Starman: Book Three of the Axis Trilogy

Starman: Book Three of the Axis Trilogy Sara Douglass Epic fantasy in the tradition of Trudi Canavan, Fiona McIntosh and Robert Jordan. StarMan concludes the first Tencendor trilogy with an unexpected and glorious climax.Weakened by their terrible encounter with Borneheld’s men, Axis and his army are forced to march north as Gorgrael breaks through Jervois Landing and invades Tencendor with ice and terror. But under a sky black with Gryphon, Axis discovers that he’s confronting a seemingly invincible enemy.As the Prophecy of the Destroyer hurtles towards fulfilment, Azhure and StarDrifter unravel the mysteries of the Island of Mist and Memory, where they finally confront WolfStar; Faraday moves east to replant the ancient forests of Tencendor; and the Sentinels begin a lonely journey planned for them thousands of years ago.Enveloping all looms the promise of treachery – treachery that threatens to strike into the very heart of Axis and Azhure’s family. Sara Douglass StarMan Book Three of The Axis Trilogy For Lynne, Tim and Frances, and with thanks to Louise Thurtell and Fiona Daniels of HarperCollins for all their hard work on this trilogy. Nothing but idiot gabble! For the prophecy given of old And then not understood, Has come to pass as foretold; Not let any man think for the public good, But babble, merely for babble. For I never whisper’d a private affair Within the hearing of cat or mouse, No, not to myself in the closet alone, But I heard it shouted at once from the top of the house; Everything came to be known. Who told him we were there? Not that gray old wolf, for he came not back From the wilderness, full of wolves, where he used to lie; He has gather’d the bones for his o’ergrown whelp to crack; Crack them now for yourself, and howl, and die. Alfred, Lord Tennyson, from Part II.v of Maud Table of Contents Cover Page (#u0432af05-c97a-5a89-b80f-4504742d2503) Title Page (#uc84d0ddf-2c84-5d8d-a96a-06a3f9db38b4) Dedication (#u051e5744-0649-573b-a441-e5e68e0a91a2) Epigraph (#ua4c7fd38-1e61-5156-aa32-288080d3fe0a) Map (#u68526d9f-eac4-5c23-ae81-31d7775deddf) The Prophecy of the Destroyer (#u60a0de60-875a-5702-9c5d-b1c4ca60cd15) 1 The Day of Power (#ube28b4f7-462e-59bc-81bc-fb98a74de9d8) 2 The Song for Drying Clothes (#u2c0ee129-cc9a-5b93-92ba-a5bf7664b6ff) 3 The Sentinels (#u8afece48-9aac-57f8-a6a7-d556b2be297b) 4 Ice Fortress (#u048e1a3b-4d9f-5fed-a151-a14b0fceeb80) 5 A Holy Crusade (#u32a07331-47c1-5c19-b4fc-9b767186cfd8) 6 Carlon (#u9c4ba7f1-9fc0-5d9d-8906-b0c6ad7b4add) 7 Timozel Plans (#ufc4a5aa2-f9bb-5ffd-87d8-584fa61fdd7c) 8 Spiredore (#ub8e767cf-edbc-57bf-ad3c-5bd5abb1f23a) 9 Jervois Landing (#u725ea73a-ea4a-5d22-86e3-042548e448f6) 10 RuffleCrest Speaks (#u037beab4-697a-5a7d-9a10-a31834074960) 11 The Repository of the Gods (#u582adacb-1ad7-573d-bdac-8137446f1f11) 12 Farewell (#u72509f1a-e9db-5c67-8c20-c6a3c0ba498d) 13 Upstairs Downstairs (#ucce89852-5e26-5576-ad4b-dd13379ae4f9) 14 Goodwife Renkin Goes to Market (#u4d9e553a-2698-5cec-9e98-f548ec728d25) 15 Three Brothers Lakes (#u73258a3c-437f-5b68-adb2-425d765840e1) 16 The Island of Mist and Memory (#u67edabd8-b745-5f7a-8607-7c9f1a5617b0) 17 Temple Mount (#litres_trial_promo) 18 Niah (#litres_trial_promo) 19 Planting (#litres_trial_promo) 20 Brother-Leader Gilbert (#litres_trial_promo) 21 The Sword (#litres_trial_promo) 22 Cauldron Lake (#litres_trial_promo) 23 The Temple of the Stars (#litres_trial_promo) 24 The Fiend (#litres_trial_promo) 25 Chitter, Chatter (#litres_trial_promo) 26 Of Ice and Laughter (#litres_trial_promo) 27 Azhure (#litres_trial_promo) 28 Hilltop Conversations (#litres_trial_promo) 29 Late-Night Conversations (#litres_trial_promo) 30 The Sepulchre of the Moon (#litres_trial_promo) 31 “May We Learn to Live with Each Other” (#litres_trial_promo) 32 Command (#litres_trial_promo) 33 Trap! (#litres_trial_promo) 34 Of Tides, Trees and Ice (#litres_trial_promo) 35 Rivkah’s Secret (#litres_trial_promo) 36 Back to the Sacred Grove (#litres_trial_promo) 37 “Your Tongue is Far Too Sweet”! (#litres_trial_promo) 38 Yuletide (#litres_trial_promo) 39 The Huntress (#litres_trial_promo) 40 The Beat of the Star Dance (#litres_trial_promo) 41 Fernbrake (#litres_trial_promo) 42 Of Death and Inheritance (#litres_trial_promo) 43 Choices (#litres_trial_promo) 44 The Clearance of Ichtar (#litres_trial_promo) 45 Gorgrael Considers (#litres_trial_promo) 46 Gorkenfort (#litres_trial_promo) 47 Sigholt (#litres_trial_promo) 48 The Lake of Life (#litres_trial_promo) 49 Inside the Worship Hall (#litres_trial_promo) 50 The Hunt (#litres_trial_promo) 51 The Grave (#litres_trial_promo) 52 The Roof! (#litres_trial_promo) 53 Minstrelsea (#litres_trial_promo) 54 About the Camp Fire (#litres_trial_promo) 55 The Dream (#litres_trial_promo) 56 Drago (#litres_trial_promo) 57 Talon Spike (#litres_trial_promo) 58 Departure (#litres_trial_promo) 59 Approach to Gorkenfort (#litres_trial_promo) 60 Dreamers in the Snow (#litres_trial_promo) 61 Gorken Pass (#litres_trial_promo) 62 The Necklet (#litres_trial_promo) 63 Urbeth’s Joke (#litres_trial_promo) 64 The Cruel World (#litres_trial_promo) 65 Finger of the Gods (#litres_trial_promo) 66 The Test (#litres_trial_promo) 67 Fire-Night (#litres_trial_promo) 68 Ice Fortress (#litres_trial_promo) 69 Tundra (#litres_trial_promo) 70 “Trust Me” (#litres_trial_promo) 71 Five Handspans of Sharpened Steel (#litres_trial_promo) 72 The Music of the Stars (#litres_trial_promo) 73 Of Deceptions and Disguises (#litres_trial_promo) 74 Faraday’s Gift (#litres_trial_promo) Epilogue Nine years later … (#litres_trial_promo) Glossary (#litres_trial_promo) About the Author (#litres_trial_promo) By Sara Douglass (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) Map (#ulink_19ff584a-2d9f-5d3c-9044-b3476feead21) The Prophecy of the Destroyer (#ulink_03805f6c-0087-5000-936b-a2faec30c60a) A day will come when bora will be Two babes whose blood will tie them. That born to Wing and Horn will hate The one they call the StarMan. Destroyer! rises in the north And drives his Ghostmen south; Defenceless lie both flesh and field Before Gorgrael’s ice. To meet this threat you must release The StarMan from his lies, Revive Tencendor, fast and sure Forget the ancient war, For if Plough, Wing and Horn can’t find The bridge to understanding, Then will Gorgrael earn his name And bring Destruction hither. StarMan, listen, heed me well, Your power will destroy you If you should wield it in the fray ’Ere these prophecies are met: The Sentinels will walk abroad ’Til power corrupt their hearts; A child will turn her head and cry Revealing ancient arts; A wife will hold in joy at night The slayer of her husband; Age-old souls, long in cribs, Will sing o’er mortal land; The remade dead, fat with child Will birth abomination; A darker power will prove to be The father of salvation. Then waters will release bright eyes To form the Rainbow Sceptre. StarMan, listen, for I know That you can wield the sceptre To bring Gorgrael to his knees And break the ice asunder. But even with the power in hand Your pathway is not sure: A Traitor from within your camp Will seek and plot to harm you; Let not your Lover’s pain distract For this will mean your death; Destroyer’s might lies in his hate Yet you must never follow; Forgiveness is the thing assured To save Tencendor’s soul. 1 The Day of Power (#ulink_f0d90676-c7a4-5da0-8afb-6245e4d859bc) It was a long day, the day Axis tried to kill Azhure, then married her. It was a day filled with power, and thus power found it easy to wrap and manipulate lives. The power of the Enchantress – untested and, for the moment, uncontrolled – had dominated the morning. Now, as the Enchantress smiled and kissed her new husband, it lay quiescent, waiting. But as the gate that had imprisoned Azhure’s power and identity had shattered that day, so had other gates shattered, and so other powers had moved – and not all of them welcomed by the Prophecy. As the Enchantress leaned back from her husband, accepting the warmth and love of her friends and family about her, so power walked the land of Tencendor. It would be a long day. Axis pulled the Enchantress’ ring from a small secret pocket in his breeches. He held it up so that all in the room could see it, then he slid the ring onto the heart finger of Azhure’s left hand. It fit perfectly, made only for this woman, and for this finger. “Welcome into the House of the Stars to stand by my side, Enchantress. May we walk together forever.” “Forever?” the GateKeeper said. “You and the Enchantress? For ever? As you wish, StarMan, as you wish.” She laughed, then, from one of the bowls on the table before her she lifted out two balls and studied them. “Forever,” she muttered, and placed them with the group of seven sparkling balls at the front of her table. The Greater. “Nine. Complete. The Circle is complete! At last … at last!” She fell silent, deep in thought. Her fingers trembled. Already he had one child, and more to follow. And then … the other. She held a hand over one of the bowls again, dipped it in sharply, and brought out four more balls. She dropped them into the pile of softly glowing golden balls which represented those who did not have to go through her Gate. The Lesser. “Yet one more!” A spasm of pain crossed her face. Her hand lifted slowly, shaking, then she snarled and snatched a dull black ball from the pile of those who refused to go through her Gate. She hissed, for the GateKeeper loathed releasing a soul without exacting fair price. “Does that satisfy your promise, WolfStar? Does it?” She dropped it with the other four on the pile of the Lesser. “Enough,” she said in relief. “It is done. Enough.” Faraday tightened the girth on the donkey and checked the saddlebags and panniers. She did not carry much with her: the bowl of enchanted wood that the silver pelt had given her so long ago; the green gown that the Mother had presented to her; some extra blankets; a pair of sturdy boots should the weather break; and a few spare clothes. It was not much for a widowed Queen, thought Faraday, fighting to keep her emotions under control. Where the retainers? The gilded carriage and the caparisoned horses? The company of two white donkeys was paltry considering what she had done for Axis and for Tencendor – and what she would yet do. Carriages and horses? What did she need with those? All she needed, all she wanted, was the love of a man who did not love her. She thought about Azhure and Caelum, envying the woman yet sharing her joy in her son. Well, she thought, no matter. I am mother to forty-two thousand souls. Surely their birthing will give me pain and joy enough. The stables, as the rest of the palace of Carlon, were still and quiet. When she had left the Sentinels earlier Faraday had heard that the princes and commanders closest to Axis and Azhure had been called to the apartment where Faraday had left them. “A wedding, I hope,” Faraday murmured, and did not know whether to smile for Azhure’s sake, or cry for her own. She took a deep breath and steeled herself. She had her own role to play in the Prophecy and it would take her far from Carlon. Faraday could not wait to leave the palace and the city. There were no happy memories here. Even the recent eight days and nights she had spent at Axis’ side had turned out to be nothing but a lie and a betrayal. It was their memory Faraday wanted to escape most of all. Why had no-one told her about Azhure? Everyone close to Axis – indeed, many distant from him – had known of his love for Azhure, yet none had thought to tell Faraday. Not even the Sentinels. “You let me think that once Borneheld was dead Axis would be mine,” she had cried to the Sentinels. “All I had to comfort me during that frightful marriage was the thought that one day my efforts for the Prophecy would be rewarded with Axis’ love, and yet that comfort was a lie.” Ogden and Veremund hung their heads in shame, and when Yr stepped forward to comfort Faraday, she jerked away. “Did you know?” Faraday shouted at Jack. “Did you know from the very beginning that I would lose Axis?” “None of us know all of the twists and turns of the Prophecy, sweet girl,” Jack replied, his face unreadable. Faraday had stared flatly at him, almost tasting the lie he’d mouthed. She sighed. Her meeting with the Sentinels had not gone well. She now regretted the harsh words she’d lashed at them before she’d stalked out the door. Ogden and Veremund had scurried after her, their cheeks streaked with tears, asking her where she was going. “Into Prophecy – where you have thrust me,” Faraday had snapped. “Then take our donkeys, and their bags and panniers,” they’d begged. Faraday nodded curtly. “If you wish.” Then she had left them standing in the corridor, as much victims of the Prophecy as she was. Now all she knew was that she had to go east and that, sooner or later, she would have to begin the transfer of the seedlings from Ur’s nursery in the Enchanted Woods beyond the Sacred Grove to this world. Faraday gathered the leads of the placid donkeys and turned to the stable entrance. A heavily cloaked figure stood there, shrouded in shadows. Faraday jumped, her heart pounding. “Faraday?” a soft voice asked, and she let out a breath in sheer relief. She’d thought that this dark figure might be the mysterious and dangerous WolfStar. “Embeth! What are you doing down here? Why are you cloaked so heavily?” Embeth tugged back the hood. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes showing the strain of sleepless nights. “You’re leaving, Faraday?” Faraday stared at the woman, remembering how Embeth, like the Sentinels, had urged her into the marriage with Borneheld. She also remembered that Embeth and Axis had been lovers for many years. Well could you dissuade me from Axis and urge me to Borneheld’s bed, she thought sourly, when you had enjoyed Axis for so long. But Faraday forced herself to remember that Embeth had been doing only what she thought best for a young girl untutored in the complexities of court intrigue. Embeth had known nothing of prophecies or of the maelstrom that had, even then, caught so many of its victims into its swirling dark outer edges. “Yes. There is no place for me here, Embeth. I travel east,” she replied, deliberately vague, letting Embeth think she was travelling back to her family home in Skarabost. Embeth’s hands twisted in front of her. “What of you and Axis?” Faraday stared unbelievingly at her before she realised that Embeth probably had no knowledge of the day’s events. “I leave Axis to his lover, Embeth. I leave him to Azhure.” Her voice was so soft that Embeth had to strain to hear it. “Oh, Faraday,” she said, hesitating only an instant before she stepped forward and hugged the woman tightly. “Faraday, I am sorry I did not tell you … about … well, about Azhure and her son. But I could not find the words, and after a few days I had convinced myself that you must have known. That Axis must have told you. But I saw your face yesterday when Axis acknowledged Azhure and named her son as his heir and I realised then that Axis had kept his silence. That everyone had. Faraday, please forgive me.” Faraday finally broke down into the tears she had not allowed herself since that appalling moment at the ceremony when she had realised the depth of Axis’ betrayal. She sobbed, and Embeth hugged her fiercely. For a few minutes the two women stood in the dim stable, then Faraday pulled back and wiped her eyes, an unforced smile on her face. “Thank you, Embeth. I needed that.” “If you are going east then you must be going past Tare,” Embeth said. “Please, Faraday, let me come with you as far as Tare. There is no place here in Carlon for me any more. Timozel has gone, only the gods know where, my other two children are far distant – both married now – and I do not think either Axis or Azhure would feel comfortable with my continuing presence.” As mine, Faraday thought. Discarded lovers are a source of some embarrassment. “Judith still waits in Tare, and needs my company. And there are … other … reasons I should return home.” Faraday noted the older woman’s hesitancy. “StarDrifter?” she asked. “Yes,” Embeth said after a moment’s hesitation. “I was a fool to succumb to his well-practised enticements, but the old comfortable world I knew had broken apart into so many pieces that I felt lost, lonely, unsure. He was an escape and I … I, as his son’s former lover, was an irresistible challenge.” A wry grin crossed her face. “I fear I may have made a fool of myself, Faraday, and that thought hurts more than any other pain I have endured over the past months. StarDrifter only used me to sate his curiosity, he did not care for me. We did not even share the friendship that Axis and I did.” We have both been used and discarded by these damn SunSoar men, Faraday thought. “Well,” she said, “as far as Tare, you say? How long will it take you to pack?” To her surprise Embeth actually laughed. “As long as it takes me to saddle a horse. I have no wish to go back inside the palace. I already wear a serviceable dress and good boots, and should I require anything else then I have gold pieces in my purse. We shall not want for food along the way.” Faraday smiled. “We would not have wanted for food in any case.” She patted one of the saddlebags. Embeth frowned in puzzlement at the empty saddlebag, but Faraday only reached out her hand. “Come, let us both walk away from these SunSoar men. Let us find meaning for our lives elsewhere.” As Faraday and Embeth left the palace of Carlon, far to the north Timozel sat brooding on the dreary shores of Murkle Bay. To his right rose the cheerless Murkle Mountains that spread north for some fifty leagues along the western border of Aldeni. Relentless cold, dry winds blew off the Andeis Sea, making life all but impossible within the mountain range. The darkness of the waters before Timozel reflected the blackness of his mind. If, far to the south, Embeth worried about her lost son, Timozel spared no thought for his mother – Gorgrael dominated his mind awake and asleep. Over the past nine days Timozel had ridden as hard as he dared for the north. With each league further away from Carlon and Faraday he could feel Gorgrael’s grip clench tighter about his soul. The horror Timozel had felt when Faraday dropped the pot and shattered the ties that bound him to her had dimmed, but had not completely left him. In those odd hours when he snatched some sleep, nightmares invariably claimed him and he always woke screaming. Three times this day he had dropped off in the saddle, only to find Gorgrael waiting for him in his dreams, his claws digging into Timozel’s neck, his repulsive face bending close to Timozel’s own. “Mine,” the dream-Gorgrael would hiss. “Mine! You are mine!” And with his every step further north the more potent became the nightmares. If only he could turn his back on Gorgrael and ride for Carlon. Beg forgiveness from Faraday, find some way to reconstitute his vows of Championship. But Gorgrael’s claws had sunk too deep. Despair overwhelmed Timozel, and he wept, grieving for the boy he had once been, grieving for the pact he had been forced to make with Gorgrael, grieving for the loss of Faraday’s friendship. Beside him lay the cooling carcass of the latest horse he’d killed. The animal had staggered to a halt, stood a moment, and then sunk wearily to the sandy beach. This was the sixth horse he had literally ridden into the ground in recent days – and Timozel had slid his feet quickly from the stirrups and swung his leg over the horse’s wither as it slumped to the ground, standing himself in one graceful movement. As Timozel sat on the gritty beach, watching the grey waves, he wondered what to do next. How was he going to keep moving north now this damned horse had died on him? And what had driven him to the shores of Murkle Bay in the first instance? It was many leagues to the west of where he should have been heading – Jervois Landing, then north into the Skraeling-controlled Ichtar through Gorken Pass and then north, north, north to Gorgrael’s Ice Fortress. It would be a hard journey, perhaps months long, and only Timozel’s determination and his bond to Gorgrael would see him through. As each horse fell Timozel had stolen another one – not a difficult proposition in the well-populated regions of Avonsdale. But he was unlikely to find a horse in the desolate regions surrounding Murkle Bay or in the mountains themselves. He squared his shoulders. Well then, he would walk and Gorgrael – if he truly wanted Timozel – would no doubt provide. But not today. Even his fear of Gorgrael-sent nightmares would not keep Timozel from sleep tonight. He shivered and pulled his cloak closer, shifting uncomfortably on the cold, damp sand. Somehow he would have to find enough fuel for a fire to keep him warm through the night. A rumble in his belly reminded him that he had not eaten in over two days, and he wondered if he could snatch a fish from Murkle Bay’s depths. His eyes narrowed as he gazed across the bay. What was that out to sea? Perhaps a hundred paces distant from the beach Timozel could see a small, dark hump bobbing in the waves. He’d heard stories of the whales that lived in the Andeis Sea and wondered if perhaps this dark shape was the back of one of the mammoth ocean fish that had strayed into Murkle Bay. Timozel stared, blinking in the salty breeze. As the dark shape came closer Timozel leapt to his feet. “What?” he hissed. The hump had resolved itself into the silhouette of a heavily cloaked man rowing a tiny boat. He was making directly for Timozel. Timozel’s dull headache abruptly flared into white heat and he cried out, doubling over in agony. But the pain died as quickly as it had erupted and after catching his breath Timozel slowly straightened out. When he looked up again he saw that the man and his boat were almost to shore. He shivered. The man was so tightly cloaked and hooded Timozel could not see his face, yet he knew that this was no ordinary fisherman. But what disturbed him most was that although the man made every appearance of rowing vigorously, the oars that dipped into the water never made a splash and the boat itself sailed as smoothly and as calmly as if it were pushed by some powerful underwater hand. Magic! Timozel took a step back as the boat slipped smoothly ashore. The man shipped his oars and stood up, wrapping his cloak about him. Timozel could feel but not see a smile on the man’s face. “Ah, Timozel,” he said in a deeply musical voice, stepping smoothly out of the boat and striding across the sand that separated them. “How fortunate you should be waiting for me.” Sweat beaded in the palms of Timozel’s hands and he had to force himself not to wipe them along his cloak. For the first time in nine days thoughts of Gorgrael slipped completely from his mind. He stared at the dark man who had halted some three or four paces in front of him. “Timozel,” the man said, and despite his fears Timozel relaxed slightly. How could a man with such a gentle voice harbour foul intent? “Timozel. It is late and I would appreciate a place beside the warmth of your campfire for the night.” Startled, Timozel looked over his shoulder at where the man pointed. A bright fire leaped cheerfully into the darkness; a large rabbit sizzled on a spit and a pot steamed gently to one side of the coals. “How …?” Timozel began, doubt and fear resurfacing in his mind. “Timozel,” the man said, his voice slipping into an even deeper timbre. “You must have lit the fire earlier and, in your exhaustion, forgotten the deed.” “Yes.” Timozel’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Yes, that must be it. Yes, my mind is so hazy.” Beneath his hood the Dark Man’s smile broadened. Poor, troubled Timozel. His mind had been shadowed for so long that it was now an easy task to manipulate it. “The rabbit smells good,” he said, taking Timozel’s arm. Surprisingly, all traces of Timozel’s headache faded completely at the man’s touch. “Shall we eat?” An hour later Timozel sat before the fire, feeling more relaxed than he had in months. He no longer minded that his companion chose not to reveal his features. In these past months he had seen stranger creatures, like those feathered abominations that now crawled over the fouled palace of Carlon. His lip curled. “You do not like what you have seen in Carlon, Timozel.” “Disgusting,” Timozel said. “Oh, absolutely.” Timozel shifted, his loathing of the Icarii rippling through his body. “Borneheld tried to stop them, but he failed.” The Dark Man shrugged. “Unfortunate.” “Treachery undid him.” “Of course.” “He should have won!” Timozel clenched his fists and stared across the fire at the cloaked man. “He should have. I had a vision –” He stopped. Why had he mentioned that vision? Would this strange man laugh at him? “Really?” The Dark Man’s voice held no trace of derision; indeed, it held traces of awe. “You must be beloved of the immortals, Timozel, if you have been granted visions.” “But I fear the vision misled me.” “Well,” the cloaked man said slowly, as if reluctant to speak, “I have travelled widely, Timozel, and I have seen many bizarre sights and heard even stranger stories. One of the things I have learned is that visions can sometimes be misunderstood, misinterpreted. Would you,” his hands twisted nervously before him, “would you share your vision with me?” Timozel considered the man through narrowed eyes. He had never shared the details of the vision with anyone – not even Borneheld, although Borneheld knew Artor had enabled Timozel to foresee his victory over Axis. But Borneheld hadn’t won, had he? And Artor seemed powerless in the face of the Forbidden invasion; even the Brother-Leader had gibbered impotently before Axis. Timozel dropped his gaze and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps the vision was worthless. A phantasm, nothing more. “Tell me of the vision,” the Dark Man whispered. Share. Timozel hesitated. “I want to hear of it.” Share. “Perhaps I will tell you,” Timozel said. “It came time and time again. Always the same. I rode a great and noble beast – it cried with such a voice that all before it quailed.” As Timozel spoke he fell under the spell of the vision again, and his voice sped up, the words tumbling from his mouth. “I fought for a Great Lord, and in his name I commanded an army that undulated for leagues in every direction.” “Goodness,” the Dark Man said. “A truly great vision.” “Hundreds of thousands screamed my name.” Now Timozel leaned forward, his voice earnest. “They hurried to fulfil my every wish. The enemy quivered in terror; they could do nothing. Remarkable victories were mine for the taking … in the name of my Lord I was going to clear the filth that invaded Achar!” “If you did that then your name would live in legend forever,” the Dark Man said, and Timozel could hear the admiration in his voice. “Yes! Yes, it would. Millions would thank me. I saw more –” “Tell me!” “I saw myself seated before a fire with my Lord, and Faraday at our side. The battles were over. All was well. I … I had found my destiny. I had found my light.” He dropped his face into his hands momentarily, and when he raised his eyes again the Dark Man could see they were reddened and lost. “But it was all a lie.” “How so?” “Borneheld lies dead – I saw Axis tear his heart out myself. His armies are dead or have betrayed his name and fled to Axis. In any case, Borneheld would never give me command.” “He did not trust your vision. Perhaps that is why he lost,” the stranger said, and Timozel nodded slowly. “Now Faraday lies with Axis and becomes his wife, and we are all lost. Lost. And now … now …” “Now?” the Dark Man asked. “Do you experience other visions? Dreams, perhaps?” Timozel’s eyes flared, his suspicions aroused. “How did you know?” “Oh,” the Dark Man soothed. “You have the look about you. The look of a man troubled by visions.” “It is not visions that wrap my thoughts now, but dark nightmares that ensorcel my soul!” “Perhaps you have misinterpreted –” “How can I misinterpret the fact that Gorgrael has his talons locked into my soul! It is over! Finished!” He stopped, appalled. He had never, never, mentioned Gorgrael to another person before. How would Gorgrael punish him, now he had shared the secret? The stranger did not seem overly perturbed by Timozel’s mention of Gorgrael. “Ah yes, Gorgrael is a good and dear friend of mine.” Timozel recoiled in horror, almost falling backwards in his haste to put more distance between himself and the cloaked man. “Your friend?” “Ah,” the Dark Man said. “I fear you have fallen under the spell of the evil rumours about Gorgrael that sweep this land.” Timozel stared at him. “Timozel, my friend, how can Gorgrael be evil and dark when he fights the same things that you do?” “What do you mean?” How could that appalling creature not be evil and dark? “Consider this, Timozel. Gorgrael and Borneheld fight – fought – for the same thing.” “What?” Perhaps he should slice this stranger’s head off and be done with it, Timozel thought. “Listen to me,” the Dark Man said, his voice soothing, calming. “Gorgrael hates the Forbidden – the Icarii and the Avar – as Borneheld did. Gorgrael wants to see them destroyed as much as Borneheld did. Both shared the same purpose.” Timozel struggled with the stranger’s words. Yes, it was true that Borneheld hated the Forbidden and ached for their destruction. And Gorgrael wants the same thing? “He surely does,” the Dark Man whispered. “He surely does.” “But the Prophecy says …” Timozel tried to remember exactly what it was that the Prophecy said. “Bah!” The Dark Man grinned to himself under his hood. “The Prophecy is nothing but a tool of the Forbidden to cloud men’s minds and blind them to their true saviour – Gorgrael.” “Yes…yes.” Timozel thought it through. “That makes sense.” “And Gorgrael aches to kill Axis as much as Borneheld did.” “Axis.” Now Timozel’s voice was edged with unreasoning hatred. “Who has brought the Forbidden back to crawl over Achar’s lands, Timozel?” “Axis!” Timozel hissed. The Dark Man spoke very slowly, emphasising every word. “Gorgrael is committed to killing Axis and ridding this fair land of the Forbidden. Is that not what you want?” “Yes. Yes, that is what I want!” “Gorgrael will help rescue Faraday from the foul clutches of Axis and the Forbidden.” “Faraday! He will help rescue Faraday?” Was there hope for Faraday yet? “With your help, Timozel. With your help.” “With my help?” Could he redeem himself in Faraday’s eyes? “Ah, Timozel,” the Dark Man said dejectedly. “Gorgrael is truly misunderstood and he fights for a true cause, but he is not a good war leader.” He sighed, and Timozel leaned even closer, eager. “Timozel, he needs a war leader. He needs you and you need him. Together you can rid Achar of its foul corruption.” A small voice deep in Timozel’s soul told him not to listen to this man, not to believe his smooth words. Had not Borneheld fought Gorgrael as well? Were not the Skraelings as evil as the Forbidden? But, caught as he was by the weight of the enchantments being woven about him and by the blackness that was eating into his soul, Timozel pushed those thoughts out of existence. Gorgrael would be the one to restore sanity and good health to Achar. “He would give me command of his army?” “Oh, surely. He knows that you are a great warrior.” Timozel sat back, enthralled. A command of his own, at last! Even Borneheld had not done that for him. “Don’t you see, Timozel?” the Dark Man asked, drawing the net of his lies closed. “Don’t you understand? Gorgrael is the Great Lord of your visions. Fate must have sent me south to fetch you, to bring you north so that your Lord can give you control of his armies.” “Truly?” Perhaps there was still a chance the visions would be fulfilled. That there was still a chance he could do some good. Yes, fate must have manoeuvred this meeting. “Very truly, Timozel.” Timozel thought about it, one thing gnawing at him. “But why has Gorgrael been disturbing my sleep with such dark dreams?” The stranger reached out his hand and rested it on Timozel’s shoulder. “The Forbidden are desperate to turn you from Gorgrael. They have been the instigators of those dreams, not Gorgrael. You will have no more bad dreams from now on. Certainly not once I have a word with Gorgrael, the Dark Man thought. There had never been any need to disturb the boy’s mind with such dreams – but Gorgrael was ever inclined to the melodramatic. All doubts had gone from Timozel’s mind now. At last he had found the right path. The visions had been true. “Gorgrael will free Faraday from Axis’ foul clutches?” he asked. “Oh, assuredly,” the Dark Man said. “Assuredly. He will be a master whom you will be proud to serve. You will sit by the fire with your Great Lord, Timozel, with Faraday by your side, sipping wine.” “Oh,” Timozel breathed ecstatically, letting the vision engulf him. “Now,” the Dark Man rose with the Icarii grace that he could not completely repress, “why don’t I take you to Great Lord? I have a boat, and in only a few short hours we shall reach his fortress. Your saviour’s fortress. Will you come?” “Friend.” Timozel stood by the Dark Man’s side, shaking sand from his cloak. “You have not told me your name.” The Dark Man pulled his hood closer. “I have many names,” he said quietly, “but you may call me Friend.” As Timozel climbed into the boat he realised how familiar Friend’s voice sounded. Why? Who was he? Where had he heard the voice before? “Timozel? Is anything the matter?” Timozel stared at the man, then he shook himself and climbed in. “No, Friend,” he said. “Nothing’s the matter.” Jayme abased himself before the icon of his beloved Artor the Ploughman, the one true god of all Acharites – or at least, who had been until the setbacks of recent weeks. Once the powerful Brother-Leader of the Seneschal, most senior mediator between Artor the Ploughman and the hearts and souls of the Acharites, now Jayme mediated only between his own broken soul and the ghosts of his dreams and ambitions. He had once manipulated kings and peasants alike; now he manipulated little more than the buckles on his sandals. He had once resided in the great Tower of the Seneschal; now the Forbidden had reclaimed the Tower and burned the accumulated learning of over a thousand years. He had once sat easy with power, protected by the might of the military wing of the Seneschal, the Axe-Wielders and their BattleAxe. But now the remaining Axe-Wielders had cast aside their axes to serve the ghastly Forbidden, and their BattleAxe now claimed to be a Prince of the Forbidden. The BattleAxe. He had been as a son to Jayme, yet had betrayed both Jayme’s love and the Seneschal in leading the Forbidden back into Achar. Jayme had once enjoyed the friendship and support of his senior adviser, Moryson. But now Moryson had deserted him. Slowly Jayme rose to his knees and stared about the chamber where he had been incarcerated for the past nine days. They had not left him much. A single wooden chair and a plain table. A bedroll and blanket. Nothing else. Axis believed Jayme might try to kill himself, and so guards had emptied the room of everything save what Jayme needed for basic comfort. Twice a day guards came to bring him food and attend his needs, but otherwise Jayme had been left alone. Apart from his two visitors. His eyes clouded as he remembered. Two days after the death of Achar’s hopes in the Chamber of the Moons, the Princess Rivkah had come to see him … She entered the room silently and Jayme did not know she was there until he stood from his devotions before the sacred icon of Artor. The moment Jayme turned and saw her his mouth went dry. He had never expected to be confronted by the woman he thought he and Moryson had murdered so many years previously. For long minutes Rivkah just stood and stared at him. Jayme could not but help contrast her proud bearing with his own hunched and subservient posture. How is it, he thought, that the woman who did Achar and Artor so much wrong can stand there as if justice was on her side? How is it that she can stand there so beautiful and queenly when all Moryson and I deposited at the foot of the Icescarp Alps was a broken woman near death? Artor, why did you let her survive? Artor? Artor? Are you there? “Why?” she eventually asked. Surprising himself, Jayme actually replied in a moderately strong voice. “For the wrong that you did your husband and your country and your god, Rivkah. You did not deserve to live.” “I was the one wronged, Jayme,” she said. “Yet you would that I had died a horrible death. You did not have the courage, as I remember, to put a knife through my throat.” “It was Moryson’s idea,” Jayme said. “He thought it best that you die in a place far enough removed from civilisation that your bones would not corrupt Artor-fearing souls.” “Yet you let my son live.” “He was innocent of your evil – at least, that’s what I thought at the time. I did not know then what it was that had put him in your belly. Knowing what I know now I would have put a knife to your throat, Rivkah. Well before you had a chance to give that abomination birth.” Rivkah’s hands jerked slightly, the only sign she had been disturbed by Jayme’s words. At that moment she longed to flee, so great was her loathing for him, but she had one more thing to ask. “Why did you name my son Axis?” Jayme blinked at her, surprised by the question, and fought to remember. He shrugged slightly. “Moryson named him.” “But why Axis?” “I do not know, Rivkah. It seemed a good enough name at the time. I could not have known then that he would prove to be the axis about which our entire world would turn and die.” Rivkah took a deep breath. “You denied me my son and warped his soul for almost thirty years, Jayme, while you left me to die a slow, lingering death.” She stepped forward, and spat in Jayme’s face. “They say that forgiveness is the beginning of healing, Jayme, but I find it impossible to forgive the wrong you have done myself, my son and his father.” She turned and strode to the door. Just as she reached it Jayme spoke. Where the words came from he did not know, for the knowledge behind them and their sudden ferocity were not his. “It is my understanding that the birdman you betrayed Searlas for has now betrayed and rejected you, Rivkah. You have been discarded, thrown aside because of your ageing lines. Betrayal always returns to those who betray.” Rivkah turned and stared at him, appalled. This was not strictly correct, but it was close enough to the truth to hurt. Had the price for her betrayal of Searlas been the eventual death of StarDrifter’s love for her? What price would she pay for the hurt she had caused Magariz so many years ago? She licked her lips and silently cursed her voice as it quavered. “Then I am confident you will die a ghastly death, Jayme,” she said. Despite her brave words, Rivkah’s entire body shuddered, and she flung the door open, running past the startled guard and down the corridor. Jayme smiled, remembering Rivkah’s agitation. But the smile died as he recalled his second visitor. Jayme had heard Axis well before he entered the room. Axis stood outside the closed door for several minutes, talking with the guard posted there. Jayme knew Axis was toying with him, letting the sound of his casual conversation outside increase Jayme’s trepidation. And his tactic worked. Jayme’s stomach heaved as he heard the key in the lock. “Jayme,” Axis said flatly as he stepped inside the room. Axis had always carried an aura of power as BattleAxe – now it was magnified ten times and carried with it infinite threat. Jayme opened his mouth to speak, but there was nothing to say. “I have decided to put you on trial, Jayme. Rivkah has told me of your conversation,” Axis said, “and of your wretched effort to lay the blame for her attempted murder at Moryson’s feet. But it is not only the wrongs you have done me and my mother that you should answer for, Jayme, but the wrongs you have done the innocent people of Tencendor.” Jayme found his voice and his courage. “Yet how many innocent people have you murdered for your depraved purposes, Axis? Justice always seems to rest with the victor, does it not?” Axis stabbed an accusing finger at the former BrotherLeader. “How many innocent people did I murder in the name of the Seneschal, Jayme? How many people, guilty of nothing save innocent questions, did you send your BattleAxe out after, to ride down into the earth? How many innocent people have I murdered? You tell me. You were the one who sent me out to murder them in the name of Artor!” “I only did what Artor told me, Axis. I only did what was right for the Way of the Plough.” The anger faded from Axis’ face and he stared incredulously at Jayme. “Have you never thought to question the world about you? Have you never thought to question the narrow and brutal Way of the Plough? Have you never stopped to think what beauty the Seneschal destroyed when it drove the Icarii and the Avar beyond the Fortress Ranges a thousand years ago? Have you never stopped to question Artor?” “Axis,” Jayme said, stepping forward. “What has happened to you? I thought I knew you, I thought I could trust you.” “You thought you could use me.” Axis stared at Jayme a moment longer, then turned for the door. “I only used you for Artor’s sake,” Jayme said so softly that Axis barely heard him. Axis looked around to his once-beloved Brother-Leader. “I shall spare no effort in dismantling the Seneschal, Jayme. I shall grind it and the cursed Way of the Plough into the dust where it belongs. I shall bury your hatreds and your bigotry and your unreasoning fears and I shall never, never, allow it or any like it to raise its deformed head in Tencendor again. Congratulations, Jayme. You will yet live to witness the complete destruction of the Seneschal.” Jayme’s face was now completely white and his mouth trembled. He held out a hand. “Axis!” But Axis was gone. The memory of that visit disturbed Jayme so much that he abased himself once more before Artor’s icon, seeking what comfort the crude figure could give him. The guards had taken from his room the beautiful gold and enamel icon of Artor that had held pride of place in the centre of the main wall. During the first two days of his captivity Jayme had laboriously carved out a life-sized outline of the great god into the soft plaster of the wall. Even though he had torn his nails with the effort, at least he had an icon to pray to. He pressed his forehead to the floor. The sound of noisy celebrations in the streets below finally roused him in the early evening. Curious despite his despondency, Jayme wandered over to the window. Cheerful crowds thronged the streets and Jayme listened carefully, trying to make out what they shouted. Most held beakers of beer or ale, a few had goblets of wine. All were smiling. “A toast to our lord and lady!” Jayme heard one stout fellow shout, and the crowd happily obliged. “A marriage made in the stars, they say!” shouted another, and Jayme was horrified to see that it came from one of several winged creatures in the crowd. He frowned. Had Axis married Faraday already? A tiny piece of plaster fell to the floor behind him. Then another. Deep in concentration on the scene below him, Jayme did not hear. “To Axis!” “And to Azhure!” Large cracks spread across the wall, and a piece of plaster the size of a man’s fist bulged into the room. “Azhure?” Jayme said. “Azhure?” More plaster crumbled to the floor as further cracks and bulges raced across the wall, but Jayme was so engrossed in the crowd’s celebrations he did not hear it. “Who is this Azhure?” Now Jayme had both hands and face pressed to the window pane in an effort to catch the shouts of the crowd. She is one of the many reasons for your death, fool. Jayme whimpered in terror and his eyes refocused away from the street below him and onto the reflection in the glass. Plaster fell to the floor in a torrent as the wall came alive behind him. Jayme whimpered softly again, so horrified he could not move. His eyes remained glued to the terror in the reflection. Nothing in his life could have prepared him for this, and yet he knew precisely what it was. Artor, come to exact revenge for the failings of the BrotherLeader of his Seneschal. “Beloved Lord,” Jayme croaked. In the reflection Jayme saw the wall ripple and a form bulge through, taking the shape of the icon Jayme had scratched in the plaster days ago. It was too much, and Jayme screwed shut his eyes in terror. Have you not the courage to face Me, Brother-Leader? Have you not the courage to face your Lord? Jayme felt a powerful force seize control of his body. Suddenly he was spun around and slammed back against the window; he retained only enough power over his muscles to keep his eyelids tightly closed. Some part of his mind not yet completely numbed with terror hoped that Artor would use too much force and the window panes would crack behind him, allowing him to fall to a grateful death on the cobbles below. But Artor knew His own power, and Jayme did not hit the glass with enough force to break it. He was held there, his feet a handspan off the floor, and none of the crowd celebrating Axis and Azhure’s marriage spared so much as a glance above to see Jayme pinned against the window as effectively as a cruel boy will pin an ant to a piece of paper. The great god Artor the Ploughman completed His transformation and stepped into the room. He was stunningly, furiously angry, and His wrath was a terrible thing to behold. Jayme had failed Him. The Seneschal was crumbling, and soon even those fragments that were left would be swept away in the evil wind that blew over the land of Achar. Day by day Artor could feel the loss of those souls who turned from the worship of Artor and the Way of the Plough to the worship of other gods. He was the one true god, He demanded it, and Artor liked it not that those gods He had banished so long ago might soon walk this land again. Jayme had failed Artor so badly and so completely that the god Himself had been forced from His heavenly kingdom to exact retribution from Brother-Leader Jayme for his pitiful failure to lead the Seneschal against the challenge of the StarMan. What have you done, Jayme? Jayme shuddered, and found that Artor had freed those muscles he needed to speak with. “I have done my best, Lord,” he whispered. Meet My eyes, Jayme, and know the god that you promised to serve. Jayme tried to keep his eyes tightly shut, but the god’s power tore them open – and Jayme screamed. Standing before him was a man-figure, yet taller and more heavily musclebound than any man Jayme had ever seen before. Artor had chosen to reveal Himself in the symbolic attire of the ploughman: the rough linen loincloth, the short leather cape thrown carelessly over His shoulders, its hood drawn close about Artor’s face, and thick rope sandals. In one hand Artor held the traditional goad used to urge the plough team onwards; the other hand He had clenched in the fist of righteous anger. Underneath the leather hood of His cape Artor had assumed the heavy, pitted features of a man roughened by years of tilling the soil, while His body was roped with the thick muscles needed to control the team and the cumbersome wheeled plough. And underlying this immensely powerful and angry physical presence was the roiling fury of a god scorned and rejected by many of those who had once served Him. Artor’s eyes glittered with black rage. Daily My power diminishes as the Seneschal crumbles into dust. Daily the souls of the Acharites are claimed by other, less deserving gods. For this I hold you responsible. “I could not have foreseen –” Jayme began, but Artor raised the goad menacingly above His head and took a powerful step forwards, and Jayme fell into silence. The power of the Mother threatens to spill over into this land as the bitch you failed to stop prepares to sow the seeds of the evil forest across Achar. The Star Gods now threaten to spread their cold light through this land again. “I had not the knowledge or the power to stop these gods of whom you speak –” Yet you incubated the egg that would hatch the traitorous viper. You nursed the viper to your – to My – bosom! You raised him, you taught him, you gave him the power and the means, and then you turned him loose to destroy all that I have worked to build. “Axis! I could not have known that he –” As the Brotherhood of the Seneschal falls to its knees so the worship of the Plough fades and I grow weak. Long-forgotten gods seek to take My place and banish Me from this land. “Give me another chance and I will try to –” But Artor did not want to hear empty excuses or useless promises. His judgment was final. I shall seek out among those remaining to find one who will work My will for me. One who is still loyal. One who can steer the Plough that you have left to wheel out of control. Die,Jayme, and prepare to live your eternity within My eternal retribution. Feel My justice, Jayme! Feel it! As Artor stepped forward, Jayme found breath enough for a last, pitiful shriek. The guard standing outside the door thought he heard a cry, and he started to his feet. But the next moment a burst of fireworks lit the night sky and the guard relaxed, smiling. No doubt the noise had been the echo of the street celebrations below. Another burst of fireworks exploded, drowning out the screams from the chamber as Artor exacted his divine retribution. Faraday and Embeth, almost a league into the Plains of Tare, paused and looked back as the faint bursts of the fireworks reached them. “He has married her,” Faraday said tonelessly, “and now the people celebrate.” She turned the head of the donkey and urged it eastwards. Later that night, when the guard checked his prisoner, all he discovered was a pile of plaster by the far wall and a bloody body lying huddled underneath the locked window. It looked suspiciously like … well, like it had been ploughed. 2 The Song for Drying Clothes (#ulink_eab89078-27dc-5f79-990e-67c5c2b2d6d3) Restoration of the royal apartments in the ancient palace of Carlon had been going on since Axis had defeated Borneheld, but the workmen doubled their efforts in the days after Axis married Azhure. Helping them – else how could so much work have been accomplished in so short a time? – were twelve of the best Icarii Enchanters who discovered the ancient lines and colours hidden behind a thousand years of veilings, and who directed the workmen and sewing women in the best and simplest ways to redecorate the chambers to suit the StarMan and the Enchantress. The Icarii were amazed by the news that the Enchantress’ ring had resurfaced to fit snugly on Azhure’s finger – and yet, they said among themselves, who better to wear both ring and title than the woman who already commanded the Wolven and the Alaunt and the heart of the StarMan? Those who had seen her in the past few days had noted how the promise of strange power lay in the shadows of her eyes, and they wondered whether the ring had placed that power there, or whether the power released during her ordeal of her wedding day had called the ring to her. None, whether Icarii or human, doubted that Azhure was a figure who could be as powerful as the StarMan, a legend in her own right. Now Axis, Azhure and StarDrifter sat in their living chamber, Caelum playing quietly in a corner. On two walls windows stretched from the floor to the foot of a great jade dome, gauzy curtains billowing in the cool breeze of late afternoon. They had been there for some hours, and Azhure was clearly tired. Axis turned from her and addressed his father. “These rooms are of Icarii origin, StarDrifter, and the Chamber of the Moons is obviously patterned on the Star Gate. How so? I thought Carlon an entirely human affair.” StarDrifter, sprawled on his belly across a couch some paces away, his wings spreading across the floor on either side, shrugged his shoulders. “The Icarii had to live somewhere, Axis. In the time of Tencendor gone, both human and Icarii must have lived in Carlon – it is a very ancient city.” He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Both Axis and Azhure, wingless, wondered at StarDrifter’s grace in rolling completely over without entangling himself in his wings. “I have no doubt that Carlon would have been a popular residence for Icarii, Axis,” StarDrifter continued, “as close as it is to the sacred Grail Lake and Spiredore.” He paused, his face dreamy. “One could lift directly from those windows into the thermals rising off the great plains.” Azhure smiled briefly at Axis. StarDrifter looked far too lazy to do anything more than loll about the chamber. Her smile died as she shifted uncomfortably and pushed a pillow into the small of her back – every day the unborn twins grew larger and more cumbersome. Axis looked at her, concerned. We have tired you, beloved. “No,” she said, although both StarDrifter and Axis could see the exhaustion tugging at her eyes. “No, I want to try again. Please, one more time before you go back down to your army.” Axis had belatedly realised how much time had elapsed since his defeat of Borneheld, and he was in the process of organising a force to speed northwards to bolster the defences of Jervois Landing. Every hour brought them closer to autumn and Gorgrael’s inevitable attack. StarDrifter sat up, as concerned as Axis was with Azhure’s condition. Faraday had obviously healed her back (and how much more desirable the woman was with her back clean and smooth and aching to be stroked, StarDrifter thought), but Azhure remained very weak from both the physical and emotional battering she had been forced to endure four days ago. Neither Axis nor StarDrifter was prepared to argue with Faraday’s prediction that Azhure would have to rest until the birth of her children. And yet how desperately I will need her against Gorgrael, Axis thought. How desperately I need her skill with both bow and command, her Alaunt, and her power. I can ill afford to lose her to a drawn-out recovery over the next few months. But how much less can I afford to lose her to inevitable death should I push her too hard now? Axis was still trying to come to terms with his guilt, not only over the events of a few days ago, but also over the fact that, unknown to him, Azhure had fought through the dreadful Battle of Bedwyr Fort while encumbered with such a difficult pregnancy. His hand tightened about hers as he realised his good fortune that Azhure had managed to survive the past weeks at all. “Please,” Azhure said. “One more time.” She raised her free hand to brush some strands of hair from her forehead, and the Enchantress’ ring glittered in the golden light of late afternoon. Today was the first time Axis and StarDrifter had tried to teach Azhure the use of her Icarii power – but all in the room had been disheartened with the results, including Caelum who, wide-eyed, had watched the proceedings from his corner. StarDrifter moved to a stool close to Azhure’s side, remembering, in comparison, how easy he and MorningStar had found Axis to train. Azhure’s father, WolfStar, must not have spent the time or the trouble training her as he had the young Axis. She had been completely ignored by WolfStar, and StarDrifter smouldered with anger thinking how WolfStar had abandoned Azhure to her awful fate in Smyrton. As StarDrifter and MorningStar had once done for him, Axis now cupped Azhure’s face gently in his hands. “Hear the Star Dance,” he said. “Yes,” she replied, barely audible. At least hearing the Star Dance had been as easy for Azhure as it had for Axis – but then she had been hearing it for some time without being aware of what it actually was. Every time Axis had made love to her she’d heard it; sometimes when she had suckled Caelum; sometimes when she stood at an open window and let the wind rush about her; oftentimes at night when she dreamed of distant shorelines and the tug of strange tides at rocks and sand. But Azhure also heard the Dark Music, the Dance of Death, the music renegade stars made when they left their assigned courses. Neither Axis nor StarDrifter, nor any other Icarii Enchanter, could routinely hear that music, although they recognised it if it was wielded by someone else. StarDrifter had heard its echo in the Chamber of the Moons the night Axis had battled Borneheld. Axis had witnessed two of the SkraeBolds use it at the gates of Gorkentown, and both he and StarDrifter recognised its presence the morning Azhure had used Dark Music to tear the Gryphon apart atop Spiredore. Now Azhure put the ghastly discordant sounds of the Dark Music to the back of her mind and concentrated on the supremely beautiful Star Dance. All Icarii Enchanters wielded the power of the Star Dance by weaving fragments of its power into more manageable melodies, Songs, each with their own specific purpose. Axis and StarDrifter had been trying to teach Azhure one or two of the more simple Songs. Songs so simple that all Icarii training as Enchanters mastered them within an hour or two. But they had been trying to teach Azhure for almost five hours now, and she had failed to grasp a single phrase. Azhure closed her eyes and concentrated on the Song that Axis sang slowly for her. It was a Song for Drying Clothes, a ridiculously easy song requiring only the tiniest manipulation of power, yet it seemed totally beyond her ability. Axis finished, and both he and StarDrifter held their breath. Relax, beloved. It is a simple Song. Sing it for me. Azhure sighed and began to sing. Axis and StarDrifter winced. Her voice was harsh, utterly toneless, and completely lacking any of the musical beauty that had, until now, come instinctively to any of Icarii blood, whether they were Enchanters or not. Axis remembered how Azhure had tried to join in the songs about the campfire on their trip down through the Icescarp Alps for the Beltide festivities. Then her voice had also been as completely toneless, as gratingly harsh, but Axis had felt sure that now that the block concealing Azhure’s true identity and power had been removed her musical ability would naturally surface. But apparently that was not to be. If Azhure had any power at all then obviously she would be unable to use the conduit of Song to manipulate it. Unnoticed, Caelum tottered on unsteady baby legs to his parents’ couch. “Mama,” he said, startling the other three. “Simple. See?” And he hummed the Song for Drying Clothes as beautifully as Axis had. Azhure opened her eyes, stared at her son, and burst into tears. Axis glared the boy into silence and gathered Azhure into his arms. “Shush, sweetheart. I’m sure that –” “No!” Azhure cried. “It’s hopeless. I’ll never be able to learn.” “Axis,” StarDrifter said gently. “Perhaps the trouble is that, while Azhure is of SunSoar blood, the blood link is too far removed from either of us for us to be able to teach her.” The gift and powers of the Icarii Enchanters were passed on only through blood, from parent to child, and Enchanters could be trained only by one of their own House, or family, and usually only by someone of close blood relation. Normally it was a parent who trained a new Enchanter, although someone else of close blood link within the family could also assist. Thus Axis’ grandmother, MorningStar, had been able to assist her son StarDrifter teach his son, Axis. But WolfStar came from a generation of SunSoars four thousand years old. He had died, been entombed, walked through the Star Gate, and had then come back for purposes that neither Axis nor StarDrifter could yet fathom. Axis stared at his father, then looked at his wife. “Azhure, StarDrifter could be right.” Azhure sat back. “Yet WolfStar could train both you and Gorgrael, Axis. You are as far removed from him in blood as I am from you.” “None of us knows how powerful WolfStar has become,” StarDrifter said. “He obviously has the power to use whatever blood link there is, while neither Axis nor I can do that.” “Then perhaps Caelum can train me,” Azhure said. “See how easily he has learned the Song for Drying Clothes!” Oh, how much it stung that she could not learn even a ridiculously mundane Song while a child less than a year old could do so! “And he is as closely blood linked to me as WolfStar.” Surprised, for he had never thought of such a thing, Axis raised his eyebrows at StarDrifter in silent query. A child teach a parent? It had never been done before – but then never before had an Icarii Enchanter come to his or her powers after they had fathered or birthed a child. Neither Axis nor StarDrifter liked the thought – a largely untrained child could do enormous damage to an equally untrained parent, but what harm could the Song for Drying Clothes cause? At most, it could cause a warm breeze to fill the room. And if Caelum could teach Azhure, then it would be best to find out now. StarDrifter caught Axis’ thoughts and nodded slightly. Axis turned his gaze to his son, still cross at him for showing off in front of his mother. Even Caelum at his tender age should have had more sensitivity. Well Caelum, would you like to try? It was a thought that all in the room caught. The ability to hear and, eventually, speak with the mind voice was one of the earliest powers Azhure had demonstrated, and it was a skill she developed day by day. At least she had that much. The child nodded soberly, ashamed for the hurt he had caused his mother. Axis picked the baby up and sat him on his knee. The child reached out his chubby hands and Azhure, after a slight hesitation, took them in her own. Again they went through the routine, Caelum using his mind voice to talk to Azhure – for it was easier for him than his still cumbersome tongue. Azhure closed her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could, and yet, when he had finished singing and it was her turn, all that issued forth from her mouth were such discordant notes that the three Enchanters’ faces sank. “Useless,” Azhure said, and turned away from the others so they would not see her tears. “Azhure,” StarDrifter said. “No-one knows how changed WolfStar was when he came back through the Star Gate. How his power was altered by his experiences beyond the Star Gate. It is more than conceivable that WolfStar has bequeathed you power through his blood that is different to any the Icarii have known previously. So different that you cannot be trained through traditional methods. You cannot even use your power in the traditional way. Axis –” His voice firmed. “Azhure obviously has power, we both witnessed her tear that Gryphon apart.” Axis nodded, and even Azhure wiped her eyes and stared at StarDrifter. “We witnessed Azhure use power, Dark Music, to destroy the Gryphon that threatened her and Caelum, but we did not hear her sing!” “Stars!” Axis said, shocked he hadn’t remembered that himself. StarDrifter suddenly laughed, his beautiful face joyous, and he deposited Caelum on the floor and seized Azhure’s hands in his own. “Azhure! You have power, magnificent power, but it is so different to what any of us have experienced before that we do not know how to teach you. We probably can’t teach you, anyway.” Azhure smiled as she absorbed what StarDrifter was saying. “Then what use is such magnificent power, StarDrifter, if the only time I can use it is when I am attacked by a Gryphon?” Despite the concern evident in her words, Azhure’s voice was more relaxed now and her tone lighter. “Azhure,” Axis said. “There are many reasons why you may be finding it so difficult to use your powers. StarDrifter has perhaps discovered the main one. But also you effectively blocked out your power for so many years that I am not surprised you find it almost impossible to call it willingly to you now.” Azhure reflected on his words, her smile losing some of its brilliance. Over the past few nights vaguely troubling dreams with even more troubling voices had disturbed her rest, but she could never remember the details when she woke. Were they a manifestation of her newly freed power bubbling uncontrolled to the surface? Perhaps she ought to talk to Axis about them – but all thoughts of dreams were forgotten with her husband’s next words. “And,” Axis continued, “our unborn children may also be causing a block.” Three days ago Axis, according to the right and duty of every Icarii father, had awoken her twin babies. When he had done this for Caelum, calling the baby to awareness within her womb, it had been a joyous affair, but this awakening – the whole pregnancy – had been so different. The babes had witnessed what she and Axis had seen when he had forced Azhure to remember her mother’s death and her subsequent physical and emotional torture at Hagen’s hands. As she and Axis had endured the pain and the horror, so had her two unborn babies. Faraday had said that she thought the babies would be affected by the experience, although she did not know how. Now, both Azhure and Axis knew. The awakening had been successful as the babies were now fully aware and active. But during the awakening, and in the days since, it had become painfully obvious that the twin babes distrusted and disliked their father. Azhure and Axis could feel their resentment every time Axis touched their mother; even now, cuddled together on the couch, both could feel the rising hostility from the twins. It made anything more intimate an impossibility; both Azhure’s weak state and the twins’ antagonism meant Axis and Azhure had yet to consummate their marriage. Axis had tried to harm the woman who carried them and, unlike Caelum, the twins were not prepared to forgive him. Yet even Azhure did not enjoy their affection; she sensed total disinterest seeping into her from the babies. They existed only for each other, their parents either untrusted or inconsequential. Axis had not realised Azhure was pregnant for so long because he’d never felt the tug of the growing babies’ blood. Even before the trauma of four days ago, he mused, the twins had been so self-absorbed that their SunSoar blood had not reached out beyond each other. It made him wonder what kind of children he’d fathered. The twins, as would be natural for children conceived of such powerful parents, would be Enchanters in their own right – even now they demonstrated their awakening powers in the womb. Azhure sighed. Since their awakening the twins had refused to listen to Axis on the five occasions he’d tried to teach them. Were they somehow blocking Azhure’s powers now? Axis and Azhure glanced at each other, then at StarDrifter, letting him share their thoughts. They had told him of the problems with the twins and, unbelievably, when he had tried, StarDrifter actually had more success communicating with the babies than Axis did. Azhure had not let StarDrifter touch her when she was pregnant with Caelum, but she knew that StarDrifter would undoubtedly be the Enchanter who conducted the majority of the twins’ training while they were in the womb. Now StarDrifter shook his head. “No, I don’t think they would do that. Powerful as they might be, they aren’t yet that powerful. And why would they want to block your power, in any case? No, Azhure. Unless you slip naturally into your powers, ease into them as time goes by, the only person who can teach you is WolfStar.” 3 The Sentinels (#ulink_cb03ae31-943f-56af-996b-1212d88f1d02) Several floors below, the Sentinels sat in a circle, holding hands. They were silent as they remembered. It had been a fine night, some three thousand years ago, when the Charonites had massed in the chamber below the well that led to the cave on the banks of the Nordra River. The races of the Charonites and Icarii, both descended from the original Enchantress, had separated some twelve thousand years previously. As the Icarii loved the open sky and worshipped the stars, so they developed wings to give vent to their longings. But the Charonites were far more introspective, preferring the depths to the heights. Eventually they discovered and developed the UnderWorld and the waterways. They still studied the stars – and their very waterways reflected the music of the Star Dance – but they became increasingly reclusive, until even most of the Icarii doubted their existence. Every few score years the Charonites gave vent to their urge to see once again the star-lit night, to feel the soft wind of the OverWorld in their faces, to smell the scent of flowers and of the damp leaves that lined the floor of the forest, and to sail the lively waters of the Nordra, so different from the still waterways. On this night, scores of Charonites sang and danced as they climbed the well leading to the OverWorld; the Charonites loved to dance and the figures carved about the walls of the well inspired them to ever more joyous efforts. Once in the cave they lifted the flat-bottomed boats from their storage racks and, still laughing and singing, cast them into the water of the inlet that led to the Nordra as it flowed through the Avarinheim. The Avarinheim of three thousand years past was a much greater and more magical Avarinheim than the one that stood now; then the axes of the Seneschal had not wielded their destruction. Five Charonites, lagging behind the others, seized the last and smallest boat and, singing, launched it into the water. They leapt in and worked their magic, and the boat glided effortlessly along the inlet, then slipped into the Nordra. The five were ecstatic with the feel of the soft night air and the immensity of the sky above them, and their singing increased in joy and reverence as their boat sailed further down the Nordra. Every so often a dark face peered at them from the forest that lined the Nordra – the Avar, woken from their slumber by the sounds of the Charonite merriment, crept from their sleeping skins to watch in awe as the Charonites slid past. As the Charonites were wont to do, the five eventually moored their boat to a spotted willow that, heavy with age, drooped its branches deep into the water. Then they slipped ashore, planning to dance unrestrained along the corridors of the Avarinheim. But sitting on the banks of the Nordra was a strange man – Icarii-featured but wingless – with a dismal face. The five stopped to ask what was wrong, for although the Charonites preferred to keep their distance from other races, they were not an unkind people, and this man obviously needed their comfort. The man sighed and spoke, and what he related wiped the joy from their faces. The man, this strange man, spoke of a time in the future. “Tencendor will already wear the terrible legacy of a millennium of hatreds, but the Destroyer’s one purpose will be to grind what is left of Tencendor into the dust. He hates, and his one desire is to give vent to his hate. To destroy.” The five, all thought of dance and song gone from their minds, asked the man how he knew these dreadful tidings. “The burden of prophecy weighs heavily on my soul and it consumes my days and my nights,” he said, and he stood up. “Soon I shall retire to solitude and commit what I have seen into words of power and magic.” The five stared solemnly at the Prophet, awed by the responsibility he had taken upon his shoulders. The Prophet sighed again, and the five could see how much care and pain he laboured under. They respected him deeply, although they did not envy him, for they of all races perhaps best understood the power and compulsions of prophesying. “Listen,” he said, and then he intoned the Prophecy of the Destroyer. The five moaned as they heard him speak, and leaned on each other’s shoulders, and wept. They were accustomed to lives and thoughts of introspection and beauty and great mystery, but the Prophet’s words destroyed the peace and harmony of their minds. How would they be able to resume their carefree existence after this? The words of the Prophecy would never leave them. “The burden of a prophecy is a hard one to carry,” one of the five said, and he took his wife’s hand for comfort. “That is so,” the Prophet agreed. Another of the five, one of two brothers, spoke. “And prophecies are terribly fragile. They prophesy only what might be, not what is certain.” “They can be easily bent out of shape,” his brother added. The youngest of the Charonites, a sensual and beautiful woman, now spoke. “And while the Prophecy indicates that this StarMan will reunite Tencendor, recreate its beauty despite the Destroyer’s hate, his victory is not certain.” The Prophet waited. Slowly the five spoke in turn. “A prophecy is like …” “A garden …” “That is full of the promise of beauty …” “And dreams never-ending …” “But that can, if neglected …” “Or left unattended …” “Fall into barrenness …” “And sorrow …” “And despair …” “And death.” The Prophet took a deep breath, and the younger woman realised for the first time what a handsome face he had. The most experienced of the Charonites noted the Prophet’s easy way with power, and thought he might not be all that he appeared, or that he might be more than he appeared. But he held his peace and, later, it would be he who would share most of the Prophet’s secrets. But for now the Prophet expelled his breath and spoke. “I need a gardener. Someone who is prepared to serve the Prophecy, and see to its needs. Someone who will wait for he who is to appear, and guide and guard his steps.” “I will do it,” cried one of the Charonites, prepared to leave her life of contemplation for the service of the Prophecy. “And I!” “Both of us would serve,” cried the brothers in unison. “And I, too, would serve this Prophecy,” said the last gravely, and the Prophet nodded. “It was the power of the Prophecy that led me here this night to meet with you. You will be my Sentinels, and to you will I entrust the Prophecy over the coming ages.” The five never returned to their UnderWorld home. They stayed with the Prophet and accepted the secrets he entrusted to them and the transformations he wrought in them. They lost their previous identities and forms and became the Sentinels, and they became closer to each other than they had ever been before. The other Charonites mourned them, but, with the other mystical races of Tencendor, they came to know of the Prophecy and understood the cause to which their brothers and sisters had been lost. They contemplated the mysteries that the Prophecy had created and prayed that the garden would survive the storm that would eventually engulf it. Now the five Sentinels sat in their circle, hands tightly held, needing the contact and warmth and love. For three thousand years they had waited. Over the past two years they had guided and watched and waited for the Prophecy to work itself through. There had been times of warmth and laughter and there had been times of deep sadness and loss, but the Sentinels had been content, knowing that they did their best for the Prophet and the Prophecy. “The Prophecy moves apace,” Jack said into the silence. “It slides to its conclusion,” Yr responded, her voice sad. Of them all, perhaps Yr would lose the most in the coming months. She had been the freest, and she had enjoyed her freedom. “And we slide to our –” “Enough, Ogden!” Jack cautioned. “We all knew what our service to the Prophecy would entail and there is no need to voice our fate now. But the fact remains that, as soon as Axis moves north towards his confrontation with Gorgrael, we will have to begin our final duties.” There, the words were said. Yr nodded jerkily, and a moment later the other three nodded. “Faraday moves east,” she said. “Axis prepares to move north, and Azhure … well, who knows what she will do.” The others thought silently on Azhure. Even Jack, who knew many things, had been stunned by the appearance of the Enchantress’ ring and its choice of Azhure. He had originally believed the Wolven and the Alaunt had gravitated to Azhure because of her parentage … but now that he’d seen the ring on her finger Jack knew differently. As the original Enchantress had acted only as custodian for the ring, so WolfStar had acted only as custodian for the Wolven and the Alaunt. Now all had come home. Had the Prophet known of this? The Prophecy itself gave no clues … did it? The appearance of the ring had vastly increased the Sentinels’ respect for Azhure – and for Axis. It would only have reappeared when the Circle was complete, and it marked both Axis and Azhure. “Who knows what part she will play in the final act,” Veremund said. “But whatever happens, let us hope Gorgrael never learns her true identity.” Again all were silent for some moments, then Yr spoke, realigning the subject back to their circle. “As we are currently in Carlon, then I must go first.” Jack, his face unusually soft, nodded. “Yes, Yr. You will be first.” Yr’s eyes filled with tears. “And now that the moment is here, I find my heart is full of regrets.” None of the others begrudged Yr her words. Regrets filled every one of them and they would not hesitate to voice them. But they would not let regrets stop them in their final service to the Prophecy and to Axis. Not when they had come this far. “Many regrets.” 4 Ice Fortress (#ulink_6f5aca8f-3480-52f1-b759-9d523a8cdb56) For hours (or was it days?) Timozel sat knee to knee with Friend in the tiny boat, gliding smoothly and effortlessly over choppy grey waves and still, icy green waters alike. Friend kept up the pretence of rowing, but Timozel was sure some enchantment was being wielded. Who could row for hour after hour (day after day?) without tiring? Friend had not said a word since he rowed out from the beach at Murkle Bay. But Timozel felt certain that within the shadows of the close hood Friend grinned maniacally at him. Timozel spent most of his time staring anywhere but at the darkness behind the man’s black and gloomy hood. After an unknowable time Timozel perceived that their boat glided through green and glassy waters so icy that great icebergs, only three or four to start with, jutted skyward. Soon Friend was manoeuvring their tiny craft through a veritable forest of the ice mountains. To the south lay a grating ice pack, and beyond that a still and silent beach. Timozel twisted on his bench, anxiously peering this way and that, jumping every time a deep roll of thunder rumbled through the icy canyons towards them. “Friend?” he asked, unable to keep his silence any longer. “Friend, what is that noise?” Friend rowed in silence for a few more strokes, then spoke, startling Timozel, who had not expected a reply. “The sound you hear is that of the great glacier of Talon Spike calving her icebergs into the ocean.” Timozel tried to remember the few rudimentary maps he had seen of the northern wastes. “We are in the Iskruel Ocean?” “Assuredly, Timozel, assuredly. See, the icebears gambol, and to the south beyond the ice you can see the Icebear Coast.” Timozel twisted to where Friend had inclined his head. On the nearest berg a massive icebear stood watching them, her fur yellowed with age and the elements. One ear had been lost in a past dispute with another icebear over the carcass of a seal, and the loss gave her head a curiously lop-sided charm. The bear’s black eyes were uncomfortably all-knowing. “We are almost there,” the Dark Man said, his own eyes briefly meeting those of the icebear. “An hour or two, perhaps more, perhaps less. Gorgrael is close.” Timozel shivered and forgot the bear. “Gorgrael is close,” he whispered. “Gorgrael is close.” He hoped Gorgrael would be all that his new friend had promised. He hoped Gorgrael would indeed prove to be the Great Lord of his visions. He hoped that in Gorgrael he would find the saviour who would drive the Forbidden from Achar’s fields and rescue Faraday from her fate at Axis’ hands. If these hopes proved false, then Timozel knew he would go mad. Gorgrael was keen to make a good first impression. Apart from the Dear Man, Timozel would be Gorgrael’s first real visitor, and the arch-fiend of the Prophecy of the Destroyer was determined that Timozel should find his new master worthy of his service. He stood in front of his (for once) brightly glowing fire, every sharp plane and angle in his warped furniture waxed and polished. The crystal – what was left of it – that Gorgrael had retrieved from Gorkenfort sat on the single flat surface of the sideboard. Wine glinted richly in the depths of the decanter. All Skraelings within his Ice Fortress had been banished to unseen rooms, and SkraeFear, representing the SkraeBolds, waited nervously in an anteroom to meet his new superior. Gorgrael twisted his clawed hands as he watched with his mind’s eye the Dear Man pilot his boat towards the Ice Fortress. So much depended on Timozel, and the Dear Man had recently convinced Gorgrael that gentle persuasion and seductive lies would more likely win Timozel’s total support than the outright terror Gorgrael had been subjecting Timozel to in his dreams. “After all,” the Dear Man had said, “Timozel is an intelligent man. He deserves better than what you mete out to your SkraeBolds. Much better. Besides, better he work his heart out willingly for you than under duress.” Of course, Gorgrael reflected, Timozel would still need to have the ties that bound him to Gorgrael confirmed, and for that there would need to be a little pain. Just a little. Friend had been rowing steadily north-east for some time when he suddenly shipped his oars and nodded to a spot behind Timozel. “We walk from here,” he said. Timozel turned and stared. The little boat was drifting towards an ice-bound beach; he could see round pebbles and small rocks beneath a thin and treacherous layer of ice. Briefly he cast his eyes beyond the beach to the towering cliffs of ice that hid the land beyond, then looked back to Friend. “We’ll break our ankles within five steps on that footing, Friend. Do you know where you lead me?” “Assuredly, sweet boy,” Friend said. “I always know where I’m going.” As the boat crunched across the beach Friend rose and stepped past Timozel and out of the boat. “As this trusty boat has carried us through the treacherous waters of the Iskruel Ocean, then I am sure your feet will carry you safely across these shores.” Magic again, Timozel thought. Although he had been taught from birth by the Seneschal to loathe all manner of enchantments, Timozel was slowly coming to the understanding that perhaps the enchantments of the Forbidden could only be broken through similar magic; perhaps his visions were proof enough of that. He stepped carefully onto the ice-bound shoreline and found his booted feet gripped as surely as Friend had said they would. Well, whatever magic Friend had wrought to bring him to this remote spot seemed mild and harmless enough. Perhaps magic was only evil when used by the Forbidden and their spawn. For some time they walked up the canyon, the ground rising and the walls narrowing as they proceeded. Timozel’s breath came in short, sharp puffs that frosted heavily in the icy air. For the first time he noticed how cold it was and pulled his cloak closer about him. Friend’s cloak billowed out as he strode several paces in front of Timozel, seemingly unconcerned by the cold. His features must be fully exposed as that cloak blows back, Timozel thought, and he tried to increase his pace so that he could catch the man and see his face. But just as Timozel came within a pace of Friend, the ground rose sharply before them, and Timozel had to slow his pace and use both hands to steady himself as they climbed. The sky almost completely disappeared as the ice walls closed in; within minutes Timozel found that he was climbing almost vertically through a narrow icy chasm. Above him, Friend’s boots sent a constant torrent of small rocks and slivers of ice cascading into his face and Timozel would have cursed, had he the breath. Irritatingly, Friend whistled a silly ditty. Where does he find the breath? Timozel wondered as one of his hands slipped from its hold and he almost lost his footing. His heart pounded and Timozel felt sweat trickle down his face – he would die on the ice-covered rocks below if he fell down this chasm now. He gritted his teeth. If Friend could climb so effortlessly, then so could he. As if he could feel Timozel’s increased efforts, Friend called down reassurance. “Almost there, Timozel. Just a few more minutes.” That’s what you said hours ago in the boat, Timozel thought. The Dark Man laughed merrily. “Time means little to me, Timozel. But see, I have reached the top of this ice-pit.” Even as he spoke Friend’s boots disappeared over the welcome lip of the cliff, and the next moment Timozel grasped the man’s hand and let him pull him out of the chasm. “See?” Friend cried. “The Ice Fortress!” Timozel blinked and looked about him, narrowing his eyes. The sky was clear and the sunlight almost blinding as it glittered across the snow. They were standing on a flat, snow-covered plateau that stretched north and eastwards from the ice cliffs bordering the Iskruel Ocean for what seemed like eternity. “The Ice Fortress,” Friend said again, pointing. Perhaps half a league away to the east stood the Ice Fortress. It was constructed of jagged sheets of sheer ice that rose like perpendicular daggers towards the sky. It was massive, and Timozel guessed that it was twice the height and girth of the Tower of the Seneschal as it sat on the shores of the Grail Lake. It was also very, very beautiful. Shifting colours of mauve and pink shone as the sun struck the ice walls and reflected off on wildly divergent tangents. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “Beautiful.” “Of course!” Friend said, taking Timozel’s arm and pulling him forward. “Of course. Did I not say that you would find Gorgrael worthy of your service? Could anyone as dark and as desperate as the Destroyer of the Forbidden’s Prophecy live amid such beauty? No! Come.” The Ice Fortress was as beautiful inside as it was from the outside. There were none of the horrid writhing shapes beyond the corridor’s ice walls that Timozel remembered from his nightmares and visions. All was calm, all was bright. The corridor wound through the heart of the Ice Fortress, gentle pink light reflecting from unseen lamps. Gorgrael has done well, the Dark Man thought, very well indeed. He glanced at Timozel, who was walking steadily forward with a glazed expression on his face. But that changed when they rounded a corner and Timozel found himself walking down the same stretch of corridor that he’d walked in his nightmares. He recognised it because there at the very end was the massive wooden door that his treacherous hand had knocked upon to summon Gorgrael. “No!” “Timozel, my man,” the Dark Man said, his hand firm and reassuring on Timozel’s shoulder. “What you dreamed was Forbidden-corrupted, not the truth. No-one is more upset that you have been frightened than Gorgrael himself.” “Truly?” Timozel asked, desperate to believe Friend’s explanation. “Truly,” the Dark Man soothed, wrapping Timozel’s mind so tightly in enchantments that the man stood no chance of discerning truth from lies. “Very, very truly. Now, shall we go on?” Gorgrael stood in the centre of the room and extended his claws as the door opened and the Dear Man and Timozel stepped through. The man’s face was pinched and white, despite the Dark Man’s enchanted reassurances, and horror rippled across his features as he saw Gorgrael. How could something this repulsive – so horribly malformed – be anything but an aberration? In his nightmares, and in his enchanted vision when he had been forced to mortgage his soul to Gorgrael, Timozel had been brutally treated by the Destroyer. But now the horror stepped forward, opening its taloned hands in welcome, dipping its tusked head almost in embarrassment that Timozel should find its form displeasing, spreading its wings behind it in unconscious imitation of the Icarii manner of abasement, and almost swallowing its over-large tongue in an effort to twist its mouth in as close an imitation of a smile as it could get. Timozel came close to fainting, and actually swayed slightly on his feet, but Friend grasped his elbow. “Steady, steady,” he whispered. “Take courage. Think of this as a test. Do you have the courage to do what is needed to win both Achar and Faraday their freedom?” “Yes,” Timozel muttered. “Yes, I have the courage,” and he straightened his back and squared his shoulders. “I have the courage,” he said in a stronger voice. “Timozel,” Gorgrael said, and Timozel jumped slightly at the power and strength in Gorgrael’s voice. He stared unflinching into the creature’s silver eyes. “Timozel, are you my man?” “Do you fight to destroy the Forbidden?” Gorgrael almost snarled. Who was this stripling to question him? But he felt the Dark Man’s eyes on him, and he remembered their plan. “It is my name,” he said in as soft a voice as he could manage. “The Destroyer. I live to destroy the Forbidden, the hateful Icarii and Avar.” “Will you free Achar?” “I will drive the Forbidden from the land, yes.” Gorgrael would free Achar. Timozel only heard what he wanted to hear. He cleared his throat and spoke in a slightly stronger voice. “Do you seek to destroy Axis?” Now Gorgrael could not help a small hiss and he flexed his clawed hands. “I will shred him!” Timozel smiled, and for the first time he seemed comfortable. “Good. Will you free Faraday?” Gorgrael smiled with an equal degree of chill. Faraday. Axis’ Lover. The key to his destruction, and a woman Gorgrael had come to desire almost as much as he desired Axis’ death. “Will you help me free her, Timozel? Will you help me rescue Faraday?” “Yes, yes and yes thrice over, Great Lord,” he said. “You are all that Friend said you were.” He paused. “My soul is yours.” Fool! Gorgrael thought. Your soul was mine from the moment Faraday broke your vows of Championship. But he ducked his head and simpered anyway. Time enough in the future for Timozel to realise exactly how deeply Gorgrael’s claws were hooked into his soul. “Then let us cement the bargain,” Gorgrael whispered. The Dark Man hurriedly stepped out of the way. In the wink of an eye Gorgrael scurried the distance between himself and Timozel, his dreadful clawed hands and taloned wings extended. He was so quick that Timozel could not have moved, even had he wanted to. All he had time for was a quick breath of surprise, a widening of the eyes, then Gorgrael was upon him. With lightning-quick movements, Gorgrael shredded the clothes from Timozel’s upper body, then knifed razor sharp claws deep into Timozel’s chest. Timozel opened his mouth to scream, but the pain was so great all that escaped his mouth was a harsh gurgle. Gorgrael twisted his claws in deeper, then pulled Timozel next to him, their faces close in a frightful parody of a lover’s embrace. Timozel’s eyes, open wide, were sightless with agony. His arms curled at his side, his hands crimped uselessly. The Dark Man watched impassively. This had to be done, but he hoped that Gorgrael would be able to wield the enchantments so that Timozel would remember nothing of it afterwards. Damn it, Gorgrael is enjoying this. Pity poor Faraday when Gorgrael finally has the chance to get his talons into her. His claws scraping through bone and flesh, whimpering with pleasure, Gorgrael finally let a bolt of power flood through Timozel’s body. If Timozel was to lead Gorgrael’s army against Axis, then the man needed a well of power like those Gorgrael had given the SkraeBolds. It would contain only the minutest fraction of the power that Gorgrael himself commanded, but it would be more, far more than the SkraeBolds enjoyed. Timozel needed to be able to control the SkraeBolds as well. “Feel it!” Gorgrael hissed ecstatically, wriggling and pulling Timozel more firmly against his own body. “Feel it!” Somewhere in a dark corner of his mind that wasn’t totally consumed by pain Timozel faintly heard Gorgrael’s words, and, even more faintly, could feel something warm and dark writhing in his belly. Feel it. This darkness suddenly, unbelievably, flared into such firebarbed agony that Timozel finally found the breath to cry out. He arched his body, flung back his head and shrieked, and shrieked, and then shrieked once more. “Yes!” Gorgrael groaned, then retracted his claws and let Timozel fall to the floor, dark blood streaming from the dreadful wounds in his chest. Timozel drifted out of the blackness that had claimed him. He felt incredibly relaxed, and a feeling of such well-being flooded him that he tried to hold on to the blackness. He smiled, savouring the sensations. Not even Yr at her best had caused him to feel this satisfied, this replete. The Dark Man caught Gorgrael’s eye and nodded. You have done better than I expected, my friend. You have excelled yourself. The man will do anything for you now. Anything. Gorgrael reflectively rubbed one of his tusks with a claw. Good. Timozel stretched his body, turned his head, smiled, and opened his eyes. Friend and Gorgrael were seated in grotesquely malcarved chairs before a roaring fire. Both held crystal glasses of wine. Both were gazing benignly at him. Timozel smiled at them. “What happened?” “I have accepted you into my service,” Gorgrael said. “See?” He tapped his chest. Timozel frowned, then realised that Gorgrael wanted him to look at his own chest. He raised himself onto his elbows, noting in some surprise that he only wore his breeches and boots. On his chest was branded the outline of a clawed hand. “My mark,” Gorgrael said. “Then I am proud to wear it, Great Lord,” Timozel said boldly, and he rose to his feet. He had no memory of the assault that had put the mark there. He felt incredibly well and powerful, and both Gorgrael and the Dark Man smiled at the expression of wonderment on Timozel’s face. “Already you feel the benefit of my power, Timozel,” Gorgrael said, rising from his chair and moving to what Timozel, even in his sublime state, considered the ugliest sideboard he had ever seen. “Wine?” Gorgrael held the decanter and shook it slightly in Timozel’s direction. “Yes,” Timozel said. “Wine would be welcome.” He wondered why he had ever feared this noble creature now standing before him. This was where he was meant to be. This was vision. This was destiny. Gorgrael handed Timozel a glass of wine and waved him over to a table. “We must plan, Timozel, to bring Axis’ evil house crashing about him and to restore Faraday to the light.” “With pleasure, Lord,” Timozel said, taking a sip of the wine. The Dark Man stood and the three toasted their future success. Gorgrael was prepared to admit that the Dark Man had been right. He had over-reached himself by launching his attack on Gorkenfort two years ago. It had been precipitate and foolish. His SkraeBolds had badly mismanaged the attack on the Earth Tree Grove, as well as the battle above Gorkenfort where so many Skraelings had been destroyed by the emerald fire. But now Gorgrael felt that all the elements he needed to defeat Axis were firmly in his grasp. The last piece had been Timozel, and now Timozel stood here, so tightly bonded to Gorgrael’s service that he would sell his soul … no! Gorgrael almost laughed out loud, Timozel would now gladly sell Faraday’s soul to ensure his master’s victory! “Enough,” he said, startling the other two. “We must plan. Timozel, let me tell you about the army you will command.” For the next hour Gorgrael spoke, and Timozel’s excitement rose. What a force the Great Lord was handing him! Over the past year Gorgrael had been transforming his hordes. The Skraelings were no longer the misty wraiths Timozel had originally seen at Gorkenfort, vulnerable through their eyes. Now they were fully fleshed creatures, so totally encased in bony armour they would be near-impossible to kill. The IceWorms had been bred larger, more numerous and more mobile. “The weather is mine,” Gorgrael said finally. “I now wield virtually total control over the ice and the wind.” The Dark Man nodded to himself. That was Gorgrael’s Avar blood coming out in him; with that and his ability to wield the Dark Music, Gorgrael would be able to unleash a frozen hell over most of the northern half of Achar … Tencendor now. The Dark Man was pleased with Gorgrael’s work in this area. Two years ago Gorgrael’s control over the winter had been a haphazard and fragile affair. Now it was almost total. “Then you would do well to send some of your ice south as soon as you can,” Timozel said. Gorgrael frowned. “Now?” He had thought Timozel would need at least a week or two to establish his control over the Skraeling force. “Axis will be sending many of his army north soon, Great Lord. We are lucky that he has not already done so. If you send your ice south now – as far as the Western and Bracken Ranges if you can – then you will freeze those rivers that have caused you such trouble. And if the Nordra freezes, Axis will not be able to move his troops north faster than a crawl.” “Yes. Yes,” Gorgrael said. “You make a good point.” Timozel watched his master. He vaguely remembered that once he had thought Gorgrael a creature so frightfully malformed, so disgusting, that his very appearance seemed the personification of evil. Now Gorgrael seemed noble, and his strange appearance only made him appear powerful, not ugly or frightful. “And your ice spears, Master, why have you not used them again? You tried to murder Axis with them once outside the Barrows of the Enchanter-Talons, and you could perhaps have employed them to your advantage at Gorkenfort. If you use them again, I am confident they will create mayhem among Axis’ force – and think how they could impale the Icarii Strike Force!” Gorgrael looked embarrassed. “Ahem. Yes, well, I must admit, Timozel, that I badly over-extended myself at the Ancient Barrows. I was not as powerful then as I am now. But I am afraid that I will not be able to use the ice spears again in any case, although they were such a pretty creation.” “But why, Great Lord, if your power is so much greater now?” Gorgrael grinned to himself, and the Dark Man smiled too, knowing what Gorgrael was thinking of. “Because I have one more secret to show you, Timozel. The weapon that will surely destroy Axis and his army.” He clicked his claws, and Timozel heard a movement in one of the darker corners of the room. “I will give you an air-borne force, Timozel, that will make the Icarii Strike Force seem pitiful indeed.” “The Gryphon!” Timozel suddenly remembered the dreadful winged creatures that had flown over Jervois Landing. “Yes,” Gorgrael said. “The Gryphon. Behold, my pet.” The Gryphon that now crawled on its belly towards them was much larger, her lion’s body more powerfully built, than the original Gryphon Gorgrael and the Dark Man had created between them. As she approached Timozel she dipped her eagle’s head in subservience. The Dark Man managed to stop himself swearing in surprise. This was not the Gryphon that he and Gorgrael had made! Gorgrael peered at the Dark Man slyly. “I lost another of the SkraeBolds in the WildDog Plains, Dear Man. With its decomposing flesh I made another Gryphon. Only larger, more powerfully built. More intelligent.” “And it breeds?” the Dark Man asked, his voice harsh. “As do its pups,” Gorgrael said, more than pleased at the Dark Man’s surprise. “As do its pups.” He turned back to Timozel. “I will give you one of this creature’s pups as your own. Go on, pat her head, scratch the back of her neck, she likes that. With one of these creatures as your mount you will be able to sail the thermals as easily as do the Icarii.” As Timozel bent down to the Gryphon fawning at his feet, Gorgrael took the Dark Man by the elbow and led him away a few steps, talking quietly. “Perhaps there is something I should tell you, Dark Man.” Hearing the perverse pleasure in Gorgrael’s voice, the Dark Man knew the news was going to be bad. “Dear Man, I know you planned that the Gryphon should stop breeding after the second pack was whelped. I know you planned that the numbers of Gryphon would be limited.” Months ago Gorgrael and the Dark Man had created a Gryphon, a creature with the head of an eagle, the wings of a bird, and the body of a great cat. The Dark Man had infused deep enchantments into the making of the Gryphon; the single female had been created pregnant, and soon after she had been created she had whelped nine pups. And these nine pups had been born female and pregnant. After four months they too whelped, each bearing nine pups. But the Dark Man had thought he had manipulated the enchantments so that the breeding would stop there. He wanted Gorgrael to have a powerful air-borne force – and the eighty-two Gryphon created in this fashion would surely be that – but he did not intend that the breeding should continue. “But the breeding has continued,” Gorgrael hissed, and he felt the Dark Man twitch under his hand. “Already I have seven hundred and twenty-nine. And soon they will whelp. Each will whelp nine pregnant pups. Do you know how many that will be, Dear, Dear Man?” The Dark Man was silent, almost overcome with horror. “Over six and a half thousand. And in another four months those six and a half thousand will whelp – almost sixty thousand pups. And in four months those sixty thousand will –” “Stop!” the Dark Man cried, and jerked his arm from Gorgrael’s grasp. “And not to forget, of course, the second Gryphon I created. She and hers have generated eighty-one Gryphon. In just over a month those eighty-one will become seven hundred and –” “Yes, yes!” the Dark Man spat. “I understand!” “No,” Gorgrael said very, very softly. “I do not think you do. I am the Destroyer, Dear Man, and I plan to destroy. Whatever pretty enchantments Axis can throw my way, I will still destroy Tencendor. With the Gryphon-breeding as they do, in less than a year there will be five-hundred thousand of them in the skies of Tencendor, Dear Man. Think of it. Five-hundred thousand. So what if my comely brother can stab one or two here or there? Or his army forty or fifty thousand? Even if one escapes, one, that one will breed nine, and those nine will whelp nine each, and … I need not continue. Even if one escapes, within two years at least sixty thousand will repopulate the skies of Tencendor.” Behind his hood the Dark Man stared at Gorgrael, appalled. “So you see,” Gorgrael said, “even if Axis destroyed me in battle, I have planned that he shall have nothing left to enjoy. Not even Axis can counter the virulence of the Gryphon. Eventually there will be nothing left of this green and pleasant land except the shadows of Gryphon wheeling and shrieking through the sky. They will blot out the sun and they will destroy and destroy and destroy until there is nothing – nothing – left!” Oh Stars, thought the Dark Man, and felt the plans of three thousand years crumble to dust about him. Gorgrael grinned triumphantly. At last he had bested the Dark Man. And if he could do that, then Gorgrael knew that he would best Axis. 5 A Holy Crusade (#ulink_d26144f6-d32b-5fae-b680-0b21827296d0) Gilbert had known from the moment the Corolean transports disgorged their traitorous pirates into the seething mass that was the Battle of Bedwyr Fort that Borneheld was all but dead. Borneheld and his armies had failed to protect the Seneschal, and had failed in their supreme duty to Artor. Not only would the beautiful Tower of the Seneschal now be overrun by Axis and the Forbidden, but Gilbert had realised that Carlon itself was lost. Sooner or later, Axis would seize the capital of Achar as well. Gilbert had understood very clearly that his future lay as far away from Jayme, Borneheld and Carlon as he could get. He also knew that the future of the Seneschal and the Way of the Plough probably rested with him. Jayme had proved useless in massing the not inconsiderable resources of the Seneschal against Axis’ forces; now the Brotherhood lay scattered among the ruins of Achar. So Gilbert had backed silently away from Jayme and Moryson as they stood atop the parapets of Carlon, and sped down back stairs and corridors until he reached the home of one of his many cousins within the city. There he had begged a horse, clothes, supplies and a purse of gold coins and had ridden out of Carlon not five minutes before Borneheld and Gautier, fleeing from the battlefield, had ordered the gates sealed. He rode hard and fast south, turning east after two days (fording the Nordra late one night and almost drowning in the process) to begin his long trek across the southern plains of Tare. He was not completely sure where he was going; he had a vague compulsion to travel east, perhaps to Arcness, maybe then north to Skarabost. Each night Gilbert would pray to Artor for guidance. Surely Artor would not desert him or the Seneschal in this, its hour of greatest need? It was now the third week of DeadLeaf-month, almost a month after the Battle of Bedwyr Fort, and Gilbert sat morosely by his tiny campfire, considering his future. It did not look very promising. From what he had heard from the occasional passing trader, many of whom had been returning to Nor from Carlon, Axis had destroyed the throne of Achar and had proclaimed himself StarMan of Tencendor. Gilbert snorted. StarMan of Tencendor? A gaudy title for the rebirth of an evil world. He shivered in the cool night air and pulled his cloak tightly about him. Since he had escaped from Carlon he had not been able to travel very far; currently he was, at his best estimation, somewhere in the northern regions of Nor, or perhaps western Tarantaise. He fingered his purse. He had carefully hoarded his coins, bargaining fiercely in the markets of the small towns he had passed through for food and supplies. He travelled as a minor nobleman – an easy disguise to assume since Gilbert had originally come from one of the nobler families of Carlon – because in these eastern territories, where Axis’ armies and the Forbidden who travelled with him had already passed, it would not be very wise to be seen to be a Brother. Gilbert had also heard from the few merchants he had encountered that the names of old gods were now mouthed with increasing confidence across eastern Achar. He leaned forward and prodded the bread he had baking in the coals. He had no life but that he had built for himself in the Seneschal. A young man, not yet thirty, Gilbert had risen quickly through the ranks of the Brotherhood. Six years ago Jayme had appointed him as his junior adviser, and Gilbert was not ashamed to admit to himself that his eye rested on the throne of the Brother-Leader itself. Jayme was old, as was Moryson, and who better to succeed Jayme than the talented younger adviser? Of course, this possibility had been blown awry when this Destroyer had invaded from the north, and the BattleAxe had revealed his true colours and set about destroying both Achar and the Seneschal. Now Gilbert was left with little more than his broken ambitions to comfort him. So Gilbert sat, desolately prodding the bread that seemed determined not to rise, until he gradually became aware that he was being watched. For some time he continued to sit, absolutely still, his eyes on the now blackening bread, his ears straining. After long minutes of silence, Gilbert could stand it no longer. “Who’s there?” he called, injecting as much bravado into his voice as he could. Silence still then a small scratching noise as someone shifted a foot. “Gilbert?” a thin, reedy voice quavered. “Gilbert?” “Artor’s arse!” Gilbert swore, so completely forgetting himself that he used an obscenity which until now he’d only heard soldiers mouth. “Moryson?” “Aye, ’tis I,” Moryson said, then shuffled into the light of the fire. Gilbert’s mouth dropped as he stared at the man who had been Jayme’s senior adviser. Moryson looked even thinner and more fragile than usual, his clothes hanging tattered and dirty from his spare frame. A week-old stubble covered his cheeks, and his right hand trembled spasmodically as if he had damaged a nerve in his arm or neck. “May I join you?” Moryson asked, looking as if he was about to fall, and Gilbert gestured to a spot by the fire. Moryson sank down gratefully. “You are a hard man to catch, Gilbert.” Gilbert continued to stare. Moryson was the last person he would have expected to appear in this lonely night. “Why aren’t you with –?” “With Jayme?” Moryson’s voice was stronger now that he’d taken the weight off his legs. “Why not? Because Jayme was ultimately a fool, Gilbert, and a loser. I may be old but I am not yet prepared to die.” Slowly Gilbert closed his mouth. Moryson was the last one he would have thought to desert Jayme. For perhaps forty years the pair had been inseparable, the friendship between them so deep and so strong – and so exclusive, Gilbert thought resentfully – that he would have wagered his own immortal soul on the fact that Moryson would elect to stay and share Jayme’s fate. “How did you escape Carlon?” Gilbert asked. And why are you here, now? Moryson coughed, a harsh guttural sound, and Gilbert passed across a waterskin. Moryson took a deep draught, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Thank you. I have not drunk in over a day. Well now, how did I escape? I saw you flee down the stairs as it became evident that Borneheld, the fool, had lost the battle with Axis. I knew why you left. There was nothing protecting Carlon now, and Axis would have little sympathy for you – nor for Jayme or myself. “I tried to follow you down the stairs, but my legs are old and weak, and I lost you within minutes.” Gilbert frowned; surely he would have heard if Moryson had stumbled down the stairs after him? “Jayme might choose to stay and confront his former BattleAxe, but I chose to leave and risk my life elsewhere,” Moryson continued. “After I had lost you I fled to a small door I knew of, which opens onto Grail Lake. There I found a small boat moored. Exhausted, but frightened by the thought that soon Axis himself might come riding into Carlon, I rowed my way across the lake to a spot well north of the Tower of the Seneschal, then began my tedious flight.” Moryson’s voice strengthened as he warmed to his tale. “For days I stumbled east, then south-east, desperate to avoid Axis and the Forbidden, snatching food where I could, rest where I dared. After a week I heard tell from a passing merchant, Dru-Beorh by name, that he had encountered you further south in Nor. I wondered if perhaps my future lay with you. Alone I could do nothing, but Gilbert, I thought, Gilbert must have a plan. I shall find Gilbert. So, here I am.” Gilbert just stared at the old man. Deprivation and fright have driven him senseless, he thought. How had he managed to survive this long? “And what sort of plan did you think I might have in mind?” he asked. “What did you think I would be able to do for you?” “I thought that you might know somewhere to hide,” Moryson said, his voice slipping back into fragility. “I won’t survive on my own, but, I thought, my old friend Gilbert will help me.” Old friend indeed, Gilbert thought angrily. Moryson and Jayme kept me at arm’s length for years, never trusting me with their secret confidences, never truly thinking I was worthy of their regard. Yet now Moryson, frightened and directionless, dares to sit here and tell me that he is and has always been my friend. “I thought perhaps we could find some of our scattered brethren,” Moryson said. “Axis must have dispossessed dozens of Plough-Keepers as he rode through eastern Achar towards Carlon.” Gilbert finally noticed the blackened remains of the bread and busied himself pulling the loaf clear of the coals, thinking carefully as he did so. Moryson’s vague words had given him the germ of an idea. He was right. There must be many Brothers of the Seneschal, scholars as well as the local Plough-Keepers – the Brothers who ministered within the villages – wandering as vaguely and with as little direction as he and Moryson. Singly they could do nothing, but together … “You have hit the matter on the head, Moryson,” he said. “I intend to move eastwards and gather what remnants of the Brotherhood remain.” “And then?” Moryson asked. “What will we do then?” “It is best that I wait until we are a dozen or so, Moryson,” Gilbert replied smoothly, “and then I shall inform you of my plan.” Moryson nodded, his shoulders hunched. Gilbert remembered Moryson as a strong and proud man, in spirit if not in body, but the man who now sat across the fire seemed shattered, almost servile. Well, he thought, Moryson has had a bad few weeks, and has seen his life and his power destroyed. No wonder the old man now appears to want nothing more than a blanket-wrapped chair by a fire. Gilbert smiled as he realised that the relationship between himself and Moryson had altered dramatically. Now he was the driving force, now he would say what was to be done and when, and Moryson would nod and agree and say that Gilbert knew best. Sitting about this fire were the two most senior members of the Seneschal remaining (for Axis had surely skewered Jayme by now), and of the two, Gilbert was the strongest. That makes me the leader of the Seneschal, he realised suddenly. I am to all effects and purposes the Brother-Leader of the Seneschal! After gloating to himself for some minutes, Gilbert finally thought to carve up what was left of the bread and pass some to Moryson with some beef and a wizened apple. That should keep the old man alive until morning. Once they had finished eating and as the fire died down, Gilbert led the nightly prayers to Artor. Even during the most harried days of his escape, Gilbert had never neglected his evening and dawn prayers to Artor. Of all the things that could be said about Gilbert, lack of dedication to his beloved god was not one of them. Moryson and Gilbert were startled from their observances by a strange rhythmic thumping. It surrounded them, and the men exchanged puzzled and fearful glances as the noise grew louder. “What is it?” Gilbert finally asked, not raising his voice above a whisper. Moryson actually whimpered, and Gilbert glanced his way. If Moryson had seemed weak and fearful previously, now he was absolutely terrified. He had curled himself into as small a ball as possible, as if he could somehow burrow into the earth and escape whatever it was that came their way. “What is it?” Gilbert hissed. “Ahhh!” Moryson moaned, and wriggled some more, actually scraping at the earth with his fingers. “Moryson!” “Artor!” Moryson cried. “It is Artor!” Gilbert stared at him wide-eyed. Artor? For an instant Gilbert’s reaction vacillated between outright terror and transcendent ecstasy. Ecstasy won. “Artor!” he screamed and leapt to his feet. “Artor! It is I! Gilbert! Your true servant! What must I do to serve you? What is your desire?” Damn fool, damn fool, damn fool, Moryson muttered over and over in his mind, not sure whether he referred to himself or Gilbert. Damn fool! He curled himself into an even tighter ball. The strange thumping increased, now almost a thunder, and Gilbert could see a light in the distance. “Artor!” he screamed yet again. As the light drew closer, Gilbert saw it emanated from two monstrous red bulls that were yoked to an equally monstrous plough. Behind strode Artor, one hand on the plough, the other raised to goad His team forward. The ploughshare cut deep into the ground, making a rhythmic thump as it thudded through the earth. Behind Artor ran a wide and deep furrow, straight as an arrow, heading directly for Gilbert. Breath steamed in great gouts from the flared nostrils of the bulls, and they flung their heads from side to side, rolling their furious eyes as if they wanted to trample all unbelievers and scorners in their path. But Gilbert was neither an unbeliever nor a scorner, and he stood his ground confidently. “Furrow wide, furrow deep!” he screamed as if he had suddenly become privy to the greatest secrets of life and death. He threw open his arms in an extravagant gesture of welcome and flung his head back. “Blessed Lord!” My good, true son. “Oh!” Gilbert could not believe himself to be so utterly blessed. Artor halted His team not four or five paces from the ecstatic Gilbert and stepped out from behind the plough, appearing as He had before Jayme – a huge man muscled and scarred from a lifetime behind the plough. He pushed back His hood so that Gilbert might the more easily see the face of his god. His muscles bunched and rolled as He strode forth, the goad still clasped in one hand. Who is that who huddles in the dirt? “It is but Moryson, Blessed Lord, a poor man who has been all but broken by the events of the past months,” Gilbert said. Fool, fool, fool, fool, Moryson droned over and over to himself, and somewhere in his terror-riddled mind he knew that he meant himself with that word. Fool to be here at this moment! Artor had laid the blame for the Seneschal’s loss squarely at Jayme’s feet, and He lost interest in Moryson immediately. Snivelling cowards He had seen a-plenty. What Artor needed now was a man who had soul and courage enough to restore Artor to His rightful place as supreme god of Achar. He seethed. Why, the viper had even changed the name of the land from the blessed Achar to the ancient and cursed Tencendor. He turned His eyes back to Gilbert. You are a man of true spirit. A man whom I can lean on. A man who can rebuild the Seneschal for Me. Gilbert fell to his knees and clasped his hands to his breast in adoration, tears in his eyes. At least Artor recognised his true worth. For centuries Achar lay safe and pristine under My benevolence. Now it is befouled by the footsteps of the Forbidden and by worship of their frightful interstellar gods. Artor did not like competition; the Seneschal had always disposed quickly and harshly of any who spoke of other ways and other gods. The Way of the Plough sickens nigh unto death, and the Seneschal is grievously wounded. It will take commitment to ensure its survival and ultimate resurrection to all-consuming power. Are you committed, Gilbert? “Yes,” Gilbert all but shouted in an effort to convince his god. I have a task for you, Gilbert. “Anything!” You know of this Faraday? Gilbert blinked. Faraday? What could Artor want with – DO YOU KNOW OF THIS FARADAY? Artor roared through his mind. Gilbert cursed his hesitation. “Yes! Yes! I know her! She is married to Borneheld. Was, I suppose, if Borneheld is dead.” She is dangerous. “She is but a woman.” Fool! Think not to contradict Me! “She is dangerous, oh Blessed One.” Yes. She is dangerous. She must be found and she must be stopped. “You have only to say the word, Lord, and she will die.” Artor laughed, and it was a terrible sound. She will not be that easy, Gilbert, but she will be a good test of your commitment. She means to ride east, but her evil enchantments cloud my senses and I know not where she is. Your task is to find her and to stop her before she can replant the forests across good plough-land. If she completes that task then I … I … Gilbert sensed the god’s fear. He did not know what Artor was talking about, and he could not see how Faraday could wield evil enchantments or why she was so dangerous. But that must be part of the test. Then I am lost, the god whispered. Then I am lost with that single act. It worried Him greatly that He could not spy out Faraday with His power. It meant that the power of the Mother, which Faraday drew on, was growing stronger day by day. The forest is evil, and it must be destroyed, never to rise again. Now Artor spoke from the Book of Field and Furrow, the holy text that He had given to mankind thousands of years ago. Wood exists only to serve man, and it must never be allowed to grow wild and unrestrained, free to shelter dark spirits and wicked sprites. Gilbert experienced a rare flash of insight. “It is why we took the axe to the dark forest a thousand years ago, Blessed One. Should it spring to life again then the Way of the Plough will be strangled among its roots.” Yes. Yes, you will do well, good Gilbert. Make sure that you do well, Gilbert, for My wrath is a terrible thing. Gilbert had every intention of doing well. How hard could it be to find Faraday and dispose of her? “I shall gather the remaining Plough-Keepers and Brothers together, Great Lord, all that I can find. The more eyes I have at my command the more likely it is that I can find the woman. And then when I find her, I will kill her.” Artor smiled. The fool had a lot to learn, but what he lost in naivety, he made up for in commitment and a singular adoration for Artor. There were not many like him left. Good. I will direct homeless Brothers who still have the faith into your path. They will be your servants. He touched Gilbert’s forehead in benediction. You will do well, Brother-Leader Gilbert. You have embarked on a Holy Crusade for My sake. Do well. Then he vanished. Moryson remained curled in a ball for almost an hour before he dared stand up. He could hardly believe that Artor had let him live. In his long, long life, this was the closest that Moryson had come to personal disaster. He looked around for the younger man. Gilbert sat by the now dead fire, fervour shining bright in his eyes, planning his divine mission. WolfStar huddled deep within the dark, dark night. Everything was going wrong. Gorgrael promised to fill the skies with everincreasing numbers of Gryphon, and now Artor, curse His ravening immortal soul, walked Tencendor seeking vengeance. Had either of these two events been foreseen by prophecy? No, and no again. “I must think,” he muttered to himself. “I must think.” After some time the thought came to him. Azhure. Stars, but he needed Azhure. Tencendor needed Azhure. 6 Carlon (#ulink_dc2601bf-a881-5542-b830-e59cfd3e4302) Axis rubbed his tired eyes and consciously worked to keep the deep uneasiness from showing on his face. He remembered Priam sitting in this very Privy Chamber, ragged lines of worry etching his face, as he shared his bad news with his commanders. In the ten days since his marriage, Axis had finally begun sending troops northwards to Jervois Landing. He supposed that Gorgrael would again attempt to break through into southern Tencendor with the main part of his force through Jervois Landing as he had last winter. The troops had embarked on river transports, normally the quickest and most efficient system of moving large numbers of troops and supplies. Normally. “They have no way of breaking through?” Axis asked. Belial gazed steadily at his friend. “The Nordra is completely frozen beyond the valley in the Western Ranges, Axis. No ship, no transport, can sail into Aldeni or Skarabost. The north is isolated.” “As are those troops currently in Jervois Landing, Axis,” Magariz added. Axis looked about the room, trying to gather his thoughts. The great Privy Chamber had not altered much since the days Axis had attended Priam’s council here as BattleAxe of the Seneschal. But if the great Privy Chamber had not altered much in structure or hangings, it certainly had in the people grouped about the great circular table. Apart from Axis, Prince Ysgryff was the only one present who would have attended Priam’s council. Duke Roland was still in Sigholt, slowly dying; the unlucky Earl Jorge had moved north to Jervois Landing with the first transports; and Baron Fulke was currently seeing to the last of the grape harvest in Romsdale. Now Icarii Crest-Leaders shared the conference table with a Ravensbund Chieftain and human princes. There were others, stranger, grouped about or under the table. StarDrifter, not part of the conference, but present nevertheless. Azhure, looking slightly better but still weary, sat further around the table. At her feet, and around the chamber, lay the fifteen great Alaunt hounds. Come on, man, think, Axis berated himself. They wait on you. They believe in you. But the truth was that Axis had not thought very much at all about what he would do once he had defeated Borneheld and proclaimed Tencendor. He had never really thought about how he was going to confront Gorgrael. Now it looked as though Gorgrael was going to force the issue, as though the final battle would be fought on Gorgrael’s terms. Axis roused himself, aware that the others were staring. “FarSight, is it possible to send your farflight scouts north to spy the danger?” FarSight CutSpur, the senior Crest-Leader in the Icarii Strike Force, shook his dark head emphatically. “No, StarMan. No. The weather worsens hourly. Great winds of sleet and frost bear down from the north. If the farflight scouts actually survived the winds, then they would see nothing anyway.” Azhure spoke, her voice soft. “How many men do you have in Jervois Landing, Axis?” “Over eight thousand. Five that Borneheld had left there, three from our own force. And one lonely wing of the Strike Force; they must be grounded if the weather at Jervois Landing is as bad as I fear.” Magariz and Belial exchanged glances. “If Gorgrael attacks,” Magariz said, “then they are lost. Eight thousand could not possibly hold out against the forces he could throw against them.” “Damn it, I know that!” Axis shouted. “But what can I do? I have no way of moving any more forces north quickly – even the Andeis Sea has succumbed to storms so violent that five ships have been lost this past week alone.” He paused and calmed himself. “Gorgrael will strike,” he resumed, “and he will strike soon. All we can do is prepare as best we can.” “We move north?” Belial said. Axis looked at him steadily, then gazed about the room, fixing the eyes of each of his commanders in turn. “We begin to prepare today.” He hesitated, then decided to voice his concern. “Truth to tell, my friends, I am unsure what to do. Where will Gorgrael strike? Jervois Landing, surely, but we will never be able to get there in time. Then where? If all of Aldeni is frozen he could mass his troops anywhere. I am loath to commit my force to any action or to any route north until I have a better idea what Gorgrael is going to do.” It was Ichtar all over again, Axis thought. If Gorgrael broke through Jervois Landing he would have the entire province of Aldeni to roam in. And he would be only some fifty leagues from Carlon itself. “Well, enough of my doubts.” Axis spoke briskly, and more formally. “Princes Belial, Magariz and Ysgryff and,” he smiled slightly at his wife, “my Lady Azhure, Guardian of the East. Within three days I want from all of you a list of the resources that your provinces will be able to provide to support Tencendor’s fight against Gorgrael. I want to know everything you’ve got, from food to wagons to fighting men to weapons to any one or any thing that can contribute to the war effort.” Magariz’s mouth twitched, but his eyes were grave. “I do not need three days to compose a list, StarMan. My northern province can provide only one thing, but that in abundance – the enemy.” There was silence, then Axis spoke again. “Sooner or later we will to have to ride into that icy hell above the Western Ranges,” he said. “And I fear that there will be no glorious battle at the end of this march.” Especially if I cannot find the skills and the courage to wield enough of the Star Dance to use effective Songs of War, he thought, black despair threatening to overwhelm him. “Eleven days ago, amid shouts of rejoicing, I proclaimed Tencendor. Ten days ago I married the woman I love more than life itself. But this has been a false summer, I think. Have we all celebrated too fast? Has darkness merely bided its time, waiting to catch us off guard?” All that afternoon Azhure attended to her duties as Guardian of the East. Hers was a special responsibility, that of making sure that the integration of three races, three cultures, and three religions went smoothly and with the least rancour possible. It was a challenge that Azhure relished; she had spent time among all three races – Acharites (as the humans were still known), Avar and Icarii. Although the Avar still had not moved from their forest homelands, and probably would not until Faraday had planted the forest below the Fortress Ranges, Azhure had more than enough to do with the influx of Icarii into the southern lands of Tencendor. She was impatient with the paperwork that the scribes continually thrust her way; Azhure liked to hear a problem from all sides before making a decision that was best for the parties involved. She had got very used to the despairing cry of the scribes and administrators –“But it’s never been done that way before!” – to which she always replied, with as much graciousness as she could, “Well, it’s the way it’s going to be done now.” In the early evening, Azhure wandered back to the royal apartments along the busy corridors of the palace. She hoped that Axis would soon return from his consultations with Belial and Magariz over preparations for their eventual march north. She needed to speak with him about what she had learned this afternoon and did not want to leave it for later that night as she was now so tired that she longed only for a simple meal and her bed. Axis was still deeply worried about her health and, though they never spoke of it, both were extremely concerned over her continuing lack of control over her power. The morning after StarDrifter and Axis had tried to teach Azhure the Song for Drying Clothes, Carlon had awakened to a minor miracle. The contents of every single laundry hamper in the city had been mysteriously emptied overnight, laundered, folded and stored. There could be no explanation except that, somehow, Azhure had unconsciously used her power as she slept. She had no knowledge of how she had done it, and had become tearful when Axis had pressed her, and the matter of the clean clothes had been quietly dropped. But Azhure could feel Axis’ and StarDrifter’s eyes on her occasionally, wondering. Wondering what? she thought. Wondering what might have happened if it had been a less innocuous Song? What if it had been the Song of Muddlement – would Carlon then have awoken with its population wandering the streets, dazed and disorientated? Azhure sighed with relief when she reached the royal apartments; Axis was already there, and servants had just finished laying a meal for them on a low table in the Jade Chamber. As they ate, Azhure occasionally stole a glance at Axis, noting the lines of worry on his face. Some of them she knew were for her, but most were for the desperate situation faced by the troops currently at Jervois Landing. Axis worried for each soldier under his command; every time a man died Axis fretted. Could he have prevented it? Was the man’s death the result of a bad decision on his part? Belial had told her of Axis’ deep guilt after the loss of three hundred men at the Ancient Barrows when Gorgrael had rained down his cruel ice spears on them, and his even worse guilt after the disastrous loss of life in the battle for Gorkentown. Since she had been with him, Azhure had seen much the same thing. Stars knows how he must be berating himself inside for not foreseeing the probable slaughter at Jervois Landing. “Why do you smile?” Axis asked as he peeled back the purple skin of a juicy malayam fruit. “I was thinking on the dismay of the scribes and recorders this afternoon. I do not, it seems, do things in the right order, at the right time, or use the correct bureaucratic procedure.” To her relief Axis laughed, his whole face lightening. “Then you are doing well, beloved, if you have already annoyed the bureaucrats.” They smiled at each other, then Azhure’s expression became serious. “Axis. There is a matter that I ought to discuss with you. Do you mind?” “Never fear to talk with me, Azhure. We have wasted months of our lives because we did not talk truthfully to each other.” “It is only a mundane matter, perhaps,” she said, “but it needs to be aired. Dru-Beorh came to me this afternoon with some disturbing news.” She paused. “He has seen both Moryson and Gilbert in his travels between here and Nor.” Axis grimaced. He should have known that their names would re-emerge. “They were both alone at the time he saw them, Moryson wandering south through the Plains of Tare, Gilbert travelling east through northern Nor. I thanked him for the information and said I would think further on it. Axis, Faraday was heading east when she left here. I cannot but think that perhaps she may encounter one of them.” Axis returned his eyes to the remains of the malayam fruit. After a moment he gave up all pretence at eating it and wiped his fingers on a napkin. “I would give much to have those two locked securely in the palace dungeons, Azhure. Together with Jayme, they were directly responsible for many of the injustices that the Seneschal perpetuated. And that I helped perpetuate.” Another guilt. They both turned their minds to Jayme, and they shared their thoughts regarding his strange death. No-one had been able to explain it, and while Axis had been pleased to see that Jayme had died in a manner befitting his crimes, he was unhappy that Jayme had escaped his trial. The guard had heard or seen nothing, and both Axis and Azhure could not help but feel that some dark enchantment had been at work in Jayme’s death. “Faraday?” Azhure prompted. “Do you think Faraday is in any danger? It is not only Gilbert and Moryson who concern me – there must be a number of Plough-Keepers wandering eastern Tencendor. They can be nothing but trouble.” Axis sipped some wine thoughtfully. He’d not had time to deal with the problem of the Seneschal and the Way of the Plough, and undoubtedly would not for many months to come. Despite the collapse of the Seneschal and the abandoning of Artor by so many people in these days of prophecy, Axis knew that in many villages the Plough-Keepers retained considerable power. “Faraday?” Azhure asked yet again. He started and smiled guiltily. “Sorry. Faraday …” Stars, another guilt, and the worst of all. She was, as Belial had once told him in anger, too wondrous a woman for him to have treated the way he had. “The east is massive. I doubt they will run into each other. And Faraday can look after herself, Azhure. She is infused with the power of the Mother, and the Mother will aid her should she need it.” “I had thought that perhaps I could send a small unit of men to protect her.” “Would they find her? Would she welcome such company? And,” the crux of the matter, “can we spare the men?” “No. Perhaps you are right,” Azhure said, worried nevertheless. Faraday had treated her with kindness, respect and friendship where Azhure had expected only bitterness and recrimination. She forced her mind from Faraday for the moment. “Some Icarii are moving down from Talon Spike in small groups, Axis. Many of them are like children, so excited they know not what to see or do next.” “I hope they are not frightening the Acharites with their excitement.” “No. The majority still wait in Talon Spike, and RavenCrest, and I have asked that those who fly south restrain themselves. Most groups are flying to the Bracken Ranges where, so I am informed, there are ancient Icarii cities hidden under layers of dirt and boulders. Apparently, during the Wars of the Axe, when the Seneschal was succeeding in its bid to drive the Icarii from Achar, the Icarii Enchanters hid their cities in the Bracken Ranges with enchantments and, so they tell me, just a little dirt. Most of the Icarii efforts thus far have gone into dusting both enchantments and dirt from their ancient homes.” Axis smiled briefly, his eyes whimsical. “I would like to see these cities one day, but I do not know when. Not with the threat that seeps down from the north.” For some minutes Axis described the preparations that engulfed much of Carlon in getting some thirty-thousand men-at-arms ready for a march north. He had only succeeded in sending a fraction of his command north before the Nordra froze over. And for that, he thought grimly, I suppose I ought to be grateful. Better to have the majority here in Carlon where they will survive Gorgrael’s inevitable attack on Jervois Landing. “I wish,” he concluded softly, taking her hand, “that you could travel north with me. And yet I am relieved that your pregnancy will force you to remain behind. At least something will be saved if disaster engulfs us in the north.” If disaster engulfs you in the north, my love, Azhure thought, I will have no reason left to live. Azhure wished she could fight by Axis’ side, but she knew that her physical state, while not desperate, was still sufficiently weak to cause concern. Each advancing day her unborn twins sapped more of her energy; Azhure had longed for Caelum to be born so that she could hold her wondrous son in her arms, but she longed for these twins to be born just so she could be freed of their encumbrance. Axis watched her easy acceptance of his words with disquiet. The Azhure he had known would have fought bitterly to be allowed to ride at his side, pregnant or not. It was an indication of how deeply unwell she was that Azhure so meekly accepted the fact she would have to remain behind. But Azhure had no intention of staying behind permanently. “Once they are born I will come,” she said, squeezing his hand. “The birth is only three months away at the most. Then I will be free to join you.” If there is anything left to join, Axis thought to himself. If you still have a husband to join. 7 Timozel Plans (#ulink_6d33aece-5d93-519e-aed6-f09a594333f2) Ever since Gorgrael had told him about his success with the Gryphon, the Dear Man had disappeared. Gorgrael supposed that perhaps he was slightly miffed at Gorgrael’s achievements. But it did not matter, for now he had Timozel to talk to, and Timozel was such good company, not only because of his intelligence, but because he was totally under the Destroyer’s control. Today was the last day that Timozel would spend at the Ice Fortress before he joined the bulk of the Skraeling army north of Jervois Landing. He had already begun to mould the Skraelings, relaying orders and receiving information through the SkraeBolds and the Gryphon. Gorgrael hiccupped with pleasure when he remembered how SkraeFear and his two remaining brothers had sulked and brooded when introduced to Timozel, deeply resenting the loss of their favoured spot at Gorgrael’s side. But Gorgrael had taught Timozel how best to use his well of power, and Timozel had brooked no resentment nor resistance from the SkraeBolds; all three now wore the welts to remind them that it was not a good idea to cross Timozel. Gorgrael looked fondly across the crazily canted table at his able lieutenant. “What is it you plan, Timozel? How will you work my will?” Timozel did not look up from the map he held straight with only the most extreme difficulty; damn Gorgrael’s preference for ridiculous angles and planes in his furniture! “I will work your will to the best of my ability, Lord.” “Yes, yes.” Gorgrael shifted impatiently. “But what is it you plan?” Timozel tapped the map. “From the reports your Gryphon have brought me, the force at Jervois Landing remains relatively small. The freezing of the Nordra has effectively stopped Axis sending any more troop transports north.” He paused. “I know Jervois Landing well. Now that the canals have been frozen as solid as the Nordra the town’s defences are virtually nil. I shall overwhelm and crush Jervois Landing with little trouble.” “You won’t attack through the WildDog Plains?” “No.” Both Timozel and Gorgrael were very reluctant, not only to split their force for a two-pronged attack through both Jervois Landing and the WildDog Plains, but to expose a Skraeling force to the powerful magic of Sigholt on the one flank and the Avarinheim on the other. Since he had been with Gorgrael, Timozel had learned a great deal about the magic of the land he and his master planned to invade. “No. We attack with full force at Jervois Landing. They won’t even have time for final prayers before dying.” “And then you overrun Aldeni and Skarabost?” Gorgrael asked. Timozel lifted his eyes from the map, and Gorgrael stilled at the cold light in them. “No.” Gorgrael was puzzled. “Well, straight to Carlon then. There is much beauty to destroy there.” The coldness deepened in Timozel’s eyes. “No.” “Well, then, what?” “Our main objective must be to destroy Axis’ army. I have a better plan. Listen.” Gorgrael listened … and liked. It was a good plan, but better than that, it was a tricky plan. Timozel would do well, yes, indeed he would. 8 Spiredore (#ulink_12bc7898-59f2-5497-9058-f0644ad88d2f) On the fourth day after she and Axis had discussed Faraday’s safety, Azhure finally found herself with enough energy and free time to visit Spiredore. She had not been back to the tower across the Grail Lake since that dreadful morning when the Gryphon had attacked her and Caelum on its roof. But Azhure knew she would have to go back. She needed to speak to WolfStar, and she hoped he would appear to her in Spiredore again as he had two weeks ago. She also hoped she could learn more about the magic of Spiredore. Azhure had been amazed to discover that Axis and StarDrifter, as every other Icarii Enchanter who entered the tower between the time it was reawoken and the time it was given to her, only saw a hollow shell with a plain staircase creeping about its walls to the roof. No-one else had seen the crazy assemblage of balconies and intertwining stairs that she and Caelum had seen. Does Spiredore choose who will see its secrets? Azhure wondered as she sat in the bow of the small boat that Arne rowed for her. “My Lady, are you well enough for this expedition?” Arne asked, barely out of breath despite his efforts. He was not sure if Axis knew what Azhure was doing and wondered if he should have told him. But Azhure was a grown woman and did not need Axis’ permission for her actions. Arne’s only real doubt was that Azhure looked so pale and thin despite her pregnancy that she might fall and injure herself inside the tower. “I am well enough,” Azhure said, her irritation at the question stilled by the genuine concern she knew lay behind it. “And besides, you do all the work.” “But you will be alone within the tower, my Lady.” Azhure bent down to pat the head of the great pale hound that rested in the belly of the boat. “I have Sicarius to watch over me, Arne. Should I suffer any mishap he will fetch help.” Arne nodded, satisfied. When they docked at the small pier by Spiredore, Arne helped Azhure disembark. Then he sat to wait, watching as the white door closed behind Azhure and her hound. The interior was exactly as Azhure remembered it. Now that sunlight suffused the atrium from windows set high overhead, she could see every detail of the stairwells and balconies that swirled to dizzying heights above her. Rooms, chambers, open spaces, all opened off balconies none of which were level with their neighbours. Again Azhure was struck by the beauty created by this chaos; she was sure there were secrets and mysteries within the rooms and stairwells that spiralled above her. Spiredore was alive with magic, and it was hers to discover as she willed. For almost an hour Azhure wandered the ground-floor rooms, unwilling to climb any of the stairs lest she become lost and disorientated. She had expected that once she was inside the tower WolfStar would appear as quickly and as mysteriously as he had that last time – but the rooms remained stubbornly empty and the stairwells disappointingly silent. Finally, tired and dispirited, Azhure sank down onto the bare floor of one of the chambers. Sicarius whined and pressed his head into her hands. “Well, my fine fellow,” Azhure said as she scratched the hound behind the ears. “Did WolfStar ever bring you here? Do you know how to find your former master?” But the Alaunt remained as obstinately silent as Spiredore itself and Azhure sighed. Perhaps she should have brought Caelum. Perhaps the only reason WolfStar had come to her before was to see his grandson. But even as she thought this, Azhure realised WolfStar’s interest in Caelum that night had been only tangential; his real focus had been her. Azhure shifted her weight, uncomfortable on the hard floor, and thought that the answer must lie within her somewhere. Hadn’t WolfStar told her that the tower had been built just for her? Well, here the tower stood, but the builders had forgotten to give her the key. “Stop it, woman!” she said to herself, annoyed at her negative thoughts. WolfStar had also told her how to use this tower, hadn’t he? Her brow creased as she tried to remember his exact words. So much had happened since that meeting to crowd out the memory of her conversation with him … so much … but just as Azhure thought she had indeed lost the memory forever WolfStar’s words suddenly echoed around the chamber. It is very simple. If you wander willy-nilly in Spiredore you will, as you thought, get completely lost. You must decide where you want to go before you start to climb the stairs, and then the stairs will take you to that place. “Of course!” Azhure laughed, and struggled to her feet. “Of course! Thank you!” She patted the wall she had been resting against, then she walked as fast as she could back to the atrium and stared at the nearest staircase. Before she tested WolfStar’s advice she leaned down to the hound. “Sicarius, should I become lost or disorientated in the stairs and chambers above, do you think you can understand enough of the magic of Spiredore to see me safely back to the door?” The Alaunt gave a short, sharp bark in reply, and Azhure smiled. “Good. Well, Sicarius, shall we go see your former master?” Azhure placed one hand firmly on the stair rail and with the other gathered up the skirts of the loose lavender gown she wore. She pictured WolfStar in her mind, the beautiful and powerful face, the copper curls, the golden wings. “Take me to WolfStar SunSoar,” she said, and began to climb. With his power and experience, WolfStar felt Azhure move through the maze that was Spiredore, heard her call his name. He smiled in surprise, yet with deep pride, at her grasp of Spiredore’s power. Nevertheless, WolfStar knew that it would be a disaster if she came to him in his present location, so he moved quickly to meet his daughter before she transferred out of Spiredore. Azhure was finding the climb difficult and, as she grew more and more breathless, she wondered if she had understood WolfStar’s words correctly. Surely even her climb to the rooftop had not taken her this long? Beside her Sicarius climbed easily, his paws silent on the wooden treads. “Stars, Sicarius,” Azhure panted, pausing and resting her head on the railing. “I do not think even WolfStar is worth all this trouble.” “Then I am sorry for the effort I have caused you,” a rich voice said above her, and Azhure started so violently she would have fallen had not WolfStar reached down a hand and steadied her. “Come,” he said, smiling, “there is a comfortable chamber just above. Two or three more steps and we are there.” Azhure blinked and looked past WolfStar. She could have sworn that before she had rested her head the stairway spiralled up into infinity, but now it ended in a landing not two or three steps ahead. Beyond this the door to a chamber stood invitingly open. “Come,” her father repeated, and Azhure let him lead her into the chamber. She sank down into a comfortable couch, richly embroidered and cushioned, and WolfStar, after patting and murmuring to the hound, walked to the window to stare over the Grail Lake towards Carlon while Azhure caught her breath. She studied him curiously. He was as beautiful as she remembered, and she wondered why she had inherited none of his colouring or his Icarii bone structure. “You know that I am your father?” WolfStar asked as he turned back into the chamber. Azhure remembered their kiss, but she felt no shame. “I know that you are WolfStar SunSoar, come back through the Star Gate, and I know that you are my father. I know my mother’s name was Niah, and that she was a Priestess in the Temple of the Stars.” Azhure’s voice became harsher as bitter resentments bubbled to the surface. “I know you got Niah pregnant and then abandoned her to her death. I know you thought so little of me that you let me linger under the appalling care of Hagen. I know you murdered MorningStar.” WolfStar stepped into the centre of the room, his face tight with anger. Azhure, angry herself, ignored the danger. “And I know that you are the Traitor who will betray Axis to Gorgrael – you probably already have.” “You know nothing! You have guessed my identity, and you have surmised that I came back through the Star Gate. You realise that I am your father, but the rest … bah!” Azhure held his stare. She had not meant to accuse him so quickly, but she was tired and she was heartsick and here was the birdman who was at the root of all their problems. Did he think that she would fall into his arms weeping for joy once she had gleaned his identity? “Then tell me why it is,” she said, “that Niah and I were left to fend for ourselves. Niah died horribly, WolfStar – but perhaps you don’t care about that – and I suffered many long years, lost, alone, despairing. Tell me why I should not accuse you?” His eyes softened. “There are so many things that I cannot yet speak of, Azhure, and Niah’s death and your life in Smyrton is one of them.” She turned her face away from him, tears of anger springing to her eyes. “Azhure,” he said, and she felt him sit down by her side. “You are my daughter and I think you know that I love you.” He picked up her hand. “I did not willingly abandon either of you to … oh! By the Light of the Stars, Azhure! What is this you wear?” His voice sounded tortured, and Azhure whipped her head about. WolfStar was staring at the ring on her finger, and he was trembling so badly that Azhure’s arm also shook. “WolfStar?” “What is that you wear?” he whispered, his face colourless. He raised his great violet eyes to her own. “It is the ring of the Enchantress, or so I am told. WolfStar? Why do you tremble so?” “The Enchantress’ ring,” he said, his voice still soft. “I thought never to see this again. Azhure, how did you get this?” His distress was catching, and Azhure had to lick her suddenly dry lips before continuing. “Axis gave it to me. He was given it by the Ferryman, Orr.” In the past days Axis had told her much of what had happened to him in the waterways. “And Orr said that –” “That I gave it to him.” “Yes.” WolfStar took a deep breath and composed himself. He’d been driven by a powerful but little understood need to conceive Azhure with Niah, but until this moment he’d not realised the precise nature of what he’d seeded. Hesitantly he touched the ring. “This ring is representative of great and unimaginable power.” Reluctantly he let Azhure’s hand go. He looked up and tried to smile but it was an abysmal failure. “When I gave it to Orr I thought never to see it again. To find it now on the finger of my own daughter is almost beyond my comprehension.” “Should I fear it, WolfStar?” He lifted his hand and softly touched her cheek, wonder in his eyes. “No. No. The ring has chosen you, it has come home to you.” By the Stars!, he thought, the Circle has completed itself in my daughter! “That is an unimaginable honour. Unimaginable. You need not fear it.” Now his mouth did curl slightly, wonderingly. “It makes me fear you, though.” Azhure felt herself succumbing to WolfStar’s immense appeal as he stroked her cheek and smiled into her eyes. She knew she should be angry with him, she knew she should hate him for abandoning Niah and herself to Hagen, but her anger was fading with every stroke of his fingers. Again she understood why her mother must have yielded to him. But while her anger faded, her curiosity and her desperation for answers still flared bright. “Who was the Enchantress, WolfStar, what power does her ring contain? And why did you tremble so when you spied it on my finger?” “So many questions, Azhure.” A touch of determination hardened her voice. “I have almost thirty years of questions, WolfStar. These three will do to start with.” He sighed and dropped his hand. These three questions would not be the worst she would ask him. “What do you know of the Enchantress? No, wait,” he said quickly as he saw Azhure gesture in irritation. “I only ask this so that I do not repeat what you already know.” “That she was the mother from whom both Charonite and Icarii races sprang. That she was very powerful, the first of all the Enchanters. That this ring, which was hers, holds unknown powers. She used her power differently to other Enchanters – or Charonite mages, for all I know.” “The Enchantress was the Mother of Nations, yes.” Azhure blinked. The Ferryman had called her that when she had travelled with the Icarii and Raum to Talon Spike via the ancient Waterways. “Not much is known about her. All we have now are legends … and this ring. She was a remarkable woman, and many of her powers and magic she passed on to her two youngest sons.” “Her youngest sons?” WolfStar grinned. “The Enchantress did not favour her eldest son at all; it was he who fathered the Acharite race.” Azhure’s mouth dropped open. “Do you mean that the Icarii, the Charonites and the Acharites all sprang from the one mother?” WolfStar’s grin became more feral. “The children of her unfavoured eldest son became the toilers of the soil, while the children of those sons she did favour grew to hunt the mysteries of the universe.” Azhure wondered how the Acharites would react if they realised they sprang from the same source as the Icarii and Charonites. “Are the Avar descended from her as well?” “No. The Avar come from different stock altogether. Now, this ring. Again, like the Enchantress herself, what knowledge we have of this ring is ancient and riddled with mystery because of it.” WolfStar knew far more than that about the ring, but it was not his place to tell Azhure. That right belonged to the … others. “It does not so much contain power itself as it represents power – unimaginable power. For many thousands of years it has manipulated as it sees fit to achieve its own ends, that is why I trembled so when I saw it on your finger. I, too, have been manipulated by this ring.” He was silent a moment. “You have, no doubt, heard the Icarii tell of my reign as Enchanter-Talon.” “Yes,” Azhure whispered. Her father had hurled hundreds of innocent children to their deaths through the Star Gate in an effort to understand its mysteries. Eventually WolfStar’s younger brother, CloudBurst, had assassinated him before WolfStar could murder the entire Icarii race. Of course, no-one among the Icarii – or any other race that knew the story – had counted on WolfStar coming back through the Star Gate. “My fascination was not only with the Star Gate, Azhure,” and WolfStar’s voice took on the quality of confession, “but also with this ring that my forebears had guarded for so many thousands of years. I know I cannot excuse what I did to those children, but the ring had haunted my dreams from childhood, and it drove me to maniacal deeds. It was the ring that whispered to me that I needed to sacrifice those children into the Star Gate … it was the ring that whispered to me that it wanted to be taken to the waterways, there to wait until it decided to move on again.” And was it the ring that sent me to Niah? WolfStar wondered. And whispered to me the name of the child she was to conceive? Azhure’s mind told her not to believe WolfStar, that he was merely using the ring as an excuse for his own inexcusable behaviour, but her heart told her that he spoke the truth. “Then it will only seek to use me,” she said, horrified, twisting the ring off her hand. “It will use me and force me to do its will!” “No!” WolfStar cried and clasped her hands between his to stop her pulling off the ring. “No! Legends said that one day the ring would seek out the hand of one who was fit to wear it – even the Enchantress was only a custodian, the ring was not truly hers. It has taken tens of thousands of years, but the ring has finally come home. Azhure, I trembled not only because I feared the power the ring represents, but also because I suddenly realised that I ought to fear you more.” Azhure was silent, staring at her father with great smoky eyes. Her entire body was still, her breathing so shallow that her breasts scarcely rose. “Azhure, the ring has chosen you … and it is now subservient to you. It has chosen you as its home.” “But I do not know how to use it, or this power you say it represents,” she said. “WolfStar, one of the reasons I came here today was to ask you how I can use my powers. You must teach me! Axis needs me!” “One day I will teach you what I can, Azhure, but that day is not yet here.” And what I can teach you is going to be little indeed, Azhure-heart. “Damn you!” Azhure cried, and tore her hands from his. “I need to know!” “Azhure, listen to me. This is not the time nor the place. No! Listen to me! I will not teach you, nor will any others, while you are pregnant with those twins – there are secrets you will learn that those babies should not know.” Azhure opened her mouth automatically to defend her twins, but closed it again as she remembered their continued antagonism to her and Axis. She rested a hand on her belly. “And this is not the place to teach you,” WolfStar continued. “There is one place that you can learn quickly and easily, a place where others can be involved in your teaching, a place where power is more likely to flare into life.” “The Island of Mist and Memory. Temple Mount.” “Yes. How did you know that?” “Niah told me to go to Temple Mount … as she lay dying.” WolfStar ignored the hard edge of the last phrase, and his eyes dimmed in memory. “Ah … Niah.” Perhaps Niah had known what WolfStar had only just come to understand. But then, she had been First, and perhaps the First was more intimately aware of the secrets of the gods than even he. “Please,” Azhure began. “Explain to me now why you treated us as you did.” “I cannot, Azhure,” he said. “There are many things that must be explained, but I will need to wait until you are alone –” she knew he meant after she had given birth, “ – and you are on the Island of Mist and Memory.” For some time Azhure sat half turned away from him. She had wanted to learn so much more from this meeting. “All I have done has been for a purpose,” WolfStar said eventually, understanding her hurt. “One day the reasons will become clear. But this I will tell you.” Azhure turned her eyes back to her father. “I am not the Traitor that many think. The third verse of the Prophecy speaks of a Traitor, but I am not he.” “You seem to know your way about the Prophecy very well,” Azhure said sharply. “The Traitor has already made his move, Azhure. Fear not the people about either you or Axis. The Traitor is already with his master. He has already made his decision to betray, although he has not yet committed the final betrayal.” Azhure stared at WolfStar. Who was the Traitor? But WolfStar would not answer this unspoken query. He lifted his fingertips to her cheek again, the touch so light that Azhure could hardly feel it. “Be assured, Azhure. You will find the answers you need to know on the Island. You think that you need to be by Axis’ side, that you need to be there to fight for him, but the greatest service you can do for him now, as for yourself, is to spend time alone to accept and develop your power.” She nodded slightly, reluctantly. “I feel pulled in so many different directions. So many people, demanding different things from me. I do need time alone.” He leaned down and scratched Sicarius under the muzzle, then glanced back at Azhure. “You look very much like your mother, Azhure, and she was very, very desirable.” Later, as WolfStar sat huddled under the stars, he thought on the afternoon’s encounter with his daughter. First Gorgrael and his Gryphon, then Artor, and now the Enchantress’ ring resurfaces. Were things moving beyond his control? Perhaps, but the fact that the ring had chosen Azhure gave him great hope for the future. Suddenly neither Artor nor a sky blackened with Gryphon seemed such an insurmountable threat. 9 Jervois Landing (#ulink_39d9fb07-1028-583b-bb88-d8a58bf7ddff) For the past ten or eleven days an icy nightmare had closed about Jervois Landing. Nothing Jorge had seen before – not even the appalling conditions at Gorkenfort or the weather that Gorgrael had thrown their way last winter – had been this bad. The storm front, if such a mild expression could possibly describe what had descended on them, had moved into the town in an unbelievable two minutes. One minute it had been cool and blustery, the clouds heavy with the promise of snow, the next … the next blew a wind so severe that only the strongest stone houses in the town were left standing. The wind carried with it ice and death, and everyone caught exposed to it had died; Jorge had lost over two thousand men in five minutes. The four Icarii scouts just returning to the town had fallen from the sky frozen solid. When they hit the streets their bodies were shattered into such tiny pieces they were scattered away within moments. Day after day Jorge and the remnants of his command had huddled by fires. No-one was left manning the defences of Jervois Landing – the system of canals that Borneheld had caused to be built – for none could survive in the open. And what defences anyway? Jorge thought. The canals must have frozen within minutes of the storm’s arrival. He grimaced under his blanket and crept an inch or two closer to the fire. Jervois Landing did not have defences any more. The six thousand remaining men were, to the best of Jorge’s knowledge, scattered throughout the town. He no longer sent men out into the streets to gather information, for that was far too cruel in this weather, so Jorge frankly had no idea about the state of his command. The remaining eight Icarii were the most miserable of all. The Wing had arrived the day before the weather closed in, and now four of them were dead and the others cramped about what warmth the fires provided. Jorge knew that his men all expected to die, because when he moved from group to group, trying to revive spirits, he found men praying, preparing their souls for the inevitable journey to the AfterLife. Some, but only a few, prayed to Artor. The Icarii prayed to their Star Gods, the few Ravensbund men in his command prayed to their own mysterious deities. But, to his surprise, Jorge found many men praying to Axis, the StarMan, invoking his name as a god. Some even prayed to Azhure, the woman who had ridden with Axis and whose reputation with the bow was almost as legendary as the Wolven itself and the ghost hounds that ran at her back. Jorge had backed away, sickened, when he first heard a group of three soldiers praying in a low monotone to Axis. Had these men gone mad? Axis was a man like any other, was he not? Did a string of military victories qualify one for god-like status? Jorge had returned to his spot by the fire and sat for many hours, his thoughts in turmoil. Somehow this disturbed him even more than the Gorgrael-driven storm outside. Had the world turned completely upside down? Did Axis now insist that his command worship him as a god? Unknown to Jorge, Axis was not behind the actions of these men. He would have been confused and horrified had he known that many men within his command, and their wives and children, had begun, slowly and unconsciously, to perceive him as a god. The process had started a long time ago, among the three thousand who had followed Axis out of Gorkenfort to lead the Skraeling mass away from the fort so that Borneheld and the remaining soldiers could escape to Jervois Landing. They had seen him wield the emerald fire, and they had watched five magical winged creatures greet him at the foot of the Icescarp Alps. Once Axis’ command had been ensconced in Sigholt the trend to understand Axis as something other than human or even mortal had continued apace. Surely no mere mortal could wield the power that he did? Surely no mortal power could command the winged creatures as Axis did? Surely no mortal could live in such a magical castle as Sigholt now showed itself to be? Then Axis had led his command south through Achar, defeating the murderer and usurper Borneheld, and had created for them the mighty realm of Tencendor. No mortal, many muttered, could have done all of this. Slowly but surely, men and women everywhere were starting to worship Axis as their god of choice – the StarMan. Others preferred the calm beauty and the sure deadliness of the Enchantress. Especially those who still recalled the ancient prayers to Lady Moon. It was this trend, more than anything else, that had terrified Artor out of His heavenly kingdom and into flesh to try to stop the rot. Jorge shivered and pulled his blanket closer and listened to the muttered prayers echo about him. Had he ever thought he’d live to see the day when the names of so many gods could be evoked by a force he led? Damn the impulse that had seen him volunteer to lead the command in Jervois Landing! Jorge had not wanted to linger in Carlon after the death of Borneheld and Axis had granted his request to come further north. Now the price of his impetuousness was apparently going to be death, and Jorge suddenly realised that he did not want to die. He might be close to seventy and he may have led a full life, but Jorge still had a lot that he wanted to do. Jorge considered praying himself, but he did not know who to pray to. His life-long devotion to Artor seemed inconsequential; of what use was a Plough-God here among the ice? Had Artor protected those who had called His name but had still died over the past two years? No, Artor was ineffectual, but Jorge was not yet ready to pray to any of the Star Gods, nor was he prepared to invoke the names of Axis or Azhure to his aid. So he just sat. And waited for death. In the space of a heartbeat, the storm stopped. The sudden silence almost hurt the ears, but it did not cause any gladness. All knew what it meant. Gorgrael was ready to attack. High above circled the Gryphon. As soon as the winds had ceased the clouds too had faded away, as if they had needed the howling wind to exist themselves. Timozel had asked Gorgrael for a clear blue sky under which to conduct his massacre – as yet, he still preferred the sunshine to the gloom. Now he sat on the Gryphon, his years of training as a horseman adapting easily to the creature’s movements. The Gryphon dipped and soared, and screamed with the voice of despair. Timozel turned and to the west saw a mighty army that undulated for leagues in every direction. He fought for a Great Lord, and in the name of that Lord he would … “Reap remarkable victories,” Timozel whispered, caught in the recurring thrall of his vision. At last, he had found his appointed place. All would be well. Timozel turned his head slightly. Circle lower, he commanded the creature, and the Gryphon gave a cry as she wheeled through the sky. There. Timozel smiled in satisfaction. Below him lay the crippled town of Jervois Landing. Many of the buildings were slicked so deep with ice they were almost buried; when he peered closer Timozel could see at least three houses so completely iced over that they were closed to the outside world. His smile deepened. If any people had been inside those houses they would by now have frozen to death. He was well pleased. Battalions of Skraelings were moving quickly south, outflanking the town. Timozel had spared only a quarter of his army for this attack; the rest of the Skraeling mass he was already pushing south to their destination. Timozel was on a tight schedule; he needed to dispose of what pitiful force Axis had here in less than half a day, then move his army south and then … well, then move them to their hiding place. But he needed to get them there within ten days to be sure of avoiding the force that Axis was sure to send north once he heard of Jervois Landing’s collapse. Although Gorgrael could recloak the entire northern regions of this land in storms so devastating that no man could survive more than a few minutes, Timozel did not want Axis to face weather that severe. Bitter cold, surely, but nothing that would prevent him finally leading his army north. Timozel very, very much wanted Axis to get through. We are ready. Timozel shared his thoughts not only with his subcommand – the SkraeBolds and the Skraelings of higher than average intelligence – but also with Gorgrael, eagerly following the course of the excitement with his mind’s eye, deep within his Ice Fortress. Privately, very privately, Timozel harboured resentment that Gorgrael should remain safely shrouded within his Fortress. Did he not want to face Axis himself? Or … was he afraid of him? Timozel kept these thoughts very dark and very, very deep. But he had better things to think of now, namely the killing that awaited him below. Begin, he ordered. Ninety Ice Worms moved in first. Men in buildings closest to the northern outskirts of the town heard the sound first, a frightful slithering and screeching as the Worms hunched and scraped their way through the frozen streets. No-one assayed forth to attack them. Even if they had, archers would have lowered their bows in horror. Like his Skraelings, Gorgrael had been working on the IceWorms over the past few months. In unrestrained narcissism, he had created all of his creatures with the huge silver eyes that he himself enjoyed. The only problem, and it had been the problem that had largely frustrated Gorgrael’s attempts to push south to this point, had been that all of his creatures, whether Skraeling or Ice Worm or even SkraeBold, had been terribly vulnerable through their eyes. Not so now. Now both Skraelings and IceWorms had their heads wrapped in bony armour that left only narrow slits over their eyes. Their vision was somewhat restricted, but it would take a skilled and extremely calm swordsman or archer to deliver a killing thrust. Behind the IceWorms crept thousands of Skraelings, fully fleshed, equipped with bony protective armour, their mouths hanging open in delicious anticipation of the killing that awaited them. Calmly, and with the most supreme confidence, the IceWorms crawled to the main buildings where most of the troops were likely to be located. Crouched behind one of the lower windows of the market hall where he was camped, Jorge was dry-mouthed with fear. He knew he was powerless to stop their attack; all he could do for his men was order them away from the windows and to the lower floors. But what did it matter when it would delay their deaths but a few minutes? He glanced behind him to the remainder of the Icarii wing. “Get out!” he rasped, “get back to Carlon. You alone will have a chance of escape. Tell your StarMan what you have seen here today. Go!” he shouted. “Do not linger!” The Wing commander, RuffleCrest JoyFlight, signalled to the other seven Icarii. He did not share Jorge’s belief that they would get back to Carlon. Surely Gorgrael would have Gryphon circling above – and RuffleCrest had seen what a Gryphon could do. But he nodded anyway. Perhaps one or two of them could get back. They swiftly moved to a rear door and lifted on silent wings into the air. They blinked in the unexpected sunshine, circled for as long as they dared, noting the awesome forces that were crawling through the town and, further west, through the northern Aldeni plains, then they bunched close together for protection and sped south. To the north Timozel’s eyes narrowed. So. He had expected such a foolish display of courage. Did they really expect to escape unscathed? SkraeFear, who waited with one of the Skraeling units still outside Jervois Landing, screeched in his mind. Let us destroy them, Lord Timozel! Or send the Gryphon! They can rip them to shreds in seconds! Fool! Timozel replied and drew on the well of power that Gorgrael had given him to wrap SkraeFear’s mind and body with bands of cold steel. He could feel, if not hear, SkraeFear scream far below him. How had Gorgrael managed with such incompetents previously? He touched the minds of a pack of thirty Gryphon circling to the west and directed them after the Icarii. But I want one or two of them to escape, he ordered, and he felt the Gryphon minds accept and agree. At least the Gryphon understood the principle of unquestioning obedience. The Icarii birdwoman at RuffleCrest’s wing felt rather than heard the Gryphon behind them. She wheeled to her left and dived with a wordless cry, and as the Gryphon pack struck the Icarii Wing, the birdmen and women broke formation, desperately trying to evade the Gryphon and, increasingly, engaged in useless battles for their own lives. One after another they felt the Gryphon on their backs, felt the great legs wrap about their bodies, felt talons and razorsharp beaks rip into flesh. RuffleCrest felt the sudden rush of air and hot breath as a Gryphon fell through the air towards him, and he desperately twisted and dived, hoping that he would prove more agile than the creature behind him. He groped for an arrow from the quiver on his back, but just as his hand closed about the shaft of an arrow he was seized in the death grip of the Gryphon. He screamed, but he could do nothing more. One arm was twisted and trapped beneath the body of the Gryphon as it clutched to his back – agony flared as the unnatural forces twisting his arm finally snapped both bone and tendon. His other hand grasped uselessly at one of the great paws that were wrapped about his chest and belly. His wings fluttered uselessly; the only thing that kept him in the air now were the powerful wings of the Gryphon. To one side RuffleCrest could see another Gryphon clutching a birdwoman in a death grip. Even in the split second that his eyes remained on the woman the Gryphon’s talons sheared through flesh and bone, and before his eyes the woman literally burst apart in a shower of blood and body parts. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes in horror was the carcass of his comrade falling through the sky. The Gryphon tightened its grip, and RuffleCrest realised that at any heartbeat its talons would begin to tear him apart. And indeed they did begin to tear, but they did not inflict fatal wounds. A whimper of pain escaped RuffleCrest as he felt the Gryphon’s talons slice into the muscles of his chest and belly, but they did not penetrate to a killing depth. After raking him with its talons for several minutes, slowly, extending its enjoyment, the Gryphon unbelievably released him, and RuffleCrest fell almost a hundred paces through the air before he recovered enough to spread his wings and push himself as hard as he could for the south. Five of the hellish creatures chased him and toyed with him for several leagues, RuffleCrest sobbing with fear, certain that at any moment one would strike and finish him. But they didn’t. Eventually they left him alone, and when RuffleCrest finally looked back it was to see that the sky behind him was empty of both Gryphon and Icarii. He was the only one of his Wing who had survived. Hugging his crippled arm to his chest, RuffleCrest slowly limped south. The flight would take him several days, and he would be almost dead from exhaustion and the spreading poison from his infected wounds when he finally reached safety. In his more lucid moments, he wondered why he had been left alive. Almost immediately after the Icarii had fled, the IceWorms staged an attack. Rearing their monstrous heads, they crashed through the upper windows of the buildings that they ringed, heaving obscenely to disgorge their cargoes of Skraelings directly into the buildings’ upper levels. At the same time the Skraeling units outside attacked the ground floors through doors and windows. And, as the IceWorms, empty, their task done, withdrew from the streets and joined their companions to the west, hundreds of Gryphon exploded through windows. The attacks by the IceWorms, Skraelings and Gryphon occurred so close together that to Jorge it sounded like one continuous roar. He heard the windows in the upper levels of the market hall explode first, then, an instant later, the screams of both wraiths and men as the ground-floor windows shattered. Gripping his sword in hands so cold they were virtually numb, feeling the icy air sear his lungs as he took a deep breath, Jorge stepped forward to meet the first Skraeling who leapt his way. May his Star Gods help him, Jorge thought as he kept the bony-armoured Skraelings at bay with well-placed strokes of his sword, desperately seeking an opening for a killing thrust. Even Axis will be hard pressed to defeat such as these. And, even more worrying than their new appearance, where had they learned their new-found discipline? Today’s attack on Jervois Landing had been well planned and well coordinated as no Skraeling attack had been previously. What had they learned? Jorge wondered as his breath came in short gasps and his arms began to tremble with weariness. And who have they learned it from? Out of the corners of his eyes Jorge could see his men dying about him. Gryphon were creeping down the stairs, launching themselves on terrified victims and tearing them apart in heartbeats. I do not want to die! Jorge’s mind cried, but he knew that his death was inevitable. Would the Skraeling eat him after it had killed him? Strangely, Jorge found that thought even more horribly repellent than the idea of death itself. An honourable warrior deserved an honourable burial. “You are right, Jorge,” said a voice, and a hand appeared on the Skraeling’s shoulder. Jorge stared in disbelief at the man who stood before him. How … how did he stand so safe and relaxed among this cursed horde? Timozel smiled at Jorge, then casually glanced about the room to watch the Skraelings and Gryphon butcher those few men remaining alive. Finally he turned his eyes back to the man before him. “Honourable men deserve honourable deaths,” Timozel said, slightly stressing the first “honourable”. “But you and yours hardly fight for an honourable cause. Do you not fight with the Forbidden, cursed and evil creatures that they are? And do you not fight for Axis, spawn of the Forbidden?” “And who do you fight for, Timozel?” Again Timozel smiled, and Jorge could see the cold cruelty in the man’s eyes. “I serve the saviour, Jorge. Gorgrael. I will see that he triumphs. I will free Achar from the horror that grips it.” Jorge’s hands, nerveless with terror at Timozel’s words, let his sword clatter to the floor. “Have you gone mad, Timozel?” he whispered. “Not at all, Earl Jorge,” Timozel said, leaning down and retrieving the man’s sword. “I have come entirely to my senses.” Then, teeth gleaming, he ran Jorge through the belly with his own sword, gave it a vicious twist, and left him to collapse and die on the floor. As Timozel turned away, Jorge rolled onto his side, knowing from the breath-taking pain knifing through his body that he was dying. He wrapped his hands about the blade and made a half-hearted attempt to pull it out. But the pain was too great, and Jorge lay still, watching with greying vision as Timozel communed with his nightmare commander. “Axis,” Jorge whispered with his last breath, and this time it was a prayer. Avenge me! At the last, Jorge had found his god. It is done, Master. Good, Timozel. Was it fun? Did you not watch, Master? Ah, yes, I watched and I revelled. But, did you find it fun? Timozel smiled. Yes, yes and yes again. I think I will bathe in blood tonight. And now you will move south? Yes. Now I will lay the trap for Axis. Good, good boy. Pretty boy. You serve me well. 10 RuffleCrest Speaks (#ulink_b734d5dc-6cd4-533f-b866-d929ad67b8d2) Two days later a Flight of three Wing scouting high over the Western Ranges almost forty leagues above Carlon, saw a black spot drifting slowly over the mountain peaks far below them. The Wing-Leaders, wary that attack from Gorgrael was considered likely any day now, ordered their commands to approach slowly and carefully. They did not want to be lured into a trap. But as they spiralled down and their far-seeing eyes focused on the spot, their commander, the recently promoted Crest-Leader SpikeFeather TrueSong, gave a wordless cry and beat his wings powerfully to reach his stricken comrade so far below. SpikeFeather, having survived a Gryphon attack previously, recognised the sight and smell of Gryphon wounds well before the others in his Flight. They caught RuffleCrest only minutes before he would have fallen, exhausted, from the sky, and they carried him in turns back to Carlon. There they took him directly to their StarMan, startling him as he sat at supper with the Enchantress in the Jade Chamber. Then they stood back, unspeaking, waiting for the StarMan to weave his enchantments on their dying comrade. Only because RuffleCrest was dying was Axis able to aid him. He gathered the birdman, his torso streaked with crimson and green lines of infection, as he had once gathered SpikeFeather, and he sang for him the Song of Recreation. Then, as RuffleCrest blinked, surprised, back to life, Axis directed that he be carried to a chamber where he could rest the night. He would speak with him in the morning. Axis, as Azhure, did not need to speak with RuffleCrest to know what news he carried. Axis had personally appointed RuffleCrest JoyFlight to lead the single Wing at Jervois Landing. “Say again what you saw, RuffleCrest.” RuffleCrest bowed his head in shame. He sat at the great circular table in the Privy Chamber, and about him sat Crest-Leaders, Princes, Chieftains, Enchanters and, halfway around the table from him, the StarMan himself, the Enchantress by his side. He had never been in such exalted company before, and he could feel their power keenly. And, to his utter disgrace, he could hardly remember a thing. He did not know that much the same had happened to SpikeFeather TrueSong when Axis had recreated him. Spike-Feather and his Wing had been returning to Sigholt from a scouting mission over Hsingard when they had been attacked by a pack of Gryphon; only SpikeFeather and EvenSong, Axis’ sister, had survived, yet SpikeFeather had been so badly injured that by the time EvenSong had got him home to Sigholt he had been heartbeats away from death. But he had been lucky, as RuffleCrest had been, for Axis SunSoar was there to greet him and to recreate him. SpikeFeather had remembered nothing of the attack that had all but killed him. “I can recall so little,” RuffleCrest said, and to one side FarSight CutSpur, the senior Crest-Leader of the Icarii Strike Force, leaned forward and motioned irritably for RuffleCrest to speak up. RuffleCrest’s face reddened in mortification, and he repeated his words in a louder voice. “I can recall so little, StarMan.” In his lap, hidden by the table, his hands twisted around and about each other. “I can recall Jervois Landing being struck by an ice tempest so appalling that four of my Wing were frozen mid-air. I can remember day after day huddled about fires, unable even to step outside for fear of instant death in the winds. I remember …” his voice faltered and FarSight frowned. RuffleCrest hurriedly cleared his throat and went on. “I remember a sudden calm, and I remember Earl Jorge shouting at me to fly to Carlon with a message for you, but I cannot remember what that message was. I am ashamed to admit my incompetence,” he finished on a whisper. “I should have died with my command.” Axis stood up, remembering SpikeFeather’s experience. He walked about the table, his commanding presence pulling every eye to him. RuffleCrest blinked, awed that this powerful man should regard him so kindly. “RuffleCrest,” Axis said as he reached the birdman. “It is hardly your fault that you do not recall. I probably muddled your memory when I recreated you, and if anyone should writhe so in mortification it should be I, not you.” “You saved my life, StarMan.” “Aye, that I did,” Axis said, placing a restraining hand on RuffleCrest’s shoulder to prevent him from rising. “And because of the life that currently suffuses you, I will be able to recall the memory of what happened for all gathered in this chamber. A small enchantment, RuffleCrest, do not tense so.” But RuffleCrest had tensed in excitement rather than nervousness. He would trust the StarMan with his life – had done so – and if the StarMan could help him recall what everyone about this table needed to know, then RuffleCrest would be indebted to him twice over. Axis stood behind RuffleCrest, resting both his hands on the birdman’s shoulders, and began to sing. All the six Enchanters present recognised the Song of Recall that he sang, but it was sung with such consummate skill and power that most were left agape with astonishment, even StarDrifter. Every time his son demonstrated his power it left StarDrifter almost breathless, sometimes with pride, oftentimes with envy. The air over the centre of the table shimmered and formed a grey haze. Everyone’s eyes turned from Axis to the vision appearing before them. In the grey haze appeared the form of Jorge, twisting away from the window as he shouted at RuffleCrest to get his Wing out of Jervois Landing. Every military commander in the room, Axis and Azhure among them, involuntarily winced at the fear and desperation on Jorge’s face. Perhaps Jorge had erred in staying by Borneheld’s side for so long, but he was an exceptional commander and a brave man, and if so much fear twisted his features and clouded his eyes then it surely meant that Jorge knew his death was close. Then the view shifted and changed, and the watchers flew with RuffleCrest as he lifted the remaining seven of his Wing out of the building and circled briefly above the town. “Mother!” Belial cried as he saw what horror invaded the town. Of them all, only RuffleCrest did not see, for Axis had worked the enchantment so that the birdman would not re-live the horror that had almost killed him. They flew with RuffleCrest as he led his Wing south, and each and every one of the watchers paled when the Wing was attacked by the Gryphon. As they saw with RuffleCrest’s eye the birdwoman explode in a shower of red spray, Axis cut off the enchantment. They had all seen enough. He glanced at Azhure. Although pale, she seemed composed. RuffleCrest looked about the table. “Did it work?” he asked, puzzled by the distress evident on the faces about him. Axis patted his shoulder. “Yes, RuffleCrest, it worked well. You have done remarkable duty in bringing us this message, and for your bravery I thank you and honour you.” RuffleCrest flushed with pride, but he could also hear dismissal in the words, and knew that the commanders in this room would prefer to discuss his message privately. He stood, and Axis took his hand and arm briefly. “You will need to rest, RuffleCrest. Your body and spirit still have to heal after the trauma you have endured.” RuffleCrest saluted Axis, then the commanders about the table, then he turned and left the room. All could feel his relief as he finally slipped through the door. “Well, my friends?” Axis said. Belial took a deep breath. “Jervois Landing would have been destroyed in under half an hour with the force that invaded it.” “We could all see from the aerial views,” Magariz said, “how the canals were frozen and how the Skraelings and Ice Worms had invaded the town from just about every avenue. Neither Jorge nor his command would have been able to resist.” “And Jorge knew that,” Azhure said. “He knew he was going to die. I am glad for his sake that RuffleCrest managed to get through.” Axis sat back down. “How long ago?” he asked. “How long ago did Jervois Landing fall? FarSight, how long would it take for someone in RuffleCrest’s condition to fly south to the Western Ranges?” FarSight thought. “Perhaps two or three days, StarMan. He would hardly have rested, so desperate would he have been to escape as far as he could from the Gryphon.” “No rest?” Belial was amazed. How could a birdman, almost crippled, fly for two or three days without rest? “All birdmen have deep reserves of stamina, far more than humans,” replied Hover Eye Black Wing, one of the senior Crest-Leaders present. “Besides, there would have been a wind at his back. Much of the time RuffleCrest would have drifted in the air currents, almost asleep.” “So,” Axis said, focusing everyone’s attention back on the critical issue. “Four days ago at most Jervois Landing was attacked and destroyed by a massive Skraeling force. They must have moved –” “Axis,” Magariz interrupted. “Can you recall that vision with RuffleCrest gone?” Axis nodded. “There was something about the Skraelings that I saw when RuffleCrest was in the air. Can you recall it?” Magariz’s voice was urgent, and Axis quickly recalled the vision of Jervois Landing and its surroundings, half of the Skraeling force still massed outside the town, the other half penetrating deeply between the houses. “Yes,” Magariz said. “Yes! Axis, my friends. Look at the Skraeling force. What is it that is so different about them?” “Well,” Azhure began, “the Skraelings themselves are different. Axis and I saw Skraelings in Hsingard that looked like this. Fully fleshed, almost armoured with those bony protuberances. Magariz, we told you about this.” “Yes, yes, I know of that, but this is not what I mean,” Magariz said. “Come now, surely you can see it?” Understanding suddenly replaced the confusion on Axis’ face. “By the Stars, Magariz! That is not a mass of Skraelings at all. Look, here and here and here,” his finger stabbed into the grey vision as it hung over the table, “they are formed into regular units. This is an army under tight discipline, not the chaos that we have been used to previously.” “Yes,” Magariz said. “Gorgrael has got himself a good WarLord, it seems.” “I cannot imagine any of his SkraeBolds effecting this remarkable transformation,” Axis said, frowning as he thought this through. Azhure suddenly remembered WolfStar’s comment about the Traitor of the third verse of the Prophecy having already made his move. She chewed her lip anxiously. She had yet to tell Axis of the encounter and resolved to do so this evening. Had the Traitor done this? And if so, who was he? “Look!” FarSight cried, living up to his name. “Look to the west. This is not the main force attacking Jervois Landing at all, but merely a detachment from the force that is already moving south into Aldeni!” Everyone looked to where he pointed. Axis went grey with shock. A massive column (and column again, not a seething mass) of Skraelings and Ice Worms were slowly moving across the frozen system of canals. “Are there any more shocks for me?” he asked, desperate to end the hateful vision, but only after they had gleaned all the information from it they could. For a few minutes longer they stared into the visionary landscape before them, then, one by one, they shook their heads. RuffleCrest had not circled for long; it was a miracle that his mind had stored this much information. “Well,” Axis said as he stopped the enchantment and the vision faded from view. “We march. It is all we can do.” “Where?” FarSight inquired politely, but with a discernible edge to his voice. “North!” snapped Axis. “And exactly where north above the Western Ranges I will rely on your farflight scouts to tell me!” Later that day, Axis and Azhure stood by the open windows of the Indigo Chamber, the chamber they used as their sleeping apartment. The sun had set many hours ago, but moonlight sparkled across Grail Lake and a soft breeze blew in their faces. Together with the rest of the commanders they had spent the afternoon and early evening completing the plans to move Axis’ army north. Military preparations were already well under way, and in the morning the extended supply column would head for the Western Ranges. Within a day at the most, the ground force would begin their long trek north. A day after that the bulk of the Strike Force would follow; several Wings were to be left in Carlon as a protection force and to assist the Icarii in their move south. “I will soon be gone,” Axis said. Azhure sighed. “My squads of archers will work well under Ho’Demi’s command, Axis. They have trained extensively with the Ravensbund archers these past months, and I trust Ho’Demi more than any other to use them well.” Axis nodded. “Well, you will not lack for company while I am gone. Both Rivkah and Ysgryff can assist you.” Although Ysgryff was a valued commander Axis did not want to risk every commander he had in the ride north. Besides, Ysgryff could make himself just as useful here. Now Azhure laughed and Axis frowned at her, puzzled. “I was just thinking, Axis, here I am being left in charge of a realm when … what – some two years ago – I was but the daughter of the Plough-Keeper of an isolated Skarabost village.” Axis smiled too. Once Azhure had worried that, as a peasant woman, she had no place by Axis’ side, but he knew now that she was beyond that old concern. “I sensed some of your thoughts this morning while we sat in council,” Axis said, becoming serious again, and Azhure lifted her head. “You want to tell me something.” Azhure turned away from the view and looked into Axis’ eyes. How she would miss him when he was gone! “I will not stay in Carlon for long, Axis.” “I know, Azhure,” he said. “You will go to the Island of Mist and Memory.” Azhure started. “How did you know that?” “You have been fixated on the island ever since you remembered Niah’s message to go to Temple Mount to find the answers about your father.” “Yes, but there is more.” “Spiredore?” She turned away; how could she keep anything from him? Axis caught his breath at the beauty of her profile in the moonlight, and he reached out and lightly touched a tendril of her hair where it drifted about her neck. “Yes, Spiredore. Axis, I spoke with WolfStar while I was there.” Again, Axis had guessed as much. Azhure had been very introspective since that day she’d spent in Spiredore. “He told me that I would discover much of my power there.” Briefly Azhure informed Axis of what WolfStar had said about the ring and the power it represented. “Well, I hope you can uncloak some of your mysterious past on the island, Azhure. I hope you discover more of who you are.” Azhure thought back to the expression on WolfStar’s face as he stared at the ring. “He was stunned to see me wearing the ring, Axis. Stunned.” Axis put his arm about her shoulders. “I find it reassuring to discover that WolfStar can still be surprised.” Azhure leaned back into his arm, relishing its warmth. “He was also aghast that you – that we – should think he was the Traitor of the third verse of the Prophecy.” Axis frowned. “Do you believe him?” “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I do. I think that the Traitor is the one who has reorganised Gorgrael’s armies for him.” Axis did not speak. For so long he had assumed that the Traitor of the Prophecy, the one who would betray him to Gorgrael, was WolfStar. But if not WolfStar, then who? “He said that the Traitor had already made his move, that he was already with his master, but that he had not yet committed the final betrayal.” Axis shivered, and he wondered what lay ahead for him. “Azhure, StarDrifter will undoubtedly want to go to the Island of Mist and Memory with you.” “Oh, Axis! Surely not!” Irritated, Azhure moved away from the circle of Axis’ arms and into the room. The last thing she needed was StarDrifter making a nuisance of himself. “Axis,” she turned back to look at his dark outline by the window. “I need to be by myself on the island. I don’t need StarDrifter there!” As relieved as he was by her reaction, Axis also had to plan for every eventuality. And, if things did not go well in the north … “Azhure, whatever happens you will hardly be by yourself. There are thousands of pirates. There are the Priestesses of the Order of the Stars. FreeFall and EvenSong are at the Temple already.” FreeFall and EvenSong had moved there almost immediately after Axis and Azhure had married. Since his return from death, FreeFall had become increasingly given to the mystical, and EvenSong had been excused from her duties in the Strike Force to go with him. No-one wanted to separate them again. “And there will undoubtedly be scores of Icarii Enchanters, and perhaps ordinary Icarii, who will fly down to the island in the near future. Azhure, it will shortly be as crowded on that island as it is here in Carlon.” “But … StarDrifter!” Azhure knew that StarDrifter still hungered for her, that he had never recovered from his disappointment and anger when Azhure had chosen Axis on that Beltide night eighteen months ago. He had never ceased to let Azhure know that he still wanted her, and that, should the opportunity arise … “Azhure.” Axis walked over and took her gently by the shoulders. “Believe it or not, I have good reason for wanting StarDrifter to go with you.” He could see by the expression on her face that she did not believe him, or did not want to believe him. “I will not be there for the twins’ birth, my love. And you know that without an Icarii blood relative to talk them through all three of you could die.” All Icarii babies, aware well before they were born, were terrified by the process of birth and needed one of their parents to reassure them and talk them through. Rivkah had almost died in Axis’ birth because StarDrifter was not there for them. “I will surely be in touch with my own power by then,” Azhure said. “I will talk them through.” “And if you’re not? And even if you are, Azhure, we both know that neither of these babies particularly likes us. Would they listen to you? Listen to them, now!” He paused, and both felt the feelings of resentment and hostility that emanated from their unborn twins. Every day those feelings increased. “When they were forced to endure what we both went through the day I broke through the block in your mind,” Axis said, “they must have been wounded gravely. It twisted their perception of us.” “But why do they dislike me so?” Azhure said, her hand on her belly. It was so unfair, she thought, after she had fought to keep them through this long, difficult, lonely pregnancy. How many times could she have just let them slip from her body? Axis was silent a long moment. “Because you forgave me and because you chose to continue to love me,” he finally said very softly. “That is why they cannot forgive you.” Azhure stared at him, feeling instinctively that he was correct, but hating the explanation. “And that is why you need StarDrifter, Azhure. Already he spends an hour or two singing to them each day. They like him, they trust him, and they will listen to him. Damn it! I ask you to let StarDrifter talk them through the birth not for his sake, not even for the babies’ sakes, but for yours!” Axis cupped her face in his hands. Stars! How difficult this was to say, but how desperately it needed to be said. They might not have much longer together, and Axis could not shake his growing premonition of doom. “Azhure, you know how much I love you.” Azhure smiled. “You do not need to tell me, Axis, I –” “Shush, beloved, and listen to what I say to you now. There is a second, far more important reason why I want StarDrifter to accompany you to the Island of Mist and Memory. StarDrifter and I may have had our differences and our envies, but he is my father, and I love and trust him. Azhure, each day I feel a sense of doom growing stronger and stronger within me. No! Listen to me. I do not know if I can defeat this force that masses to the north. This morning we both saw its size, strength and effectiveness. If I cannot master my powers before we meet, then I fear that we will be defeated.” “No, Axis!” Azhure breathed in horror, her eyes wide, but he carried on relentlessly. “Azhure, as enchanting as they are, my powers are pitifully ineffective for what I ride to meet. I could hardly touch the small Skraeling force that Gorgrael sent down the WildDog Plains, and the force I now go to meet is five thousand times that size.” “Axis!” Azhure moaned desperately, hating the shadow of defeat in his eyes. “You have Belial and Magariz and Ho’Demi and the Strike Force –” Axis laughed harshly. “They will fight just as bravely and they will die just as quickly as Jorge did, Azhure. Now, if anything happens to me in the north, if I fail –” “Then I will have no further reason to live!” His hands tightened about her face. “No! You must go on living, for my sake and for our children’s sake and for the sake of Tencendor.” He paused, and what he said next he said only with the greatest difficulty and between clenched teeth. “Azhure, if I die, then let StarDrifter love and support you. He loves you, you are both SunSoar so you will be happy together, and he will be a good father to my children.” “No!” Azhure cried, striking his chest with a clenched fist, trying to twist out of his hands. But Axis was far stronger, and he held her firmly. “Yes, yes and yes! You will need advice and help and strength and love, and StarDrifter can give you all of these. Azhure, listen to me,” he said, grinding the words out now. “If I die then seek refuge in Coroleas. There you will be safe. There you can plan for the future – whatever that might be.” Azhure wept, not because Axis had planned for the future should he die, but because of the defeat she heard in his voice. Axis expected to die! After a moment Axis gathered her close, and they stood gently rocking under the shadows of the moon for a very long time, the waters of Grail Lake lapping a hundred paces below their feet. 11 The Repository of the Gods (#ulink_d6dea51e-2670-5736-a177-ad8923396aac) That night the five gathered on the deserted northern shore of Grail Lake: Jack, the senior among them, Zeherah, Ogden, Veremund and Yr. Yr, who was to visit the Repository of the Gods. She was the first, and the others envied her, feared for her, and mourned with her. But she was the youngest, the strongest and the most vital, so it was fitting that she go first. She would have the furthest to travel and yet would have the best chance of reaching her destination. They stood in a line, using rarely touched reserves of power to cloak their activities so that they would not be disturbed. Jack waited until the moon floated fat and powerful above them. “It is time,” he said, and the others sighed. “Time,” Yr echoed softly. “Time,” said a melodious voice behind them, and the five turned to see who spoke. Yr’s eyes filled with tears, honoured and gratified that the Prophet should wish to witness her sacrifice. He stood there in his full glory, such as none – not even Jack – had seen him before. He had assumed his Icarii wings, and they could see that the Prophet was an Icarii Enchanter of such power and magnitude that he would humble all those who sought to oppose him. He was almost indistinguishable from the moonlight, for he wore a close-fitting silver suit that seemed to have been moulded to his body. It was of a material such as the five had never seen before, a closely woven, silvery grey, with glints of blue in its creases and curves that flashed whenever he moved. Behind him glowed great silver wings. The five bowed to him, and the Prophet himself bowed and acknowledged their service. They had done well, better than he could ever have expected, and his violet eyes were moist with gratitude. He nodded slightly at Jack – it was time to begin. “Friend and sister Yr,” Jack said, his voice as gentle as the waves that lapped at their feet, his hands folded before him. “There are few words that need to be said at this time. Our entire service has been for this point, which will, in turn, lead us to the final conflagration. We have all served as best we could. We have watched and waited and, since the Prophecy began to walk, we have guided. We have served to the best of our ability.” For some time they were all silent, the Prophet standing slightly behind them. “I would like to speak some words,” Yr finally said. “I harbour a myriad of regrets,” she began, her eyes on the moonlight as it skittered across the waters of Grail Lake. “A myriad.” None of the others, and certainly not the Prophet, begrudged Yr her regrets. “A myriad,” she said yet again, almost inaudibly. “I have enjoyed life in this OverWorld, although at times it has been petty and irritating. But I have made friends, friends whom I will now have to leave. Friends whom I may have no chance to farewell as they deserve. Friends whom I will miss and who will miss me.” The others watched, their eyes shining with unshed tears. They shared her regret. They had never, never thought to have made friends on their journey. “I have even learned to love a little,” Yr said. “I shall miss Hesketh, and I regret that in the morning he will wake and I will not be there, and he will never know where I have gone. I fear that he will mourn me for a very long time and that he will spend the rest of his life wondering why I left like I did. Wondering if I was well or in need of help.” Her mouth trembled. “It is unfair to him to end it this way with no explanations and no goodbyes.” The others listened and watched. Yr took a deep breath, and its unsteadiness betrayed her emotion and fear. “I will miss my health most of all,” she whispered. Jack kissed her gently. “Be at peace, sister Yr. You will be the first among us to share the mysteries of the ancient gods of the stars.” The other three then stepped forward, kissing her and murmuring words of farewell. Tears streamed unashamedly down Ogden’s and Veremund’s cheeks. They would all see her again, but she would be changed and would continue to change – she would never again be the Yr they had known and loved for so long. Finally the Prophet came forward, his silvery brilliance making them all blink. He rested his hands gently on Yr’s shoulders and kissed her on the mouth. “You will be beloved always for the sacrifice you now make,” he said. “And you will always rest in my heart. I could not have asked for better than you.” Yr smiled at him, tears slipping down her cheeks, but they were tears of joy rather than sadness. “Yr.” He smiled, and her breath caught at his beauty. “Yr, tonight you will discover one of the great mysteries of Grail Lake but you will need courage and fortitude to do so. Are you ready?” “Yes, Prophet, I am ready.” He lifted one hand and ran it through her pale blond hair. “You will need my strength and my breath for the journey you are now about to undertake, Yr.” Then he leaned forward and kissed her again, powerfully. When he stepped back Yr’s tears had dried and she looked vigorous and certain. “I have loved each of you,” she said, then she walked to the water’s edge. She slipped out of her gown and stood naked for a few moments, letting the light of the moon wash over her. Then she raised both arms above her head, stretching her entire body and spreading her fingers in supplication. “Sister Moon,” she cried, her voice joyful, “show me the path to the Repository of the Gods!” Azhure murmured in her sleep and rolled over. Awakened, worried, Axis watched her carefully, but Azhure slipped back silently into her dreams, and Axis closed his eyes and relaxed. For a heartbeat nothing happened, then the moonlight that rippled over the waves flickered, faltered, then coalesced in one spot on the water a few paces in front of Yr. “I thank you,” she whispered, and she dived into the water. She swam downwards for a very long time, following the silver path of the moon. Her hair trailed behind her, glowing silver now itself, and her sharp blue eyes were open wide as she peered into the depths. On either side of her the water deepened from blue to indigo and then to black as she swam deeper and deeper into the mystery of Grail Lake. She swam deeper than any human could, but then Yr was not human. She swam longer than anyone had a right to without breathing, but then the Prophet had imbued her with his strength and his breath. She swam even when others would have given up, sure that they were lost, but Yr believed, and that would see her through. And always the silvery light of the moon showed Yr her path and guided her into the unknown depths of the lake. The Charonites spoke of the legend when gods even more ancient than the Star Gods had made a gift of the Sacred Lakes. In a storm that lasted many days and nights, fire rained down from the sky and almost blasted all life from the land. When those few hardy souls who had survived emerged from the deep caves that had sheltered them, they had found lakes where before there were none, and mountains where before there had been only plains. They gazed at the lakes in awe, for then their waters were clearer than they are now, and in the depths they could see the vague outlines of what lay there. It was said that the ancients themselves lay sleeping in the depths of the Sacred Lakes. Now these legends were remembered only by the Charonites. But Yr was privy to knowledge that other Charonites were not, and she believed, and so she swam on. Just when she thought her strength would finally fail her, she saw lights glowing in the dark far below her. With her goal so near she pushed on with added resolve, despite the fact that her muscles were aching and weak and her lungs screamed for lack of air. The Prophecy was so close, so close, to achieving fulfilment that Yr swam on, empowered for the final few strokes with the certainty of eventual success. There! The Repository lay directly below her, massive, almost totally buried in the silt. Only its smooth spherical top broke the surface of the lake bed, ringed around its outer surface with soft lights glowing in an infinity of different hues. Its skin was smooth and grey, and Yr knew that if it was exposed to strong light it would appear as silvery as the Prophet’s suit or her hair as it floated out behind her. Yr swam over the Repository, searching its immense surface for the opening that she knew must be there. Ah! This must be it! Yr ran her hands over the smooth surface of the closed entrance, finding a dome of multicoloured gems. Drawing on the instructions the Prophet gave her three thousand years ago, Yr carefully struck individual gems with her fingers, listening to the chimes they gave off, revelling in the beauty of the music they made. Suddenly the music ceased and the dome sank below the surface of the outer skin of the Repository. In the next instant a circular door slid open and a pool of blackness appeared beneath her and, grateful beyond measure that soon she would be able to draw breath again, Yr gave a last powerful kick with her legs and dropped into it. As soon as her feet had passed the level of the outer skin the circular door closed silently behind her and, praise the Prophet, the next moment the water drained out of the chamber she had entered. Scrambling to her feet, Yr stood for a very long time, hands on knees, gulping in sweet fresh air, her body recovering from its arduous dive. Now that she was finally here Yr forgot her sadness and her regrets. As her body responded to the air and rest, a sense of sweet excitement filled her. She straightened and looked about. The chamber was small and plain, but in the wall across from her was cut another circular door. She walked slowly over and spoke in a strange language, which the Prophet had told her was the language of the ancients, and the door slid open. A softly lit corridor stretched into infinity before her and, confident and joyous, Yr began to walk down it. She continued for a long time and passed many strange things – chambers, caverns, closets and yet more corridors – but Yr knew her destination and she was not tempted to explore these other wonders. She was going to the great Well of Power in the very heart of the Repository. After walking some time Yr heard a dulcet song, hummed with almost breathless intensity, and she knew that she approached the Well. The magic that the Prophet had told her the ancient gods had once commanded fuelled the Well of Power, but Yr had not thought that it would sing so beautifully. Or with such deadliness. She paused before an arched doorway, open and ringed with light. Inside she could hear the Well sing. Not even the Star Gate, she thought, sang this beautifully. The chamber was circular, as was so much of this Repository, and in the very centre sat the Well. Yr was surprised, for she had thought it would be a massive thing, but it was relatively small, about twice the circumference of a thickened body. Its walls stood waist high, and glowed golden with the Power they contained. She walked over to the Well and stood there a while, staring at the golden Power within it, listening to its music. Then, sighing, she stepped forward so her lower body leaned against the walls, and plunged her arms and face into the Power that called to her. When Yr surfaced the four watchers thought she had not changed at all. But when she stepped forth, they saw her blue eyes glittering strangely, brilliant with Power. All longed to touch her, but they knew that to do so would be death. So they smiled sadly, nodded and silently filed away. Yr, after retrieving her gown, followed at a distance of four or five paces. They began the slow walk east. 12 Farewell (#ulink_9f780d5e-c810-53cf-b8ce-5742a7b878c5) The crowds had lined the streets of Carlon since early morning. Today the great lord Axis, StarMan of all Tencendor, would lead his army north to defeat Gorgrael the Destroyer. Once he had fulfilled his destiny, all would live great and good lives, and there would be laughter and joy for time without end. The air of excitement grew almost unbearable. Colourful flags fluttered from houses and shops alike, people leaned out windows, and street musicians attempted, in vain, to keep the crowd entertained. The army waited in orderly units in the fields outside the city walls. Any air of excitement was notably absent among these men, for most were hardened veterans of the wars fought against Gorgrael and with each other over the past two years. But each and every one was proud to be there, and prepared to fight to the death for his StarMan. The core of the army was the twelve hundred former Axe-Wielders who had fought with and behind Axis for many years. Their numbers were augmented by a variety of units, ranging from Ysgryff’s mounted knights, the softly chiming Ravensbundmen, the infantry of Achar, militia from Arcen, sundry swords, pike and spearmen, to Azhure’s squads of archers. All in all, not counting the Icarii Strike Force that would not fly out for another day yet, the army numbered some thirty-thousand men. All were impressively uniformed in grey, and all wore the blood-red blazing sun on their breasts. The uniforms, like the emptied laundry hampers, were another of the minor miracles that had swept Carlon over recent days. Axis had always strived to have his men-at-arms clothed uniformly, and ever since Azhure had arrived in Sigholt over a year ago she had been directing needlewomen to sew suitable outfits. But in recent months Axis’ army had grown to huge proportions, especially with the addition of seven or eight thousand men who had joined from Borneheld’s defeated army, and there had not been the time or the thread to give every man a uniform. Yet when each soldier had woken this morning, there at the foot of his bedrolls was a neatly folded uniform. Each one a perfect fit, each one a perfect match, each perfectly emblazoned for the rank of the man who would wear it, and each one perfectly unexplainable. When a messenger, breathless with excitement, brought news of the miracle to the StarMan as he sat at breakfast with the Enchantress, Axis turned and looked at Azhure. He raised his eyebrows, although he kept his face carefully neutral. Azhure flushed and stared out the window. After a moment she spoke, her voice quiet. “I had a dream last night. I dreamed I saw a glittering army arrayed in the fields outside Carlon. I dreamed they all wore perfectly matched grey uniforms, all with your sun blazing across their chests. And in the dream I bewailed the fact that there had not been enough time to fit out the entire army identically.” Axis stared at her for a very long time. “Then pray dream me a great victory,” he said finally, his voice hoarse, and Azhure gazed at him, her eyes deep with longing. “Then pray me the power to control my dreams,” she said, “and I will do just that.” The Icarii Strike Force, uniformed in black, lined the balconies and parapets of the palace, their faces impassive, their wings extended slightly to ruffle in the breeze. They waited to farewell their Strike-Leader and his ground force, but they would join them soon. Several Wings had already flown to the lower Western Ranges to scout the north as best they could, trying to find the horde of Skraelings that they knew must be in Aldeni somewhere. Inside the palace Azhure stood with Rivkah and Cazna in the stableyard, the three women waiting to farewell their husbands. Cazna, not yet nineteen and the horror of not knowing Belial’s fate at Bedwyr Fort still fresh in her mind, was trembling as she fought to keep her emotions under control. Azhure reached over and took one of her hands. She was fond of Cazna, and not only because, as Ysgryff’s daughter, she was one of her new-found family – Niah, Azhure’s mother, had been the elder sister of Ysgryff. “Come now, Cazna, smile for your husband. You should not leave him with the memory of your tears.” Cazna’s mouth jerked in a tight smile. She loved Belial desperately, and was terrified of the danger that he now rode to face. She wondered how Azhure and Rivkah could be so composed. The other two women had said their private farewells to their husbands earlier; Rivkah was now formally married to Magariz, for they had taken their marriage vows before their friends the day after Axis and Azhure had married. None of the witnesses had realised that the smile both Rivkah and Magariz wore was not only because of their love for each other, but also because this was for them a renewal of their vows. Long ago, as impetuous teenagers, they had bribed a Brother of the Seneschal to marry them the day before Rivkah’s father forced her north to marry Duke Searlas of Ichtar. Azhure squeezed Cazna’s hand reassuringly as the girl composed her face. She was a beautiful girl, greatly resembling Azhure, and would mature into yet greater loveliness. Azhure prayed that Belial gave the girl the love she deserved. Boots sounded in the doorway a few paces away and all three women tensed. Axis and his senior ground force commanders, Belial, Magariz and Ho’Demi, stepped into the courtyard, cloaks flaring as they pulled on their riding gloves, their faces grim and silent. Arne followed a pace behind them, his eyes on Axis’ back. Waiting for them was a small escort of a hundred mounted men-at-arms carrying standards and trumpets – they would make a good enough showing to please the crowds outside. As Ho’Demi walked to his horse, Azhure glanced at the Ravensbund Chief, envying his wife Sa’Kuya who would be riding into war alongside her husband. Axis paused by the group of three women. He and Azhure had said all they had to say to each other, but Axis was not going to waste another opportunity to drink in her beauty. He did not know if he would ever see her again. “I wish you well,” was all he said as he leaned forward to kiss her briefly on the mouth in farewell. And I you. Magariz farewelled Rivkah just as briefly, although Belial lingered to murmur to Cazna. She nodded and smiled for him, then Belial joined the others at their horses. They mounted swiftly, the horses’ hooves skittering impatiently on the cobbles of the courtyard, and Axis turned Belaguez for a final look at Azhure. You will prevail! she whispered with her mind’s voice and Axis stared at her, then nodded briefly. I cannot wait until I see you again. Then he swung Belaguez’s head for the archway into the streets beyond and dug his heels into the stallion’s flanks. Snorting with excitement, Belaguez plunged through the archway, the other riders close behind, the cheers of the crowds already rising to greet them. For some time Azhure stood there, her heart beating wildly in her breast, then she turned back to the doorway. She would go straight to her apartments, she thought, for she could not bear to watch him ride away. When she lifted her eyes, Azhure saw that StarDrifter stood in the doorway, staring at her. 13 Upstairs Downstairs (#ulink_27d139e1-d236-563b-b710-4d030c2e47f4) Faraday and Embeth travelled slowly to Tare, seeing only a few sheep and pig herders along the way. Faraday stayed only two days in Tare. Embeth pleaded with her to stay longer, but memories of Axis were too vivid, and Faraday wanted to escape them as soon as she could. Besides, the further east she went, the more persistent became the feeling that she should begin to plant the seedlings from the Enchanted Wood. So Faraday bid a tearful Embeth farewell and set off for the Silent Woman Woods with her two donkeys. This was the first time Faraday had ever been alone, and, day by day, loneliness became an increasingly crushing burden that she could scarcely endure. Every night, as she sat by her solitary fire, Faraday had to fight not to give in to tears. “Mother!” she muttered to herself one night. “You will have to spend months planting out the seedlings in the lonely reaches of western Tencendor. Will you fret like a baby for its teat the whole way?” On the morning of her third day out from Tare, Faraday’s isolation was relieved by the unexpected company of three Icarii Enchanters; but even their company proved a two-edged sword. The Enchanters hailed her from the air, then dropped down to speak with her. Faraday recognised them from the eight days she had spent with Axis in Carlon – BrightStar FeatherNest, StarShine EvenHeart and PaleStar SnapWing. They chatted an hour or more, the Enchanters wondering why she was travelling eastwards so alone. “I merely play my part in the Prophecy,” Faraday said, and the Enchanters nodded. They knew Faraday was Tree Friend. The Enchanters were on their way back to Carlon from the Bracken Ranges where they had been involved in the recovery of the Icarii cities, and they extended to Faraday a gracious invitation to stay with the Icarii should she pass through the Ranges – or the Minaret Peaks, as they called the ranges now. Faraday enjoyed the company of the three Enchanters, but was nevertheless glad when they made their goodbyes and flew west towards Tare. Their presence recalled too vividly the false happiness of those eight days in Carlon and, in the end, they reminded her all too clearly of what she’d lost. On the afternoon of the fifth day out from Tare, as Faraday approached the Silent Woman Woods, she was gripped by such a black and all-consuming depression she had to consciously force herself on. For the past two days she’d lost all will to eat, and the only reason she had kept moving was because she knew that if she stayed in camp she would roll up in her blankets one night and never wake to see the dawn. Some fifty paces from the dark tree line, Faraday stood, leaning on one of the donkeys for support, gazing blankly at the Woods. The wind was cold, biting through her cloak, but Faraday scarcely felt it. She was tired, very tired, and she tried to decide whether or not she would camp outside the Woods and enter in the morning, or risk walking through the trees in the darkness. Already the sun was starting to sink into the clouds on the western horizon. It was the donkeys who decided her. The animal she leaned on put one hoof forward, then another, forcing Faraday to take a step, while the one behind her butted the woman’s back with its head, pushing her forward yet another step. So, haltingly, the donkeys hauled, pushed and shoved her into the Silent Woman Woods. The trees comforted Faraday the instant she stepped beneath their shelter. When Jack had brought her here so long ago the trees had shown her a vision of what she believed at the time to be Axis’ death. That vision had horrified her, but the Song the trees now sang for her as she walked down the path towards the Keep was one of joy and compassion, haunting in its beauty yet passionate and full-blooded. As soon as Faraday heard the Song a smile lit her face and her loneliness and depression dissipated. Within fifty paces her steps became light and she let go the mane of the donkey she had been holding. “You are beautiful!” she cried, clasping her hands and swinging about in a full circle of delight. “Beautiful!” One day, she thought rapturously, much of eastern Tencendor will sing like this! When, as BattleAxe, Axis, his Axe-Wielders and Brother Gilbert had ridden through these woods they had found them dark and close, sharp branches blocking the path to scratch faces and hands, roots humping out of the ground to snag at their horses’ hooves. Axis may have been the StarMan, but at that time he was still encased by the lies of the Seneschal, and he was accompanied by the loathsome Gilbert who would never break free of the lies that consumed him. The Woods had only allowed the four men passage after they had seized their axes within a hundred paces of entering them. But the woman who now skipped down the path towards the Keep was Faraday Tree Friend, beloved of the Mother and of all creatures and beings of the Sacred Grove. So the trees sang joyously for her and the Woods appeared as spacious and as full of light and as mysteriously inviting as the Enchanted Woods themselves. Axis and his companions had ridden for almost a day to reach the Keep, but Faraday thought she had been walking through the Woods for only an hour or so before she saw the golden glow of Cauldron Lake through the trees. She paused in wonder at the Lake’s edge, leaning down to run her fingers through such magical golden water that left her hand as dry as before she had dipped it in. A quarter of the way around the Lake sat the pale, yellow-stoned Keep, and Faraday smiled, for a warm glow gleamed from the windows and the door stood invitingly open. Even from this distance she felt that the Keep not only expected her, but yearned for her company. At the Keep Faraday unpacked and unsaddled the donkeys and they trotted around the back, there, no doubt, to find a warm stable and oats already waiting for them. Faraday stepped into the Keep and stopped dead, breathless with wonder. Both Timozel and Axis had described its interior to her, and Faraday knew that what the Keep presented to her was vastly different to the interior it had shown the men. The huge, circular room was furnished comfortably with deep armchairs and couches, upholstered and cushioned in jewelled fabrics; tables and chairs, bookcases, chests and cabinets of rich amberwood; lamps and candlesticks of shining brass; patchwork comforters and patterned rugs scattered ankle-deep. To one side was a four-poster bed with a crazily stitched quilt thrown over it and feather pillows piled at its head. On the other side of the chamber a kitchen range glowed, the kettle only just beginning to sing, and a table set for one and laden with food in front of it. In the very centre of the room a well-stoked fire crackled cheerfully on a round hearth, the copper hood above drawing away all traces of smoke. To one side stood a large box piled high with pine cones and knots of apple wood. Faraday wandered further into the Keep, her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide, and felt utterly and completely loved. For a week the Keep comforted and kept her. It was a time of deep healing, a time when she replenished her courage and fortitude. When she’d arrived that first night Faraday had eaten, then crept into bed fully clothed – so tired she could not be bothered disrobing – and had not awoken for almost eighteen hours. When she did awake it was to find that she was wearing a warm flannel nightgown and pink bedsocks, and that the kettle once again sang atop the range; next to it sat a deep pan of scrambled eggs and bacon warming for her breakfast. Toast and milk and pats of rich golden butter on thick white china plates sat on the table. That day Faraday had done nothing but eat and sleep – a fresh meal ready for her whenever she awoke from a nap – but subsequent days she had spent in the Sacred Grove and Ur’s nursery. Today, the eighth since she had arrived, Faraday intended to spend luxuriating in the comfort that the Keep provided her. Perhaps she would explore the upper levels and read, if she could, some of the ancient Icarii texts that Ogden and Veremund said were secreted there. Faraday knew she would have to leave the Keep soon. She had now learned almost all the names of the seedlings in Ur’s enchanting nursery, and once the last one was committed to memory she would resume her journey east – and begin to plant the Enchanted Wood back into this world. But for now Faraday squirmed deeper into the armchair and wriggled her toes with sensual abandon before the fire. She slipped into a doze, only barely aware of the Keep about her. Suddenly she blinked and snapped awake. She could feel Azhure very, very close. “Azhure?” Faraday said, rubbing her eyes fully awake. “Azhure, is that you?” She was puzzled, but not in the least afraid. Almost as depressed as Faraday had been when she arrived at the Silent Woman Woods, Azhure asked Hesketh, the captain of the palace guard, to row her across to Spiredore. Azhure wanted nothing more than to escape the confines of the palace at Carlon. The royal apartments, so beautiful and comforting when she had shared them with Axis, were now lonely and cold. StarDrifter had been a constant companion. He was, apart from FreeFall who was already on the Island of Mist and Memory, the most senior of the Icarii present in southern Tencendor and, as such, was involved in much of the discussions and decisions regarding the Icarii nation’s move south. As grandfather to Caelum and to the unborn twins and as a powerful Enchanter, StarDrifter also spent time training all three of Axis and Azhure’s children. Those hours, in the evening or early morning, when StarDrifter came to the Jade Chamber to sit by Azhure’s side, place his hands on her swollen belly and sing to the twins, were uncomfortable ones for Azhure. She would recall Axis’ plea that if anything should happen to him she should marry StarDrifter, and Azhure wondered if Axis had said anything to his father. StarDrifter’s face and thoughts gave nothing away and always he behaved with the utmost politeness when he was so intimately close to her, yet Azhure could never quite dismiss the thought that StarDrifter somehow hoped that one day his hands might touch her more intimately yet. All in all, Azhure thought as she drifted across Grail Lake, it would be a pleasure to spend a relaxing afternoon in Spiredore. There was the possibility that WolfStar might appear, but Azhure did not particularly want to see him, and she thought that if she made her feelings known to Spiredore when she first stepped inside, then WolfStar might stay – or be kept – away. Azhure carried Caelum with her, for over these past days she had not spent as much time with her delightful son as she had wished. The small row boat was also packed with the warm bodies of seven of the Alaunt hounds, including Sicarius. They had padded silently after her down the corridors of the palace and had leaped equally silently, but with discernible determination, into the row boat, eliciting a string of curses from Hesketh – who had then, embarrassed, begged Azhure’s forgiveness. Poor man, Azhure thought as they neared Spiredore’s pier, he looks to be in the grip of an even blacker mood than me. A week ago, Yr and the rest of the Sentinels had disappeared and Azhure, as Axis and everyone else close to the Prophecy, had worried about their abrupt and secretive departure. Perhaps Hesketh, deeply emotionally involved with Yr, had worried the worst, and Azhure thought she might ask him to share a midday meal with her one day. Perhaps he only needed to talk. Perhaps, Azhure decided as Hesketh helped her out of the boat, the Alaunt bounding across the grass towards Spiredore, he only needs Yr. The interior of the tower was cool and pleasant, and Azhure smiled as she leaned against the closed door. The seven Alaunt were sniffing out every secret corner they could find, and Azhure thought they might find a lot in this most secretive of towers. Are we going to the rooftop, Mama? Azhure could detect the faint undertone of worry in Caelum’s thoughts. No doubt her son, like herself, had some extraordinarily unpleasant memories of the rooftop of Spiredore. “Another day, Caelum, but not today. I am too weary to climb all the way to the top.” Then what will we do? Azhure hesitated. She had thought about this as she lay sleepless in her bed last night. Close to tears from her loneliness in the empty bed, feeling the indifference of the babies within her, Azhure had decided that she would start to experiment with the tower today. See the extent of its power. She hoped she was doing the right thing. What if she did get lost? She halted at the foot of the first staircase, her hand resting on the newel post, and called the Alaunt to her. As they gathered about her skirts, Azhure again remembered WolfStar’s words. Decide where you want to go before you start to climb the stairs, and then the stairs will take you to that place. “I want to go to a place where I will find some comfort,” she said, then she started to climb. The feeling that Azhure was close was now so strong that Faraday leaned forward in the armchair, balancing on its edge, ready to leap to her feet at any moment. “Azhure? Azhure? Where are you?” Azhure? Azhure? Where are you? Azhure stopped climbing the instant she heard Faraday’s voice, twisting and turning to peer into the heights above her. The stairs wound between crazily-canted balconies as far as she could see, and Faraday could be anywhere up there. “Faraday?” she called. “Faraday?” What was Faraday doing in Spiredore? Azhure gathered her skirts in her free hand and climbed as fast as she could, Caelum going red in the face as her arm squeezed tight about him. Sicarius opened his mouth and bayed, his cries echoing through the infinite interior of Spiredore. Faraday heard Azhure call and now she did leap to her feet. “Azhure!” She thought she could hear the faint baying of hounds. Breathless with excitement and effort, Azhure reached a wide landing. She paused then spun about, frowning. There were no more stairs leading upwards! What was this? A dead end? “Faraday?” she cried. “I cannot find you. Can you hear me? Where are you?” She stepped back down the stairs, certain she had missed her way. Faraday heard footsteps on the circular iron stairway that wound into the heights of the Keep, and she rushed to its foot, laughing in excitement, grasping the iron railing and staring upwards. A great pale hound suddenly leapt down the curve of the steps and brushed past her, followed an instant later by six others. This was followed by a stillness on the stairs, but Faraday could hear the faint fall of footsteps above her. “Azhure!” and the next moment Azhure, her face alive with amazement and happiness, stepped down into her arms. Faraday hugged her tight, laughing delightedly, and for the next few moments the women did nothing but laugh and cry. “How did you get here?” Faraday eventually asked. “Where am I?” Azhure asked at the same time. How did I get here? Can Spiredore transfer me from site to site as Axis’ Enchanter powers can? Spire … Door? “We are in the Silent Woman Keep, Azhure. Come, sit by the fire, and we will discover this mystery in comfort.” She linked her arm with Azhure’s. “See! Already the Keep has laid out tea for us.” As Faraday led her across to a couch, Azhure glanced about the room, noting its comfort and welcome – and also noting that seven bowls of food had been laid out beside the kitchen range. The Alaunt already had their noses buried deep. Azhure quickly told Faraday of the mysterious powers of Spiredore. “These magical Keeps must be linked,” Faraday said, then smiled. “But let us not waste our time talking of the Keeps. Come, let me cuddle Caelum.” Caelum held out his arms, almost as delighted to see Faraday as his mother was. This was the woman who had healed his Mama when all others had wrung their hands uselessly. As Faraday cuddled the baby to her, speaking softly to him, Azhure turned to the low table near the couch and poured their tea. Here we sit as if we were but simple housewives, she thought, talking babies and recipes, and no-one would guess the magic that surrounds us or the shared love for one man that has brought us both so much grief. The Alaunt had finished their meal and drifted back to the fire, stretching out before it, completely encircling the two women. “Azhure,” Faraday finally said, not looking up from Caelum as he nestled in her lap. “Axis. Did he …?” “He married me that afternoon,” Azhure said, making her voice as gentle as she could, yet knowing each word would cut straight to Faraday’s heart. “Ah,” Faraday said, and she looked up. “I am glad.” Then, utterly surprisingly, a radiant smile broke out across her face. “Glad for all the hearts he must have broken over the years that someone has finally won him.” “Yes. Look, he gave me this ring.” She had wondered if Faraday would recognise it, but Faraday merely exclaimed over its beauty. Yet after a moment she frowned. “It has the feel of power to it.” “It last belonged, so I am told, to a woman known as the Enchantress, the mother of the Icarii, Charonite and the Acharite races.” Azhure’s mouth twisted sourly. “Now people call me the Enchantress, but I do not know if I like it. I hope that I am not to be submerged in the personality of a woman fifteen thousand years dead.” Faraday patted her hand reassuringly. “I can only see Azhure sitting here before me, not the ghost of some long-dead sorceress.” “Hmm. WolfStar told me not to fear that the ring would seek to control me. He said that it sought my hand because it had found one fit to wear it. It has, apparently, come home to me. He seemed to fear it, though.” She looked up and started at Faraday’s shocked white face. “WolfStar?” “Oh,” Azhure said, remembering that Faraday did not know of Azhure’s connection to WolfStar. “Listen,” and she proceeded to tell her of all that had happened since Faraday had left Carlon. “And so you will leave for the Island of Mist and Memory soon?” Faraday eventually asked. “Within the week, I think. I cannot wait to find out what secrets it has to offer me.” Azhure told Faraday about the fall of Jervois Landing and Axis’ march north with his army. “And I think a trip to the island will comfort me. I find the palace a lonely place now that Axis is absent.” She paused. “The Sentinels have disappeared, too.” Faraday put her cup down and looked at Azhure sharply. “The Sentinels have gone? What do you mean? Gone with Axis?” “No. They disappeared the day before Axis left to march north. No-one knows where they are. No-one.” Disturbed, Faraday thought for a few minutes. Had she upset them so badly with her recriminations and tears that they had vanished? She had been sure that the Sentinels would stay with Axis. Azhure remembered Dru-Beorh’s report. “And there is further worrying news, Faraday. Moryson and Gilbert have been seen travelling east. Be careful. I cannot but think that they might prove a danger to you.” And a warning is the best I can do for her, Azhure thought, if Axis thinks an armed escort would be inappropriate. Faraday, still concerned over the disappearance of the Sentinels, brushed the matter of Moryson and Gilbert aside. “I cannot think that either of them would do much except rant at me, Azhure. But thank you for the warning. Now,” she handed Caelum back to his mother and smiled. “I have a wonder to show you and wondrous people for you to meet. But I think you must leave the hounds here by the fire.” As they’d sat talking the idea had slowly grown in Faraday’s mind that she might take Azhure to see the Sacred Grove. She wondered if the Horned Ones, or even the Mother, might object, but in the end Faraday decided that it was her decision. “Come,” she said, standing, and stretched out her hand. Carefully stepping over the sleeping hounds, Faraday led Azhure and her son into the Sacred Grove. Both Azhure and Caelum were transfixed with wonder as Faraday’s power then the emerald light of the Mother surrounded them. Mama! Caelum cried, leaning forward and stretching his hands out as far as he could. Azhure’s arms tightened automatically about her son but otherwise she paid him no attention. While healing Azhure’s back, Faraday had described to her the sensation of walking through the emerald light then watching it gradually shift and change until it resolved itself into the trees and sky of the Sacred Grove. Now Azhure experienced it for herself. Without knowing exactly when the transition took place, Azhure found herself wandering down a path carpeted with soft pine needles, trees to either side of her, the sky above filled with stars reeling through their eternal dance. She stared at them, thinking she could actually see them move. Finally lowering her eyes, Azhure glanced to one side and saw that Faraday wore a gown such as she had never seen before. It reminded her of the emerald light as it had darkened and shifted and changed; when Faraday walked, the colours in the gown shimmered from emerald to blue to violet to brown, then back to emerald again. Faraday herself seemed changed as well. Far more powerful, far more sure, far, far more lovely. “Are you certain that I should step these paths?” Azhure asked, unsure about her reception here. “The Avar refused to accept me, and their Banes,” she thought of the coolness Barsarbe had consistently displayed towards her, “might be furious that I now visit their Sacred Grove. They did not like my violence.” But Faraday did not seem perturbed. “I will accept responsibility,” she said. “Now, hush. See? We enter the Grove itself. You will know soon enough how the Sacred Horned Ones regard you.” When Faraday had pulled Axis into the Grove to witness Raum’s transformation she had felt almost instantly the resentment that emanated from the trees. They had tolerated him, for Faraday’s sake, but they certainly did not like him. But Faraday felt none of this now; instead she experienced the love and exultation that usually enveloped her when she stepped the paths to the Grove. “Say nothing until you are spoken to,” Faraday said, and Azhure nodded, hoping that Caelum would behave himself. Never before had she been exposed to such power as she felt here, and it awed and frightened her. As they stepped into the centre of the Grove, giant trees rearing on either side, Azhure felt strange eyes watching her from under their dark branches. She looked straight ahead … and jumped. Walking towards her was the most magnificent – and most frightening – creature Azhure had ever seen. With the splendid head of a stag atop the muscular man’s body, this was one of the Sacred Horned Ones, the magical creatures that male Avar Banes transformed into when they died. Was Raum here? But this Horned One was not Raum, for he was not a complete stag, but he did have a noble silver pelt that extended over his shoulders and halfway down his back, and Azhure instinctively realised that he was among the senior of the Horned Ones. “Greetings, Tree Friend,” the silver pelt said, and leaned forward to rub cheeks with Faraday. Azhure started at the sound of normal speech and managed to compose herself only the instant before the Horned One turned her way. “Sacred One,” Faraday said. “I have brought my friend, Azhure SunSoar, to meet with you. I hope you will accept her presence here in the Sacred Grove.” The silver pelt stepped before Azhure and stared into her eyes. His gaze was cold and hard, and Azhure felt herself tremble, but she did not drop her eyes. She could feel Caelum holding his breath against her body. “I know who you are,” the silver pelt said, his voice puzzled. “I know you!” This was the woman for whom the StarMan had betrayed Tree Friend. But this was not why he was puzzled. Slowly he lifted a hand to Azhure’s face and traced his middle three fingers down her forehead. “You have already been accepted into the Grove and the company of the Horned Ones,” he said, with surprise. “Already accepted?” Faraday frowned. Acceptance was reserved only for Banes of the Avar and those children they brought to the Mother. “Oh!” Azhure said, memories flooding her mind. Her hand, slowly turning Hagen over until she could see the knife protruding from his belly. His blood steaming in pools on the floor. Shra, the Avar girl Raum had brought back from Fernbrake Lake, scrambling from the bed, dipping her fingers into Hagen’s blood and drawing three lines down Azhure’s forehead. “Accepted,” she had lisped. And none had known what she had meant. “Accepted,” Azhure whispered, remembering, and shared her memory with Faraday and the silver pelt. The Horned One smiled – and, with his great square yellowing teeth and cold black eyes it was a dreadful sight. “A sacrifice was accepted on your behalf. Be well and welcomed to the sacred paths, Azhure.” Faraday was puzzled by the distress on Azhure’s face. “Azhure? Why so concerned? You have been granted a great honour. Few are welcomed so freely to the Sacred Groves.” Azhure blinked at Faraday, then turned back to the Horned One. Her mouth trembled. “Oh, Sacred One, I am aware of the honour that you do me. But it troubles me that an act of wanton violence, violence which has turned many of the Avar against me, should prove the deed that gains me entrance to these sacred paths." The Horned One lifted a hand and cupped Azhure’s face between his fingers. “Azhure. I was only surprised because I knew you, and I only know people who have been accepted into the Grove. Shra, who will grow to be one of the most powerful Banes the Avar have ever birthed, recognised your worth. Hagen’s death as such did not make you acceptable to us –” “Much as it may have further endeared you to us,” said a second Horned One who had appeared at the silver pelt’s shoulder. Behind him four or five others had materialised from beyond the dark trees. “– for his death was merely the method by which one of the greatest Avar Banes yet born chose to accept you as worthy to step the sacred paths to this Grove.” “Worthy? Why am I worthy?” Faraday smiled. Despite what Azhure had learned about herself since she had fled Smyrton, she still found it hard to believe that she was worthy of all the attention, regard and love that had come her way. “Worthy?” The silver pelt’s smile faded and his fingers tightened momentarily about Azhure’s face. “Why are you worthy to step the paths into this Grove? You are worthy simply because of who you are, Azhure. You are a Sacred Daughter. You have drunk the blood of the Stag. You have saved the lives of many Avar – despite their ungratefulness. The Sacred Grove thanks you for your actions at the Earth Tree Grove. You saved Raum’s life and helped him and Shra to escape the Smyrton villagers. But most of all, Azhure, you are worthy because of the ring you wear and the Circle you complete.” He lifted Azhure’s hand and held it for all the other Horned Ones to see. “The Circle of Stars has come home; Shra saw the power within you as well – no wonder she accepted you. Hagen’s death was merely a convenient occasion to formally announce the acceptance, it was not the reason she accepted you … or why we accept you. You have great power, Azhure, and deep compassion, and you have aided the Avar and you have aided Faraday and will continue to aid her. Because of all these things, you are beloved and welcomed into the Sacred Grove.” “And,” he let go of Azhure’s face and hand and picked Caelum out of her arms, “your son is welcomed too. Welcome, Caelum, and may your feet always find the paths to the Sacred Grove.” Caelum, awed but not frightened, submitted to the silver pelt’s embrace, overcoming his awe to thrust a curious finger into the Horned One’s face so that the silver pelt had to avert his eye to prevent it being poked. “Caelum!” Azhure muttered, embarrassed, but wondering at the name the Horned One had given the Enchantress’ ring; what did it mean? And what ‘circle’ did she complete? She opened her mouth to ask, but the Horned One forestalled her. “Your son bears your blood, and he was conceived at Beltide under the Song of the Earth Tree. He will wield much of your power and he will be as compassionate. But, Azhure –” The Horned One’s voice hardened. Azhure paled at the sudden transformation, remembering how the Horned Ones had terrified Axis the first time he had come to the Grove in a dream vision. She realised that these Horned Ones could kill at the snap of a finger and with considerably less effort. “Azhure, never, never, bring those children you carry within you to this Grove. Their feet are not welcome on the sacred paths.” “But they were conceived at Beltide, too,” Azhure said, more puzzled and frightened than defensive. What was wrong with these babes? “They were conceived well beyond the Avarinheim, and they do not share your compassion, Azhure. Beware of them, Daughter, for they may one day do you and yours great harm.” Beware? Azhure paled until her face was almost white, her eyes great and dark. Faraday stepped forward and put her hand on Azhure’s arm. “Now, I have a garden to show you, Azhure,” she said, “and two women who would, I think, dearly like to meet you.” At the pressure of Faraday’s hand Azhure walked away a few paces, then she turned back to the silver pelt who still stood watching her. “Thank you for your acceptance,” she said, finally finding her voice. “It means a great deal to me.” Then she turned and followed Faraday. That evening, well after the sun had sunk into the west and Carlon was almost frantic wondering what had become of her and Caelum, Azhure walked down the stairs of Spiredore. Behind her the Alaunt snuffled happily. In her absence they had eaten to excess in the Silent Woman Keep. It had been a wondrous day. The friendship that Faraday had promised Azhure had matured and deepened. She had not only visited, but had been accepted into the Sacred Grove. Faraday had led her past the dark tree line so she could discover the enchanted world that lay beyond – what other mother had ever watched her son play with blue and orange splotched panthers amid the dancing rivulets of a magical stream while diamond-eyed birds fluttered about his shoulders? She had met Raum-that-was, the White Stag, and had cried gently as he let her stroke his velvety nose before bounding away to run unfettered through the Enchanted Wood. And she had sat and talked for hours with two women, one middle-aged and dressed in a soft blue dress with a rainbow sash, the Mother, and one old and red-cloaked, reminding her vividly of Orr. Both women had, in their own way, awed her far more than the silver-pelted Horned One. They had sat in the warm sun on the garden bench in Ur’s nursery, the four women and the baby boy. While the Mother held her hands over Caelum’s ears (for such knowledge was not his right), Ur told Azhure the secret of the seedlings. Moved beyond words, Azhure had taken Faraday’s hand, and the women sat for some time, enjoying each other’s company, and laughing at the baby as he crawled, serenely oblivious to the significance of what surrounded him, through the pathways of the nursery. In the serenity and comfort of the garden and the company, Azhure set aside her fear at the Horned One’s words regarding her twins. All her questions would surely be answered on the Island of Mist and Memory. “I have been blessed,” she whispered into Caelum’s ear as she stepped forth from Spiredore to greet a relieved Hesketh, half the palace guard, and StarDrifter, who had been just about to go in after her. 14 Goodwife Renkin Goes to Market (#ulink_76e8393b-b6e4-5913-bfc5-2e295bbdc1cb) Goodwife Renkin shook out her heavy woollen skirts and sat gratefully down on the stool by the sheep pen. About her the market place of Tare bustled cheerfully; this was one of the major fair days in southern Achar – Tencendor, she reminded herself – and Tare was full of traders and peasants come to buy and sell and gape and gossip. The Goodwife leaned back against the stone wall behind her and closed her eyes. She’d set out from her small farm in northern Arcness fifteen days ago, driving her flock of twenty-eight ewes slowly so they could graze the rolling grass plains as they went. Normally her husband would have taken the sheep to market, but he, poor soul, had such bad corns on his toes this year the Goodwife had come instead. She sighed blissfully, and interlaced her fingers across her large belly. It was nice to escape both her husband and her large brood of children. She loved them dearly, but ever since that exquisite Lady had stayed overnight in their farmhouse two years ago the Goodwife had been plagued with odd dreams of adventure and excitement – and there was precious little adventure and excitement in her isolated life in northern Arcness. So the Goodwife had clucked over her husband’s toes, wrapped them in bandages infused with cooling herbs, left instructions with her eldest daughter about the care of the younger children, and set off cheerfully with the ewes. They were good ewes, bright of eye and fat with lamb, and the Goodwife knew she would get a good price for them. Not that she or her husband were desperate for the cash. Ever since the Lady Faraday – may she live in happiness forever – had left them the gold and pearl necklet to pay for the supplies she and her companions took north with them the Renkins had existed in a comfort and security that made them the envy of their neighbours. “Lady Faraday,” Goodwife Renkin whispered to herself, and wondered what had become of the Lady since she had left the Renkins’ home. She opened her eyes and glanced about the market place. The square was crowded, and with more than traders and peasants. Now and then the Goodwife glimpsed the bright fabrics and feathered wings of those called the Icarii, and she wondered what the gorgeous creatures could want here. She sniffed and sat up straight. Life had indeed changed over the past year or so. It was confusing. What was once Forbidden was now welcomed. What was once lost in the dark now stalked the midday sun. The old stories, once told only in whispered secrets on moonlit nights, were now being sung by every passing minstrel – even now a young, gaily dressed man was strumming his lute and singing a song of ancient enchantments to a throng of admiring peasants and their children. And not a Plough-Keeper or Brother of the Seneschal in sight. Once such a minstrel would have been gagged and dragged away to face charges of incitement to heresy, and there would have been a burning in the morning. But now the people in the market square laughed and clapped as he finished his song, and they tossed copper coins into the hat at his feet. And no-one paid overmuch attention to the winged people among them. The Goodwife, as so many others, decided she rather liked this new world. It was far more colourful, far gayer, far more exciting than the old one. She did not miss the teachings of the Brotherhood of the Seneschal, nor the occasional visit from one of its Plough-Keepers. She did not miss having to glance over her shoulder every time she wandered the pathways of the plains to gather herbs for healing, and she did not miss having to watch her tongue in front her children lest she let slip a whisper of the old stories her grandmother had once murmured fearfully to her. Life had indeed changed, and it seemed that the changes began the moment the Lady Faraday had graced her poor home with her presence. “Goodwife Renkin!” Startled from her reverie, the Goodwife jumped to her feet. Standing before her, a great welcoming smile across his broad face, was Symonds Dewes, a sheep trader from Arcen. He shook the Goodwife’s hand enthusiastically, recognising her from the two occasions he had travelled across northern Arcen to the sheep fairs of Rhaetia. “Goodwife Renkin, you cannot know how glad I am to find you here. Renkin’s ewes are sought-after prizes, and I see you have presented your best stock for Tare’s market day.” The Goodwife simpered with delight. Dewes always gave more than a fair price for the sheep he purchased and should he buy all twenty-eight ewes then she would have virtually the entire day to wander wide-eyed about the market place with a full purse. She assumed a severe expression. “They are the jewels from our herd, Symonds Dewes, and you shall have to pay a high price if you think to relieve me of their care.” Dewes grinned. Goodman Renkin always haggled at length for the best price for his sheep, and it looked like his Goodwife would do no less. “But they look thin and haggard from their journey, Goodwife. Perhaps you should not ask full-price for half-sheep.” For ten minutes they happily haggled back and forth, the Goodwife resolute, the trader determined. Finally they settled on a price that left both Goodwife and trader convinced each had got the best of the bargain. The gold coins jingled into the Goodwife’s outstretched hand and she raised her eyes in delight, about to thank the trader for his generosity, when the words caught in her throat at the sight of two of the winged creatures approaching. “Symonds!” she whispered, and the trader followed her eyes and looked over his shoulder. Two of the Icarii women, Enchanters by the look of the rings on their fingers and the power in their eyes, were bending and exclaiming over the closest sheep. “Have you not met any of the Icarii?” Dewes asked, and the Goodwife shook her head, round-eyed. “Well then, shall we ask why they find your … my sheep so fascinating?” Without waiting for a reply Dewes took the Goodwife’s elbow and guided her over to the two Icarii. Both were dressed in clothes of the most exquisite colour and weave that the Goodwife had ever seen, and their wings and eyes glowed with jewel-like intensity in the weak morning sun. The trader bowed and introduced himself and the Goodwife. The Icarii stood, and the closest of them laughed and held out her hand. “My name is StarShine EvenHeart, and this is my companion PaleStar SnapWing,” the other Icarii smiled and nodded, “and I apologise from the depths of my heart if we have upset your fine sheep, Trader Dewes and Goodwife Renkin.” “I am merely surprised,” Dewes said, the Goodwife too tongue-tied to do anything but stare at the Icarii Enchanters, “that you should find such mundane creatures so fascinating.” StarShine shook Dewes’ hand. “We were trapped for so long in our mountain home, Trader Dewes, that we find pleasure and excitement in what you must consider the most trifling of things. Sheep are virtually unknown to us, and these have such fine ivory wool that we could not resist touching it. And their eyes, full of such liquid darkness, reminded us of our cousins the Avar.” “The Avar?” the Goodwife finally managed. “Who are the Avar?” Instantly she reddened, ashamed to have asked a question of such noble creatures. But StarShine smiled kindly and took the Goodwife’s hand. “They are the people of the Horn, Goodwife Renkin, and they live far away to the north in the Avarinheim. One day they will move south, once the forests are replanted.” StarShine stopped, puzzled, a slight frown on her face, and she gently massaged the Goodwife’s hand between her own. Her companion looked closely at StarShine’s expression, then turned sharply to stare at the Goodwife. “Is there something wrong?” Dewes asked. StarShine’s hands tightened about the Goodwife’s, but she shifted her eyes and smiled brilliantly into Dewes’ face. Her face assumed such beauty, and her green eyes such power, that Dewes took an involuntary step backwards. A hint of music drifted about the small group. “Have we interrupted your business with the Goodwife, Trader Dewes?” “Er, no,” he stammered. “I was just paying Goodwife Renkin for her sheep when you approached.” “Then how fortunate,” StarShine said, “for that means the Goodwife must now be free of her charges. Is that not so?” she asked the woman. Entranced by the Icarii, the Goodwife only nodded. “Free,” the Enchanter said, “to come sit with PaleStar and myself and tell us stories of your sheep. Would you like to do that, Goodwife?” The Goodwife nodded once more. StarShine let the woman’s hand go. “Then pick up your pack, Goodwife. Farewell your sheep, and come share some time with Us.” So it was that Goodwife Renkin found herself lunching with two Icarii Enchanters under the awning of a food hall next to the market square of Tare. Both the Enchanters nibbled delicately at the fare the proprietor had placed before them; the Goodwife stared at them, her food untouched. For some time StarShine and PaleStar ate, unspeaking, but sharing unspoken thoughts. Every so often one of them would lift her head and smile reassuringly at the Goodwife, then lower her eyes and concentrate again on her food. The Goodwife, whose thoughts of adventure and excitement had never gone beyond seeing the market square of Tare, continued to stare at them. Finally StarShine raised her head and pushed her plate away. “Goodwife, you must tell us something about yourself.” The Goodwife slowly opened her mouth, then closed it silently again. What was there to say about her humdrum life in northern Arcness that might interest these magical creatures? “Tell us where you come from, my dear,” PaleStar said. “It will be a start.” Slowly the Goodwife told the two Icarii about her husband and children in northern Arcen, their lives devoted to sheep and a few meagre crops. “This is the first time I have been more than five leagues from my home,” she finished on a whisper, certain she must have bored the Icarii Enchanters witless. However, they looked anything but bored. “And your mother?” StarShine asked gently. “Does she stay behind to watch over your children while you have come to market?” The Goodwife shook her head. “No. My mother died of the milk-fever three weeks after birthing me.” PaleStar sat back, frowning. “Then who raised you, Goodwife?” “My grandmother, gracious Lady.” “Ah,” both the Enchanters breathed. “Your grandmother.” All the Icarii Enchanters who travelled south through eastern Tencendor had spent time looking for women such as this. But they were few and far between among the Acharites. The Seneschal had been … vigilant. “She must have been an unusual lady,” StarShine said. “Talented,” PaleStar added and lifted one of the Goodwife’s hands out of her lap. “Perhaps she told you pleasant stories when you were a little girl.” Very tense now, the Goodwife nodded her head but did not speak. She kept her eyes firmly in her lap. “You are safe,” StarShine said, and laid her hand over the Goodwife’s where it rested in PaleStar’s. A feeling of peace infused the Goodwife’s body, and she looked up. “Safe,” StarShine repeated. “I have never told anyone,” the Goodwife mumbled, and now her eyes were full of guilty tears. “Never.” “Of course not,” StarShine soothed. “You were good. You had to be.” “They took her away,” tears slipped down the Goodwife’s cheeks, “when I was eight. And every year for ten years they would come back to ask me questions. I was afraid.” “I have no doubt.” PaleStar’s voice was edged with anger, but the Goodwife knew the anger was not directed at her. The Goodwife sniffed, wiping her nose along her sleeve. “They burnt her. They told me that.” “They will not burn you,” StarShine said, and she impulsively leaned forward to give the woman a brief hug. “You are safe now.” The Goodwife took a tremulous breath, slowly relaxing. “All the Brothers have gone. When I travelled south I saw none, and there are none here in this town.” “No. All the Brothers have gone, and there are few Plough-Keepers left, Goodwife. You are free to do what you like now, free to believe what you like.” “Will you tell me what has happened? I have heard so little – mostly hearsay.” “Of course, Goodwife,” and StarShine told her briefly what had transpired in the land over the past two years. If possible, the Goodwife’s face became even more astounded than before. “Then I am safe? The Seneschal will not hurt me if I … if I …” “You are safe, Goodwife. Do what you will. Do you have a daughter who …?” StarShine let the question trail off. The Goodwife shook her head. “No. Neither of my daughters have the talent. I was glad, for I thought that they would be safe. But now … now I am sad. I should have liked a daughter to carry on.” Abruptly the Goodwife realised she had lost her awe of the Icarii and was chatting to them as if they were old friends. She grinned shamefacedly. StarShine’s smile faded and she leaned forward, extending her hand to rest her palm on the Goodwife’s forehead. “Shush, Goodwife, I do you no harm. I only want to help you remember.” Bright music flooded the Goodwife’s body, and she gasped. “Oh! I had forgotten so much!” “Disuse engenders forgetfulness, Goodwife.” StarShine leaned back, looking wan with her effort. That had been a powerful enchantment, and she would have to rest a day or so now before she could fly on to Carlon. “Make sure you do not forget again.” The Goodwife nodded. “Make sure you make good use of what you have remembered, Goodwife, because this new land needs such as you.” She sat for a very long time after the two Enchanters left her, watching the street life with unseeing eyes. Remembering. When she was a little girl, too young to help in the fields, her grandmother had told her stories. Told her stories and taught her herbs. Herbs and spells. Nothing dangerous, nothing evil, only herbal recipes that, when used in conjunction with the spells, would ward against hurt or infection, calm tempers, or engender love. Simple things, but enough to have her grandmother seized and burned by the Seneschal. From the day the Seneschal had taken her grandmother the young girl had lived an unblemished life. She had never (well, hardly ever) used the herbals again, and had never spoken the spells again (except a cradle song or two). She had grown to marry the Goodman Renkin and live an exemplary life in their little home. Exemplary … and boring. It was strange, for the Goodwife had never thought of her life as boring until the Lady Faraday had come to stay so briefly. She had hardly even remembered her grandmother or her grandmother’s tales and teachings until then. But once the Lady had gone, once the Goodwife tried to settle back into her old life, she discovered it to be stupefyingly boring and yearned for excitement and adventure. She had found herself muttering old verses over the stew pot and plucking wild herbs as she drove the sheep along the worn paths of northern Arcness. She had begun to look over her shoulder, remembering the day they had come for her grandmother. The pounding of their horses’ hooves. The wicked gleam of their axes. Now she took a deep breath. What was she going to do? Go home. What else could she do? She stood up and nodded to the proprietor as she wandered back into the street. She had the money for the sheep – and a goodly sum it was too – and she had her pack, and there was nothing else to do. But would she use her talents if she went home? Goodman Renkin would not tolerate any of that, not when she could be working out in the fields, and none of her children would want to learn the old ways. But she did not want to live out the rest of her life applying herbed bandages to corn-crippled feet. The Goodwife stopped in the street just before she reached the market square, uncertainties creasing her homely face. Suddenly she spotted StarShine EvenHeart standing some paces away, her wings folded behind her, staring at the Goodwife. “Please,” the Goodwife breathed as she hurried over. “Tell me what to do.” “You must do as you see best,” StarShine said. The Goodwife stood and thought, shuffling from foot to foot, her eyes on the ground. “Goodman Renkin does not need me as he once did,” she said eventually, speaking slowly as she thought it through. “The boys are old enough to take on many of the responsibilities about the farm now, and he has coin enough to hire labour to help with the harvest and shearing. My eldest girl can take care of the tot and the twins.” She smiled as a thought occurred to her and looked up. “Gracious Lady, do you perchance know of the Lady Faraday?” Truly surprised, StarShine stared at the Goodwife. “Faraday? Yes. Yes, I know her.” And how do you know her, she wondered. Did PaleStar and I discover you by chance or by design? “Do you know where she is?” StarShine nodded slowly. “She travels east, Goodwife. I passed her on my way to Tare, somewhere just south of the Silent Woman Woods. She travels alone with two white donkeys, and she goes east. That is all I know.” The Goodwife’s face fell. “East? Alone? Oh, the poor Lady! Oh, goodness! That won’t do at all!” StarShine’s face relaxed. Whether by chance or by design, it looked as though Faraday would have some company in whatever quest she was engaged in. And that would be no bad thing at all. Not at all. 15 Three Brothers Lakes (#ulink_c6f56f02-9b52-5a16-acdd-583ecba0701d) The Three Brothers Lakes had frozen into a crisp corrugated beauty, but none of the thirty-thousand men camped along the edge of the most southern lake spared much time to admire the view. Axis had taken almost four weeks to march his army across northern Avonsdale and then through the gentle passes of the Western Ranges. When they got through, he had expected to be met by Gorgrael’s frozen winds hurling sheets of ice. But all that had greeted them had been an icy calm. Why? Why? Surely Gorgrael should have struck with all his power, with all his ice, once Axis and his army emerged from the Western passes? Conditions were so clear that Icarii scouts reported that they could see as far as the mist-encased Murkle Mountains and the still-frozen Nordra and Fluriat rivers. “And not a Skraeling in sight,” Axis whispered as he stood at the northern edge of the camp, gazing into the frozen wastes before him. “Not a Skraeling in sight. FarSight?” The most senior of the Strike Force Crest-Leaders stepped to his side, his black uniform and wings incongruous in this pristine environment. He’d only just returned from speaking to the last of the farflight scouts he had sent north three days ago. “How far have the Strike Force scouts penetrated into Aldeni?” “Not far, StarMan.” Axis frowned, and FarSight hurried on. “There are Gryphon out there, and I will not expose small numbers of scouts to their fury.” “How many? Where? Have they attacked?” “There are packs of some fifteen to twenty, ranging over most of north-western Aldeni. None of the scouts have risked attack by flying too close and the Gryphon appear not to have seen them. Our eyesight is better than theirs, I think. All scouts have returned.” “And what have they seen?” said Belial, who joined them. “Frozen fields and shattered buildings …” Axis shifted uncomfortably, remembering the Skraeling nests that the broken streets of Hsingard had hidden. “Wagons coated with ice and the stripped corpses of men and cattle, their bones cracked and drained of nourishment.” “The Skraeling force that we saw marching past Jervois Landing in RuffleCrest’s vision would have to strip the province bare to feed itself,” Axis said, “and yet having fed, they have disappeared. Belial? Gather Ho’Demi and Magariz. We will share our evening meal … and our thoughts.” The mood was sombre that night and the meal eaten in silence in most of the camp sites. Axis sat hunched with his senior commanders about an inadequate fire of brush. His mood had bleakened with each day that they rode north until, as now, he was mostly surrounded by silence. Somewhere out there in the frozen wastes was a massive army – at least ten times the size of his own – and Axis did not know how he would defeat it even if he could find it. He sighed. Gorgrael had the initiative, and if Axis could not seize it back, if he could not find the power to defeat this writhing mass of Skraelings to his north (or were they east? Or west? Or, Stars forbid, south?) then they were all dead. At least Azhure would be safe. She must be on her way south to the Island of Mist and Memory by now, Axis thought. Azhure and Caelum. If anything must be saved, they must be. Even if he died, then they could, eventually, fight back. But for what? For what? He started, realising that Ho’Demi had spoken. “I am sorry, Ho’Demi, my thoughts were elsewhere,” Axis said. “You were saying?” The Ravensbund Chief put down his tin mug. “I can send bands of my Ravensbund warriors north, StarMan. The farflight scouts, while useful,” Ho’Demi inclined his head at FarSight but the birdman still glowered at the ‘useful’, “are vulnerable to the Gryphon and dare not range too far north lest they be attacked. The Ravensbundmen revel in these conditions – we are born to them. The snow was our nursemaid as mewling infants and our lover as men. We can use it and manipulate it and the Gryphon will never spot us. Small groups of us can penetrate far north with minimal risk. Use us.” “You would go with them, Ho’Demi?” Axis said. He did not want to risk Ho’Demi. “You could not counter the Skraelings when they invaded the Ravensbund.” “I only suggest scouts, StarMan, not raiding parties. I leave that to you. And … yes, I would go with them. I hunger for action against these creatures that have stolen my homeland from me.” “How soon can you organise the scouting parties?” “By morning, StarMan. Where would you have us go?” Axis looked to Belial and Magariz. “Your advice, my friends?” “Damn it, Axis,” Magariz said. “Where could they have gone?” “Skarabost?” Belial suggested. Axis shook his head, catching FarSight’s eye. “No, Belial. Skarabost remains free from Skraelings, although much of it lies under a killing frost.” “Then could they have outflanked us and moved south … to Carlon?” Magariz flinched at Belial’s words. Rivkah was in Carlon, but then so was Cazna, and Magariz knew Belial would be as worried about his wife as Magariz was about his. Axis shivered and blew on his hands in a vain attempt to warm them. “We would have known if they had outflanked us. We have scouts and sentries throughout the Western Ranges and so many Icarii now throng the Bracken Ranges that they would sound the alarm if the Skraelings had struck that far west.” “Axis, we should have some reports of the Skraelings. Thousands of peasants fled south before the ice while they still could. Has nothing useful come from them?” But Magariz was only speaking empty words, and he knew it. All the peasants who had managed to flee Aldeni before the wind and frost became too lethal had reported Skraelings on every breath of wind, in every puff of snow. If Axis believed everything the fleeing peasants reported, then the Skraelings should have sunk Aldeni into the Andeis Sea by now through sheer weight of numbers. Belial cursed at the silence about the campfire. “They must be in Aldeni.” “And if they are, then we will find them,” Ho’Demi finished softly. “If they have dug themselves into pits in the snow then the Ravensbund will find them. I will find them!” Axis looked up from the flames. “Pray do, Ho’Demi,” he said, “before they find us.” Deep in the shafts dim torches glowed, and in the glow teeth and talons crowded. The SkraeBolds hunched, miserable. But Timozel was pleased. It was time to call most of the Gryphon in, for there was no further need of them … yet. They had kept the Icarii farflight scouts away from his position, and that was all they had to do for the moment. But he would keep a few in the northern skies. Axis would expect that. 16 The Island of Mist and Memory (#ulink_a6f41179-44e9-5f04-8ccf-13e553b035b4) Azhure eased back in the chair sailors had placed on deck for her and wondered if she would ever be comfortable again. Barely seven months pregnant and all she could do was wonder at what point it was that the twins could survive without her – no doubt the twins wondered the same thing. Even now they stirred restlessly, the heels of their feet drumming against the walls of her womb, as if they dreamed of freedom … or hungered for escape. She rolled her head to one side and looked at StarDrifter standing tense and excited in the prow of the ship, his wings bunched behind him as if he yearned for flight. They had been sailing the choppy waters of the Sea of Tyrre for two days now, and surely could not be far from their destination. If he wanted StarDrifter could take to the skies and be on the Island before nightfall, but he had said he would stay with her, and this he did. They had sailed from Carlon four days ago in one of Ysgryff’s private ships, the Seal Hope. Azhure had never been to sea before, and if she had not been so unwell she knew she would have found the experience exhilarating. The Seal Hope was commodious and comfortable, did not roll overmuch in the waves, and a warm and salty and infinitely comforting breeze blew from the south-west to fill the dusky pink sails. With Azhure came a goodly assortment of court officials and servants, a Wing of the Strike Force, Prince Ysgryff, and Caelum, currently in the care of his nurse, Imibe, below decks. And, of course, the fifteen Alaunt, who lolled about on the deck and snapped at the waves when they dared splash too close. Sometimes Azhure found herself listening to the rhythmic slap of waves against the ship and, lulled half to sleep, dreaming of strange shores of rippling sands and rocky beaches. Rivkah stayed behind in Carlon, serving as the royal presence, although Azhure continued to attend most matters of administration in morning and evening sessions held in the Seal Hope’s main cabin. Icarii messengers brought what she needed in the way of documents and information from the mainland. Stars, she now thought in some exasperation, I cannot wait to discover what I can on the Isle of Mist and Memory, drop these babies, and rejoin Axis as soon as possible. Although she could feel a faint pull at her soul with each breath that Axis took – perhaps a reverberation through the Star Dance – Azhure had heard very little from him in the past month. Reports drifted down haphazardly, and all they reported was that Axis led his army north, north, north. Azhure supposed Axis must be well into the province by now, and a shiver of fear passed through her. Live, Axis! Live! Believe in yourself enough to live for me! StarDrifter turned from the bow and strode back to where Azhure and Ysgryff sat under a canvas canopy. “Ysgryff. How much further?” Ysgryff restrained a smile. “We cannot be far, StarDrifter. Really, why don’t you leave us earth-bound creatures and wing your way there?” StarDrifter glanced at Azhure. “No. No, Ysgryff, I will stay with Azhure. I promised Axis.” Azhure narrowed her eyes. Exactly what had he promised Axis? StarDrifter had behaved with perfect decorum since Axis had departed. Azhure knew it must have been hard for him, for he now spent many hours with her each day, either singing gently to the babies within her or to Caelum. Yet not once had she felt his touch or his eyes to hold anything but restraint, not once had his manners and conversation descended from the heights of good manners and civility. It was not like StarDrifter at all. Not given the depths of his desires. Azhure wondered if it was her pregnancy that kept StarDrifter at a distance. Maybe, once she was unencumbered of Axis’ children … The soft beat of wings broke her thoughts and she sat up in her chair as an Icarii scout landed gently on the deck. He bowed to Azhure. “Enchantress, there is an Icarii approaching from the south.” “From the Island!” StarDrifter said. “Who? Did you see who it was?” The scout shook his head. “No, StarDrifter. The Icarii is still too far away.” “Thank you,” Azhure said, inclining her head, then smiled at StarDrifter as the scout lifted off. “Peace, StarDrifter. We will find out soon enough.” But even Azhure could not keep her excitement down, and after a few minutes she struggled to stand up, finally taking StarDrifter’s hand and letting him pull her to her feet. “Is it …?” she began, leaning on the railing and straining her eyes to the southern skies where she could just see a black shape emerging from the haze. “Do you think it might be …?” “FreeFall!” StarDrifter shouted and, unable to restrain himself any longer, launched into the air. Within minutes, FreeFall and StarDrifter had alighted on the deck, the two embracing fiercely before FreeFall turned to Azhure. “Azhure!” he laughed, hugging her briefly. “You are enormous! Do you carry the entire Icarii nation within you?” “Sometimes it feels like it.” Azhure grinned. “Are you well?” “Ah, Azhure.” Wonderment infused FreeFall’s face, softening his violet eyes so that they seemed as blue as the surrounding sea. “I cannot tell you how well! I have seen wonders and mysteries before now, but never such mysteries as I have found on the Island of Mist and Memory.” Azhure stared at him. For a man who had died and who had walked the rivers of death before resuming life in the form of an eagle, the mysteries of the Island must be wondrous indeed to captivate him so. “And EvenSong?” she asked. “She is even better than I, except daily her temper has grown worse with her impatience to see you again.” StarDrifter shifted restlessly. “Tell me,” he said. “Tell me.” FreeFall glanced at his uncle. “The mysteries of the island will wait another few hours. Words will not describe what should be seen for one’s self. Look …” He put his arm about what was left of Azhure’s waist and turned her to gaze over the railing. “Look.” Faint, so faint Azhure thought it was her imagination, a grey-green line smudged the distant horizon. “The Island of Mist and Memory,” FreeFall said. For a thousand years the Island of Mist and Memory had been known to the Acharites as Pirates’ Nest. For a thousand years the pirates had sallied forth from their island fortress to raid, plunder and burn, and the Barons of Nor, whose task it was to eradicate the pirates from the Sea of Tyrre, had wrung their hands and claimed that the pirates were too vicious and too numerous to do anything about. For a thousand years Pirates’ Nest had held onto its secrets, and both pirates and Barons of Nor had cooperated in keeping it that way. Now the Icarii were returning to claim their island, to worship in the Temple of the Stars and to revere and honour the other, more sacred and far more secret, sites of the island. But the Island of Mist and Memory held even more secrets than the Icarii counted on. The Seal Hope put into the northern port of Pirates’ Town so late in the afternoon that the decision was taken to spend the night in the town before travelling to the Temple complex in the morning. Azhure had been aghast at the size of the island. She had vaguely expected it to be small, a few houses for the pirates, a few more for the priestesses of the Order of the Stars, and the Temple itself, but as they had sailed towards it she saw that it was massive. “It stretches for ten leagues north to south,” FreeFall said softly, moving to her side as the Seal Hope docked, “and six east to west. See that peak rising to the south?” Azhure nodded. The entire island sloped towards the mountain. “It is called Temple Mount, and it rises almost three thousand paces from the sea. On its plateau rests the complex of the Temple of the Stars.” “My mother lived there,” Azhure whispered, “and that is where. I was conceived.” “Yes,” FreeFall said, “that is where you were conceived, Azhure.” Azhure turned to him. “Have you told the priestesses I am coming? Have you told them who I am?” FreeFall hesitated. “No. No, I have not. I thought that was for you to do.” “What do the priestesses know, FreeFall?” StarDrifter asked. “They know only that the Prophecy walks, that the StarMan has reclaimed Tencendor, and that the Icarii will shortly return to re-light the Temple of the Stars. EvenSong and I have not told them much, and they have not asked questions. They have waited for a thousand years, and no doubt feel a few more days or weeks will not kill them.” “StarDrifter,” Azhure said, “there is no need for you to stay with me tonight. Ysgryff is here, and numerous servants. We will travel to Temple Mount in the morning. You could fly there tonight with FreeFall.” “No.” Curiously, StarDrifter seemed to have lost all his impatience now. “No, Azhure. I promised Axis that I would look after you. We will all reach Temple Mount soon enough.” The port of Pirates’ Town was situated in a narrow harbour that penetrated deep into the northern shoreline of the island. Over fifteen-thousand pirates, their wives, children and numerous cats, dogs and chickens lived crammed into the town; the harbour was crowded with every type of sailing ship imaginable, some built from the forested slopes of the island, some purloined from distant seas and harbours. The people seemed friendly enough, although their wild eyes, bright scarves and bristling daggers made Azhure hold Caelum close, and many smiled and waved at Ysgryff as he strode through the streets. The Baron found them comfortable accommodation in an inn close to the port, made certain Azhure was settled, then made arrangements for their journey to Temple Mount in the morning. That night Azhure tossed restlessly, disturbed and irritated by the slightest noise or movement of her babies. Not a sound came from StarDrifter’s chamber next to hers in the inn, and she wondered that the Enchanter could sleep this soundly when he was so close to the mysterious Temple of the Stars that he had hungered after for so long. Finally she fell into an uneasy slumber just as dawn stained the eastern sky, and as she did, she dreamed. She stood in darkness, surrounded by the slap of waves and suspicious voices and prodding fingers. “Is this her?” “It must be – can you not feel the tug of her blood against the shoreline?” “Her? Truly?” She moved to one side, away from the prods and the queries, but only met more. “How can we know it is her?” The voices sounded angry, disturbed, and she was frightened. “It would be too dangerous to make a mistake. Too dangerous now.” “Are you dangerous, unknown woman?” Her hand flew to her throat where a finger had poked painfully and those about her gasped. “She wears the Circle!” “She does!” “What is your name, Circle-wearer?” “Did you steal it?” She turned around in the darkness, trying to see. “My name is Azhure. And no, the ring was given to me.” “Azhure!” “Oh, the name!” “Azhure!” “Azhure!” Her eyes flew open to meet StarDrifter’s smiling face. “Wake up, lovely lady. It is morning and the Temple awaits. Wake up.” “StarDrifter?” Azhure sat up, her eyes bleary with lack of sleep. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/sara-douglass/starman-book-three-of-the-axis-trilogy/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.