“Axis hardly needed those two fools to read him the Prophecy,” Gilbert said. “He could read the depraved script in the Forbidden’s books as easily as you would read the word of Artor himself. I, for one, do not find it hard to believe that Axis is of such tainted and ungodly breeding. None else could have read those ghastly lines. He was betrayer-bred, Brother-Leader, and his blood would always lead him to forsake you and the one true god Artor.”
Gilbert paused, watching the older men carefully. “Axis’ capitulation to the forces of evil may not be our worst threat. There may be traitors closer to home.”
Jayme narrowed his eyes. What did Gilbert know now? Over the past months Jayme had learned to respect Gilbert’s sources of information. “Well?” he barked finally, his entire frame tense and wary.
“I have heard word of Priam’s private deliberations,” Gilbert said casually.
Artor, but the little turd-faced bastard must have spies at the keyhole to Priam’s privy chamber, thought Jayme. No doubt he has word on how many times Priam mounts his wife at night. Jayme rarely let the language and imagery of his peasant youth intrude into his conscious mind. It was a measure of his unease that he did so now.
“Priam has become obsessed with the Prophecy,” Gilbert observed. “He believes its advice more than he believes the advice of the Brother-Leader. It is rumoured that Priam wavers towards supporting Axis and his cause. That he begins to think that alliance with the Forbidden might be a way to defeat Gorgrael.”
Jayme cursed under his breath, staring into the fire in order to hide the expression on his face. Even Moryson looked mildly surprised at Gilbert’s news.
“It is rumoured,” Gilbert continued, staring at Jayme’s back, “that Priam is…disappointed…with Borneheld. That he now wonders if Borneheld was such a good choice for WarLord. Priam believes Ichtar’s loss underscores the need to pay close attention to the advice of the Prophecy.”
The Brother-Leader’s clenched fist slammed into the mantel above the fire, sending chills of music rattling around the room.
“I would rather see Priam dead!” Jayme seethed, staring first at Gilbert and then at Moryson. “Has he lost his mind to consider an alliance with the Forbidden?”
Moryson and Gilbert were stunned by Jayme’s violent outburst. Moryson’s eyes flickered to Gilbert then back to Jayme. He laid a soothing hand on Jayme’s shoulder.
“Priam ever was a waverer,” he said gently. “‘Tis perhaps not unexpected that he should vacillate in this present crisis.”
Jayme shook Moryson’s hand off his shoulder and stalked into the centre of the chamber. “Priam leads the nation!” he snapped. “Should we let him lead it back into subjection under the yoke of the Forbidden?”
Gilbert’s bright eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, Brother-Leader?”
“I mean that perhaps we—Achar—would be better off if we had a King whose loyalties were uncompromised.”
There was utter silence for several heartbeats; even Jayme was a little surprised by what he had just said.
“Brother-Leader,” Moryson said calmly. “It may be best if Borneheld knows of the situation. It might be best if Borneheld himself were here. To stop Priam from wavering, of course.”
“Borneheld is an experienced leader and battle commander,” Jayme said thoughtfully. “His hatred of the Forbidden and devotion to Artor is well known. He is also heir to the throne. I’m sure that he, too, would be appalled to learn of Priam’s treasonous thoughts.”
“Treasonous to Achar,” Moryson said.
Jayme gave him a hard look. “Treasonous to everything the Seneschal stands for. We cannot let the Forbidden back into Achar. Gilbert!”
Gilbert jumped to his feet.
“I think it were best that you left for the north on the next river transport.”
Gilbert smiled and bowed. He could see nothing but advantages for himself in these developments.
“Borneheld needs to he advised of where Priam’s mind is turning,” Jayme continued. “We are vulnerable now that the majority of the Axe-Wielders either lie dead or run with the traitor Axis. Only one cohort of Axe-Wielders remain to guard the interests and the persons of the Seneschal.”
Not in a thousand years had the Seneschal been as vulnerable as it was now. That thought was uppermost in Jayme’s mind. He would do whatever he had to do to ensure the Seneschal’s survival. “What we do we must do for the good of the Seneschal.”
“For the good of Artor and for the good of Achar,” Moryson added mildly.
“Of course,” Jayme said blandly, “that’s what I meant. Furrow wide, Moryson, furrow deep.”
9
THE BLOOD-RED SUN
“Don’t try to overpower me through such direct means. You leave yourself open. I grab your wrist and elbow, twist, and you’re crippled.”
SpikeFeather gave a gasp of pain and dropped the iron-tipped stave he was carrying, his free hand flying to the arm that Axis held in a vice-like grip. Axis casually kicked one leg out from under the Wing-Leader and SpikeFeather collapsed to the ground in an undignified heap.
Each day for over two weeks Axis had worked with individual Wings of the Strike Force, getting to know the Wing commanders and the individual members of the Force. They were obstinate and thin-skinned, Axis had decided, but they had the makings of a fine force, despite having degenerated over the past thousand or more years into little more than a decorative appendage to Icarii society. Axis had transformed the Strike Force’s exercises and training from displays of graceful acrobatics in the sky and on the ground to difficult manoeuvres that would win them battles rather than parades, lives rather than hearts and cheers.
Axis leaned down and offered SpikeFeather his hand. SpikeFeather was one of the more skilful fighters among the Icarii and he had caused Axis a moment’s worry during their demonstration. SpikeFeather hesitated an instant, then took Axis’ hand, standing up in a flowing movement.
“You could have killed me, SpikeFeather,” said Axis, making sure he spoke loudly enough for the other Icarii standing about to hear, “if you had used your most potent weapon.”
“What do you mean, Strike-Leader?” SpikeFeather frowned. “I could not hold the stave while you twisted my arm so.”
“Your wings,” Axis said, exasperated. “You could have knocked me with one or both of your wings, or so distracted me that I would have let you go. Don’t forget your wings. They may save your life one day.”
Axis was intent on making the Icarii realise that even defensive fighting should be aggressive, and that surprise and skill would always win over brawn and superior weaponry. But the Icarii needed experienced practice partners before they could develop the instinct necessary to survive the inevitable battles with Gorgrael’s forces.
“All right, SpikeFeather, that’s enough for today.” Axis looked up to the gallery of the main training chamber where FarSight CutSpur and several of the other Crest-Leaders stood watching. Behind them were ranged some thirty or forty Icarii from other Wings who had asked if they could observe the training session. “Eventually when you join up with Belial’s command you can train one-on-one with his soldiers. That will sharpen your combat skills.”
“I don’t see why you push us so, Axis,” EvenSong remarked a little resentfully. “We are an archer force. What can possibly attack us in the air?” EvenSong made a point of not calling her brother Strike-Leader. Axis suspected she wanted to provoke him into disciplining her in front of the other members of her Wing, but he ignored her jibes.
FarSight CutSpur leaned over the railing of the observation gallery. “She may be right, Strike-Leader. We are vulnerable only to arrows, yet with the tactics we have been working out over the past two weeks soon arrows from below will become only a minor consideration. What will grappling with Belial’s Groundwalkers teach us?”
Axis smiled, but his eyes were cold. “Already Gorgrael’s SkraeBolds can fly. Once he knows I command your Strike Force he will plan counter-meas
ures. FarSight CutSpur, fellow Strike Force members, you will almost certainly have to fight for your lives at some point with creatures that will attack you in the air. The battle for Tencendor will be a bloody affair on land and in the air. It will not always be fought at the safe distance of an arrow flight but hand to hand, wing to wing. Training with Belial’s battle-hardened men will teach you instinctive aggression. Learn it…or die.”
A number of the Icarii looked visibly shocked. Although their training under Axis had been hard, they had comforted themselves with the thought that they were almost impossible to attack while in the air. Now they had to think again.
Axis’ eyes circled the assembled Icarii. “Each of you should arm yourself with a good blade. Knives can be carried easily, concealed even more easily, and will save you when another grapples you and restricts your movement, whether in the air or on the ground. Learn how to kill at close quarters. Azhure.”
Azhure, who had been standing unobtrusively against the side wall of the chamber, narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
“Come.” Axis beckoned impatiently, his eyes on the Icarii fighters.
Azhure walked over to Axis, doubt about his motives making her hesitant.
“Pick up that stave on the floor,” he said as she stopped before him, “and see if you can find a way to knock me off my feet.”
Her every movement wary, Azhure leaned down to the stave.
At precisely the moment her eyes left him Axis moved as swiftly as a striking cat, his booted foot catching Azhure squarely in the small of her back. She grunted as she fell on top of the stave. Axis leaned down, wound his fingers into the thick twist of hair at the crown of Azhure’s head, hauled her to her feet, and manoeuvred her head into the classic handhold needed to twist an enemy’s head until the spine snapped.
But in the instant before his hands could fatally tighten on her head and jaw, Axis felt the blade of a knife lightly pierce the skin of his belly.
Azhure’s eyes were furious as they stared into his.
Axis laughed softly. Azhure had reacted as quickly and as decisively as he’d hoped. He let her head go and stepped back, dropping one hand to gently clasp her wrist and pull the knife away from his belly.
“Azhure came closer to killing me with that knife than any member of the Strike Force has come to bruising me with a stave,” he said finally, his eyes not leaving Azhure’s face. “I hesitated with the kill and now I should be dead instead. Azhure, I am grateful you stayed that knife.” He looked around at the Icarii. “Azhure has shown you two lessons. The deadliness of even a small knife in close combat, and the need to develop that instinct to attack without the slightest hesitation—even if your enemy has got a death grip on you.”
Axis let Azhure’s wrist go and then turned to face the Icarii. After a moment Axis heard a faint movement behind him as Azhure sheathed the knife.
“Enough for today,” he said mildly. “But remember the lessons. Once you begin to train with Belial’s men you will develop the killer instinct quickly or risk losing more than a few of your proud feathers. SpikeFeather, you may dismiss your command.”
As the Icarii filed from the chamber, Axis climbed the ladder into the gallery and stood talking quietly with FarSight, organising a meeting of all the Strike Force commanders so he could discuss future training plans. Although he hadn’t yet discussed it with FarSight or RavenCrest, Axis planned on leaving Talon Spike for some weeks after Beltide in early Flower-month. Axis needed to complete his training elsewhere—as well as fulfil a vow—and he wanted the Strike Force to continue training in his absence.
When he turned back into the chamber, Axis saw that only Azhure was left. She stood in a far corner, lifting the Wolven from a hook on the wall and slinging its accompanying quiver over her shoulder.
Axis stood a moment, a soft smile playing about his mouth, then he leapt down to the floor of the chamber and silently walked towards her. Azhure gave a small jump of surprise when she saw him standing only a few paces away.
“I am sorry,” he said, “that I used you so poorly. But if I had warned you, you would not have reacted so swiftly or so reflexively. Not only were you the only one I trusted to react so instinctively, you were the only one present I could trust to stay the knife. Even so,” he fingered his belly gingerly, “you have added one more scar to my growing collection.”
Azhure relaxed a little. “I had to stay the impulse to slide that knife all the way in, Axis, but I thought you should suffer a little for the ache you caused my scalp.”
“Are you going to practise with the bow?”
“Yes.” Azhure fingered the bow, and Axis wondered at her smile as she touched the weapon.
“I see you have a quiver full of new arrows. Should I blame SpikeFeather’s tattered appearance on those blue-feathered arrows?”
Azhure laughed. “He did not think I could use the Wolven. He was willing to bet his own pride and feathers on it.”
“It was a lesson not only SpikeFeather, but most of the Icarii, will not readily forget. The Wolven is one of their greatest treasures.”
Azhure’s smile faded. “Should I give it back?”
“No. I think the Wolven chose you. It is an enchanted thing.”
Azhure looked down at the beautiful bow she held in her hands. “But the Wolven let SpikeFeather use it.”
Axis remembered a conversation he had overheard between SpikeFeather and EvenSong several days ago. “It took SpikeFeather nine years before he fully mastered the Wolven—and he is the only one who has been able to use it in some four thousand years. It was only late last year that he managed it.” Axis paused. “It is as if the Wolven knew you were coming and finally let SpikeFeather use it so he would pick that bow to demonstrate for you. The Wolven tells you it wants you, Azhure. It is yours.”
She ran her fingers gently through its blue and scarlet silken tassels. “Then it honours me, though I know not why.” She raised her smoky eyes. “Enchanted, you say?”
Axis reached out and ran his fingers along the string of the bow. “WolfStar SunSoar made it, many thousands of years ago. WolfStar was the most powerful of the Enchanter-Talons—there has never been another like him.” He stopped, considering. Due to his extraordinary power, WolfStar’s name had cropped up many times during Axis’ training, but curiously StarDrifter and MorningStar had evaded his occasional questions about the mysterious ninth Enchanter-Talon. After a moment Axis continued. “He wove enchantments into the bow’s making. No-one really knew what. No-one has been able to see.” He dropped his hand. “I cannot see. It is as though a film of ice covers the bow’s soul. I can see the shape of the enchantments, but they are hazy, out of focus. I can hear them, especially when you use the bow. But the music lingers at the extreme edge of my hearing, and I cannot quite catch the tune. WolfStar took his enchantments and the key to the Wolven to the grave with him.”
“You will prevail even without the knowledge of the ancient Icarii Enchanter-Talons, Axis.”
Axis’ mouth quirked at the absolute certainty in her voice. “With the faith of such as you by my side then I am bound to,” he said softly. Their eyes caught, then Axis turned away slightly. “I am thinking of using you in the Strike Force’s aerial training, Azhure, if you would consent.”
She laughed, incredulous. “Will you build me wings, then, like StarDrifter offered to do for you?” Axis had vehemently refused StarDrifter’s offers to coax his dormant wing buds into flowering. He had lived his life thus far without wings, and he would live the rest of his life without them.
Axis smiled. “No. With FarSight I have been putting the Strike Force through various evasive manoeuvres designed to lessen the risk of arrow strike. But now I want them to have some real arrows to out-manoeuvre. Will you shoot at them?”
Azhure’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t mean that!”
Axis’ eyes twinkled. “Perhaps I still have a trace of BattleAxe in me, Azhure.”
“But I do not know how to fire an
arrow to miss, Axis! It would be a betrayal to the Wolven to aim to miss.”
“Then wrap the arrow heads in cloth or dip them in wax to blunt them. That way you will give them bruises, but not heart-piercing wounds.”
Azhure did not want to risk the Icarii’s acceptance now that she had finally won it. “They will not resent me?” she asked doubtfully.
“They will resent me. It will be my suggestion. My order,” said Axis. “Will you do it? You could stand on that ledge that overlooks the Iskruel Ocean. The extent of the air field on the northern face of Talon Spike will give the Strike Force their maximum manoeuvring field.”
Azhure thought for a moment. “They’ll need it. Yes. I’ll do it, so long as we can blunt the arrows sufficiently. And I will have to use less exotic arrows than these. SpikeFeather won’t be pleased to see his feather-fledged arrows tumbling down the chasm at Talon Spike’s feet.”
Axis nodded. “Good. I’ll discuss the plan with FarSight and the other Crest-Leaders tomorrow. I will go ahead with it only if they think there is little danger to the Strike Force. Well, I’ll leave you to your target practice. Perhaps you will soon have something larger and more difficult to aim for.”
Azhure’s face darkened. “The sooner I have a Skraeling eye to aim for, the better.” She ached to appease the agony she still felt at her friend Pease’s terrible death in the Earth Tree Grove, chewed into bloody fragments by the Skraeling wraiths as Azhure stood by, horrified, unable to act through her own terror.
Axis’ mood shifted abruptly. “Your first target in war may not be Skraelings, Azhure,” he said a little sadly.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll discuss it when the time comes. Azhure, I must go. I thank you again for your assistance here this afternoon, and again I apologise for my rude treatment of you. I am glad our friendship has survived this afternoon.”
Axis turned to go.
“Wait!” Azhure cried, rummaging in the shoulder sack she carried about with her and withdrawing a bundle of dark golden silk.
Enchanter Page 8
