Battleaxe (36 page)

Faraday was shocked by Timozel’s actions, but forced a smile to her face. “My Lord, you are so generous. ’Tis no wonder the troubadours sing your praises far and wide,” she said, noticing that Earl Jorge was looking at her strangely. She smiled lightly at Jorge and hoped that he hadn’t noticed her shock at Timozel’s disloyalty to Axis.

“My Lord.” Gautier’s voice called from the doorway. At his side stood an old man, his frame so fragile he looked almost ethereal, dressed in the habit of the Brotherhood of the Seneschal. “I have found Brother Francis.”

“Brother,” Borneheld said jovially as they joined them. “I hope you can remember the Nuptial Service. I have a marriage I wish to transact.”

Brother Francis smiled at Borneheld and Faraday and nodded his head. “It has been many years, my Lord, but it is a Service that all brothers hope they will be called upon to perform one day. I am honoured that I should be asked to join the lives of the Lady Faraday of Skarabost and Duke Borneheld of Ichtar.” Gautier had obviously briefed him on the way up the stairs from the kitchen.

Borneheld turned to Jorge, Roland and Magariz. “My Lords, I would be honoured if you would witness my marriage.”

They inclined their heads graciously, although each was growing just a trifle impatient to return to the more desperate dealings of war.

“Faraday?” Borneheld turned back to her. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Faraday said simply. She did not trust her voice for any more. Axis, forgive me, she prayed silently. Please understand what I am about to do. For an instant she let herself recall what it had been like folded in his arms, but then she thrust the thought from her. I must never think of that again, she told herself firmly. Never.

“My Lords and Lady,” the Brother said, and then slipped smoothly into the words of the Nuptial Service. Faraday felt as if she were in someone else’s dream, watching proceedings from a great distance. Ah, she thought to herself, neither Axis nor myself are our own people any longer. The Prophecy of the Destroyer demands a cruel price from those who must serve it.

Abruptly she realised that the Brother had fallen silent and that now Borneheld was holding her hand and speaking.

“I, Borneheld, Duke of Ichtar, do stand by my promise of marriage to thee, Lady Faraday of Skarabost, and in front of these witnesses I do promise to honour you, to remain loyal to you, and to pledge to you my respect, my possessions, and my body for as long as we both shall live. To this I do freely consent and will. You have my pledge of marriage, Faraday, and to this may Artor bear holy witness.”

He stopped and Faraday realised with a start that he was waiting for her vows. She had to clear her throat before she repeated the vows.

Brother Francis still had a few words of the Nuptial Service to utter, but Borneheld had enveloped Faraday in a powerful embrace. Neither heard him impart the blessing of Artor upon them and pronounce them husband and wife. Jorge looked at the pair, musing over the events of the past hour. He wondered if Faraday had been as sure as he had first believed. The girl had hesitated slightly before she spoke the holy vows and even now she appeared a little too rigid in Borneheld’s embrace for a woman who had risked death to join her lover. Well, if she had doubts, then it was now too late. They were as legally and as tightly married as could be. Only death would sever that bond now. So he had witnessed. So he would attest.

“Listen to me,” Yr said very quietly, “no matter what he does to you physically, he can never touch your soul—not if you refuse to let him. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Faraday nodded, her stomach tight. For weeks she had avoided thinking past the marriage ceremony itself; avoided thinking of the duties of a wife to a husband. Yr stood behind her unlacing her silk gown. Poor sweet girl. Borneheld was the last person who should induct her into the arts of love. Yet…it was necessary. She and Jack had fought long and hard to get Faraday to this point. Thank the Prophecy that they had reached Gorkenfort before Axis.

“Artor, girl, have you not finished with my Lady yet?” snapped Borneheld, standing by the fire of their bedchamber.

“In a moment, my Lord,” Yr said softly as she touched the pale skin of Faraday’s back, trying to give her some reassurance. But Faraday was too rigid to respond even to the Sentinel’s touch.

As Borneheld continued to shift impatiently behind them, Yr swiftly unlaced Faraday’s gown and helped her slip into a robe. She met Faraday’s huge and apprehensive eyes for an instant, tried to impart some reassurance with her own eyes, then turned and walked for the door.

In the pale grey light of dawn Faraday eased her aching body as far away from that of her husband’s as she could, praying that her careful movements would not awaken him again. Despite her best efforts tears finally forced themselves past her eyelashes. She knew that Borneheld had not meant to be unkind, but his own fierce desire for her had made him unwittingly impatient and thoughtless. She had tried her best to please him, but her lack of knowledge had confused Borneheld, and his love-making had turned out to be every bit as clumsy and unpleasant as his conversation.

She had wanted to think of Axis, had wanted to use the memory of his arms about her as a talisman against the reality of Borneheld. But Borneheld’s presence was too powerful and his demands on her
body too great for her to be able to retain any image of Axis in her mind at all.

But Borneheld had been pleased, and for that Faraday was grateful. Then she frowned. When it had finally been over, Borneheld had patted her belly hopefully. “Perhaps I have planted a son there tonight,” he had panted, then had rolled over and immediately gone to sleep.

No, Faraday thought, her own hands on her belly now. No. I married him to serve the Prophecy but I will not bear him a child. I do not have to give that much. “Mother, hear me,” she whispered, “let me remain barren. I will conceive no child of his.” For a moment the heavy ruby ring pinched on her finger and she twisted it to relieve the pressure. It was every bit as heavy and uncomfortable as Borneheld was. “Grant this my wish.”

“Faraday?” Borneheld’s voice whispered sleepily. “Is that you? Are you awake?”

Faraday heard him turn over towards her and bit her lip to stop herself from tensing when she felt his hand fumbling at her breast.

“Come now, my dear. Your husband needs you.”

I
n the end Faraday had well over a week before Axis arrived in which to accustom herself to marriage and to ensure that Borneheld continued to believe that she loved and wanted him. She learned to accept Borneheld’s nightly demands upon her body, asking him to show her what she could do to please him. Very reluctantly, Faraday had to admit to herself that if it hadn’t been for her love for Axis, if it hadn’t been for those brief moments under the stars at the Ancient Barrows, she might have come to tolerate her marriage to Borneheld. In his own way, Borneheld wanted to please her. If his efforts at love-making were sometimes brusque and uncompromising, then those were qualities admirable in the soldier if not the lover—and Borneheld had never pretended to be anything else than what he was.

Borneheld had no use for Faraday during most of the day, locked as he was in discussions with his military commanders or occupied with leading patrols into the northern wastes. He did like her to come and watch him at weapon training in the mornings, though, and there Faraday made complimentary remarks as she watched him swing his heavily muscled body, bared to the waist, through sundry complicated manoeuvres with sword and staff. He was a powerful man, as Faraday now knew in more intimate detail, but sometimes as
she watched him her mind drifted to another man she had once watched at weapon practice early in the frosty mornings on the Plains of Tare.

On the fourth day of the first week of Snow-month she slowly paced the parapets of the walls of Gorkenfort, wearing a heavy cloak hugged tight over her black silk gown, the hood drawn far over her face as she gazed over the town of Gorkentown towards the road that led south. She never admitted what she was looking for walking along the parapets. Whenever anyone asked, she simply said that she was whiling away the lonely hours while Borneheld was otherwise occupied. Today Timozel walked by her side, although Borneheld increasingly gave him responsibilities about the fort. Pity, Faraday idly thought as she nodded at one of the watch, that Timozel’s duties did not also extend to taking her place in Borneheld’s bed. Her mouth curled in a private grin at the thought. Today Yr had also joined them for the fresh air, and Faraday glanced at the Sentinel, wondering if she’d caught her thought. It appeared she had. Yr was biting the inside of her cheek to keep her mirth in check, deliberately avoiding Faraday’s eye.

The day was bitingly cold but relatively clear, for the past two days the snow clouds had held back, and it was Yr’s sharp eyes that spotted them first. She stepped close to Faraday’s side.

“Look,” she said quietly, pointing towards a faint smudge on the southern road. “Can you see them?”

Faraday’s heart leapt into her mouth and she strained to see. “Where?” she said breathlessly. “Where? I can’t see them. Is it him?”

“Yes, sweet child, it is him. Are you ready?”

Her question might have had a number of meanings, but Faraday knew exactly what she meant. Could she restrain Borneheld if it came to it? “If I am not then we will soon know, Yr,” she said shortly.

“What is it?” Timozel asked impatiently, irritated by the way the two women whispered together. “What can you see?”

“The Axe-Wielders ride for Gorkenfort, Timozel,” said Yr, turning her face towards him. For the past week or so she had taken
to twisting her long blonde hair into a loose knot on the crown of her head, leaving tendrils to float about her face like a shifting golden cloud. Since their arrival at Gorkenfort they had resumed their affair, and it pleased Timozel that Yr chose his company before that of Gautier’s. “Are you ready to meet your BattleAxe, Timozel?”

“Not
my
BattleAxe any longer,” Timozel replied. “My Lady has chosen to marry Duke Borneheld, the most powerful WarLord Achar has ever had. I serve Borneheld now.”

Faraday’s mouth twisted grimly. As she betrayed Axis, so too did Timozel. How could she blame him for that?

“Besides,” Timozel added after a moment, thinking back on the moment in the tomb of the Icarii Enchanter-Talon, “Will not Borneheld be the one to save us from Gorgrael the Destroyer?”

Faraday’s hands gripped the stone compulsively. She remembered that both Jack and Yr had been deliberately ambiguous when Timozel asked if Borneheld had been the one to save Achar. No-one had known that the next instant he would be on his knees pledging his oath of Championship to Faraday. Oh what a pit we dig for ourselves, Faraday thought, with the shovel of our lies.

“Who knows who he is,” said Faraday, reaching out for Timozel’s hand. “Come, let us watch for the Axe-Wielders.”

The Axe-Wielders took another hour to wend their way towards the gate of the town, and then through the town itself. Most of them stopped in the town square to organise billeting and food for themselves and their horses, but soon the Axemen who were left to ride for the fort were close enough for Faraday to make out individual faces. There was Belial, looking thinner but more relaxed than she remembered. Behind him rode Arne, a man Faraday hardly knew.

“Yr,” she said, pointing with her hand.

“Yes,” Yr smiled. “They are still with him.” Ogden and Veremund rode huddled into cloaks that billowed about their white donkeys. Yr was delighted to see her companions; she could barely wait to find out how they were doing with Axis, if they had seen Jack, if they had found the fifth Sentinel, if Gorgrael had struck again.

And then Axis rode into sight from behind a corner of the twisting streets. He was chatting with one of the Axe-Wielders who had lagged behind, and Faraday, hands clutched to her breast, thought her heart would seize at the sight of him. Did he mourn me? she wondered. Or did he shrug his shoulders at the pile of dirt that covered my grave and turn to joke with Belial?

Yr slipped her arm about the girl’s waist again and whispered in her ear. “Doubtless you have both grown different ways since you last saw each other, Faraday, but if he said that he loved you, then do not doubt it.”

Faraday watched Axis’ black-clad form far below her as he rode towards the fort’s gate.

Mother help me, but I love him, she thought.

I know, sweet child, I know, Yr replied, and Faraday did not wonder that she could hear Yr’s thoughts within her own head.

Belial halted the small group of Axe-Wielders before Gorkenfort’s gate, waiting for Axis to catch them up. Axis pulled Belaguez to a halt by Belial’s bay stallion, his face tight with tension. Ahead of him lay the ultimate embarrassment, admitting to Borneheld’s face that he had lost Faraday. And within minutes he would also have to surrender outright control of the Axe-Wielders to Borneheld as he had promised Jayme.

Axis had not been looking forward to this day.

“Remember, Axis, no matter what happens in Gorkenfort,” Belial said quietly, his steady gaze fixed on Axis’ face, “Our loyalty is to you and only to you. We will follow wherever you lead and fight in whatever cause you choose.”

Axis looked over at Belial. Over the past few weeks the man had been a rock, always there with advice and reassurance, always there with a smile and a joke. On the road north Axis had spent hours discussing his doubts and uncertainties with Belial; had he not been there, Axis did not know how he’d have coped with the changes in his life.

Axis did not know how much longer his loyalty to Jayme could
last. Already his trust in the Brother-Leader had been seriously undermined, first by Jayme’s insistence that Borneheld assume control of the Axe-Wielders, but more recently by the things he had learned about his own origins and about the Icarii and the Avar. He had not been able to put the woman who had pleaded for Raum’s life near the forest out of his mind. “You need do only what your heart tells you to do. Not what the Seneschal has taught you must be done. Your duty should always be to do what
you
feel is right.” Axis took a deep breath. Did what she say make sense? Dare he trust his own heart? It certainly did not feel right to pass his Axe-Wielders over to Borneheld’s command…but who was he to complain about the WarLord assuming control of the Axe-Wielders when so many of them had died needlessly in Gorgrael’s storm?

“Axis! BattleAxe! It is good to have you here!”

Axis turned his head towards the sound. Duke Roland was striding over as fast as his fat would allow. Axis swung off Belaguez and grasped the Duke’s hand and arm. Obese the man might be but Axis believed he was one of the best commanders in the army. Like Jorge, Roland had been one of the very few nobles at court who had not sneered or condescended to Axis because of his birth. Roland nodded at Belial and peered curiously at Ogden and Veremund but turned back to Axis. He gripped the BattleAxe’s hand and forearm enthusiastically.

“Welcome, Axis. Artor be with you.”

“And with you, Duke Roland, and with you,” Axis smiled back at the man. “How go things?”

Roland shrugged. “Gorkenfort still stands, Axis. Raids have still taken their toll…no!” Roland let Axis’ hand go and raised his own in front of him defensively at the questions he could see bubbling to Axis’ lips. “No, I am not going to stand here in the wind and answer all your questions, my boy. Come inside. Borneheld and Jorge are meeting with Magariz, and they will want to hear what you have to say first. Did you discover anything at the Silent Woman Keep?”

Axis kept his face bland with a supreme effort, a thousand retorts springing instantly to mind. He waved at Ogden and Veremund. “I
have brought these two elderly brothers with me, my friend. Perhaps they can help us, perhaps not.”

Roland’s round face dropped in amazement. “They rode all the way to Gorkenfort from the Silent Woman Woods on
those?
What were you thinking of ? Did you have no spare horses?”

“A Brother and his donkey are hard to part,” said Axis dryly. “Come, take me to your war council. Belial? Bring those two…gentlemen with you. We are off to meet Borneheld.”

Roland put his hand confidentially on Axis’ shoulder as they walked into the fort and talked rapidly and quietly to him about the defence systems already in place about Gorkenfort. Neither noticed the cloaked woman standing on the parapets watching them.

Borneheld looked up from the papers spread about the table in front of the fire and saw Roland and Axis walk in the door at the end of the Hall followed by the BattleAxe’s lieutenant, Belial, and two ancient Brothers of the Seneschal. So. The BattleAxe had arrived. Now all would see who was the stronger, who was the more brilliant strategist, the better commander. Today he would assume control of the Axe-Wielders. Borneheld felt very sure of himself. Very powerful.

Jorge and Magariz, standing to one side of the table, exchanged anxious glances. Together with Roland, they had worried what the rivalry between Axis and Borneheld would mean to the defence of Gorkenfort. All three hoped Axis would not push Borneheld into an outright confrontation, and that Borneheld would not lose complete control and forget the defence of Gorkenfort in the pursuit of his hated half-brother. Axis and Borneheld supping together brought with it the risk of violence. What they might do in their current hostility during the dangerous stress of a military campaign was unthinkable.

“BattleAxe,” Borneheld smirked as Axis reached the table. He had been looking forward to this moment for a long, long time. Finally he would see his brother humbled before him.

“WarLord,” Axis said simply, his face expressionless. Neither man offered the other his hand.

“I received the report on your loss of the Ladies Merlion and Faraday north-east of the Silent Woman Woods, BattleAxe. I am somewhat surprised to see that you still think yourself fit to lead the Axe-Wielders.”

Magariz, Jorge and Roland all stared at Borneheld, but they held their tongues at a quick glare from their WarLord.

Axis hesitated, stung by the remark. “I have nothing to add to my report,” he said tightly.

Borneheld rested his hands on the table and leaned forward slightly. “Your incompetence appals me!” he hissed. “Two innocent women trusted you!”

Axis’ eyes narrowed. That Borneheld had every right to admonish him only made his anger more intense. Should he tell him that Faraday possibly lived? But he had no proof save the word of an Avar man, and Axis knew Borneheld well enough to know he would never accept the word of one of the Forbidden.

Roland spoke quickly, concerned that Borneheld was wasting time in pointless hostilities. “My Lord Duke. Perhaps this matter could wait until later to be discussed…in more detail.”

Borneheld spared him a quick, hard glance, but changed the subject. Time enough for Axis to discover that Faraday had not only survived, but had journeyed north to be with the man she loved. “Have you brought me my Axe-Wielders?” he asked.

Axis’ face hardened. It was all he could do to stop himself reaching across the table and throwing Borneheld into the fire. The two men stared at each other, both unwilling to be the first to drop his eyes.

Roland, Jorge and Magariz held their collective breaths, but in the end Axis felt Belial step up behind him, lending his BattleAxe his silent support.

“I stand here for the Axe-Wielders,” Axis said finally. “I put myself under your command and, through me, you command the Axe-Wielders.”

Borneheld opened his mouth. It was not what he wanted. He wanted Axis completely out of the way and himself in daily control
of the Axe-Wielders. Better, Borneheld would like to have broken the Axe-Wielders up completely and spread the individual men among his own units and cohorts, shattering the spirit and legend of the Axe-Wielders with one clean stroke. But Jorge stepped forward and spoke first. He knew exactly what Borneheld wanted to do and he also knew that Axis was unlikely to placidly stand by and watch his command destroyed before his eyes.

“We are all grateful for your support here, BattleAxe,” he said smoothly, “and that you should so willingly put yourself under Borneheld’s command. Through you the Axe-Wielders will be a useful adjunct to the WarLord’s brilliance.”

It was a masterstroke. Jorge had not only complimented Borneheld and pandered to his vanity, but had also put Borneheld in the difficult situation of appearing churlish if he now insisted on a complete surrender of the Axe-Wielders to his personal command. Borneheld gaped a little, unsure of how to take Jorge’s intervention, and before he could decide how to react Roland followed Jorge’s lead.