One morning, as Sarehl limped from a meal in front of the fire, Kaleb called to him. He responded with a cheerful wave. As Kaleb drew closer, Sarehl thought the little healer looked unusually grave and met the sombre eyes with sudden concern mirrored in his own. Kaleb gently took one of Sarehl's arms, suggesting quietly that they return to their tent, so, amicably, Sarehl turned and they went at his pace in silence. Looking thoughtfully at Kaleb, Sarehl eased himself onto the mattress.
"What are you trying to tell me, kindest of friends?" he asked, a trifle uneasily. Kaleb gave a bleak smile and pulled out a stool.
"This isn't easy for me to say, Sarehl, but it's time you knew. Bethel's alive." Sarehl's look back at him was measured and intent.
"How long have you known?" Kaleb fidgeted.
"A season, Sarehl. Terrin told us of him."
"Why haven't you told me?"
"You weren't ready to be told the truth," was Kaleb's blunt reply.
"Tell me now," said Sarehl, his voice low.
"Lodestok's got him."
"Gods," whispered Sarehl looking away, such pain in his eyes Kaleb actually winced. "How long's he had him?" There was a distinct break in the deep voice.
"Nearly two cycles." Kaleb poured out two goblets of wine and handed one to Sarehl.
"How's he survived such brutality?" whispered Sarehl, absently taking the goblet.
"That we don't know. His courage is obviously equal to your own."
"The warlord takes boys. Is that what he's done with Bethel?"
"Yes."
"And he still has him now?"
"Yes." Sarehl was white and his eyes distressed.
"For how long will he want him?" The anguish in the voice was unbearable. Kaleb expected this to be hard. It was.
"Sarehl, the warlord usually keeps a boy for no more than a day or two, but, contrary to all expectations, he's kept Bethel for nearly two cycles. We believe he's obsessed by the boy. It's what may save his life."
"What life?" threw back Sarehl. "He's a toy and must wonder from day to day whether he'll be alive on the morrow. Oh gods, I wish Lodestok had killed him."
Ensore quietly entered. Sarehl gave a gasp and abruptly dropped the goblet.
"What in the gods -?" the forester began.
"Bethel," said Kaleb succinctly.
Sarehl sat huddled in his cloak, seemingly unaware of the two men beside him. He began to weep. There were no deep wrenching sobs, the tears just rolling down his cheeks without Sarehl even being conscious of them. His two friends respectfully bent their heads and waited, both men aware they'd never seen Sarehl weep with grief as he now did. They felt helpless. The tears stopped as quickly as they'd come, Sarehl's voice barely audible. Kaleb filled Sarehl's goblet and held it down.
"Thank you for telling me, Kaleb. I know it wasn't easy."
"Drink the wine," said Ensore calmly. "It'll steady you. We know what the boy means to you, Sarehl, and we'd have done anything not to have to tell you this. I'm so deeply sorry."
"Beth -," Sarehl's voice broke as he stumbled over the name. "Such a dreamy, gentle and innocent boy. Or," he added, profound sadness in his voice, "he was. He was the sweetest boy."
"Sarehl, he's still alive. That tells its own tale. Perhaps he has more of you in him than you think. He must be a very courageous boy."
"So Kaleb said." Sarehl rubbed a hand across his scar, then drank again. "There's nothing we can do for him, is there?"
"Not at this time," said Kaleb, rising. "We did think of alternatives, but the boy's well guarded. We wouldn't be able to reach him."
"Does Dase know?"
"Not yet."
"I can't tell him. He won't entirely understand. Should I -." Sarehl broke off.
"No you shouldn't," interrupted Ensore, exchanging glances with the healer. "I'll tell the boy all he's needful of knowing. You need have no worries." Ensore went on. "And you're not to fret over this, Sarehl. Now you know, there's nothing you can do. Just be thankful the lad's alive."
"I must I suppose," whispered Sarehl, in a disconsolate tone.
Ensore quietly got to his feet. His hand rested briefly on Sarehl's shoulder. He signalled to Kaleb as he left the tent, knowing the healer followed him, and then he simply stood silently beside Kaleb, unwilling to say anything about the grief he'd just witnessed. He ran a hand across his chestnut beard. It was only the sigh from the healer that made Ensore look quickly down. He didn't recall seeing Kaleb's shoulders look as stooped as they were now.
"Kaleb, don't blame yourself. He had to know about Bethel sooner or later."
"I accept that," muttered Kaleb, adding fiercely, "Never has Sarehl wept on his own behalf as he now cries for that boy. It shakes me in a way I haven't experienced for cycles. I just wish there was something we could do."
"There is," said Ensore. "You can help him adjust and accept as no one else can. Even with the best will on Ambros, I don't have, as you do, the necessary skills to help relieve Sarehl's agony of mind."
Kaleb hesitated, then said tentatively, "It's as if Sarehl actually senses, or even experiences, what his brothers go through - a heightened sense if you will. I wonder if it's that unusual ability that makes him have such cruel nightmares because he lives things as others don't." Kaleb scratched a cheek. "It's very hard to explain."
"No," said Ensore quietly. "Ongwin said something very like it not long ago, as if Sarehl actually anticipates as well. It's an oddity as part of a very unusual man."
"I'm glad I'm not the only one who feels these things," muttered Kaleb, a hand going across his eyes.
Sarehl and Ensore didn't discuss Bethel again. Though Ensore sometimes saw pain reflected in the black eyes, he never knew if it was Sarehl's legs, or distress for his brother that caused it. He'd learned early that Sarehl withdrew noticeably into himself whenever his family was mentioned. Anyone who didn't know the man may have thought perhaps Sarehl no longer cared. Ensore knew better. He just concentrated on teaching Sarehl to ride, even though the man was only able to sit astride for very short periods to begin with, and at other times he kept his discussions to military or general matters.
~~~
Six weeks after Eli and his guard joined them in the camp, Ensore became aware Sarehl walked tall in a way none had seen him do, the stooped frailty associated with the man for so long gone. His frame looked less gaunt, he tired less easily and his limp was less heavy. Sarehl looked younger too, his eyes keen and alert, and most pleasing of all for the healer and the foresters, was to hear the ready laugh as summer fully came to central Ambros. Ensore had much pleasure from Sarehl's companionship. He dreaded the inevitable and looming separation.
As they wandered amicably through the brush this afternoon, Ensore was unusually silent and preoccupied.
Sarehl looked across at him, asking in his gentle way, "What is it, Ens?"
"You're so good for me, young friend, do you realise that?"
"Why's that? I know friendship's a rare and precious gift - I cherish ours." Ensore pulled at his beard.
"So do I. It's just that where I come from, as Kaleb's probably told you, all life is rigidly structured and my existence is wrapped in protocol. Once I leave here I'll scarcely be able to breathe without causing anxiety to my guard." Ensore stopped walking and leaned against a tree, his eyes closing and a wistful sigh escaping him. Sarehl rested likewise, only his eyes remained thoughtfully on the man opposite.
"Is it so bad?"
"Stifling," assured Ensore. "It's been so from the time of my birth and my acceptance by the Curule and Cu-Imans as Chamah-Elect. I was barely a season old. Since then my every breath was monitored and every move I made guarded and analysed. I must confess it was a relief to escape that. Here, with you and the others, I've felt more alive than I've done in all my twenty-nine cycles. You don't give a damn about my birth, or my titles, or anything material associated with me, do you?"
"No, I don't." Sarehl sounded apologetic. "I don't know about privilege by birth,
so how can I care about it in others? I do, though, care that you're allowed to continue to breathe, and I'll tell Ongwin so." There was a distinct look of mischief in the dark eyes that met opening and rueful gray ones.
"In Dakhilah, I could never relax as I'm able to do here, nor is it easy to feel able to trust. With you, Sarehl, there's always trust, isn't there?"
"Always," replied Sarehl simply.
"You've no expectations of me, have you?"
"None at all. You're a man like any other." Ensore ran his hand through his thick and wavy chestnut hair.
"There you see, my friend, is the difference between your people and mine. To you, I'm Ensore, nothing more nor less. To my guard and my people, I'm not just a mortal man. The son of the Chamah is many things to his people, but he doesn't exist as an individual in his own right."
"He does to me," said Sarehl quite softly. "And he always will. He's Ensore."
"That's why," went on Ensore deliberately, "I'll return to wherever you are, as often as I can." He paused. "Too often those in my position don't have friends, such as you, Kalor and Kaleb, to whom they can turn. They become remote objects, at the will of their people."
"You won't," objected Sarehl. "You've already been outside your country longer than any Chamah before you and for long enough to have other perspectives on life. You may well change the very structure of the society that bred you. I know if Ortok should ever exist again, it'll be a city that'll not just be one of learning. There'd always be an armed force ready to defend it." Sarehl hesitated, then continued thoughtfully, "Ensore, experience teaches us, painfully, that perhaps change has to come and may in the long term be for the best. I don't know if that's so, because I find it difficult to perceive anything seriously wrong with the way Ortok was structured.
Perhaps it was that we believed too easily in the inherent goodness of Ambrosians and that was our fatal and misguided mistake. We believed, too, that reason would always prevail. We learned that's simply not so. Maybe what you and yours have learned will help to make Dakhilans more outward looking and receptive to new ideas, as will Samars. We'll all be forced to change."
Ensore's frown lifted as he straightened and looked ahead. He joined Sarehl who limped forward, linked arms with him and together they retraced their steps, chatting and gesticulating. Ongwin saw them return to the camp and smiled as he watched them argue, laugh and then laugh some more.
Two days later Ensore woke Daxel earlier than usual, telling the boy to hasten because there was much to do in the way of preparation if they were to move north shortly. Daxel scampered about obeying all the orders flung at him, later collapsing by the fire that was now only used for cooking for the midsun meal. The boy was very quiet all morning, his eyes going to the tall forester in a wistful way every so often.
Ensore came to the fireside with a full plate in one hand and a goblet in the other. He stood quietly above Daxel, staring thoughtfully down at him.
"Have you eaten, lad?" he asked calmly.
Daxel looked up and then down quickly, nodding his head. Ensore got down beside him and stretched himself out comfortably so that he could apply himself to his food. Daxel kept his head lowered. Ensore thought the boy's shoulders were bowed.
"Lad," he said, after he'd taken the edge off his hunger. He stared pensively at the young expectant face, seeing behind the bright eyes the fear that Daxel thought he might still be left behind. "We're leaving tomorrow for the northwest." Ensore saw the quivering lips and added quickly, "Yes, lad, you're coming with me, so you needn't look so like an anxious pup." Replete, Ensore rose and took two strides directly to Daxel. "You're to obey me implicitly in all things after we leave your brother, Dase. Sarehl's entrusted you to my care and I take that responsibility very seriously. You're extremely precious to Sarehl, lad. Do you understand?"
Black eyes, so like Sarehl's, looked directly and unflinchingly into Ensore's, the forester suddenly conscious how much this boy had grown in one and a half cycles. Ensore was also acutely aware, that even with his height, Daxel was still only a boy and very vulnerable. He waited for the deep gruff voice to answer him.
"Yes, I understand."
"You'll find, at times, I'm preoccupied and at those times you'll also obey both Eli and Ongwin, without hesitation."
"Yes." Perceptive gray eyes held the dark ones for a long moment and then Ensore nodded briskly.
"Then we clearly understand one another." Daxel nodded. "I suggest you spend as much time with your brother as you can. It may be some time before you see him again. Go now!"
~~~
Ensore sought Sarehl who was quietly discussing manoeuvres and the uses of information networks with Eli and Sache. Ensore stood next to them, listening to Sarehl with a good deal of amusement.
"Does your brain ever rest?" he asked. Sarehl paused, turned his head and, seeing Ensore, gave a mischievous grin.
"Never," he responded with a twinkle. "This is merely what you and I chatted about seasons ago."
"You're incorrigible," mocked Ensore, smiling affably at his brother and Sache. "What shall I do to have my wits honed once we're no longer together?" He put a hand on Sarehl's arm as he spoke and saw the younger man turn to face him, a question in his eyes.
"Is it time?"
"Aye, Sar, it is." Sarehl stared across at the forester and put one of his hands over Ensore's.
"I'll miss you," he said, with a good deal of feeling. "You've done so much for me."
"I'll miss you, Sarehl, more than you know." Ensore stood silent and still, then suddenly added, "At least with your idea of couriers we'll be in communication on a regular basis."
"Oh, aye. I'll keep working on the plans and send them to you." Ensore grinned. He gripped Sarehl's shoulders and looked deeply into the black eyes.
"Don't over-stretch your strength, my young friend, and I promise you no harm will come to the boy. May your mission north prosper. I'll await your news with interest."
"You, in turn, will advise me of your progress, Ens, won't you?"
"Constantly seeking your advice, more belike," muttered Ensore. "There's so much to do and remember. I know I'd forget had you not written so much for us."
~~~
They found Kaleb quietly cursing as he screwed lids on bottles and packed away bandages. Giving a sigh, he looked up at the two men.
"Things have got in something of a mess," he explained. "If we're to move at dawn there's much to be done." Ensore and Sarehl looked at each other.
"Who told him?" asked Sarehl. Ensore shrugged.
"How do you know?"
"You can sense the change in people," replied Kaleb, pulling a knot tight with his teeth. He looked up at Ensore. "Is it at dawn tomorrow?"
"Yes, at first light."
"And the boy?"
"He goes with me."
"That's good." Kaleb gave a satisfied smile. "He'll do much better with you, than he would with us. A trek north on a diplomatic mission wouldn't suit him at all."
"I take your point," said Ensore, giving the healer a long look that Kaleb held. "And you, naturally, will go with Sarehl."
"Of course," said the healer affably. "I may expect him to use his commonsense, but it doesn't mean he will, does it?" He heard the indignant intake of breath from Sarehl, but ignored it. "And," he continued, "you've left him in my care, haven't you?"
~~~
Sarehl didn't expect it would be easy to farewell his brother. It wasn't. That evening, Daxel came tentatively to the entrance of Kaleb's tent where Sarehl rested alone.
"Sar," he murmured softly. "Sar, are you awake?"
"Of course I am, little brother. Come in." Sarehl lay on his pallet wide awake, his dark eyes thoughtful. He looked up at the boy who stood beside him, then patted the edge of the mattress invitingly. "Won't you sit with me?" As Daxel did, he leaned forward and flung his arms around his older brother, his head rested on Sarehl's chest. Sarehl held the boy very tightly, whispering gently, "It's all right, Dase, I do unde
rstand. You've been trying to talk with me ever since Ensore told you of the move, haven't you?"
There was a muffled sound, but Daxel made no response. Sarehl remained still, cradling the dark head that slipped into his lap, and waited patiently until the boy lifted his head.
"It's not," Daxel hiccupped as he tried to explain, "that I want to leave you." Sarehl eased Daxel onto the mattress and let the boy lean on his shoulder.
"You don't have to tell me that," he said quietly. He handed the boy a cloth. Daxel coughed twice to clear a husky throat and wiped his cheeks.
"I lost you once, Sar. I can't bear to lose you again." Daxel coughed and rubbed his hand across his nose.
"You won't, Dase," Sarehl assured him. "Communications to be set up will make it so much easier for us to know what's happening, and I promise to write regularly. Ongwin tells me he'll turn you into a fluent correspondent as well." He saw Daxel's face and grinned. "I really think you thought school was finished for you, didn't you?"
"Not with Ongwin around," was the resigned reply. "Ensore's already told me I can expect to spend much of my time studying to make up for lost time." Sarehl changed the subject gently.
"When you're a little older you'll make an excellent courier, Dase. You ride extremely well."
"You can thank Arth for that." There was a long pause. "Where are you going, Sar?" Sarehl took his time answering.
"All," he began slowly, "the Samar city states, but one, have fallen to the warlord. I have to leave the forest, briefly, if I'm to reach Lenten before the Churchik army. It's not far. They won't be any more of a match for Lodestok than we were, but at least they can evacuate in an orderly way. Hopefully they can wait to join up with our new force once it gets further north."
"And after that, big brother, where will you go? Will you come to us?" Sarehl shook his head, unaware that he touched his scar as he'd begun to do when he was thinking.
"Ensore thinks I should move on to Mythos after that."
"Mythos?" echoed Daxel. "Where's that?"
"It's the major city of Cartok. I'm to meet with their ruler, called an Ustomi. His name's Hambe. My appeal for help must be directly to him. He has a very large army indeed, one that's formidable, but even it wouldn't hold the Churchik back by itself. Ensore tells me the Cartokians are fierce fighters and highly disciplined in informal fighting as well. They understand guerrilla tactics." Sarehl gave a sigh and pushed long curly strands from his forehead. Daxel now sat upright and stared very hard at his brother.