Azhure swung her leg over the donkey’s wither and slid to the ground. “What are Alaunt hounds?”
It was Rivkah who answered, her eyes wide with fear. “I heard tales of them when I was small. My nurse said the Alaunt were a pack of enchanted hounds who hunted down humans. She said they neither breathed nor ate, but could run for weeks only on the scent of blood. She said,” Rivkah’s voice quavered, “that once they caught the scent of their prey they would never let go.”
“The Alaunt have not run for many thousands of years, not since WolfStar died,” Ogden said tightly, hurrying the group along, “and I do not know why they run now.”
“Can they die, Veremund? Can they be killed?” Azhure asked.
Veremund shrugged. “Who knows?”
“Well,” Azhure said, “either they will die or we will. Ogden, is that a stand of rocks ahead?”
By the time they reached the pitifully inadequate tumble of boulders near the foot of a sheer cliff face they could all hear the low, clear cries of the hounds. As the others scrambled for shelter, Azhure slapped the donkeys’ rumps, hoping that they would gallop off and perhaps draw the Alaunt away.
Suddenly the cries of the hounds changed, doubling their efforts so that their howls filled the night.
“We are lost!” Veremund cried. “Hear, they clamour!”
Azhure, an arrow already notched in the Wolven, turned and slapped the Sentinel across the face. “Be quiet, Veremund,” she hissed, her eyes hard and angry. “Get as far behind the rocks as you can.”
Rivkah huddled with the two Sentinels behind the rocks. She desperately wished that she had not left StarDrifter, that she was huddled in his arms rather than cold and terrified behind these rocks where she would surely die. StarDrifter’s casual infidelities seemed laughably inconsequential in the face of imminent death. How would it feel to die with your throat hanging open?
Azhure knelt against the rocks, the Wolven drawn and ready to cast the first arrow. She peered as closely as she could into the thickening dusk; was that movement ahead of her? To her left? Her right?
“Curses!” she breathed as pale shapes flickered at the edge of her vision. “They have surrounded us!”
Suddenly one of the shapes ceased its circling and paced stiff-legged towards the rocks. It was the largest dog Azhure had ever seen, almost as big as one of Ogden and Veremund’s donkeys. Its lips were drawn back into a snarl, great growls rumbling from its throat. As Azhure’s fingers tightened about the Wolven, the hound’s eyes, dark gold flecked with silver, fixed into hers, almost daring her to shoot.
Azhure took a deep breath, held it for a heartbeat, then loosed the arrow, notching another one almost as soon as the first had left the bow.
In the instant before the arrow struck, the Alaunt twisted and leaped, snatching the arrow out of the air in his teeth. Instantly the clamour of the other hounds stopped.
Azhure’s hands suddenly slicked with sweat and the Wolven slipped fractionally in her grasp.
The Alaunt stalked closer, the arrow held between its jaws. Its eyes were still fixed on Azhure, and it growled threateningly.
Azhure’s heart thudded painfully in her chest as the Alaunt suddenly reared its forepaws on the rock and stood for a moment. Then, amazingly, it dropped the arrow at Azhure’s feet and began to grin happily.
“By the Stars,” Rivkah croaked, “it’s returning your arrow.”
The hound gave a small yip of greeting, then heaved itself entirely over the rock and into the small space occupied by the two women and the Sentinels. It sank down on its stomach in the dirt, its head on its forepaws, its eyes fixed on Azhure.
Ogden and Veremund stared at the hound, stared at Azhure, then turned to stare at each other.
Azhure warily reached out a hand and touched the Alaunt on its massive forehead. It quivered and closed its eyes. She pulled her hand back, clenching her fingers to stop their sudden trembling.
“Arise,” she said very quietly.
The hound rose to his feet, towering over Azhure as she squatted on the ground. She reached out again and rubbed her hand along the hound’s shoulder. “Good dog,” she said.
Later they all sat, quiet and introspective, about a fire. Azhure, Rivkah, Ogden, Veremund and three of the fifteen Alaunt crowded into the space between the rocks. The rest of the hounds lay curled into tight wedges in a pack outside the rocks. The two donkeys had wandered back to the rocks an hour or so previously, their eyes wide and uncertain, but the hounds had taken no notice of them, and finally the donkeys had let Ogden and Veremund soothe them and divest them of their packs.
Azhure studied the three Alaunt close by her. Their bodies were heavy but sleek and shaped for both speed and endurance. Their heads were square, massive, but finely shaped, their muzzles long and strong. Their coats were short and a uniform pale cream, darkening to gold about their paws and muzzles. The lead hound lay with his head in Azhure’s lap.
Azhure raised her eyes to the two Sentinels. “These are WolfStar’s hounds?” she asked.
Ogden paused, then he nodded briefly. “Yes. He bred them for their intelligence as well as their speed and strength, for their loyalty as for their reckless savagery. Their leader’s name is Sicarius—the cunning assassin.” He paused. “The two were parted only by death.”
“WolfStar,” Azhure said. “Why does his name keep returning to haunt me? First his bow, and now his hounds. What else of his will find its way into my possession?”
Ogden and Veremund watched her, wondering exactly the same thing. The bow might have been coincidence, but the hounds as well? No. That was design and plan, not anonymous chance.
“Who was WolfStar?” Azhure finally asked.
Veremund hesitated, then decided the bare facts would not hurt. “WolfStar SunSoar was the most powerful Enchanter the Icarii have ever known. Perhaps potentially far more powerful than Axis.”
“The Icarii do not like to speak of him,” Rivkah said from one side. She knew WolfStar’s story, but to speak of WolfStar’s misdeeds would need the permission of the Icarii.
“I will say only that WolfStar died young,” Ogden said. “He was not yet one hundred.”
“How?” Azhure asked, noting Ogden’s hesitation over the word “died”. “Why did he die so young?”
“He was assassinated, Azhure. By another member of the SunSoar family.”
“Assassinated?” It was, Azhure thought, a delicate word for what must have been a foul deed.
“He was murdered by his brother,” Veremund said bluntly, and the three Alaunt about the fire stirred uncomfortably, their dreams disturbed with dark memories. “Murdered in Assembly, before all the Icarii, a knife plunged into his heart and none, none, none of the Icarii moving to assist him. He died, alone and unloved, in a pool of blood in the centre of the speaker’s circle of the ancient Assembly Chamber on the Island of Mist and Memory—with the entire Icarii nation looking on impassively.”
Azhure’s eyes filled with tears. WolfStar had been alone and unloved? She knew how that felt.
20
ARRIVAL AT SIGHOLT
The next morning the Alaunt were still there, Sicarius sleeping curled against Azhure’s back. The other fourteen hounds sat in a precise circle about the rocks, facing outwards, their eyes staring into the distance.
“They are keeping guard,” Veremund said as Azhure rose and saw them. “Even the Skraelings would keep away from such as these. You have won yourself some powerful and loyal companions, Azhure.”
Azhure patted Sicarius on the head and fingered the Wolven. “Could they have simply come to the bow, Veremund? If the bow once belonged to WolfStar, was made by him, then perhaps they simply come to the person who carries the bow?”
Veremund raised his eyebrows at Ogden. The woman had a point. After all, the Alaunt were hunting hounds and their master had wielded the Wolven. And who knew what magic the bow itself contained?
“We will easily find out, Azhure,” said Ogden. “
Give the bow to Rivkah—but make sure Sicarius knows you hand it over willingly!”
“Rivkah, will you mind the Wolven for me?” Azhure asked formally, and handed Rivkah the bow.
Sicarius shifted his hindquarters on the ground a little, bored.
“Now, Azhure,” Ogden said, “walk beyond the boulders, as if you are leaving us.”
Azhure walked briskly away from the rocks. As one, the Alaunt rose from their positions and padded silently after her.
Ogden and Veremund looked at each other. No doubt. They had come to Azhure, not the Wolven.
They travelled south for a further week, then turned south-west, looking for the HoldHard Pass. The Urqhart Hills were still a purple smudge on the western horizon.
The travelling was relatively easy, although it remained bitterly cold and all four shivered within their thick cloaks. The women continued to ride the donkeys, which remained placidly uncomplaining about the extra weight. Neither woman had sturdy enough boots to cope with the rough pebbly surface of the WildDog Plains.
Ogden and Veremund’s magical hampers continued to provide food. Each evening as they made camp, the hounds waited patiently in line until Ogden found time to riffle through his packs and toss them joints of meat. But such tame food bored the Alaunt. Sometimes during the day, and often at night, groups of three or four of them would lope off into the distance, returning later with bloodstained muzzles.
In return for the food and the company, the hounds lent their warmth to the group, and the women and Sentinels became used to curling up for the night with a hound at their back. One morning Azhure awakened early enough to see that a group of five or six had even curled around the donkeys. The nights were frosty on the exposed plain.
Two days after they had turned south-west across the WildDog Plains the small group saw a band of horsemen approaching. There were perhaps ten or twelve of them, and they approached cautiously, obviously wary of the Alaunt.
Azhure reached for the Wolven as soon as she saw the horsemen in the distance, and notched an arrow.
“Can you see who they are?” she asked the Sentinels. “Are they Belial’s men, or Borneheld’s?”
Ogden and Veremund peered towards the horsemen, who had now spaced themselves out into a wide line, directly in front of the setting sun. The Alaunt whined, tensing, ready for a fight.
But as the men rode closer, the group of hounds suddenly relaxed and Sicarius gave a short, gruff bark of greeting. He knew these men.
The horsemen were much closer now, perhaps no more than fifty paces away, but their forms and faces were still in shadow.
“Well, the Alaunt like them,” Veremund observed, his hand to his eyes, trying to shade them from the light. “But I’m still not sure that—”
He was cut off by a shout from the leading horseman who had kicked his rangy roan into a canter. “Ogden, Veremund? Old men? Is that you?”
“Why,” Ogden beamed happily, “it’s Arne!”
A knot of nervousness formed in Azhure’s belly. Arne was one of the senior commanders from Axis’ Axe-Wielders—a man who had been in Smyrton when she cracked Belial over the head in order to help Raum and Shra escape. Would he remember her? And, if so, what would he think? Hurriedly she unnotched the arrow, sliding it into her quiver and slinging the Wolven over her shoulder.
Arne pulled his gelding to a halt beside Veremund and slid down from the saddle, glancing apprehensively towards the hounds. “Ogden, Veremund, it is good to see you again.” He shook their hands. “Icarii farflight scouts sent word that you would be travelling across the WildDog Plains.” He looked back at the hounds. “Where did you find these hounds, Ogden?”
“Ah, well,” Ogden began, “they found us, really, but that is a long story. Um, Arne, you might not remember Azhure. She comes from—”
“I remember Azhure well enough,” Arne broke in, his face hardening. “I also remember how many weeks it took before Belial’s headaches faded.”
Azhure’s face flamed and the thought that she still had to confront Belial only made her feel worse. What had she been thinking of to club him so badly?
Arne stared at her, then turned to the other woman.
“The Princess Rivkah,” Veremund mumbled at his side.
Arne’s demeanour changed instantly. His face became respectful, and he bowed deeply, a gesture courtly even in this incongruous setting. “Princess, I am your servant to order as you will.”
Rivkah smiled and held out her hand. Arne took it and pressed his lips briefly to its back. Ogden and Veremund stared at the man. The dour and uncommunicative Arne was showing a side they had not suspected previously.
“And my Lord Axis?” Arne asked, only reluctantly relinquishing Rivkah’s hand. “He is well?”
Rivkah nodded. She liked this man. He had a good heart and honest intentions. “He is well, Arne, and has embraced his heritage.”
Relief crossed Arne’s face. “The farflight scouts had told us so, but to hear it from the woman who gave him birth is more than I had hoped for.”
He gave Azhure one more hard stare, noting the handsome bow across her back, then whistled his men closer.
“Our camp is nearby,” he said. “And we have spare horses there. Tomorrow morning we will ride for Sigholt.”
As they turned the last bend in the HoldHard Pass and Sigholt came into view, Ogden and Veremund reined in their donkeys, astonished.
“Changed, hasn’t it?” Arne remarked.
Rivkah kneed her horse beside the Sentinels’ donkeys. Once she had hated Sigholt as the symbol of her loathed marriage to Searlas, Duke of Ichtar and father of her eldest son, Borneheld. Even though StarDrifter had come to her there, even though Axis had been conceived on its roof, Rivkah had never wanted to come back.
But the Sigholt that stood less than half a league down the pass was a very different Sigholt to the one she had known.
“The farflight scouts said that Sigholt had come alive,” Veremund said, his voice full of awe, “but I had not realised how much the Keep had regained its vigour.”
Ogden sat silently, tears of joy streaming down his face.
The most obvious difference was the Lake. It stretched away into the distance, ruby tints reflecting in the occasional shaft of sunlight that broke through the clouds. Steam gently rose from its surface, wafting towards them as it was caught by the northerly wind. In the month or more since the spring had been unblocked, the Urqhart Hills immediately surrounding the Lake had come alive. Red and purple gorse flowered across the mid- to high slopes, while in the lower slopes close to the heat and life of the water, ferns and rock-flowers were starting to spread. The stone Keep itself, once a uniform and depressing leaden hue, had lightened so that it was now a pale silvery and welcoming grey. Colourful pennants fluttered from its parapets. In the following months, as the greenery and the flowers spread across the nearby hills, Sigholt would become a paradise. Even now it was close to being the most beautiful place Rivkah had ever seen.
“The air is warm,” Azhure remarked. Ever since Arne had found them Azhure had been uncharacteristically quiet. Rivkah smiled reassuringly at her, knowing she was nervous about meeting Belial again.
Arne glanced at Azhure. Two days ago he had challenged her to demonstrate her skill with the bow she carried—Arne had thought that perhaps it was simply a gaudy toy. But she had won his grudging respect with her skill. Even Belial, one of the best archers Arne had ever known, would find it hard to match her. Then, of course, there were the hounds. The Alaunt were a well-trained, well-disciplined pack, and answered instantly whenever Azhure spoke to them. Arne had worked with hunting dogs before, but he had never seen such as these. They followed close behind Azhure day after day, the leading dog, Sicarius, loping by her side.
“The water is hot,” Arne finally said, turning to face Azhure, “and it warms the air. Gorgrael cannot touch us here with his icemen. Sigholt is a haven.”
As they rode closer, the sparkling moat surrounding Si
gholt became obvious.
“It looks so different,” Rivkah said to Azhure as they rode up to the bridge. “This Sigholt lives and laughs.”
“Stop,” Arne ordered as they neared the bridge. “Ogden, Veremund, you go across first, then Princess Rivkah and Azhure.”
Ogden and Veremund, smiling broadly, dismounted from their donkeys so they could step across the bridge personally.
“Welcome, Ogden. Welcome, Veremund,” the bridge said, joy obvious in her melodious voice. “It is long since I felt your steps across my back.”
Rivkah’s and Azhure’s eyes opened wide in surprise.
“The bridge lives, Princess,” said Arne, “and she guards against all who are not true.”
Ogden and Veremund prattled happily to the bridge as they crossed, then embraced Jack who waited in Sigholt’s open gate for them. They greeted him cheerfully, but their faces fell as they heard Zeherah had not been refound.
“Princess.” Arne motioned with his head towards the bridge. “You next.”
Rivkah heeled her horse’s flanks. Just before the horse stepped onto the bridge, the bridge spoke. “Are you true?”
“Yes, I am true,” Rivkah said in a clear voice.
“Then cross, Princess Rivkah, and I will see if you speak the truth.”
Rivkah urged her horse forward. What did the bridge mean?
When she was halfway across the bridge spoke again. “You were once Duchess of Ichtar, Princess Rivkah.” The beautiful voice was now toneless.
Rivkah was suddenly all too aware of the waters rushing underneath the bridge. Huddled in the shadows of the gate of Sigholt she could see a group of men waiting for her. Ogden and Veremund, as the man beside them, had fearful expressions on their faces. “Yes,” she whispered. “I was.”
Her horse abruptly stopped and Rivkah could not make it move forward. Perspiration began to bead her forehead.
“You were not true to your husband, Rivkah. You were not true to the Duke of Ichtar, Searlas. You betrayed him with another.”
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