Battleaxe (31 page)

Axis briefly told them of his chase of Azhure and the Avar man across the fields and through the Forbidden Valley. “As for the woman, I do not know. Of our…well, of Acharite extraction. She was not Avar. I asked her if she knew the Icarii, and she said yes. I asked her if they sang. And she told me that they sang magically, that the Icarii had music coursing through their blood. And then I remembered my own skill at music…which has improved immeasurably since you have kept me company, gentlemen.”

Ogden sat back in his chair. “We knew that you must be of Icarii blood when you read the Prophecy. The Prophet wrote it in the sacred tongue of the Icarii, rather than the common tongue of Tencendor. No-one else but an Icarii could have read his words.”

Axis rose and stood before the fire, staring into the flames for a long time. “Why else did you have me read the Prophecy, gentlemen?” he asked softly, not lifting his eyes from the flames. “Why not test Timozel, or Arne, or Gilbert? And why follow me all the way around Arcen and Skarabost? Why?”

Veremund hesitated. “Because we think that you are the One, Axis Rivkahson.”

“The One?”

“The StarMan.” It was Belial who answered. “The one who will unite the three races of Tencendor. The only one who can stop the Destroyer Gorgrael.”

Ogden and Veremund nodded. Again Belial had surprised them. He would prove a valuable ally for Axis in the coming months. Briefly Veremund considered some of the deeper riddles of the Prophecy and wondered if any of them concerned Belial.

“I do not want this!” Axis suddenly hissed from the fireplace. His eyes flickered between Belial and the two Sentinels. “
I do not want this!
”

“Axis,” Ogden began, but Axis broke in, turning and striking the stone wall of the fireplace with his tightly clenched fist in anger and confusion. “How can I be the one to unite this supposed realm of Tencendor? I am the
BattleAxe
! I serve the Seneschal, and the Seneschal is…is…”

“Is opposed to everything that you are, Axis!” Ogden leapt to his feet, his cheeks red and his grey eyes bright. “The Seneschal, driven by their devotion to Artor, spread lies among the Acharites to incite hatred of the Icarii and Avar. They drove them from this land and left it vulnerable to Gorgrael. Damn it, Axis! You
know
the Prophecy. The three races must unite again to defeat him and,” he took an angry breath, “
you
are the One. You are a war leader, and you can lead Tencendor against whatever forces Gorgrael might throw against us. You carry the blood of Achar’s royal line in you—and Priam should recognise that he has two heirs, not just one. You have compassion, as you have shown me time and time again, and you will need compassion before all else if you are to unite the races and destroy Gorgrael. And last, but not least, you have within you the makings of one of the most powerful Icarii Enchanters that ever lived—if you would only embrace it instead of fighting it!”

Axis’ face worked with emotion. “You lie, old man. I cannot combat the sorcery of Gorgrael! I could not stop the storm that killed so many of my men!”

“No!” Ogden all but shouted, waving his plump fists about in the air. “At the moment you cannot! You need to find your father—because
without the teaching of your father, and he is the
only
one that can teach you, you will never be strong enough to face Gorgrael. And
we
need your father, Axis, because he must also be the father of Gorgrael, and without the father we cannot find or know Gorgrael!”

There was silence. Ogden’s passion slowly faded and he sank into his chair. Belial, with great effort, swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there, fighting the dizziness that swept over him. Axis turned back to the fire. Veremund looked a little helplessly between them all, opening and shutting his mouth.

“What did I do to that Avar girl?” Axis eventually asked, turning his head so that he could see the Sentinels.

“You sang what is known as the Song of Recreation, Axis,” Veremund answered. “The child was almost dead. But when you held her in your arms, from somewhere, I know not where, you recalled the Song of Recreation. How you could sing that without being taught it by your father, I do not know—it is hardly something he would sing to you while still in the womb. The Song of Recreation is a very beautiful song, very haunting, because it recreates life itself. It takes as its music the intertwined breath of the person who is dying and the breath of the person who is singing and it uses the power of the Stars themselves to infuse the dying with life. No Icarii Enchanter has been able to sing that song so well for over three thousand years. None alive today could have saved that child as you did. Ogden and I,” Veremund turned to smile at his companion, “well, we wept. We could not help ourselves. Raum was shocked. He is a Bane, one of the Avar who well understands the practice of enchantments, and he recognised the Song for what it was. He also knew how much power it took to sing it. No wonder he asked what you were doing inside that black uniform, dear one.”

“But if,” Belial’s voice was weak and he had to clear his throat and start again. “But if Axis could recreate life in the Avar girl, and none can do that now, then why is he not powerful enough to meet Gorgrael and defeat him?”

Axis answered himself, his voice weary with resignation. “Because I do not know how I do it, Belial. I cannot help myself. I cannot
stand here now and call on…on this ‘talent’ within me to perform some enchantment whenever I need it. I don’t know where this power comes from. I cannot stand before Gorgrael, or even a three-legged mouse for that matter, and hope that some snatch of the appropriate song occurs to me before Gorgrael strikes.” Axis hesitated. “Belle my Wife might rally my men from a mist-induced fugue, but I doubt it will drive Gorgrael screaming from my sight. Unless,” he managed a wan grin, “Belial is there to accompany me on the harp. Your skill is so dismal, my friend, even the Destroyer would flee your dark music.”

Belial grinned, but Ogden was not to be distracted. “You need your father to teach you,” he repeated. “The Icarii Enchanters usually pass on knowledge from parent to son or daughter, as the case may be.
No-one
can teach a new Enchanter except another Enchanter from their family, and usually it is the closest blood relative—the Enchanter parent.”

Axis’ amusement was replaced by irritation. “And where, old man, am I going to be able to find my father to teach me those things I need to know?”

Ogden spread his hands, his face assuming a cherubic expression. “Who knows how the Prophecy will work itself out, dear one?”

“So what, oh-creature-of-the-Prophecy, do I do now?” Axis ground out, irritation in turn being replaced by anger.

Veremund shrugged. “You do as you were doing, Axis. On to Sigholt, and then to Gorkenfort. Both places, I might add, where you might find clues to your father’s identity. At one you were conceived, and at one you were born. Who knows what marks of your father’s existence remain there?”

Axis turned to Belial. “My friend, what should I do? How can I continue as BattleAxe of the Axe-Wielders, knowing what I know?”

Belial did not hesitate. “You have command of over three thousand men committed to defending Gorkenfort against the raids of Gorgrael. How does that compromise the purpose of either BattleAxe or Enchanter’s son? You simply go on as you would have done. As I see it, now you go equipped with more knowledge, perhaps more weapons, than previously.”

“He speaks well,” said Veremund.

“Yes,” Axis agreed, sighing again. He paused. “Veremund, Ogden, there is one more thing I have to tell you. When I let Raum go he told me that, as he owed me two lives, he was giving one back. He told me that Faraday lived. How would he know that?”

Ogden and Veremund were genuinely shocked. While they had been sure that Jack and Yr had managed to keep Faraday and Timozel alive in the landslide at the Barrows, they could not understand how Raum would have found out. But Axis must not know that Faraday was headed for Gorkenfort and Borneheld. There was still time for him to arrive before her and ruin all their plans. Yet they had promised not to lie to Axis. What should they do?

Veremund took Axis’ hand. “It is possible that Faraday survived the fall into the Barrow. The ground is riddled with tunnels and tombs.”

Axis looked distraught. “Then she could be wandering lost, trapped in those dark chambers!”

“No, no!” Veremund hastened, patting Axis’ hand. “If Raum saw her, then it must have been above ground. Perhaps she is working her way north from the Barrows to her home in Skarabost. She must have mentioned you to him. Otherwise, why would Raum mention her to you? Axis, she may well be home by now, and if she has Timozel to protect her, then what could go wrong?”

Axis relaxed a little. “Yes, you are probably right. Well, Brothers of the Seneschal you may not be, but you are all that the poor villagers of Smyrton have right now. Gentlemen, you have a Service of the Dead to perform. At least you’ve had some recent practice.”

Belial laughed, and then flinched and held his head, groaning.

Axis smiled at him, his thoughts on Faraday. He let himself hope a little.

I
t was two days before Barsarbe was satisfied enough with Raum’s progress to let him out of the tent. And although Grindle and his family were eager to hear of his adventure through the Seagrass Plains and Shra’s presentation to the Mother, Barsarbe was adamant that Raum needed sufficient rest before he could explain what had happened.

GoldFeather felt unsettled; she kept going over their conversation with the BattleAxe in her mind, analysing each expression that had crossed his face. There was something about his face that tugged at her memory…something…something. It finally came to GoldFeather with a sickening jolt. The man’s face resembled Priam’s in some characteristics. A thought so terrible occurred to GoldFeather that her stomach turned over and she almost gagged. Borneheld?
Had Borneheld become the BattleAxe
? He was about the right age, and Stars alone knew he could have inherited both his devotion to Artor and his military prowess from Searlas. But no. No. GoldFeather started to relax as she thought it through. It was very unlikely that a noble as high as the Duke of Ichtar would take the position of BattleAxe. And hadn’t Azhure mentioned the man’s name at some point? Axis, yes, that was it. Axis. She breathed a great sigh
of relief. Not Borneheld.
That
would have been too frightful to contemplate. To meet Borneheld again after so many years? No. There was too much guilt associated with Borneheld for her to want to meet him again.

And he hadn’t resembled Searlas at all. No. But the encounter still nagged at GoldFeather, shadowing her mind. There was
something
about the man’s face. Those eyes…no! Stop it, GoldFeather told herself firmly. Stop it! You’ve made a clean break from the past, so why worry over it like a sore tooth now? The man was probably a distant cousin to the royal family of Achar. That would explain the slight resemblance to Priam. She managed a small smile, convincing herself. Stars knew some of the past kings had scattered their bastards far and wide.

While Barsarbe kept Raum inside the tent, refusing to allow discussion with him about anything but the most trivial queries about food or comfort, GoldFeather spent more and more time walking the trails of the Avarinheim, trying to turn her mind from the BattleAxe by thinking of her husband and daughter waiting for her return in the Icescarp Alps. Although GoldFeather freely gave of her time to help the Avar in whatever way she could, each year she spent months away from her own family, and each year she wondered if she was drifting too far from them. Yet with the Skraeling wraiths intensifying their raids on the Avar, GoldFeather knew there was still work she had to do. Now more than any time in the previous twenty years, the Avar needed her help, and that of the Icarii.

Azhure spent most of the two days wandering about feeling totally useless. The question of her remaining within the Clan was still undecided, and she spent most of her time with Fleat and Pease. Fleat took pity on the Plains Dweller, and explained to Azhure what Raum and Shra, and all the other children Azhure had seen going past Smyrton over the past few years, had been doing.

“We revere the Mother as the giver of life,” Fleat explained one evening as she and Pease were grinding dried malfari tubers for flour between flat quern stones before the fire. “Those children picked to be trained as Banes are presented to the Mother and form a special
bond with her, enabling them to touch not only the Sacred Grove itself, but use the rhythms of life that surround us to heal and help grow. Both we and the Avarinheim,” she paused in her grinding to look about her at the forest, “rely on them to keep the land and the seasons healthy, else we would all die.”

Pease added dried berries, seasoning herbs and lard to the malfari flour the two women were grinding, rolling and slapping into small round loaves which she wrapped in the large waxy leaves of the odinfor bush and put in the hot coals of the fire to bake. “Our Clan is honoured that Shra was chosen by the Banes to be presented to the Mother,” she said, smiling affectionately at the little girl who had hardly left her mother’s side since she’d come home. “Already the GhostTree Clan has Raum, Grindle’s younger brother, as Bane, and now we will have Shra as well.”

“Is Barsarbe of your Clan as well?” Azhure was still a little confused by the relationships within the Clan.

“No,” Fleat replied. “She comes from the FlatRock Clan, but came with us to the edge of the Avarinheim to wait for Raum’s return with Shra.” She took a deep breath of relief. “Thank the Mother she did. Without her healing skills Raum would likely have died.”

Azhure helped the women gut some fat-bellied trout caught from the Nordra. The older children spent much of their time helping their mothers in the time-consuming task of food gathering; they generally found time for play only in the early evening. As far as Azhure could see, the Avar did not bother to plant or crop at all, preferring to live off only what the Avarinheim provided for them. “Do all of your people live in Clans like the GhostTree Clan?” she asked, sucking a finger where the sharp blade of the bone-filleting knife had cut it open.

“Yes.” Fleat passed a spare odinfor leaf across for Azhure to wrap her finger in. “We all live in small family groups. The Avar must live from what the Avarinheim chooses to give us, and we cannot survive in large villages like your people do. We spend most of the year travelling from spot to spot throughout the Avarinheim. This is
really too close to the edge of the Avarinheim for our liking. We are here only because we were waiting for Raum and Shra to return.”

“And soon we travel to the Yuletide Meet!” Pease said, her dark brown eyes gleaming with excitement.

Azhure frowned. “The Yuletide Meet?”

GoldFeather joined them, sitting down by the fire beside Azhure. “Each year the Avar and the Icarii meet for two important festivals. Although the Avar are close to the earth and the Icarii closer to the heavens, they share the Yuletide and Beltide festivals in common, and each year meet in the groves of the northern Avarinheim where the forest meets the mountains in order to celebrate these festivals. Yuletide is the most important of the rites. It is held at the winter solstice, only a few weeks away now, and both Avar Banes and Icarii Enchanters are needed to ensure the sun rises from its death and is reborn. The Beltide festival is a more joyous affair, and is held in early spring to celebrate the reawakening of the earth after the death of winter.”

Pease’s grin widened. “Many marriages are contracted at Beltide, Azhure. It was then that I joined the GhostTree Clan as Grindle’s wife. Other unions and ambitions are consummated as well. Beltide is the one night of the year when Icarii and Avar indulge in temptations denied them the rest of the year. Beltide is a night when dreams and desires become reality. Tell me, Azhure, of what do
you
dream? Of
whom
do you dream?”

Azhure blushed and the other women laughed.

“Azhure will have no opportunity for Beltide excesses if she does not remain with us, Pease,” Barsarbe broke in suddenly, standing at the entrance to the tent and looking coolly at Azhure. The two Avar women stopped laughing and looked away from Azhure although GoldFeather smiled reassuringly at the young woman. Barsarbe turned her attention to Grindle’s senior wife. “Fleat, will you assist me? Raum refuses to lie abed any longer, and he insists on joining us for the evening meal. Well, I suppose it is time we heard what he has to say.”

The two women supported a still-ashen Raum out of the tent. His leg was tightly bound and splinted, and he found it awkward to
swing as he hobbled to the fire. Raum sank gratefully down by the fire. Obviously still in some pain, he managed to smile at the women and children gathering in some excitement about him. Grindle himself stalked back into camp and peered anxiously at Raum.

“Brother, are you well?”

“Thanks to the skill of Barsarbe and the good care of Fleat and Pease, yes, I will be well, Grindle.” The deep lines around his mouth and the unnatural pallor of his skin partially belied his words, but the spark of life burned bright in his eyes, and his mouth retained a quirk of humour.

Grindle looked relieved and joined the others around the fire. “I would never have let an Axe-Wielder catch
me
, brother,” he said mildly.

“He stayed behind so that Shra and I could escape,” Azhure said, stung that Grindle should even jest about Raum’s inability to flee the BattleAxe.

Both Grindle and Barsarbe looked at her sharply, annoyed that she had spoken, and Azhure subsided, regretting her interruption. Even the three older children aped their father and stared at her with a total lack of tolerance. GoldFeather patted Azhure’s arm in sympathy; of all the others about this campfire, GoldFeather knew what it felt like to be an outsider among a people who had no understanding of the culture that had shaped her. GoldFeather had found her first years among the Icarii hard.

Fleat gave Raum a mug of the herbed tea the Avar brewed and drank at every opportunity, and the Bane drank it down gratefully. For a long moment he looked into the fire, then he sighed and spoke to the group.

“There is much I have to tell you,” he said, “and much of it is bad. What is not bad is, to say the least, puzzling.” He took Barsarbe’s hand as she sat beside him. “Barsarbe, it is as we feared. The Prophecy is awake and walking. Gorgrael has indeed been born, and is even now preparing to push his forces south and destroy all before him.”

Everyone about the fire gasped, save Azhure, who looked mystified. All the Avar knew of the Prophecy of the Destroyer, and
the talk at the last Beltide Meet had been primarily concerned with the fear that the time of the Prophecy of the Destroyer was finally upon them.

“How can you be sure?” Barsarbe asked, after a worried glance at Grindle.

Raum took a deep breath. “The Sentinels walk abroad. Shra and I met two of them at the Mother.” If Raum’s previous statement had stunned the group, now they were wide-eyed with shock. Raum described his meeting with Jack and Yr at Fernbrake Lake and explained how they had told him that the Prophecy was awakened, and that the StarMan was even now beginning to stir to meet Gorgrael.

“Where is he?” Barsarbe asked urgently.

Raum shrugged. “I do not know. The Sentinels were reticent when it came to the actual identity of the StarMan. He walks, as does Gorgrael, but I had the sense from them that the time is not yet arrived that he can meet Gorgrael. Perhaps he has still to break through the walls that the lies have built about him.”

“And what else did the Sentinels have to say, brother?”

Raum thought for a moment. “They talked of their two companions left travelling with the BattleAxe of the Axe-Wielders and of many other things, Grindle. But it is not so much what they had to say, Grindle, but who they had with them.” He paused and looked at the ring of faces staring at him. “They were at the Mother for a specific purpose. They had brought with them a young Plains Dweller, a woman called Faraday, to present to the Mother.”

“Sacrilege!” hissed Barsarbe.

Raum put his hand up. “That was how I reacted, Barsarbe. But the Sentinels invited me to test her and I did.”

“You put her to the test?” Pease gasped.

Raum nodded. “She was exceptionally strong. My friends, the Sentinels believe, as I do now, that she is Tree Friend. The forest sang for her. That has never happened before.”

For a while there was total silence as the other Avar digested this piece of news. Ever since the Wars of the Axe, when the Avar were
pushed behind the Fortress Ranges and the southern Avarinheim slaughtered before the axe, it had been legend among the Avar that one day Tree Friend would appear; a man or woman who would lead them back across the Fortress Ranges and enable them to re-establish themselves and the Avarinheim on the barren plains that ran down to Widewall Bay. But that Tree Friend should be a Plains Dweller, of the race that had slaughtered both the Avar and the Avarinheim, was unthinkable!

Raum could see the thoughts and emotions running across the faces of his fellow Avar about the fire.

“After the test,” he continued softly, knowing as he spoke that his companions did not really want to hear the words, “I bonded and presented her to the Mother as I did Shra. We walked the pathways to the Sacred Grove, and the Horned Ones were there and greeted her and called her Tree Friend.”

He stopped and let them absorb the news. GoldFeather found the news easier to accept than they did. She knew the Avar placed all the hopes of their race in the long-hoped-for Tree Friend. To find that Tree Friend was of the hated Plains Dwellers was a hard blow for them to absorb. GoldFeather frowned a little as she remembered the name, Faraday—what was it that Raum had said to the BattleAxe about Faraday? Azhure still looked totally mystified, and GoldFeather looked at her and indicated that she would explain later. She looked back to Raum. Strange days were upon them.

“Where is Tree Friend now?” Barsarbe finally, reluctantly, asked.

“She is travelling north to Gorkenfort.”

GoldFeather’s head rose sharply and she stared at Raum, her eyes hard, “where she is to marry her betrothed, Duke Borneheld of Ichtar.”

GoldFeather gave a strangled moan, her hands flying to her mouth, her eyes distressed, and everyone looked at her, startled. “What is it, GoldFeather?” Azhure asked, concerned. She had never seen GoldFeather anything less than totally composed.

GoldFeather took Azhure’s hand and grasped it so strongly that she crunched the bones of Azhure’s fingers. Azhure’s mouth tightened a little with the pressure, but she said nothing.

Grindle leaned forward. “GoldFeather? What is it?”

GoldFeather fought to compose herself. While some of the Avar, mostly Banes, knew that she had come of a high-born Acharite family, none knew her true origins or name. GoldFeather had buried her past completely behind her when she’d gone to live with the Icarii. But now Borneheld…Borneheld. Before this morning she had hardly thought of him in almost thirty years, then first she had feared Borneheld was the BattleAxe, and now Raum mentioned his name again. Hardly coincidence. Was the Prophecy going to pull her into its frightening entanglements as well?