Enchanter

by Sara Douglass

  It was dusk by the time they surrounded the fifteen men relaxing about the fire. Azhure had kept the Alaunt close by her side and had approached downwind in order not to frighten the men’s horses, hobbled some distance away down the stream. Five men flanked the patrol about the camp fire and moved to cut the horses free. Magariz moved the rest, both archers and ordinary soldiers, into position with hand signals, then indicated that Azhure should stay close to him. Azhure notched an arrow into the Wolven.

  They crouched in the tree line just outside the range of the firelight, listening to the men talk. They were from Jervois Landing, and, like Magariz’s patrol, almost at the end of their duty and relieved they had avoided the desperate armed bandits they’d heard were in these hills.

  Azhure felt Magariz tense and glanced at him. He pointed to a soldier relaxing against a rock and whispered, “Nevelon. Lieutenant to Duke Roland. A good man.”

  Azhure looked at the man. He was young and fit, with thick brown hair and a short-cropped beard. Not good enough, she thought, if he still owed his loyalty to Borneheld rather than Axis.

  Magariz placed a hand on Azhure’s shoulder and whispered into her ear. “Back me up on this, Azhure. I want to speak to them. Nevelon is a sensible man. If he knows his command is surrounded by archers he will not try to fight his way free. Can your archers put a ring of arrows about them?”

  Azhure nodded, signalled to her men, then raised her eyebrows at Magariz. She had the Wolven ready to fire. “Now?”

  “Now,” he nodded.

  At Azhure’s signal a vicious rustle of arrows filled the air, and an instant later the men about the camp fire leapt to their feet and gazed horrified, at the arrows ringing them in a perfect circle.

  “Nevelon.” Magariz stepped into the firelight. “Do not consider your weapons. At my signal, or at the first handspan of steel that you or any one of your men draw, you are dead.”

  Nevelon nodded curtly and motioned to his men to drop their hands from their sword hilts.

  “Magariz,” he said. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Alas, no.” Magariz’s entire posture was relaxed and confident. In the firelight his scarred face looked demonic. “It seems we both escaped Gorkenfort safely. Tell me, how is your Duke, Roland?”

  A muscle in Nevelon’s cheek twitched. By Artor, the man was as cool as if he trod the court in Carlon. Did he intend to kill them? “Roland still lives—although these last months have seen him lose considerable weight.”

  “And Borneheld. Fit and well? I would hate to hear he had succumbed to a cold on the flight from Gorkenfort.”

  “The King is well,” Nevelon said carefully.

  Magariz rocked in surprise. Borneheld was King? He almost tripped as his wounded leg slipped on a loose rock underfoot.

  Nevelon grinned, and reached for the dagger in his belt. He was widely renowned for his skill at throwing the blade, and he could easily kill Magariz before the man had time to signal to his archers. If they all died in a hail of arrows after that—well, Magariz surely intended to kill them anyway. His hand whipped the knife out of his belt, but before he let it fly Nevelon gave a cry of pain and dropped the knife. Bristling from the back of his hand was an arrow fletched with beautiful blue feathers.

  “The next one goes in your left eye, Nevelon,” a woman’s voice said, “and I will personally be the one to twist it all the way through to your brain. Do you understand me?”

  Nevelon nodded, clutching his hand to his chest.

  “Then I would appreciate my arrow back, Lieutenant,” the voice continued. “Would you mind twisting it out and throwing it behind Magariz?”

  Nevelon couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Twist it out? The arrowhead had penetrated so deeply it was halfway through the palm of his hand.

  “Now!” the voice demanded.

  Magariz laughed sardonically. “Nevelon, hear her. She has a special attachment to those arrows, and will not mind killing you with another to get the first back.”

  Nevelon abruptly took hold of the shaft of the arrow and twisted it free. He gave a harsh grunt of pain, then, ashen-faced, tossed the arrow behind Magariz.

  “Thank you,” the voice said, and from the darkness emerged the largest hound Nevelon had ever seen, pale cream and gold. It paced carefully to the arrow, its eyes on Nevelon’s throat, then picked it up and disappeared back into the night.

  “Thank you, Azhure,” Magariz called softly. “I think you saved my life.”

  Nevelon heard the name. Azhure?

  Magariz shifted his black eyes back to Nevelon. “Borneheld is King? Priam is dead?”

  Nevelon nodded warily. He could just make out the woman now. Raven-haired, she had a magnificent bow drawn tight in her hands. He noticed that two of his men, Ravensbundmen, were staring at the bow fixedly. “Yes. Priam died some weeks ago. He developed a fatal brain fever and died crazed.”

  “Well,” Magariz said. “The message remains the same.”

  Message? Would he live after all?

  “As you can see, Nevelon, Azhure and myself wear the emblem of the blazing blood-red sun. Do you know it?”

  Nevelon shook his head.

  “Well, Nevelon, then you must remember it. It is the emblem of the StarMan. You must remember the Prophecy that so many spoke of in Gorkenfort.”

  “It was a lie.” Nevelon’s voice did not sound very sure.

  “No,” Magariz said, wiping his face free of any expression of artfulness. “The Prophecy does not lie. We wait for the StarMan to lead us—and Achar—to victory against Gorgrael.”

  “Axis!” Nevelon spat, remembering Magariz naming Axis as the StarMan at Gorkenfort as he revealed his treacherous nature and deserted Borneheld. “You both betrayed us at Gorkenfort.”

  Magariz’s face hardened. “No, Nevelon. Axis and I, as others, did the best we could in a situation that was unwinnable. Now listen, for I have a message for Borneheld. Tell him that if he does not ally himself with the cause of the StarMan he will die. Only Axis can lead Achar to victory. Tell him that if he persists in denying the Prophecy then the Prophecy will tear him apart. If he has won a kingdom, then he will not long enjoy it. Tell him Axis comes, and he comes with the power of the Prophecy behind him.”

  “And allied with the Forbidden?” Nevelon asked harshly.

  “Allied with our friends, Nevelon,” Magariz said. “We have an alliance built on trust and friendship. Tell me, how well does Borneheld trust those around him? News of the Prophecy spreads throughout Achar. The past is crumbling beneath our feet. Reach forward and embrace the future, Nevelon.”

  Nevelon spat at Magariz’s feet.

  “A brave, but somewhat foolish action, Nevelon. What will it accomplish? Remember my message for Borneheld. Now, I must go. Do not think to follow us. Your horses have been scattered and it will take you hours to find them. I would take your weapons, but if I did that you would be easy prey for the Skraelings, and I want my message to reach Borneheld. Your sentries are dead, killed by these hounds. Azhure?”

  Azhure whistled softly and the fifteen Alaunt stepped forward from the shadows to encircle Nevelon and his men.

  “They will stand guard while we move away,” said Magariz. “If you make one move they will kill you. Azhure?”

  She nodded and murmured to Sicarius who stood with his golden eyes fixed on Nevelon’s face. He could smell the man’s blood.

  Magariz stepped back and put his hand on Azhure’s shoulder. An instant later they were gone in the shadows.

  Nevelon stood and stared at the hounds.

  “I would believe what he said, Lieutenant Nevelon,” one of the Ravensbundmen said softly. “They are the legendary Alaunt.”

  Nevelon looked at the Ravensbundman, startled. He swallowed and stood perfectly still, clutching his crippled hand against his chest, until the ghost hounds eventually melted back into the night.

  Even then, no-one moved for almost an hour.

  25

  STAR G
ATE

  They sat in the flat-bottomed boat in the centre of the violet lake underneath the light of the crystals. The Star Dance drifted about them. Sometimes they talked, mostly they sat in silence.

  “Explain about the Star Gods,” Axis asked, “for StarDrifter and MorningStar’s teaching confused me.”

  “In what manner?” Orr prompted.

  “There are nine Star Gods,” Axis said, and Orr inclined his head. “Yet I know only seven names: Adamon and Xanon, the two senior Gods of the Firmament; Silton, God of Fire; Pors, God of Air; Zest, Goddess of Earth; Flulia, Goddess of Water; and Narcis, God of the Sun. Yet the gods of Moon and Song have no names. Why is that?”

  “Over many thousands of years seven of the Nine of the Star Gods have revealed themselves,” Orr replied. “Only Moon and Song are yet to grace us with their names. In time, perhaps in thousands of years, we will be enlightened of all.”

  Axis frowned slightly. “But these Gods seem very distant, Orr. When I lived as BattleAxe, and followed Artor, I could often feel his presence in prayer or moments of contemplation. Yet I cannot sense that when I pray to the Star Gods.”

  “They live, StarMan, but they have been trapped.”

  “Trapped?”

  Orr shook his head sorrowfully. “There is nothing you or I can do, StarMan. Nothing. The battle between Artor and the Star Gods concerns neither of us.”

  “Battle?”

  But to that Orr would say no more, and they sat in silence for hours (days?) more as the Star Dance drifted about them.

  Later Axis asked Orr about the Sacred Lakes. “Where did they come from? What makes them so sacred? So magical?”

  Orr shifted a little uncomfortably. “Many thousands of years ago, Axis, before my time, the Ancient Gods—those who came before even the Star Gods—wrapped Tencendor in a fire-storm which lasted many days and almost blasted all life from the face of this earth. Only those who could find shelter in deep caves survived.

  “The fire-storm and the Lakes the storm bequeathed us were a gift to remind us of the power of the Ancient Gods and of the paucity of our own being. Some say that the Ancient Gods never returned to the Sky but lay down to sleep under the waters of the Sacred Lakes.” Orr smiled. “But that I do not believe. I have never seen or heard them, and I have been here, silent, watching, some considerable time.”

  Axis rested his chin in his hand thoughtfully. Orr had given him vivid imagery but not much else. He opened his mouth to ask further about the fire-storm, but Orr deflected his question.

  “The time has come for you to show me how well you have learned, Axis. Take us to the Star Gate.”

  The Star Gate! Axis looked down at his ring. He thought of the purpose, and the purpose was to glide the boat to the legendary Star Gate, most sacred site of the Icarii people.

  The stars on his ring re-formed themselves and Axis noted the pattern they created. He reached for the power of the Star Dance and hummed the melody softly.

  They glided down tunnels, under strange bridges, and through strange caverns. Some caverns yawned empty, some had the skeletons of entire cities huddled about the water, some contained forests frozen in stone, some were so encased in grey mist that Axis could not see an arm’s length beyond the boat.

  “Note,” the Ferryman said, “that the pattern of the waterway we travel reflects the pattern of the melody you sing.”

  “And if I were in the OverWorld,” Axis asked, keeping the melody running through his head, “how would I travel?”

  “I do not know, Axis SunSoar. That will be your adventure to discover.”

  Eventually they reached a small cavern and the boat glided to a halt in front of a set of stone steps which rose from the water. Axis moored the boat to a small stone pillar.

  “Come,” the Ferryman said, and stepped out of the boat, gathering his cloak about him.

  Orr led Axis along a narrow passage which sloped gently upwards. As they walked Axis became aware of the sound of rushing wind and of a blue light that pulsed through the air.

  “What is that sound, that light?” Axis asked, breathing hard in his attempt to keep up with the Ferryman.

  “It is the sound and the light of the Star Gate,” Orr replied. “Come.”

  The next moment they stepped through into the Chamber of the Star Gate.

  Axis was as awestruck as Faraday had been. The Chamber was exquisitely beautiful. And whereas Faraday had thought it resembled the Chamber of the Moons in the palace at Carlon, Axis knew instantly that the Icarii Assembly Chamber had been modelled on the Chamber of the Star Gate. Perfectly circular, it was surrounded by pillars and archways. Each pillar was carved from translucent white stone in the shape of a naked winged man. Most of the winged men stood with their heads bowed and arms folded across their chests, their wings outstretched to touch those of their neighbours, thus forming the apex of the archways. But Axis noticed that an entire section of pillars across the far side of the chamber were different. These winged men had their heads up and their eyes wide open, their golden orbs staring towards the centre of the chamber, their arms uplifted in joy with their wings.

  “They represent the twenty-six Enchanter-Talons who were buried above in the Barrows,” the Ferryman said, and Axis abruptly realised they were directly below the Ancient Barrows where Gorgrael’s storm had killed so many of his men. And where he had lost Faraday.

  Orr moved forwards, gesturing for Axis to follow. What appeared to be a circular pool, surrounded by a low rim, occupied the centre of the Chamber, above it blue shadows chased each other across the domed ceiling. Both the pulsing blue light and the sound of the gale emanated from that pool.

  As he peered into the Star Gate Axis observed, as had Faraday, that it was the gateway into the universe. The real universe, not the poor imitation that lit the night skies. The sound of the Star Dance was strong here, and Axis could see why. Stars reeled and danced, suns chased each other across entire galaxies, moons dipped and swayed through planetary systems, luminous comets threaded through the cosmos.

  Its beauty was unimaginable, its allure almost irresistible. The Star Dance called to Axis, pleaded with him, begged him. It wanted a lover, and it had chosen Axis. Come! it pleaded, Come! Step through the Gate. Come to me!

  “Resist the call,” Orr whispered. “Resist.”

  Hardening himself against the lure of the Star Dance, Axis let the beauty of the universe wash through him. The colours amazed him; when he looked into the night sky from the OverWorld all he could see were the silvery stars, sometimes touched with a hint of gold or red. But as he gazed into the Star Gate Axis could see entire galaxies of emerald or gold or lilac, solar systems of cornflower and crimson, while the colours of individual stars were every imaginable shade of the rainbow

  “When you stand in the outer world and look at the night sky,” Orr explained, “you look at the universe through a veil of air and wind and indistinct cloud and sound. To see the true universe you must either die, or stand at the lip of the Star Gate.”

  They stared into the Star Gate for an indeterminate length of time, until finally Axis shuddered and turned away. The call of the Star Dance was becoming too much to bear. If he did not step back now he might well be unable to resist.

  Axis stared about the Chamber, then he wandered past the first of the twenty-six Enchanter-Talon statues, all obviously the work of master craftsmen. Axis could not resist the urge to reach out and gently touch the fourth statue he passed. The stone felt cold and unforgiving beneath his fingers.

  “Do not do that, Axis,” Orr said. “It is disrespectful of those gone to touch their statues.”

  “They are dead and long gone, Orr. I do not think they will mind. Besides,” he had reached the eighth in the line and ran his hand over its outstretched wings, “I will one day stand among them.”

  “Axis.” Orr’s tone was firmer now. “There is a long-standing tradition that to touch these statues is bad luck, and I think you should stand back.”


  Axis reached the ninth and touched it briefly, ready to stop, but instead of his fingers feeling cold hard stone, they went straight through the statue.

  Axis gasped in shock and stepped back, then leaned forward and tentatively touched the statue again. It shimmered, wavered, then disappeared entirely, and Axis and Orr were left staring at nothingness.

  “It was an illusion,” Orr finally managed to say. “An illusion!”

  Axis dropped his hand. “What does this mean, Orr?”

  Orr wrapped the cloak about himself protectively. “I never thought to see this,” he whispered. “Never.”

  “See what?” Axis snapped.

  “The ninth of the Enchanter-Talons has returned,” Orr said in a very weak voice. “WolfStar SunSoar has come back through the Gate.”

  Axis took a shocked breath. “When?”

  “I do not know,” Orr said. “He died some four thousand years ago, but he could have come back at any time since then.”

  “Is he the SunSoar Enchanter who trained me? Who trained Gorgrael?”

  “He could be wearing any disguise,” said Orr. “Any at all. A babe, an aged man, a pretty young woman. WolfStar was already powerful when he died and went through the Star Gate. If he had the power to come back then he is now powerful beyond imagination.”

  “But why, Orr? Why did he come back? Why hasn’t he revealed himself?”

  Orr shrugged.

  Axis quickly ran his hand over the remaining statues. All were solid. He turned back to Orr. “Where could he be?”

  Orr laughed harshly. “I wish I knew, Axis SunSoar, because then I would know the safest place to hide.”

  “Why say that?” Axis could not hide his concern.

  “Because WolfStar was a terrible, terrible Enchanter-Talon. His power was virulent!” Orr said. “He was so horrifying that he was eventually murdered by his own brother.”

  Virulent? Axis thought to himself, remembering how loath MorningStar and StarDrifter were to talk of their ancestor.

  “Who is more terrible, Orr, WolfStar or Gorgrael?”