Enchanter

by Sara Douglass

  “Well?” Borneheld’s voice snapped. “Who’s this?”

  Ho’Demi turned over the papers he had taken from Gilbert. Borneheld skimmed through them quickly. “Ah,” he said. “It seems Brother Gilbert might have some interesting news indeed. Gilbert?”

  Well, thought Gilbert, here at least is a man worthy of my regard. Borneheld stood before the fire, a little scruffier than when Gilbert had last seen him, with his auburn hair shaved so short it appeared he had a badly bruised but utterly bald scalp, yet Gilbert still thought he looked the noblest man in the room. He deserves our protection and support, he thought as he stepped up to Borneheld and bowed.

  “My Lord Duke,” he said respectfully. He did not add “of Ichtar”, because that would be insulting in the present circumstances, and Gilbert had strict instructions from Jayme not to offend Borneheld in any way.

  “What news?” Borneheld asked, “that the Brother-Leader should send one of his advisers to speak to me personally?”

  “My Lord,” Gilbert said ingratiatingly. “Brother-Leader Jayme instructed me that my news should be for your ears only.”

  Borneheld’s eyes narrowed. Either the man carried important news or he was an assassin, and these days Borneheld trusted few people. But eventually he turned from Gilbert. “Roland, Ho’Demi, you may leave. Report to me with Jorge at dawn tomorrow. We need to go over the plans for the final flooding of the canals.”

  Both men bowed and left silently, Gilbert noticing that Roland had lost much weight recently.

  “My Lord?” Gilbert whispered, gesturing towards Gautier and Timozel.

  “They stay with me,” Borneheld said sharply. “I trust them with my life, and they will not hesitate to take yours should you threaten mine.”

  “I am your servant, Lord,” Gilbert grovelled, “not your murderer.”

  “Well, then, sit down at the table and help yourself to some wine. You look as if you need some refreshment.”

  Borneheld sat down opposite Gilbert, but Gautier and Timozel remained standing, ready to leap to Borneheld’s defence should he require it. Both men looked equally dangerous, and Gilbert wondered what had turned the boyish Timozel into this frightening man who had, quite obviously, transferred his loyalties from Axis to Borneheld.

  “My Lord Duke,” Gilbert began, “Brother-Leader Jayme has read your reports and listened to the news from the north of Achar with growing alarm.”

  “I have done my best,” Borneheld said, “but…”

  “But you were betrayed, my Lord, we understand that. Axis and Magariz betrayed you, and they have betrayed the Seneschal as well with their damned pact with the Forbidden.”

  “Yes!” Borneheld said. “I was betrayed from within! There is no-one I can trust! No-one! Except,” he hastened, “Gautier and Timozel. No-one else.”

  To one side both Gautier and Timozel bowed slightly.

  “And you are right to fear treachery, my Lord,” Gilbert continued smoothly. This was going far better than he had anticipated. “For I bring grievous news.”

  “By the Blessed Artor!” Borneheld said, rising so quickly that the chair he’d been sitting on fell to the floor with a crash. “Who now?”

  Gilbert assumed an expression of deep sorrow. “It grieves me to say this, my Lord—”

  “Then bloody say it!” Borneheld shouted, and leaned across the table to seize Gilbert by his habit.

  “Priam,” Gilbert stammered, frightened by the madness in Borneheld’s eyes. “Priam.”

  Borneheld let Gilbert go. “Priam? Priam betrays me? How?”

  “Priam is frightened and alone,” Gilbert whispered. “He does not have your resolve or your courage. He listens to the Prophecy of the Destroyer.”

  Borneheld swore, and Gilbert hurried on. “He wonders if Axis is still alive and, if so, whether he should consider an alliance with the Forbidden.”

  “He what?” Borneheld said. “How can he consider such a thing? Artor himself must be screaming at the thought.”

  “Yes,” Gilbert said. “Your reaction mirrors Jayme’s.”

  “How many know that Priam thinks this way?” Borneheld asked.

  “Jayme, Moryson, the four of us in this room, and one or two others, my informants in the palace at Carlon.”

  “This is something that should not be bruted about,” Borneheld said.

  “Jayme would entirely agree with that. My Lord, I cannot stress how anxious Jayme is about this development. If Priam were to ally himself with Axis and his ungodly hordes, then the Forbidden could invade Achar and all would be lost.”

  He took a careful pause. “My Lord. Jayme has instructed me to tell you, that you have his, nay, the Seneschal’s, entire support in whatever course of action you choose to take in this matter.”

  Borneheld turned towards the fire so that none could see his face. “And what does ‘Jayme’s entire support’ mean, Gilbert? Has not Axis efficiently destroyed your military power base? Where are your vaunted Axe-Wielders now?”

  “We control the hearts and souls of the Acharites, my Lord Duke. We are the mediators between their souls and the rewards of the AfterLife in the care of Artor, or, should they refuse to listen to our message, in the pits of fire where worms will gnaw at their entrails for eternity. My Lord Duke, they listen to us. Should we say, ‘Borneheld is your man’, then they will listen.”

  Gilbert took a deep breath, and when he spoke again his voice was heavy with meaning. “If you fight against Axis and the Forbidden, Borneheld, then Jayme and the Seneschal will support you in whatever course of action you decide to take.”

  Borneheld’s eyes glinted strangely. “And what does the Brother-Leader advise me to do, Brother Gilbert?”

  “Brother-Leader Jayme advises that you return to Carlon, my Lord, should the situation here in Jervois Landing be stable enough. Once back in Carlon you can shore up Priam’s resolve, or—”

  “Or?”

  “Or perhaps you can decide to take some other course of action.”

  “And what ‘course of action’ do you advise me to take, Brother Gilbert?”

  “I would advise that you are only one step away from the throne, my Lord Duke Borneheld. Priam is childless, and you are the heir,” Gilbert said very softly, his eyes steady on Borneheld’s. “I would advise that you take that one step closer. We need, Achar needs, a King whose loyalties and resolve are uncompromised, who can lead us to victory against the Forbidden.”

  There was complete and utter silence in the room as Borneheld stared at Gilbert.

  At dawn Borneheld met with his senior commanders; Duke Roland of Aldeni, Earl Jorge of Avonsdale, and the savage Ho’Demi who, by virtue of commanding eleven thousand men, sat at Borneheld’s table with Gautier and Timozel.

  They reviewed the system of canals which the majority of Borneheld’s men were digging. Borneheld knew that a battle fought against the Skraelings on their terms was virtually unwinnable. Now he would fight the Skraelings on his terms.

  He and his commanders had planned a massive series of deep canals between the rivers Azle and Nordra that they would flood when finished. The Skraelings hated water and avoided it whenever possible. If they attacked in force Borneheld hoped they would be driven by the twisting system of canals into small pockets and envelopes where Borneheld’s men could pick them off relatively safely.

  It was a bold move, but one that all agreed might just work. Especially since the Skraelings had spread themselves so thinly over Ichtar that it would take Gorgrael months to build up a force strong enough to try to push further south. For ten weeks every soldier, plus thousands of ordinary Acharites who were within reasonable distance, had been out digging the canals. Each would be twenty paces wide and more than ten deep, and the entire system of canals would provide a watery barrier almost fifteen leagues wide.

  “It is looking good, gentlemen,” Borneheld said cheerfully. “Jorge, you have been in charge of the western series of canals. When will they be ready to flood?”


  “In two days, WarLord.”

  “Good!” Borneheld slapped Jorge on the back. “And Roland, your canals are already flooded?”

  Roland nodded. What could have happened to put Borneheld in such a good mood?

  “Ho’Demi.” Borneheld turned to the Ravensbundman. “What do your scouts report?”

  Ho’Demi shrugged a little and his hair gently chimed with the slight movement. “Very little activity within two leagues north of here, Lord Duke, though above that distance Skraelings scurry about in small bands. But they seem disorganised. I doubt they will have the strength to attack for some time yet.”

  “And they will certainly not attack through the warmer months,” Borneheld said. “In a week spring will be upon us. Gentlemen! I feel more positive than I have for months! I think we will not only be able to hold the Skraelings with this watery line of defences, but start our reconquest of Ichtar within only a few months.”

  He beamed at the surrounding men, ignoring the bemused expressions on Roland’s, Jorge’s and Ho’Demi’s faces.

  “So!” Borneheld rubbed his hands together. “This is the perfect time for me to make a quick journey down the Nordra to confer with Priam. Besides, Faraday seems…ill…not herself. Perhaps it would be best if she could see the physicians at the court of Carlon. We will be leaving this afternoon.”

  “Borneheld!” Roland said. “You can’t just leave Jervois Landing like this!”

  Jorge concurred. “You are needed more here than in Carlon, WarLord!”

  “My dear comrades,” Borneheld replied, “with such competent men already in Jervois Landing you can well afford to lose me for a few weeks. Timozel, you will travel with Faraday and myself. Pick a small contingent of men to travel with us and organise some river transport. I want to leave by dusk. Gautier, my good friend, I leave you in charge of Jervois Landing. Roland, Jorge and Ho’Demi will give you their full support as they would give it to me.”

  He looked carefully at the three men, each of whom fought to restrain their shock. Gautier?

  Finally all three inclined their heads. “As you wish, WarLord,” Jorge said quietly.

  “As I wish,” Borneheld said menacingly. “Always as I wish. I will not countenance treachery. Timozel? You have much work to do before we can leave this evening. Get to it.”

  Timozel’s face was pale, and uncharacteristically he stood his ground, ignoring Borneheld’s orders. “Great Lord,” he began. “Surely I would be better left to command the troops here in Jervois Landing?”

  “What?” Borneheld glared at him. “Do you think to contradict me, stripling?”

  Timozel swallowed, but his eyes were bright, fanatical. “Lord, you know what I have seen—”

  “I know what now I see!” Borneheld shouted. “I need you in Carlon, Timozel! Your place is at my side…and Faraday’s, of course,” he added, as an afterthought. His voice regained its strength. “And if you demonstrate that you are incapable of following orders then the only command you will receive is of a blanket in a cell. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Lord,” Timozel mumbled. When would Borneheld pass command over to him? He suppressed a niggling doubt. All would be well. It would.

  14

  THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN PASSES

  “It is a sadness to see your parents go their separate ways after so many years.” MorningStar sighed. “But historically it was entirely expected.”

  Axis looked at his grandmother, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “Axis. We SunSoars are a peculiar family. Our blood calls to each other so strongly that if we marry out of the family then we generally marry badly.”

  Axis frowned. Today he, Rivkah, Azhure, Raum and the two Sentinels were starting their trek down through the mountain passes to the Avar groves to celebrate Beltide. “You marry each other, MorningStar? How can that be?”

  MorningStar shrugged. “SunSoars are only happy when they marry each other, Axis. No, don’t look so horrified. None of us has gone mad yet. Well, not very many of us,” she muttered, half to herself. “Generally every second generation SunSoar cousins will marry each other. RushCloud, my husband, was also my first cousin. FreeFall and EvenSong, both first cousins, would have married. This pattern of marriages has kept our blood strong over the years.”

  “And the generation that marries outside the family—their marriages…?”

  “Are generally passable at best, but often miserably unhappy. RavenCrest is SunSoar, but BrightFeather is not. They respect each other, but they share no passion. While RushCloud and I,” MorningStar smiled slowly, “lived our lives among the stars. Like FreeFall and EvenSong, we became lovers at thirteen.”

  “Lovers at thirteen?” Axis was appalled. His sister? And FreeFall?

  MorningStar raised a well-groomed eyebrow. “Well, why not? Thirteen is not young. Whether Icarii, Avar or human, at thirteen one begins to put away childish things and consider more mature pastimes. At what age did you first take a woman to bed?”

  Axis reddened, and MorningStar laughed with delight before tipping her lovely silvery head on one side and regarding Axis thoughtfully. “We are both SunSoar and our blood sings strongly, Axis. Do not pretend you cannot hear it. Have you chosen your Beltide companion yet? Shall we let our blood sing together that night?”

  Axis took a defensive step backwards, shocked.

  “Ah,” she said seductively. “I am your grandmother, you say. Well, Axis, it has been done before, and I have no doubt it will be done again.” She smiled. “But not this Beltide, I think. Your Acharite reservation holds you back. A pity.”

  She sat on a stool behind her. “I started to tell you why StarDrifter and Rivkah’s marriage ended in unhappiness. She is not SunSoar. They had a passion and a love, but StarDrifter’s blood constantly sings, looking for another whose blood sings back to him with the same Song. But,” MorningStar sighed, “there are no other SunSoar women for either him or you to marry. No,” she said tartly, watching Axis’ face, “SunSoars never marry or couple with first blood. It is Unclean. EvenSong is out of bounds to her brother and her father. Father and daughter, mother and son, brother and sister—there we draw the line, but only there. All else is freedom.”

  “I will marry Faraday,” Axis said firmly, “when she is free.”

  “And is she SunSoar?” MorningStar inquired archly.

  “You know she is not.”

  “Then you will have an unhappy marriage. Your blood, like StarDrifter’s, like EvenSong’s, will constantly crave another SunSoar. Perhaps your children will marry EvenSong’s. I hope that will be the case. They, at least, will know happiness.”

  Angry, Axis turned away.

  The journey through the alps was exhilarating. Rivkah had only come down these mountain passes on her own previously, had never shared the grandeur of the Icescarp Alps with anyone else. Now that she had such good companionship, she found herself enjoying the journey as never before. Since the night of the Assembly Rivkah’s manner had become more and more light-hearted, and Axis supposed that being freed from the strain of her increasingly unhappy marriage had cast her into a happier frame of mind.

  The trails down the Icescarp Alps wound slowly through narrow ravines and valleys, past icefalls and, occasionally, behind them. Sometimes the gradient was steep, sometimes mild, but the view was always breathtaking. On either side of the trails great cliff faces of glassy black rock plunged into fern-bracketed glacier-fed rivers thousands of paces below them. In the afternoons, as the light began to fail and the mists thicken, Rivkah would lead them to small caves she’d discovered in her years of travelling up and down these trails. Here they would slip their cumbersome backpacks from their shoulders, laughing and complaining in the same breath, and set up camp for the night.

  Before, Rivkah had always had to carry enough fuel, food, and blankets to keep her alive over the week or more it took her to traverse the trails. There was no vegetation this high in the alps to provide firewood, and no game to trap or
kill.

  Then the journey had been risky, but she had never travelled the mountain passes with an Enchanter before—and such an Enchanter! Axis’ powers kept the paths dry where before Rivkah had slipped and skidded dangerously, swept the shifting winds to one side where before they had often threatened to blow Rivkah from the narrow paths, and kept the cold at bay, surrounding the small party with balmy air. In the evenings he conjured up fires of green and red and purple, and provided them all with feather-soft mattresses of warm air.

  Apart from the considerable difference Axis’ powers made, Rivkah enjoyed having her son virtually to herself. Previously StarDrifter had commanded so much of his attention Rivkah had found little time to talk with Axis. Now they chatted about his likes and dislikes, his life with the Seneschal, his life as BattleAxe, the good times and the bad times, as they walked side by side.

  The evenings, when Rivkah shared Axis with their companions, were just as wonderful.

  After they’d chosen a cave for the night, eased packs from aching shoulders and cleared the cave floor of debris, Axis would provide a roaring fire that warmed the entire party. Then he would sing to the cave walls, caressing them with his hands, and, as fast-gathering gloom descended outside, the rock gave off a gentle glow that intensified with the night.

  Even their food was magical, but Axis had nothing to do with that. As he conjured fire and light each evening, Ogden and Veremund would slip off the light packs they carried, open the top flaps, rustle around mumbling and complaining for a few moments, and then draw out parcel after parcel of beautifully wrapped and packaged food. Honeyed hams, crisp-roasted poultry, peppered joints of beef and sundry other marinated delicacies ready to be warmed at the fire, fresh and dried fruits, a variety of breads and pastries, platters of vegetables, exotic cheeses, bowls of almonds and raisins and gourds of spiced wines—every evening the Sentinels unpacked a veritable feast.

  “Ogden always sees to the packing,” Veremund said the first evening. “I have no idea how he does it.”