Battleaxe (32 page)

“I knew his father once,” GoldFeather finally managed to say, trying to reassure the group with a small but unsuccessful smile. “He was a hard and humourless man, more comfortable in his armour with his enemy at the point of his sword than wasting time in needless pleasantries. I cannot imagine that Borneheld will be anything less than his father. The Prophecy moves in mysterious ways.” Again the Duchess of Ichtar will become friend to the Forbidden, she thought to herself.

Raum looked at GoldFeather, concerned by her sudden pallor, yet knowing that there was still more he had to tell the group. News that would confuse, perhaps frighten them, even more.

“My friends, Tree Friend is not the strangest news I have to tell you. You know that Shra and I were captured by the villagers of Smyrton. They imprisoned us for four days in foul conditions. Shra was near death.” Pease looked stunned, and her arms tightened about the little girl, who was now awake and listening to Raum avidly. “On the afternoon of the fourth day the villagers brought the Seneschal’s BattleAxe to see us. Shra was no more than an hour from death.”

Barsarbe looked as if she wanted to say something, ask Raum some questions, but he stalled her with a raised hand. “No, Barsarbe, let me finish what I have to say to you. I held her in my arms and watched the BattleAxe walk across the cell towards us, and I thought we were dead. But then…but then he asked to hold Shra.”

“And you let him?” Pease asked, her voice angry and hostile.

“Pease, you were not there. What I saw in the man’s eyes was compassion, not hatred. I gave her to him. He held her for a
moment, and then…then the BattleAxe of the Seneschal, the one man we have all been taught to hate and fear without thinking, sang for her the Song of Recreation. He recreated Shra before my eyes.”

The Avar group were stunned into total silence now. Eyes drifted to Shra, then back to Raum.

“My friends, I have never heard such power from an Icarii Enchanter previously. Not even from the most powerful alive today—StarDrifter. Within the body of the BattleAxe of the Seneschal, an Axe-Wielder, lies the soul of an Icarii Enchanter.”

Her eyes wide and alarmed, GoldFeather battled to control the emotions within her. She realised why it had not just been the BattleAxe’s resemblance to Priam that had made him so familiar. He had the facial bone structure and the eyes of an Icarii, and what GoldFeather had first thought was the arrogance born of ignorance which festered within the Seneschal she now recognised as the natural demeanour of an Icarii Enchanter. A crazy thought, so crazy, so disturbing that it threatened to drive her over the edge of sanity, started to drift out of her subconscious, but GoldFeather thrust it back into the darkness where it belonged. No! she thought. No! I will
not
consider it! He died…
died
!

“What does this mean?” Barsarbe said, her small hands twisting in her lap, her eyes distressed. “How could this be?”

Raum folded her hands in his own. “This must be presented to the Yuletide Meet, Barsarbe. The sooner both Avar and Icarii can discuss it the better.”

Grindle nodded, but looked concerned. “Raum, we will have to start moving for the northern Avarinheim within a few days at the latest. Will you be able to travel?”

Raum’s face tightened in determination. “I will have to manage. If you can fashion me some crutches then I should be able to keep up with you.”

“We could make you a sled, Raum.” Helm, quiet until now, spoke up. “It would be no trouble to pull you. The paths are clear most of the way to the north.”

Grindle looked at his firstborn with affection and pride. “Well
done, Helm. One day you will make a fine leader of the GhostTree Clan.”

The lad’s chest swelled with pride, and his sisters gazed at him admiringly. His mother nodded, clearly proud of her son.

“Um,” Azhure broke in, unwilling to speak but her uncertainty about her own situation driving her to it. “What about me? Can I travel with you? I cannot go back to Smyrton now.” Grindle had allowed Azhure to stay with his Clan until Raum told his story, but her place in the Avarinheim was still unresolved.

Barsarbe looked at her consideringly. “Perhaps it would be best if you tell us exactly why your villagers would not welcome you home, Azhure.”

Azhure licked her lips, worried that the group would not understand the circumstances surrounding her father’s death—Barsarbe had reacted badly before when GoldFeather had suggested that Azhure had committed violence to free Raum. Her eyes flickered about the group, feeling their eyes upon her, feeling very alone. She turned to GoldFeather, but the woman was so preoccupied that she offered her no comfort. “Well, I helped Raum and Shra escape. For that alone they would not welcome me. But,” Azhure looked down at her hands, unconsciously cleaning imaginary blood from beneath her fingernails, unable for the moment to meet anyone’s eyes. “But they would also not welcome me because during the escape I mistakenly caused the death of my father, Hagen, and knocked the Axe-Wielder who was guarding Raum unconscious.” Her eyes flew up again, hoping they would understand. “I was desperate to help Raum and Shra escape! Please, understand.”

But her own guilt about Hagen’s death and Belial’s injury shone from her face and hardened Barsarbe’s heart.

“Wanton violence always results in heartbreak, Azhure.” Barsarbe’s voice was cold. “Your actions caused his death. Even though the act was not premeditated, it is still murder.” The Avar, as wild as they were, abhorred physical violence, let alone murder; any brutal behaviour was extraordinarily rare among them.

Azhure hung her head, too ashamed to meet Barsarbe’s eyes. “Hagen was a violent man,” she tried to explain. “He abused and maltreated me from the time my mother ran away. I did not mean to kill him…but…I was afraid of what he would do to Shra. He…” She paused, unwilling to show these people what she had never shown or spoken of to anyone else, but Azhure was desperate to make them understand why she had taken the foolhardy actions she had. “Look.” If she had to, then she would. Her fingers started to fumble with the fastenings at the back of her dress, and GoldFeather roused enough to push Azhure’s fingers aside and unfasten the gown herself. She undid the dress to Azhure’s waist, startled at what she saw, then she folded the material over Azhure’s shoulders to expose her back.

“Look,” GoldFeather said, echoing Azhure, twisting the woman’s upper body around with her hands so that the others could see.

The Avar gasped in horror. Running down Azhure’s back were the raised and red scars that looked to be the result of years of repeated vicious beatings; running down either side of her spine their tracks ruined her pale skin. She was marked for life. Slowly GoldFeather slid the woollen material over Azhure’s back again and hugged the tense woman to her for a moment. In all the years she had known Azhure, she had never, never mentioned this to her. GoldFeather raised her eyes to Barsarbe challengingly. “Well?”

Barsarbe was shocked. As a healer she had never seen anything like this. Abuse of children was rated close to murder within Avar society, but did it justify murder?

Shra scrambled out of her mother’s lap and toddled across to Azhure. She touched the woman’s forehead and then glanced back to Raum. “Accepted,” she said, clearly.

Raum frowned. “Shra? What do you mean?”

“Accepted!” the child repeated, almost angrily now.

Azhure looked up, eyes still bright with the shame that the Avar had seen her back. “After Hagen…died…Shra did the strangest thing.”

“What?” Raum and Barsarbe both said together, leaning forward.

“She wiped her fingers in Hagen’s blood and then ran them down my forehead, and then she said, ‘Accepted’.”

GoldFeather looked at the two Banes. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Raum frowned, “but it perhaps indicates that she accepted Azhure’s father’s death as a sacrifice to the Mother. It is strange. I don’t know exactly what Shra meant.”

Shra walked over to stand by Azhure’s side, regarding the rest of the group with great dark eyes. Raum paused, and then continued. “I do know that if it wasn’t for Azhure then Shra and myself would not be here now. She showed great courage in first trying to make our imprisonment more comfortable, and then in freeing me from that hateful cell. I say, let her stay with us for the time. She cannot go back. If the Clan wishes it, then she will have to answer to the Yuletide Meet for the violence she has committed.”

Barsarbe took a deep breath, considering, then she abruptly nodded. “I will accept that Shra has apparently approved of Azhure’s actions, and I will accept that Azhure saved the life of Raum. I cannot easily accept the violence she has demonstrated, however. I will support what Raum says. Let Azhure stay with us, and she will answer to the Yuletide Meet for the death of her father and the assault on the Axe-Wielder.”

Grindle nodded as well. “I accept that. You may stay with us, Azhure. Be well and welcomed to our Clan.” For the first time he smiled at her, his face completely losing its normal austerity. For whatever reason Shra had accepted Azhure, so he would too.

Azhure smiled in relief. At least she could stay with the GhostTree Clan for the time being. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you.”

A
fter almost two weeks of travel Jack, Yr, Faraday and Timozel, plus assorted pigs, drew within sight of Jervois Landing on the River Nordra. All were footsore and weary and more than once tempers snapped and flared over trivial incidents.

They had travelled as inconspicuously as possible, skirting small villages and larger towns in the dark of night, sleeping during the day in whatever shelter they could find. Occasionally Yr had crept into a small hamlet, coming back with food to replenish their own dwindling supplies. Faraday did not ask how she had obtained the food, but gulped it down before whatever fire Jack would allow them.

The weather had become colder and more bitter. It snowed most days now, and for five days they had struggled through snowdrifts, their legs aching with the effort. Sometimes Timozel would lift Faraday on top of the mule, but the poor beast laboured so hard through the snow that Faraday soon leapt down again. All four wore blankets under their cloaks, and on those occasions when Jack thought it too dangerous to have a fire, they huddled together in the lee of a hill, or behind an outcrop of boulders, shivering in misery. Faraday kept her wooden bowl close by her, but she had little opportunity to study it and none whatsoever to use it. When
Timozel asked where she had got it from, Faraday shrugged and inferred that Goodwife Renkin had given it to her. Over the past fortnight the sense of empowerment she’d felt when Raum bonded her to the Mother had gradually faded, although if she concentrated she thought she could still feel it somewhere deep within her. She hoped that when she tried she would be able to find her way back to the Sacred Grove through the Mother. The memory of that enchanted and powerful place remained with her, and she held it as a talisman against the cold and fatigue of the journey north. When she lay down to sleep she recalled the warmth and joy she had felt there, and it always comforted her enough to lull her into immediate sleep.

Timozel was becoming more dark and moody as the days went by. He shaved only rarely, and a light brown beard covered his cheeks. His eyes had sunk deep into their sockets, and sometimes looked so sorely troubled that Faraday would ask what was wrong, if she could help. Timozel would smile at her, and her presence would lighten his eyes for a while, but the moment she moved away the dark mood crept over him again. In the week after leaving Fernbrake Lake Yr had shared his blankets two or three times, but Timozel seemed too wrapped in his own thoughts to spare energy for Yr, and after a while she spent most of their rest time huddled against Faraday’s back sharing her warmth with the girl.

Jervois Landing was a small trading town on the great elbow of the River Nordra known as Tailem Bend. From Jervois Landing the Nordra arched southwards. It was the spot where those of Borneheld’s troops who had not travelled the quicker route to Gorkenfort by sea disembarked from the river boat transports and massed to begin the long overland march northwards. Previously a sleepy town, with the preparations for war Jervois Landing had expanded into a bustling little metropolis, the pitched tents of soldiers expanding the stone town six-fold. The wharves were constantly crowded with river boats disembarking men, horses and supplies, and the streets of the town were packed with soldiers spending the last of their leisure time in whatever amusing manner presented itself. The locals were making a fortune.

Faraday and her three companions stood late one afternoon on the far bank of the Nordra, surveying the scene.

“I can smell a clean bed, linen sheets and a bath from here,” Faraday muttered.

Timozel turned and smiled at her. “And you shall have them, my Lady. Tonight we shall sleep in comfort, and in the morning I shall arrange transport for us with some of the troops travelling northwards to Gorkenfort. You will soon be reunited with Duke Borneheld.”

Guilt and self-loathing seared through Timozel every time he remembered how he had pledged his service to Gorgrael. His only hold on reason was to remind himself that so long as he was bound to Faraday then Gorgrael could not touch him. His devotion to the girl deepened and Timozel spent every waking moment ensuring that she was well cared for and her wishes were attended to as soon as possible. He knew that sometimes Jack and Yr regarded him strangely, but he ignored the Sentinels as much as he could. Faraday was his only protection against Gorgrael. If he was to survive to become the heroic commander of Artor’s vision, then it would be Faraday’s doing.

“How will we manage?” Faraday asked, worried. “We have no money, and nothing left to sell.” Timozel’s eyes drifted towards Jack’s pigs, but Jack glared at him. “What if we can’t arrange for horses and an escort?” Faraday continued. “I don’t think I can continue to walk north!”

Timozel took her hand. “Faraday,” he said gently. “You are betrothed to Borneheld, Duke of Ichtar. This may be the southernmost point of his territory, but every innkeeper and unit commander within five leagues of this place is going to trip over himself in his eagerness to please you. You will shortly be their Duchess—do you think they are going to ignore you? They’ll believe a single smile from you will ensure the success of their personal careers or businesses for the next ten years.”

Faraday laughed. “Yes, I suppose so. But, Timozel, how will they know that I am betrothed to Borneheld?”

Timozel held her left hand. “Faraday, look at this ring. Every soldier, every inhabitant of Ichtar, will recognise it. It will buy you instant respect. And,” his voice tightened, “if it doesn’t then I will personally make sure that you receive it the very next moment.”

“The youth is quite the man,” Yr quipped. “Less talk and more action would please me right this minute.”

“Yr,” Faraday murmured. “Timozel will do his best for all of us. Be quiet now.”

“There is a ferry a little further up the river on Tailem Bend itself,” Timozel pointed out, ignoring Yr. “If we hurry we can cross before dark.”

Jack frowned. “Wait. There is something I must say. Yr, you know that we are missing one of our number.” Yr nodded. There should be five Sentinels, but only four walked abroad. Where was the fifth? Jack turned to Faraday and Timozel, standing huddled together against the wind. “Faraday, Timozel. I am going to leave you here.” Jack smiled a little at Faraday’s cry of protest. “Faraday, Timozel and Yr can look after you well enough from this point, and there is no place for a pig herder in Gorkenfort. Timozel will be your Champion, Yr your maid. She can show you everything you will need to know as well as I can.” Faraday knew he was referring obliquely to what had happened at Fernbrake Lake. Jack turned to Yr. “Yr, I must look for the fifth. The Prophecy will be lost if I cannot find her.
I
will be lost if I cannot find her. We have come far enough together—and you know we will meet again.”

Yr blinked back tears, but nodded. She stepped forward and they hugged fiercely. “Travel well and safely, beloved one,” she whispered. “I will watch Faraday and guide her steps.”

“Remember,” Jack whispered for Yr’s ears alone. “What happens at Gorkenfort is critical. Make sure that Axis, Faraday
and
yourself survive. I care not whether Timozel walks out of there alive or lies buried forever beneath the mud of the battlefield.”

Yr nodded, then let Jack go, standing back, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. Jack stepped over to Faraday and she hugged him almost as fiercely as Yr had. “Goodbye, sweet one,” Jack
said, his voice choking a little. “Remember to be true, and remember that we will be true for you, as well. Go with our blessing to comfort you.” He paused, as if considering whether to say any more or not, but decided against it, pulling back and kissing Faraday gently on her cheek. He smiled into her eyes, his own friendly and affectionate. “Find peace, Faraday.”

Faraday sniffed, trying to hold back tears. “Will I see you again, Jack?”

“Yes, lovely lady, we will all meet again.” Jack kissed her gently once more, then let her go and stepped over to Timozel. He held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation Timozel gripped it. Snowflakes whirled in the air between them. “You only have Faraday’s best interests at heart, Timozel. I know that, and I know you will do your best for her. Be true, Timozel.”

Timozel felt a pang of shame pierce his heart. Did the man somehow know of his pact with Gorgrael? He gritted his teeth; how could he? “I live for her, Sentinel. I will let no harm come her way.”

Jack nodded. It would have to do. “Then go in peace, boy. Gorkenfort will be a dangerous place. Protect her with all you have.”

“You can be sure that I will,” Timozel said tightly and dropped Jack’s hand.

“Then,” Jack said lightly to the women. “I will collect my pigs and be off. May the sun shine over all of us again one day.”

Faraday nodded, unable to speak, but Yr raised her hand in salute. “May we all find peace together in the light one day, Sentinel.”

Jack nodded, then he and his pigs were gone in the swirling snow.

Timozel watched the place he had disappeared for a moment, then he patted the mule standing patiently behind him. “We have no time to waste if we want to find shelter and a bed tonight,” he said shortly, “let’s be off.”

Timozel led them down to the ferry, the two women holding on to the straps of the mule’s packs to avoid being separated in the snowstorm. Both women, protected by the falling snow and the deep shadow of their hooded cloaks, cried a little. Most of the Sentinels had been
separated for at least two thousand years, and, as they only felt whole when they were together, the parting was especially painful for Yr. Faraday, on the other hand, felt the loss of a valued companion, a man she had come to lean on for support over the past few weeks. Since her experiences at Fernbrake Lake, Faraday had let go her vague mistrust of the man. The Prophecy manipulated them all, and Jack was as much a victim as she. Faraday had lost her mother and the man she loved, and for a while Jack had begun to fill both roles. She knew she would miss him terribly over the coming months. How could she cope with Borneheld if Jack were not there? Faraday raised her chin and gritted her teeth. “Mother, aid me,” she whispered, and felt a small twinge of reassurance deep inside her. If they had a room tonight, Faraday vowed, she would use the sacred bowl.

The River Nordra was wide but slow where it bent its massive course southwards. Both traders and locals used the Tailem Bend ferry to travel from Ichtar into Skarabost, and some stayed to catch one of the river boats that plied their way to and from Carlon. The ferryman was just about to push the ferry out for the far bank and home when he saw the group of three struggling down the path cut deep in the Nordra’s bank. He cursed a little; he had wanted to push off early and get home to bed before this storm thickened any further. For a moment he considered pushing off regardless, but he saw the glint of steel at the hip of the tall man leading the mule, and relaxed his grip on the pole. He called out to his three assistants to wait. Best not to anger one of Borneheld’s captains.

The man led his mule down to the ferry and the ferryman’s eyes widened a little. The man wore the uniform, albeit a little tattered, of an Axe-Wielder, and the ferryman was a religious man. He made the sign of the Plough before the Axe-Wielder.

“Good sir, may I offer you passage across the river this evening? ’Tis cold and blustery, and I’m sure that you’re keen to reach your rooms this night.” The ferryman’s eyes widened a little further when he saw the two women follow the Axe-Wielder on to the ferry. They were both very beautiful, but the ferryman’s mouth curved just a little bit more appreciatively at the blonde wench as she walked past.
Yr dipped her eyes coquettishly at the ferryman; it never hurt to turn a man’s mind from money to lust and she did not know how Timozel was going to pay the man once they reached the other side.

But the ferryman had no intention of waiting until they reached the other side before he saw his gold.

“My lord,” he grovelled at Timozel’s side, his stained teeth bared in a smile. “For yourself and the two lovely ladies ’tis only four marks for the journey across to Jervois Landing.” His smile faded a little and his face assumed a sad expression. “I am sorry that the price should be so dear, my lord, but it costs so much to hire decent help to work this ferry in such bad weather. I know you will understand.”

The ferryman was reassured by the smile that spread across Timozel’s face, but his reassurance disappeared as Timozel’s gloved hand seized his throat and half lifted him off his feet.

Timozel’s pleasant smile never wavered. “My good man, I can only assume that you do not recognise the Lady Faraday of Skarabost, betrothed to Duke Borneheld, and on her way to him at this moment for their wedding. Would you like me to pass on to Borneheld himself that you were churlish enough to demand payment from her as she hurried to meet her lord? And yours,” he added to drive the point home.

The ferryman’s eyes rolled in his head. Beautiful the girl might be, but he had never seen a less pretentious escort for what this Axe-Wielder claimed was Borneheld’s betrothed. And the girl was dressed in country worsted! “My wife dresses better than that girl, my lord,” he whispered, trying to put on a brave aspect in front of his assistants. “I hardly think she be the Duke’s betrothed.”

Faraday stepped forward, intending to show the man her ring, but before she managed to come close Timozel’s face twisted and his fingers gripped the man’s throat so tightly that the ferryman gave a strangled sound. His three assistants, all young lads, were kept well back by one fierce glare from Timozel.

“I’m sorry,” Timozel whispered so threateningly the ferryman thought he was dead. “I thought I heard you say that you didn’t
believe me. You may even have insulted the lady by comparing her to your wife. I don’t like that, ferryman!”

Faraday stopped and gazed at Timozel in amazement.

The ferryman’s eyes bulged and he squeaked in fear. “I misunderstood, my lord! The passage is yours, free!”

Timozel dropped him and the man cowered on the deck of the ferry for a moment before scrambling away from Timozel as fast as he could on his hands and knees. “Pole, you witless idiots!” he yelped to his assistants. “Pole!”