Sobered, Axis studied his ring. In only a few minutes he had learned more from the Ferryman than he had learned in months from StarDrifter.
Orr stared at the water, a strange urge building in him. He had been waiting a very long time for this. So this was the man? He trailed his fingers in the violet water, then abruptly snatched something from beneath the water’s surface.
Axis jumped. “What?” he began, then the Ferryman held his dripping hand palm up for Axis’ inspection.
Lying in the very centre of Orr’s palm was the most exquisite ring Axis had ever seen. It was an Enchanter’s ring, he could see that at once, but unlike his or any other. The entire ring appeared to be crafted from sapphire, although the deep blue was far more translucent than any sapphire Axis had ever seen. On Axis’ ring, as on the others he had seen, the stars were represented by tiny diamond chips embedded into the ring’s surface. But, as he picked this ring up, Axis saw that golden stars actually danced and weaved from within this ring. It was a tiny ring, obviously crafted for a woman’s finger.
“It is very beautiful,” he whispered.
“Yes,” Orr replied. “It is. Axis, this is the original ring from which all other Enchanter rings were copied. It first appeared in the custody of the original Enchantress, the common ancestor and mother of both the Icarii and Charonite races who first discovered how to use the power of the Stars. She lived some fifteen thousand years ago. A very long time.” He paused. “I do not know how she came by it.”
“She did not make it herself ?” Axis asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the beauty of the ring.
“No. She was merely its custodian. The ring seeks its true owner. It will come home, but only when the Circle is complete.”
Axis glanced up. “The Circle?”
The Ferryman’s face closed over, and Axis understood that this was one mystery he was not yet prepared to divulge.
“And you have kept it since she died?” tried Axis.
“No. When the Enchantress died, she passed custody of the ring to the Icarii. They kept it and revered it for many thousands of years. It was their most precious relic.”
“Then how did you come to get it?”
“It was brought to us by one of the Enchanter-Talons, some four thousand years ago, just before he died. His name was WolfStar SunSoar.”
WolfStar’s name again. “Why did he give it to you?”
“He said that patterns were altering. WolfStar was powerful, and promised far more great power. He died an untimely death—which in itself was not too unfortunate. I believe that he would have led the Icarii to disaster with his strange ideas and experiments. But that is neither here nor there. WolfStar handed it to me for safekeeping. He told me that I would know to whom to pass it. I feel that person is you.”
“What am I supposed to do with it? Can I use it?”
“No. You cannot. The Enchantress’ ring does not work in the same manner as the ring you now wear—not even the Enchantress understood its full mysteries. All WolfStar told me was that I would know who to give it to, and that when I handed it over, I was to tell that person the same thing.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“That you, in time, will also know who to hand the ring to. Believe me in this, Axis. The feeling will be overwhelming. You will know when and to whom the Enchantress’ ring must be handed. Until then you must keep the ring safe. Do not show it to anyone. Understand?”
“Yes. I understand. I will keep it safe,” Axis reluctantly slid the ring into a small pocket, “and I will show it to no-one.”
Who would the Enchantress’ Ring pick? Who would complete this mysterious circle?
24
THE PATROL
“Your squads do well, Azhure,” Belial remarked, standing at the window of the map-room and watching the bands of mounted archers at practice. “You have done remarkable work with them.”
Azhure accepted the compliment. Belial had given her a further two squads to train four weeks previously and Azhure had turned her three squads of mounted archers into a mobile and deadly force that would complement any army. Although none of the archers came close to demonstrating Azhure’s level of ability, they had all increased their skill two-fold. There was not an archer in Achar who could better them now, Belial mused, as he watched them practise hitting moving targets while at the gallop.
His eyes met Azhure’s and they moved back to where Magariz and Arne sat at the table in the centre of the room. In the five weeks since Azhure had told Belial of her pregnancy they had overcome their initial awkwardness and established an easy, friendly relationship of mutual respect. Belial buried his feelings for Azhure as deep as he could.
All four in the room were garbed similarly in simple grey tunics over white breeches, each with the blazing blood-red sun on their left breasts. Azhure had argued persistently that the force in Sigholt would have to wear a common uniform, emblemised so that all would know for whom they fought.
“We are ready to fight, Belial,” Azhure said as they sat down. “I am ready to fight. Do not think that I’m going to stay at home and knit. Use me, use my command.”
Belial caught Magariz’s eye. Azhure had a familiar determined tone in her voice, but neither man felt comfortable using a woman in battle. Arne studied the flecks on the ceiling of the chamber. If the woman could fight, then he saw no reason why she shouldn’t be allowed to do so.
“When the Icarii Strike Force arrives,” Azhure pointed out, “you will see that they allow their women to fight. Axis has no qualms about using me.”
“That was before you, ah, um…” Belial’s voice drifted into an awkward silence.
Azhure laughed. All in the room knew she was pregnant and that Axis was the father. “Before I fell pregnant? Well, maybe so. But my pregnancy has not stopped me thus far, has it? My sickness has gone now and I feel fitter, stronger than I ever have before. And see,” she pressed her hands against her belly. “Still flat. Rivkah says that Icarii babes are small, that I won’t grow too large. So, the fact is, I refuse to stay home. Until I grow too cumbersome to ride, I will be there, leading my command. Why give me three squads of archers? Do you want me to command them from my couch?”
Belial laughed and raised his hands in surrender. “All right, Azhure, if there is action and I think your command would be useful then it—and you—will be used. But,” his tone and eyes became serious, “I will not allow you to ride if I think you will prove a risk to yourself, to your baby, or to your command. Do I make myself clear?”
Azhure wiped the smile from her face. “Perfectly, Commander.”
“Well then,” Belial said briskly. “Shall we get down to business? Magariz. What news of the Skraelings?”
“Not enough to ease my mind, Belial.” Magariz looked tired and drawn, and the scar on his cheek was even more prominent than usual. “We know the Skraelings run through most of Ichtar and that they are slowly moving south—our patrols are now encountering small numbers of them in the hills below Sigholt. But how many all told? And where do they gather? I don’t know. All I do know is that we’re only weeks away from autumn and Gorgrael has had months in which to build his forces. He must surely be massing for an attack…somewhere.”
Belial studied the map before him. “Their most direct route into Achar is past Jervois Landing.”
“What about the WildDog Plains?” Arne queried. “That route would give them a straight run through to Skarabost.”
Belial leaned back and looked at Arne. “We’ll have to plan for that eventuality, but I don’t think Gorgrael will send his main force that way. The River Nordra is a natural barrier between the WildDog Plains and Skarabost. Remember how the River Andakilsa funnelled them through the Gorken Pass.”
“Is there any chance they can isolate us from our supply routes, Belial?” Azhure largely had responsibility for the garrison’s stores.
Belial started to say “No”, then looked at the map again. “If they do push down the Wild
Dog Plains they could cut off HoldHard Pass.”
“If, if, if.” Magariz’s voice was tight with strain. “Always if. Must we sit here and wait for their first move?”
“There isn’t much else we can do, Magariz,” Belial replied shortly. “Our force is currently too small to scout any further than the southern and eastern Urqhart Hills. And Axis…”
There was silence. When would Axis get back? Azhure briefly laid a hand on her belly.
“We need Axis,” Belial finished. “And we need the Strike Force’s scouting abilities. Magariz, is there no more news regarding the Strike Force?”
“No, Belial. The last intelligence we had from their farflight scouts was that they’d arrive in three weeks’ time.”
Belial sighed. “Well, whatever our problems, Borneheld undoubtedly faces far worse. Last night I received word from the scouts I’d sent into Jervois Landing. The news is good and bad, my friends. Borneheld has ordered a series of canals be constructed between the Nordra and Azle rivers to create a barrier of running water. Borneheld has enough men that, with the aid of the canals, he may have a chance of holding Gorgrael’s Skraelings to Ichtar this winter.”
“And the bad news,” Arne put in, “must be that if Borneheld manages to blunt the Skraeling danger he’ll have a battle-hardened army to throw at us. Borneheld will indulge his hatred of Axis with everything he’s got.”
“Well, we must have roughly the same number of forces,” said Magariz carefully, watching Belial. “And as good.”
Belial was silent.
“How many forces does Borneheld command at Jervois Landing, Belial?” Azhure asked finally.
Belial took a deep breath. “At best estimate, almost twenty thousand.”
All three started forward, and Arne swore viciously.
“Twenty thousand?” Magariz repeated. “But where could he have got so many? At the most we had fourteen thousand at Gorkenfort—and Borneheld had almost stripped Achar bare to get those. We lost some six thousand in the fighting, three thousand left with us to follow Axis…why, Borneheld would have left Gorkenfort with only some five thousand men. Belial, your information must be wrong!”
Belial shook his head. “I wish it were, my friend, I wish it were. No, Borneheld has at least twenty thousand in Jervois Landing. My spies tell me that the Ravensbund chief, one Ho’Demi, brought at least eleven thousand men to Borneheld’s cause. And Borneheld also has the use of all the refugees who fled Ichtar before the Skraelings, plus the soldiers who fled Sigholt itself. At the least twenty thousand. Probably more.”
There was silence. With the Icarii they would number at best five thousand. It would be a fierce and bloody fight for control of Achar.
Azhure tapped the table, thinking aloud. “But Borneheld will have to fight on two fronts. He will always have to keep an army at Jervois Landing to keep the Skraelings back, and once Axis takes command here he will undoubtedly move down through Skarabost before he swings west towards Carlon. Borneheld will have to split his force.”
Belial studied her. “You’re right, Azhure. But Axis will have to do the same thing. If he moves down into Achar with his main force, then he will still have to leave a good force here in Sigholt to guard the WildDog Plains. The last thing Axis will want is to have Gorgrael attack him from his rear while he’s trying to defeat Borneheld.”
“Well, don’t forget you also have my pack of fifteen Alaunt.” Azhure grinned. “They might well tip the balance in our favour.”
The men stared at her for a moment, then they guffawed with laughter.
“Enough of Borneheld and the Skraelings,” Belial said, grateful to Azhure for breaking the tension. “At the moment the influx of refugees into Sigholt is almost as worrying.”
When Belial had first occupied Sigholt he had sent small bands of men down into Skarabost to scout out possible supply routes and spread word of the Prophecy. The organisation of supply routes was going well, but news of the Prophecy was now attracting so many people to Sigholt that it was rapidly representing a major new problem. Small groups—sometimes only four or five, sometimes twenty or thirty—had started to arrive some four weeks ago and the numbers had grown steadily ever since.
“Belial, I am sure there is no need to look so worried,” Azhure said. “You should be pleased that so many see fit to flock to Axis’ cause.”
“Don’t lecture me!” Belial snapped, “just tell me what you’ve done with them.” As well as training her three squads of mounted archers, Azhure had also assumed responsibility for feeding, accommodating and generally organising the new arrivals.
“I’ve managed to accommodate them in tents on the northeastern shores of the Lake. We have enough food for the moment, and many of them have brought their own. And soon we’ll have additional food to supplement what we get via our supply routes.”
“Really? How so?” asked Magariz.
Azhure glanced out the window. “Since the Lake has sprung to life, so have the Urqhart Hills. I set the larger number of refugees to clearing and digging vegetable gardens. They were planted some two weeks ago, and the first vegetables are nearing maturity now. It is the waters, apparently, that encourage new life.”
“Good.” Belial nodded, then looked to Arne. “Any fighters among them?”
Arne shrugged. “Most are peasants, driven to hunger by the extremity of the previous winter, and clinging to any story or rumour that promises them a better life. But many of the younger men are strong, many are eager. They can wield a stave with the best of them.”
“Do they want to fight for Axis,” Belial asked, “or are they just streaming into Sigholt because it promises some refuge from Gorgrael’s icy winds?”
“A bit of both, I think,” Magariz answered. “Many Acharites have been scared by the news of the fall of Gorkenfort and the loss of Ichtar. They wonder if the StarMan the Prophecy speaks of might be the one to save them, rather than Borneheld. And you know the reputation Axis enjoyed as BattleAxe. Still, from what I can gather, it is only a tiny fraction of the population of Skarabost that seeks to wend its way north. Most either prefer to stay with their homes, with what they know, or are scared by the idea that the Prophecy speaks of an alliance with the Forbidden.”
Belial sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Well, I hope they won’t jump too much when the Strike Force drops out of the sky.”
Magariz reined in his horse, waving at the patrol behind him to stay out of sight. He turned in the saddle and looked for Azhure. They were on an extended patrol in the southern Urqhart Hills, the River Nordra only half a league away to the south. This was dangerous territory. Not only were there Skraelings about, but Borneheld’s forces had been increasing their patrols here as well. The last patrol Belial sent into this area had encountered a well-armed band of twenty men from Jervois Landing. In the skirmish that followed both sides lost almost half their men. Thus the presence of Azhure and two squads of her archers on this patrol—they had already proved their worth.
Magariz motioned Azhure forward. They had been out some eight days, scouting the southern hills to test the strength of both Skraelings and Borneheld’s forces. Already they’d encountered small bands of Skraelings, and Azhure had proved as calm and reliable in battle as she was around the conference table. Her archers had conducted themselves as well as their leader, and when they returned Magariz would recommend to Belial that Azhure be given several more squads. The Alaunt were also showing themselves to be useful in battle. The day before yesterday they had encountered a band of about two hundred Skraelings, braver and better organised than most. Azhure had directed her archers, then motioned to the hounds, sending them in among the Skraelings. Magariz had been horrified, thinking that if the Alaunt survived the Skraelings then they’d be murdered by the arrows raining down among them. But the Alaunt weaved and ducked, knowing instinctively when an arrow sped their way, and they pulled down as many Skraelings as Azhure’s archers. Both archers and hounds had kept the patrol’s injuries minimal.
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br /> “What do you think of the valley ahead?” he asked as Azhure reined in Belaguez by his side.
“There’s a camp site about a third of the way down the valley,” she said. “Perhaps some fifteen men and their horses. They have a camp fire, but they use long-dead wood so that it burns bright with no smoke.”
Magariz nodded. “Good. If you were their commander, would you allow all your men to sit about the fire and sing cheerful songs in territory that is distinctly unfriendly?”
“No. No. There are, ah,” Azhure strained her eyes, “about fifteen men around the fire, but considerably more horses. He has sentries posted. Perhaps six or seven.”
“Very well, what do you suggest?”
She turned to look at him. His face was dark and inscrutable beneath the hood of his black cloak. “Attack?”
Magariz considered. “Perhaps. Twenty or so less men for Borneheld would help us, but I do not know where the patrol commander has his sentries, and I hardly think it worthwhile to risk an attack for just twenty or so men.”
“And if we could dispose of the sentries—could we capture those about the fire? Wring what information we could from them before we kill them?”
“Ideally. But how do we dispose of unseen sentries?”
Azhure’s eyes were cold. “I send in the Alaunt. They can track them. Kill them in silence. They will be dead in half an hour at the most. The main group about the fire will never know we are there until we have them surrounded.”
“Then send in the hounds, Azhure, and we will see how silently they can track and kill.”
They killed both silently and well, and were back at Azhure’s side in less than twenty minutes, their muzzles flecked with red. “Well?” she asked Magariz.
“We go in on foot for added silence. The band about the fire will suspect nothing. Come, bring your archers.”
Enchanter Page 23
