"Couldn't it, Kaleb? Think, just think of Terrin's description and what we know. A beautiful child with soulful, purple eyes?" He turned to his brother. "Where were the slave pens, Eli?"
Eli looked sideways at his brother, but described the pens' location with such accuracy and clarity, Ensore had no doubts about who the warlord's boy was. Sarehl had been placed beside a pen that once held his beloved younger brother. Suddenly, their friend's appalling nightmares came into sharp, cruel focus. It became clear that Bethel must have been removed from a pen before Sarehl was lifted and taken a distance away to where he was left to die, and the boy taken, presumably, to the warlord. Kaleb was quite pale and his voice shook.
"Not that, please the gods! Not now, when he's doing so well."
"That's the recurring nightmare, Kaleb, isn't it, always hearing the boy next to him and unable to help. Now we know."
"Would someone like to tell me what's going on?" Eli asked, a slightly irritated note to his voice. He and the other men listened in silence as Ensore spoke. No one spoke after him for a long time. It was Kaleb who broke the quiet.
"Sarehl described him as not just a physically lovely boy, but as very gentle and sweet-tempered. Why is it that life must be such a cruel irony?"
"How the gods do we tell Sarehl?" demanded Eli. Ensore shook his head.
"We don't."
"He'll have to be told," said Kaleb sadly, "but not yet. Ensore's quite right. Give me more time to help Sarehl continue to rebuild his strength. He's too emotionally fragile still to have to confront this. Ens, promise me you'll keep your men quiet about this, with nothing said to either brother. Dase - that poor child only now shows signs of recovery."
"Nothing will be said," said Eli sharply. "Be assured of that." Ensore stared across to Terrin.
"You said, at that stage, the lad was healthy?"
"Yes, my lord. I think he has a wretched life, but he's managed to survive." He paused. "He looked very frightened and intimidated, but that could've been because a warrior had him in a strong grip round his neck." He saw Ensore's look. "The child wears a slave torc, my lord, a very richly ornamented one. He also wears a gold chain about the ankles. He couldn't run to me and I'd no time to fight for him."
"Where in the camp was this?" demanded Ensore, turning his head to Kalor who offered him more wine. His brother intervened hastily.
"He may have strengths his older brother knows nothing about," suggested Eli, reorienting the conversation adroitly.
"That's almost certain if he's living with Lodestok," was Ensore's dry comment. He eyed Terrin speculatively before his glance transferred to Eli then back again. "Did you get the boy's name, Terrin?"
"No, my lord, but I can find out easily enough."
"Do that, Terrin, and let me know."
"Aye, my lord."
No one felt inclined for further conversation and individually the foresters and riders dispersed, to leave Kaleb and Ensore alone.
"It's Bethel, isn't it?" asked the healer heavily.
"I don't think there can be any doubt," agreed Ensore.
"There's nothing we can do to help the boy now the warlord's got him, is there?" Ensore shook his head.
"If Lodestok's chosen to keep the boy as a slave, as it seems he has, the child will be carefully guarded. The warlord takes good care of his own."
"Will he survive, do you think?"
"Sarehl did," responded Ensore. "We can only hope this lad, having been with the warlord for a cycle or so, does too."
"What the boy must have gone through."
"Don't!" said the forester curtly. "He must have adjusted to some degree or he wouldn't still be alive. It sounds to me as if he's every bit as courageous as his eldest brother."
The two men sat in silence, watching the fire die and mulling thoughts over to themselves. Finally, Ensore stirred, and, standing, stretched before bidding the healer a restful sleep. Ensore noticed Terrin on duty outside his tent and smiled at him in a resigned fashion.
"Good night, Terrin."
"Good night, my lord."
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
At first light, Daxel stirred because he heard the forester moving about in the tent. He yawned, but made no effort to rise. Ensore walked over to the campfire, acknowledged the early morning salutes of his guards and squatted stiffly in front of the blaze. Eli was already there, stirring a large pot with one hand and drinking heartily from a mug held with the other.
"Mug of spiced mead, brother?" he enquired cheerfully, grinning across at Ensore.
"Aye," responded the forester rather absently. "You're very bright for so early in the morning," he added, stifling a yawn. He took the mug. "Thank you."
"Where's the boy?" Ensore took a mouthful before answering.
"Probably still asleep."
"I'd have thought this lot would've woken him," suggested Eli, stirring the huge pot more vigorously.
"Try getting a boy that age out of his bed and see how you do," responded Ensore, drinking deeply and edging closer to the fire. "I know they say this is mid spring, but there's still a bite to the air first thing, isn't there?" Eli looked over his shoulder.
"Old age getting to you, big brother?"
"Don't be cheeky," rebuked his brother with a grin. Eli began ladling from the pot.
"Food up!" he called out loudly. He pushed a bowl towards Ensore, shoving in a spoon just before Ensore picked it up. Eli held out a pot of honey as well. "Pour some of that over it, Ens, and you'll find it very palatable. It's a sort of Norsham porridge, they tell me." Ensore did so, then dipped his spoon into the bowl and took a tentative mouthful.
He looked up surprised and then gave a chuckle, saying teasingly, "So domesticated, little brother? This is very good."
After Ensore completed his meal, he turned his head to study Eli. Aware of the scrutiny Eli turned to face Ensore and smiled in response, though he saw a serious look behind the smile in his elder brother's eyes. He waited in a little trepidation. Ensore's next words made him wince.
"You're going to tell me about the raid Terrin mentioned last night, youngster, aren't you?"
"Oh that," was the insouciant response. "There was nothing in that."
"You will, however, enlighten me."
"There's not much to tell." Ensore felt his brother's nonchalance was studied. He continued to observe Eli who turned back to the fire, saying impatiently, "It was just another raid."
"Apparently not," contradicted Ensore softly. "How could Terrin see Bethel so closely on a typical raid? The boy wouldn't be permitted to wander on the perimeter of the camp. He'd be kept relatively close to his master and under, I'd assume, fairly strict watch." Eli gave a smothered exclamation. "And didn't I hear someone say the lad was guarded and held by a warrior?"
"Gods," swore Eli. "Why can't people leave well enough alone?"
"Because, little brother, I suspect you did something both very silly and foolhardy. Am I correct?" The look Eli cast his brother was half-defiant and half-apologetic.
"Oh aye, we went right into the camp."
Ensore drew in his breath, saying in a voice of quiet control, "Why?" Eli looked surprised.
"To shake them up a little," he replied, fixing Ensore with a grin. "They'd been having it all their way for too long." Ensore didn't return the smile.
"Do you realise the danger that entailed, Eli?" At his irate tone, he saw the look on Eli's face. "Do you, little brother? Is that all you could think to do while I wasn't there?"
"Well, you weren't there," was the almost sulky reply.
Ensore's guards hadn't been privileged to hear their Chamah-Elect dress anyone down for many seasons, but now they listened, in awed and appreciative silence, while Eli had to take what his brother, in exceedingly wrathful tones, had to say. After Ensore fell silent, Eli turned a huffy shoulder and moved away to Ensore's left. Ensore was so angry that for a few moments he did nothing other than glare at Eli's back, then he moved across to his brother and spoke ver
y gently.
"I shouldn't have left you as I did. It was wrong of me. There didn't seem to be any alternative at the time. I feel what Sarehl offers us more than justifies what I did. To be blunt, brother, I'd have done the same thing, purely as one humane person to another." He put a placating hand on Eli's shoulder. Eli spoke very quietly, his hand up to cover his brother's.
"I thought at first we'd lost you, Ens, and I ceased to care. I missed you very much and Kas was gone. I know I acted on the spur of the moment, endangering myself and everyone with me. I'm sorry. I'm just so relieved to find you safe and well." The two brothers stood together, outlined against a lightening dawn sky.
"No harm was done," said Ensore, heaving a tired sigh. "At least you found the boy."
"You're not telling -."
"No, "interrupted Ensore. "Sarehl needs time. He's very fond of that boy who's as a son to him, and at the moment..." The forester's voice trailed off, then he began again. "You'll come to our discussion this morning, won't you? I'd like to hear your opinion. And bring Ongwin. He should be there as the most senior man. Our father would be profoundly relieved he survived to continue as guide to his sons, wouldn't he?"
As he spoke and saw the sudden grin lighten Eli's rather tired expression, Ensore lifted his hand from his brother's shoulder and moved away towards Kaleb's tent. Eli became aware of someone next to him and looked around to find Ongwin calmly surveying him.
"What's got him so rattled, Eli?"
"That damned boy with Lodestok," Eli replied, watching the older man stretch.
"Is there anything else?"
"Yes, damn, there is. Here's Ensore playing nurse to a boy and deeply concerned about that crippled man. I accept everything told me yesterday, but it doesn't explain why he's waited here for so long. Can you think why?" Ongwin shrugged.
"He almost seems to feel obliged, doesn't he?" he mused. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man of middle years with a ready smile and sparkling eyes.
"How can someone like a Chamah feel obliged?" asked Eli surprised.
"An unusual emotion for a Chamah, do you think?"
"Well it is, isn't it?" Ongwin chewed on the end of his beard, a smile touching eyes suddenly sombre.
"Possibly, but this man, Sarehl you call him, makes our Chamah think, that much is clear. Perhaps Ens feels there's something he can learn from him."
"Unlikely," snorted Eli, turning away but adding, "No offence to the man, of course, but what could he teach a Chamah?"
Ongwin kept his observations to himself, watching as Eli began to collect discarded bowls then walk away. He shook his head at the young man and went about his business.
Ongwin was consumed by curiosity. He'd served under Ensore's father for most of his youth and into middle age. It was he who'd been instrumental in getting the Chamah's children to immediate safety, while he remained. He stayed until he saw the Chamah's execution begin at the hands of Churchik warriors; only then did Ongwin tearfully follow the young ones into exile. Like many of the Dakhilan Curule who'd also escaped, Ongwin was determined he'd live to see the day the Chamah's son came home to his rightful consecration and inheritance.
What now intrigued Ongwin was Ensore's behaviour over Sarehl. He was less surprised than Eli by Ensore's care of a child, the older man seeing immediately how paternal that was. It amused Ongwin that the boy could see no fault in his mentor.
But Sarehl was different. Ongwin watched quietly from the background. Neither Eli nor Ensore spoke to him of the young man, but Ongwin was a shrewd observer and he noticed a number of things about this scarred northman. Ongwin saw an exceptionally tall and gaunt young man, scarcely past youth, who'd suffered much. The scar that healed on Sarehl's face might well have killed him, and the dragging limp with sticks suggested the man still recovered from grievous injuries.
Ongwin studied the young face too. It was fine-boned, though there was a strong jaw-line under the black silky beard; the mouth was firm and the eyes deeply thoughtful. A pensive, almost sad aura clung to Sarehl in an indefinable way. Though the young man limped heavily he was graceful, and Ongwin noticed, as Ensore had done before him, that Sarehl had dignity. Ongwin could understand why Ensore was drawn to Sarehl; there was considerable charm about the young man, with very obvious mutual respect and affection between the two men. At one stage Sarehl looked over at Ongwin, aware of the older man's scrutiny, but the return look he gave, though quite courteous and inoffensive, was long and uncomfortably penetrating. There was certainly something quite different about Sarehl, of that Ongwin was sure.
This morning, as he sat on the seat provided in Ensore's tent, Ongwin saw Sarehl quietly survey him. He watched as the young man limped painfully in, without sticks for support, and eased himself onto a seat very slowly. As their eyes met, Sarehl's black eyes smiled in a gentle welcome and instinctively Ongwin found himself responding. Eli lounged at his ease, while Ensore and Kaleb were seated side by side, their heads bent. Ongwin felt this was going to be an instructive morning. The foresters sat around comfortably, simply ready to again listen to proposals.
As Ensore looked up, he heard a sound behind him, rose and crossed to a pallet at the other side of the tent. Ongwin hadn't seen the somnolent form lying there, so didn't expect to see a boy stumble to his feet in obedience to Ensore's command. He watched with interest. The boy was knuckling his eyes one minute, then catching a tunic thrown at him the next.
"Gods," muttered Ensore, looking hard at Daxel. "I thought you'd got up long ago."
Daxel yawned and pulled the tunic over a very tousled head. Ongwin noticed the boy was already very tall for one so young and very thin like his older brother. On a second look, Ongwin realised how very like Sarehl in appearance this boy was, with the same black curly hair and black eyes. However, where the boy was vital, Sarehl was subdued. Ongwin caught Sarehl's eyes again and held out his hand.
"I'm Ongwin."
"I'm Sarehl. Ensore's spoken of you." Sarehl shook the hand, then released it. "He has much respect for you. You are, I gather, an old family friend."
"Servant of the late Chamah." With a smile at the older man, Sarehl turned towards Daxel.
"What are you doing?" he queried, watching as the boy suddenly dived to the ground to retrieve his belt. "Buckle that on, lad, and come here to meet a friend of Ensore's. Ongwin, my younger brother Dase. Dase, this is Ongwin."
Ongwin noticed the boy had an openness about him and no courtly affectation as afflicted so many Dakhilah young. He briefly took the proffered hand, noting how the boy bent his head as a mark of deference from a younger man to an older man, then, as soon as the boy was introduced, he took a step back.
Ensore pulled over a table. Eli got up to help and together they got the table to where the healer wanted it. As soon as they were all seated around it, Kaleb poured wine into five goblets, though Ongwin, watching idly, saw the healer tip a powder unobtrusively into one of the goblets. It was quietly mixed in with the wine and the goblet handed directly to Sarehl before the other goblets were distributed. As Ongwin observed how closely the healer watched Sarehl, he suddenly realised the young man was still undergoing treatment and began to wonder just how seriously injured Sarehl had been.
Ensore and Sarehl busily spread sheets of figures and drawings out across the table. They also had two unrolled maps with goblets placed on the ends to keep them open. Ensore looked up with a smile.
"Sarehl and I've been talking over a period of weeks now," he began, "on how we might possibly do more damage to the Churchik army." He leaned across to Sarehl and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You explain to them, my friend, and see what they have to say."
Ongwin focused his attention on Sarehl. As Sarehl talked, Ongwin felt drawn to what the young man proposed. He thought the old Chamah would have entirely approved of Sarehl. The young man spoke of organisation, concerted attacks, specific targets, reconnaissance and leadership. He had a sound grasp of strategy and tactics and clearly understood the need fo
r manoeuvrability, quick and reliable communications, and the availability and accessibility of supplies. For one who'd served all his life, until recently, in a highly structured society, Ongwin found Sarehl's advice a relief. He could have blessed this young man. The disorderly rabble down south who went on random sorties against the enemy gave Ongwin nightmares.
So he sat back and listened, every so often nodding his head quickly with approval. He also watched Ensore who'd interpolate comments as he deemed fit, supporting Sarehl in his use of figures and drawings to illustrate arguments. Ongwin thought Sarehl well comprehended the enormity of what he proposed, but he seemed completely undaunted and had an extraordinarily flexible mind that could absorb and adapt at truly incredible speed.
Ongwin also noticed that every so often, when Sarehl seemed to slow down or blink rapidly, Kaleb was there to offer the goblet with the drugged wine. Soon after Sarehl drank, Ongwin would see the tired strain fade from the black eyes that sparkled anew with infectious enthusiasm. The young man was clearly still convalescent. Ongwin suspected that was why Ensore was still here and hadn't returned north.
Ongwin wondered how long Ensore was forced to wait before Sarehl recovered to the stage he was at today, though, with each passing minute, he felt the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. He began to understand why Ensore respected this young man. Sarehl's brain was like a machine that worked continually in high gear, his thoughts and presentation clear, concise and devastatingly sensible. He used unarguable logic. He was a highly perceptive and intelligent man, and also seemed quite oddly and acutely intuitive too, as if he sensed what another thought and could counter it instantly.
And, reflected Ongwin, raising his goblet, Sarehl was right about all the wasted energy and resources of ill-disciplined groups seeking nothing other than revenge. Ongwin watched as Kaleb gave Sarehl his goblet yet again, amused by the young man's hard look at the liquid and then at the healer.
"Have you -?" Sarehl began, breaking from the discourse he'd embarked upon. Kaleb threw up a hand.
"Now would I?" he protested. "Can you in all honesty tell me there's anything wrong with your wine?"
"No," said Sarehl suspiciously, "but why are you making me drink so frequently?"
"My affection for you, boy. What else?" returned Kaleb.