Battleaxe (29 page)

GoldFeather bowed as graciously as her mother had taught her as a child. “BattleAxe, may Artor hold you in the palm of his hand and guide your steps always.”

Axis frowned at the woman. She was a handsome woman of middle-age, and had a striking golden streak through her silver hair. Her manner was courtly and her voice gracious, her grey eyes calm and her demeanour composed even as she faced a man who could kill her with a single twist of his sword. What was such a woman doing running with the Forbidden?

“I would return the blessing,” he said flatly, “except that Artor would surely have deserted any woman who runs with the Forbidden many years ago.”

The woman’s eyes hardened at his tone. The Axe-Wielders always thought they knew everything, and this BattleAxe seemed more arrogant than the one she had known in her youth. Why hadn’t he killed Raum? Why was he hesitating?

“Does Artor demand Raum’s life?” she asked softly, deliberately giving the BattleAxe the Avar man’s name. It was always harder to kill a man whose name you knew than a complete stranger. “What has Raum done to deserve to die at the point of your sword?” Axis’ face tightened, and GoldFeather could see that doubts did indeed beset him. “I do not know all of what has passed this night, but Azhure’s words make me think that any violence was done at her hands. Do not murder this man to atone for her wrongs.”

“I am the BattleAxe of the Brotherhood of the Seneschal. I have a duty to serve the Seneschal,” Axis said, but his tone suggested that he
needed to convince himself more than he needed to convince either GoldFeather or Raum.

“No,” GoldFeather said very softly. “You need do only what your heart tells you is right. Not what the Seneschal has taught you must be done. Your duty should always be to do what
you
feel is right.” She paused. “Does it feel right to hold that blade to Raum’s neck, an honoured and honourable man among his own people, when he has done you and yours no wrong?”

Her words provoked a strange reaction in the BattleAxe. He winced at her last phrase.

“But who are mine? Who
are
my people?” Axis whispered, his eyes swivelling back to Raum.

GoldFeather frowned. What was he whispering? The BattleAxe raised his head and looked back at her. His eyes were tormented. “Lady, do you know of the Icarii?”

She nodded slowly, surprised by the question, troubled by the expression on the BattleAxe’s face. “I know them well.”

“Then answer me this. Do they sing?”

GoldFeather’s eyes deepened with memory and she smiled. “Yes,” she said. “They sing magically. It is their gift to this land and to the stars. All Icarii sing, music courses through their blood, but their Enchanters sing with the power and the grace of the stars themselves.”

The BattleAxe’s face twisted with emotion. GoldFeather stepped forward to place a hand on his arm. But he flinched and tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword and she paused instantly, her hand left hanging in the air.

“Who am I?” he whispered in a tormented voice. “
What
am I?”

GoldFeather opened her mouth, but did not know what to say to comfort him. Axis stared at her a moment longer, then abruptly he stepped back from Raum and, lifting the sword from Raum’s neck, jabbed the point of the blade into the dirt, leaning on it heavily.

“Go, Raum,” he said, his voice now tired and colourless. “I have no right to hold you. Go now.”

Raum rose slowly from the ground, his neck bloody and his face
ashen from the pain of his shattered ankle. GoldFeather bent down and helped him rise to his feet, taking most of his weight on her shoulder. They turned and started to hobble for the Avarinheim, but at the tree line Raum paused and turned back to the BattleAxe.

Axis was still standing, sword resting on the ground as he watched him, his face tired and drained of emotion, his eyes unreadable. Jack and Yr had told Raum of Faraday’s love for this BattleAxe, and at the time Raum had been deeply troubled by it. He had questioned Jack and Yr closely about the BattleAxe, but they were reluctant to say anything about the man beyond that Faraday loved him. Since he had seen this man sing, seen him recreate Shra’s life, Raum could understand why Faraday felt as she did. Raum was also deeply aware that he was twice indebted to this man for his and Shra’s lives.

“For the gift of two lives I give you one life back,” Raum called, his voice clear above the roar of the river, “and I will hold one to give you later.” He paused. “Faraday lives.” Then he turned and he and the woman disappeared into the trees of the Avarinheim.

W
ithin ten paces of stepping into the Avarinheim Azhure felt as though she had entered another world. All her life she had been taught that forests were places of fear, dark and impenetrable shadows that harboured wraiths who would suck you dry of your blood. Yet Azhure’s first impression of the Avarinheim as she walked more slowly down the path before her, was of space, light and music. On either side of her, ancient evergreen trees reared towards the sky, the trunks straight and smooth for the first fifteen or twenty paces of their height before their limbs branched out. The entire effect was to draw the eye upward towards the canopy above, towards the light filtering down through the interlacing green leaves and vines. The shrubs and bushes that spread across the forest floor were low and colourful. With the lack of low branches or high undergrowth the Avarinheim was filled with space and fragrance, cool light and soothing music rather than the unnatural and evil atmosphere that the Seneschal preached pervaded the Shadowsward. Azhure’s arms relaxed about Shra as she walked a few more steps into the forest, drawn by its beauty. It took her some minutes before she realised what the music was. In the background she could hear the crystal sounds of the Nordra as it tumbled over rocks nearby, with a dozen
different birdsongs overlaying its sounds. Azhure smiled, her eyes filled with wonder. Acharites barely knew the beauty of birdsong as most species of birds had retreated before the axe. The songs of the sparrows and ravens of everyday life in Achar could not compare with the sounds that now filled Azhure’s ears.

Azhure shook herself. The Avar man still fought for his life beyond the trees, and she had to get Shra to her father. Perhaps then she could return to help the man and GoldFeather.

She walked briskly down the path, and within a few steps a man, as muscular and swarthy as Shra’s companion but with grey streaked through his dark brown hair, suddenly leaped out of some purple flowering winterberry bushes to Azhure’s right where he had been crouching and tore Shra from Azhure’s arms.

Azhure gasped in shock and stepped back. The man had stopped some four or five paces from her, clutching Shra protectively to his chest, his dark eyes fierce, his entire body tense and ready to fight if need be. He was dressed in a similar tunic woven from wool and dyed a dark red with patterns of interlaced tree branches at its hem. Underneath he wore serviceable brown leggings, bound with leather thongs, and ankle-high leather boots. Shra cried out with delight when she saw the man, and then snuggled as close to his chest as she could.

Azhure spread her hands to try and look as non-threatening as possible. The man had no idea what was going on, and as far as he was concerned she was one of the hated Acharites who had strayed into the Avarinheim, carrying his daughter. No wonder he looked tense.

“I mean no harm,” Azhure said as reassuringly as she could, although she was scared by the man. What if he decided that she posed a threat?

The man’s eyes narrowed still further and he took a step backwards. Azhure’s head swivelled to her right as her eyes caught a new movement. A slim, dark-haired woman stepped out from behind a tree. She was much shorter than Azhure, and dressed in a long pale yellow robe, again subtly patterned at the hem, but this time with leaping deer like Raum’s robe. While she was obviously wary of Azhure’s presence, she still exuded power and confidence and stepped up to the man’s shoulder.

“Grindle,” she said softly, laying a small and delicate hand on his shoulder, “I think it is all right. Shra seems well and unafraid of this woman.” She turned her eyes to Azhure. “I am Barsarbe, Bane of the Avar people.” She inclined her head gracefully, but her eyes demanded an explanation from Azhure regarding her presence in the Avarinheim with the child Shra in her arms.

If anything, Azhure was more afraid of this small woman than she was of the man, Grindle, but she tilted her chin and tried to sound as confident and relaxed as this woman before her. “Greetings, Bane Barsarbe. My name is Azhure, and I have come from the village of Smyrton.”

The woman nodded slightly. “GoldFeather has mentioned you.”

Azhure breathed a little easier. “Yes. I have talked many times with GoldFeather over the years. Bane Barsarbe, please listen to me.” Her voice became urgent—what were they doing standing here, passing pleasantries? “Shra and the Avar man she was with were caught by the villagers of Smyrton some days past. I could not free them until a few hours ago, but the BattleAxe of the Axe-Wielders, who arrived in Smyrton yesterday with his force, caught us just short of the tree-line. The Avar man—”

“Raum,” Barsarbe said quietly, her eyes worried as she listened to what Azhure had to say.

“Raum told me to take Shra and escape into the trees. He turned to fight the BattleAxe.”

“Raum must be dead by now,” said Grindle, preparing to run and help.

“Wait,” Barsarbe counselled, “let her finish.”

Azhure looked worriedly at the two of them. Would they be able to help Raum? “Raum fell and broke his ankle. He could not escape the BattleAxe. But GoldFeather was there, and is talking to the BattleAxe.”

“Raum and GoldFeather are both dead,” Grindle growled.

“He treated Raum and Shra well,” Azhure pleaded, not sure why she was defending Axis. “And I think he would have liked to save them. He had Shra freed from the prison where she had been thrown. Perhaps he can be persuaded by argument.”

“Maybe she is right,” Barsarbe said. “And GoldFeather will know how to treat the BattleAxe. We can do nothing for the moment.”

“We can do our best to save Raum!” the man cried. “How can we lose another Bane? He is my
brother
!”

Barsarbe’s hand tightened on Grindle’s shoulder. “I will
not
condone violence, Grindle, even to save Raum. It is not the Avar way. And if you run out there and add your anger to the scene then Raum
will
probably die. Your presence will not serve to save him, Grindle. We must trust in GoldFeather.”

Suddenly Barsarbe turned and stared down the path leading to the Forbidden Valley. Azhure strained her ears, but could hear nothing.

“It’s GoldFeather and Raum,” Grindle said shortly, thrusting Shra into Barsarbe’s arms and running down the path. Barsarbe passed Shra to Azhure and ran after Grindle, her hands lifting her robe to her knees to enable her to run more freely.

Azhure found the four of them around the first bend. Grindle had lifted Raum into his arms and was striding towards her. Raum’s face was a mask of agony, his neck dark with blood, his hands slipping from Grindle’s shoulders where he tried to hang on. His foot swung limply at the end of his leg, bone glistening through the bloodied skin of his ankle. Azhure stepped to one side as Grindle hurried past and her throat constricted as she realised the extent of the break to Raum’s ankle. She knew the injury was close to being fatal because of the undoubted infection that would set in.

Barsarbe, supporting GoldFeather who looked exhausted, brushed past Azhure. “Follow us,” she grunted, and Azhure hurried forward and put her free arm about GoldFeather’s waist, relieving Barsarbe of some of the taller woman’s weight.

They walked through the forest for about an hour, moving deeper and deeper into the Avarinheim. Grindle disappeared out of sight within a few minutes; Azhure was amazed that he could move so fast while carrying Raum’s weight. After a while GoldFeather recovered sufficiently to wave Barsarbe and Azhure back, and although she still walked a little unsteadily she refused any further support. As the
older woman’s colour improved Azhure ventured to ask her how she had managed to persuade the BattleAxe to let them both go.

GoldFeather shrugged. “I do not know completely, Azhure.” She shivered in memory. “His hand tightened on the hilt of the sword and I was sure that Raum was dead. But…then he asked me if the Icarii sang.” She frowned. “When I told him that they did, he seemed, well, he seemed almost frightened and then he let me take Raum. He was a very strange BattleAxe. I must speak with Raum more when he is able. Perhaps he can tell me more.”

“For a BattleAxe he has compassion,” Azhure said quietly. “When he arrived in Smyrton yesterday he was so furious at the treatment Hagen had dealt to Raum and Shra that he attacked Hagen, gave Shra to me to tend, and had his lieutenant Belial personally supervise two Axe-Wielders who cleaned Raum’s cell and made him comfortable.”

“Belial…the man you attacked?”

Azhure looked uncomfortable. “Yes, GoldFeather.”

Both GoldFeather and Barsarbe stared at Azhure for a moment as they walked, both frowning.

Azhure looked even more uncomfortable as her guilt rose, and GoldFeather turned a little to Barsarbe. “There is much to speak of here, Barsarbe. Perhaps we can wait until we are in your camp and have tended to Raum. But whatever she did, remember that Azhure saved Raum and Shra’s lives.”

Barsarbe’s frown did not leave her face, but she turned her eyes from Azhure. Azhure remembered Barsarbe’s remark to Grindle; obviously the Avar abhorred physical violence. What will they think when they find out I caused Hagen’s death last night, Azhure thought frantically. Will they insist I leave the Avarinheim? They walked silently for some minutes, GoldFeather well aware of Azhure’s increasing distress. Finally she touched Azhure’s arm gently. “The Avar are a peaceable people, Azhure, but they will also be grateful for what you did for Raum and Shra. If you had to commit violence to save them, then they will take that into account.”

Azhure relaxed a little. “I hope so, GoldFeather. I only wanted to help. I did not think that I would…that I would…”

GoldFeather smiled to reassure the girl. “Shush now, Azhure, I know how badly you have wanted to help.”

Azhure was quiet for a moment. “GoldFeather, I cannot go home now. May I stay with the Avar?”

GoldFeather turned and raised her eyebrows in query at Barsarbe. “We will have to ask the Clan,” Barsarbe said eventually, her voice terse.

Shortly afterwards they arrived in a modest camp in a small glade close by the banks of the Nordra. The camp consisted of two circular leather tents stretched over lightweight curved wooden supports. A small fire smouldered on a stone hearth before them, a pot simmering to one side of the coals. Grindle had laid Raum down beside the fire and two women and a number of children hovered anxiously about them, looking immeasurably relieved when Barsarbe and GoldFeather appeared. The children hung back shyly, uncertain about Azhure’s presence, but the two Avar women continued to kneel by Raum’s side, Grindle standing behind them looking as angry as he had when Azhure had first told him that he was injured.

Barsarbe pushed the younger of the Avar women to one side and crouched down, inspecting Raum’s neck and ankle. She looked anxiously at the other woman. “I’ll have to work quickly on this, Fleat. Can you find me some splints?” The woman nodded and rose and Barsarbe turned to one of the children, a boy about fourteen summers. “Helm, I’ll need some pots of fresh water if you can heat me some, and Skali,” to a girl a year or so younger than the boy, “will you fetch me my basket of herbs?” The boy and girl nodded and rushed off, and Barsarbe started to wipe some of the blood away from Raum’s neck to inspect the gash made by Axis’ sword. Raum was only barely conscious now. She looked up at Grindle. “Grindle, you will need to keep Raum still while I clean and set the ankle. Will you hold him?”

Grindle knelt down by Raum’s shoulders. “Can you save him, Barsarbe?”

She smiled reassuringly at the man. “Grindle, I will do my best. At least the wound is fresh, it has not been left to fester. I have saved worse than this.”

GoldFeather waved over the young Avar woman. Dressed in a tunic and leggings like Grindle, the woman was carrying a small infant strapped to her breast. She stepped up to GoldFeather and Azhure, and smiled as she saw that Azhure held Shra.

“Shra!” she exclaimed, relief flooding her face, and the little girl held out her arms to the woman. “She is well,” Azhure reassured the woman.

GoldFeather smiled. “Pease is Shra’s mother, Azhure, and Grindle is her father. Pease?” The woman looked up from her daughter. She looked too small and frail to hold both infant and daughter, yet she seemed to cope with ease, and Azhure thought that although the Avar women were much shorter and more fine-boned than their menfolk their frail appearance hid considerable strength. “Pease,” GoldFeather continued. “This is Azhure, and she has helped return both Shra and Raum to your Clan. But she—and I—are exhausted, and we would be grateful if you could find us a place to sit and perhaps some tea to drink.”

“Of course,” Pease looked apologetic. She glanced anxiously across as Grindle carried Raum inside one of the leather tents, followed by Barsarbe and the other Avar woman, Fleat. “Come, sit by the fire.”

Both Azhure and GoldFeather sank gratefully in front of the fire and Pease reluctantly laid Shra down as she poured them some tea from the simmering pot. Azhure smiled her thanks as Pease passed her the tea in a wooden mug skilfully carved with a pattern of leaves along its rim. Pease sat cross-legged beside them, the baby in her lap, Shra curled up as close as she could beside her mother. The youngest of the three other children, the only one not actively involved in helping with Raum, hung back shyly until Pease motioned her forward to sit with them at the fire.

Pease inclined her upper body gracefully in Azhure’s direction. “Please excuse my rudeness in not greeting you promptly, Azhure. Let me do so now. Be well and welcome to the camp of the Clan of the GhostTree, may you always find shade to rest in and may your feet always tread the paths of the Sacred Grove.”

Azhure was not quite sure how to reply to this welcome. “Thank you, Pease. I am very pleased to be here and grateful that you have welcomed me so kindly.”

“You must be confused by all these people, Azhure. Grindle is Clan leader of the GhostTree Clan, and Fleat is his senior wife. Her children are the older ones you have seen here—Helm, Skali and Hogni. Five summers ago I was honoured when Grindle asked me to become second wife to the GhostTree Clan, and Shra and this infant are my children. Our Clan is honoured that Bane Raum and Bane Barsarbe also occasionally travel with us.”