern sorcerer we hear about, Schol. Who is he?"
Before Autoc could reply, a lighter voice said questioningly, "Is it true, as rumour has it, that the sorcerer's really a mage of power?"
"I hear of him too," replied Autoc indifferently. "He seems to attract a lot of attention."
"It's said," said Choja carefully, "that the sorcerer and the warlord are closely allied and that one complements the wishes of the other. Do you think this is so, Schol?"
"Maybe," shrugged Autoc dismissively, his eyes fleetingly meeting Jaim's. Choja was the only one who saw the unspoken message that passed between them and he leaned back, a faint smile in his eyes. He didn't participate in any further discussion.
"Can you tell us any more?" asked Chojoh, concern deep in his eyes.
"Not now," answered the mage. "I can only suggest, having seen what the warlord can do, that you consider your own situation carefully and make plans for how you'll act. I can assure you, Sophy," he added with emphasis, "that he'll come, in one guise or another."
"We'll be ready," murmured the Sophy, through gritted teeth.
"I hope," muttered Autoc, in an aside to Jaim, "that they are." Again, it was only Choja who heard.
There was no further comment to be got from Autoc and the old man was even less forthcoming, so the meal came to a meandering conclusion. The Sophy rose, gesturing to all that they follow.
The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, Jaim and Autoc enjoying the entertainment from tribesmen who were powerful dancers and very gifted musicians. The mage thought the women moved their bodies in the sensual way Melas moved at Choice. It brought a sudden twinge of unspeakable grief. He banished the vision he'd last had of Melas as she lay dying and deliberately turned his attention elsewhere.
An hour after festivities began, the mage saw Chlorien and Jochoh hover at the entrance and he signalled to her, conscious as she came and settled next to him that she didn't look as neat as she'd done at dinner. Autoc noticed Jochoh looked as dishevelled and grinned at the thought they'd obviously had a rough and tumble of some sort. Chlorien's eyes were bright when she grinned impudently up at him. She rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh of contentment and closed her eyes.
Chojoh wasn't watching the mummers; he was watching Chlorien and Autoc, his eyes every so often going speculatively to the old man. He saw Chlorien's look up at the mage and didn't miss the depth of affection in Autoc's glance down at the dark head as the boy settled comfortably. The Sophy also saw the large hand protectively and gently stroke the black curls.
Chojoh then studied the old man, his hand thoughtfully stroking his beard. He noticed Jaim wasn't as relaxed as Schol - his eyes constantly roamed the hall as though he perceived a threat somewhere. The Sophy found that interesting, almost as much as the perception and keenness of those tawny eyes if they met his. Chojoh was convinced they weren't the eyes of an old man who wavered on a stick to walk.
Chojoh had no doubt the tall man, who emanated such authority and power, was no ordinary traveller and he suspected Schol and the boy exchanged thoughts. It showed in the way they related to each other. This, thought the Sophy, raised fascinating questions. He was in no rush to decide their futures, though, if the Sophy were honest with himself, he suspected the man called Schol would decide what was t
o happen next. Chojoh was content to wait and learn. He was a very patient man; desert men always were.
The Sophy also dwelled on Choja's obvious respect for Schol, nor did he miss his son's deference. This was unusual in Choja, who was a deeply reserved and taciturn man. That he should so easily befriend a stranger's son was food for thought. Chojoh's lips curled in a smile as he leaned back and paid attention to the performers.
Autoc didn't miss the scrutiny. He accurately assessed what was passing through the Sophy's mind and suspected that Chojoh had guessed more than he'd have liked, but also realised this was inevitable - provided no one guessed that Chlorien was a girl, the mage wouldn't worry too much.
~~~
Days drifted by. Chlorien was happy in Jochoh's company, her timidity soon a thing of the past. She settled into life as if she'd always lived in Indigo among desert people, her understanding of their ways and speech become a part of her. Autoc noticed she was soon treated by everyone she encountered as if indeed she were just another desert boy.
The mage was drawn, as was Jaim, to the library in the palace. There, he perused documents that made him raise an eyebrow because the manuscripts were so ancient and frequently referred to one whom the desert folk clearly revered. Sarequin was a name known to both Gnosti and Shadowlanders. The mage saw children read from, and recite the texts attributed to Sarequin, from antiquity, though he wasn't sure the young knew why they recited their catechisms until they were word perfect. Jaim was likewise intrigued and quite content to listen to the music and to read. Autoc delved deeply into very old archives indeed. It made him thoughtful.
The Sophy didn't say the travellers couldn't leave, but neither did he say they could. Autoc didn't ask, but Jaim did. The answer Choja gave made Jaim blink but left him no wiser.
"The Sophy, sometime ago, called for a meeting of the tribal lords to discuss the rise of the warlord. At this gathering there'll also be a discussion about travellers of any persuasion going through our lands. You'll be told in time."
Jaim sighed, well aware that patience was a virtue in desert society. He told Autoc who also sighed, a slight smile in his eyes.
"You find it tiresome, my friend?" he asked.