Enchanter

by Sara Douglass

  Axis could hardly believe how large his command had grown. He had led some three thousand men out of Gorkenfort before going into the Icescarp Alps alone. Now, fifteen months after Gorkenfort, his force numbered almost seventeen thousand.

  Trundling along behind the mounted and winged force was the supply train, perhaps a thousand packhorses, several dozen sturdy wagons, and sundry cooks, physicians, servants and, no doubt, Axis thought, a dozen or so whores as well. A large number of the Ravensbund women also rode with the supply column, although the majority of the women and children had remained behind in Sigholt and Lakesview. Riding the wagons much of the day were also those Icarii, mainly Enchanters, who had chosen to go south with Axis, StarDrifter and MorningStar among them. Axis was still concerned about the Gryphon. If the Strike Force was not about, either flying ahead to scout the terrain before them, or lagging leagues behind to cover the rear of the army and supply column, then the Enchanters were grounded, complaining, to the supply wagons. Two of Azhure’s squads of archers and several units of mounted soldiers travelled with the supply column for protection.

  Leading the supply column were the Sentinels, Ogden and Veremund atop their ever-placid white donkeys, Jack riding a quiet brown mare. In the wagon immediately behind them rode Raum, feverish and distraught much of the time. He was transforming into a Horned One, Ogden and Veremund had explained to a concerned Axis and Azhure, and his transformation was connected in some as yet ill-defined way with Faraday. Normally Raum would not have dared to leave the Avarinheim in the middle of transforming, but he was desperate to reach Faraday. Somehow she held the key to his successful transformation.

  Raum’s entire head looked as though a giant had grasped it in his hands and forcibly rearranged the bones. His forehead bulged unevenly and was covered with transparent down. Just above his hairline what appeared to be nubs of bone glistened whenever he turned his head. His nose was broad and long, his mouth twisted, and his teeth grown yellowed and square. Despite his frightening appearance, Raum’s eyes still glistened black and friendly underneath his heavy brows. The Raum inside, Azhure realised, was no different despite his external appearance.

  Azhure usually rode with her archers in the main column of Axis’ army, although she sometimes reined Venator back to wait for the supply column. Caelum was always with her, generally securely fastened in a sling about her back. Over her shoulder was slung the Wolven, and at her side ran the Alaunt hounds, pleased beyond measure to be out of the confining Keep and running free across the plains. They could almost smell blood on the wind.

  Axis spent most of the day at the head of his force. Belial and Magariz sometimes rode with him, at times further back in the column of soldiers, sometimes further back still with Ho’Demi and his ten thousand, all mounted on the sturdy, shaggy yellow horses of the northern ice plains. Despite their bells and chimes, the Ravensbundmen moved silently.

  Sigholt and the people of Lakesview had been left protected with a token force of five hundred men. Roland, sick but cheerful, was put in overall control, promising Axis that he would remain alive until Axis could reclaim his home. Axis had spent a day and a night wrapping Sigholt in enchantments with the help of the bridge, collapsing exhausted in his bed to sleep two days and nights at the end of it. A thick blue mist surrounded Sigholt and its environs, leaving the Keep itself, the town, the Lake and the immediate hills in clear and sunny air. The mist had been created using various Songs of Moisture and Muddlement. Any stranger looking for Sigholt would ride about in circles for hours, confused and bewildered. Only those the bridge knew could find their way through.

  Sigholt was safe, and Axis was on the move. Finally, he breathed, I am moving. He had to have gained control of Achar by the first day of Bone-month, six months away, or else all would be lost.

  Far overhead, the eagle soared, also glad to be moving, but unable to understand why.

  Once past Gundealga Ford, Axis swung his column east and south through Skarabost, bypassing Smyrton completely. Somewhere south Earl Burdel waited with an unknown force. Axis signalled to the farflight scouts far above. Find Burdel. He had been burning and murdering in Borneheld’s name for months, and now it was time to stop him. Burdel would be the first obstacle Axis had to counter in his bid to reforge Tencendor.

  45

  BAD NEWS

  “What?” Borneheld whispered, appalled. “What did you say?”

  The Corolean soldier licked his lips, uneasy. “The peasants living in the scattered hamlets to the east of the Nordra, Sire, report that two weeks ago a massive force crossed the Gundealga Ford from the Urqhart Hills and swung east into Skarabost. It was so large that it took many hours to pass, even though the force was moving swiftly.”

  The soldier paused. “The peasants said that the force moved with ghostly silence, but it was composed of men and horses, not wraiths. They said a golden-haired man on a grey horse led the force—”

  “Axis!” Borneheld swore.

  “—and that both Acharites and strange dark men on yellow horses made up his army.”

  “Ravensbundmen!” Borneheld’s face darkened in fury, and Gautier hurriedly waved the Corolean scout away.

  “Two weeks!” Borneheld snarled, and flung a pile of dispatches to the floor. “He could be anywhere!”

  Jorge prudently waited for Gautier to say something first. The King had gone into such a fury after the desertion of both the Ravensbundmen and Duke Roland that Jorge had believed he was on the verge of an apoplectic fit. Now Borneheld trusted no-one about him save Gilbert and Gautier, and spent much of the time he wasn’t actively involved in fighting muttering about treachery. Yet Jorge was still in Jervois Landing; much as Borneheld might wish to, the Earl was still too valuable to dispose of in a fit of temper.

  Why am I still here? Jorge asked himself, watching Borneheld pacing the room. Why haven’t I just rolled out of bed one dark night, got on my horse, and ridden for Sigholt? Because Jorge believed Achar still needed a voice of sanity about Borneheld, and he wasn’t completely sure Gautier and Gilbert always gave Borneheld the soundest advice. Gautier sometimes advised only for his own advancement, while Gilbert doubtless made sure Borneheld’s decisions were the best for the Seneschal…but not always the best for Achar.

  If Jorge was unsure of Borneheld’s fitness to rule, he was still not completely sure about Axis, either. Jorge found it hard to set a lifetime’s prejudices and teachings aside. For almost seventy years he had believed that the Forbidden were foul and polluted beasts whose only thought was the destruction of Achar. He had grown up with the legends of the times before the Wars of the Axe when the Forbidden had made life miserable for Artor-fearing people. Yet now this Prophecy demanded that Acharites accept the Forbidden back into their homelands and form an alliance with them so that, united, they could defeat the invader from the north. For weeks Jorge had struggled with himself, yet every dawn brought further uncertainties. He wished Roland were still here.

  “We go after them!” Borneheld snapped.

  “Sire! No!” Gautier and Jorge cried in unison.

  Gautier stood, extending his hand in appeal. “It would be too dangerous for us to try and follow Axis into Skarabost.”

  “Do you think that I cannot deal with the few scattered communities of peasants we are likely to find, Gautier?”

  Gautier paled. “That is not what I meant, Sire!”

  “I think what Commander Gautier meant, Majesty,” Jorge said, “was that Axis has two weeks’ start on us. He could be anywhere. Skarabost is a large province. We could ride around there for months and not find him.”

  “So you want me to simply sit back and let Axis have the eastern half of Achar!”

  “Sire,” Gautier said, battling to stay calm, “Earl Burdel has a force of almost six thousand in southern Skarabost. Perhaps it is not as large as Axis’ force, but it is, at worst, enough to severely damage Axis. At best Burdel might be able to stop Axis altogether, especially if he manages to trap him as
he crosses the Bracken Ranges into Arcness.”

  “We could still ride into Skarabost,” Borneheld retorted, his temper barely restrained, “and help Burdel. Catch Axis in a pincer movement.”

  “Skarabost is so big,” Gautier argued, “and we do not have any reliable information on where Burdel is. Our communications with him are poor. In all likelihood we would miss both Axis and Burdel, and ride about in circles in Skarabost.”

  “Tiring your army, Sire, when it badly needs rest and reprovisioning,” Jorge added.

  “And if Burdel doesn’t stop him?” Borneheld grumbled.

  “Then there is still Baron Greville of Tarantaise and Baron Ysgryff of Nor, Sire. Axis would still have to fight his way through both Tarantaise and Nor.”

  Borneheld stared at Gautier. “Those two are about as trustworthy as Ysbadd’s famous whores. And neither is much of a fighting man. Anyway, how do you know where Axis is heading? Have you perchance seen his itinerary?”

  “Sire,” Gautier said. “There can be only one place Axis is heading. Carlon.”

  There was deathly silence in the room.

  Gilbert’s eyes widened, appalled. Axis and his Artor-forsaken force were heading for Carlon? There was only one cohort of the Axe-Wielders left to protect the Tower of the Seneschal! And how loyal would those Axe-Wielders prove, when confronted with their former BattleAxe?

  “Carlon,” Borneheld breathed. Somehow he’d never contemplated that Axis would be so daring. Carlon?

  “He has to be heading there,” Gautier said. “He would expect you to have your forces tied to Jervois Landing. If he captures Carlon, then he has us as good as defeated. But to reach Carlon Axis will have to ride in a wide sweep through Skarabost, Arcness, Tarantaise and Nor. He will have to subdue eastern Achar before he can capture Carlon—no commander in his right mind would want to leave problems at his back that could attack him later.”

  “But if you chase Axis through Skarabost you risk losing him altogether.” Jorge spoke strongly now. “He will almost certainly reach Carlon first. And once you have lost Carlon you have lost Achar. Your best course of action would be to ride for Carlon. Better to secure your capital than gamble on finding Axis somewhere in the wastes of Skarabost.” Dammit! Borneheld had to see the sense behind that! Carlon was too important a prize—Artor! but it was the key to Achar itself!

  “Artor,” Borneheld whispered, his face grey. “You’re advising me on a course of action that could see me lose the entire east to Axis? What would that leave me? Western Achar? Have you forgotten that treachery and ill-luck already cost me Ichtar? A third gone to the wraiths, and you tell me that I would be better off losing another third to Axis?”

  No-one spoke. Who was brave enough to remind Borneheld he was now in the weakest position he had ever been in? Who was foolhardy enough to remind him that Axis probably not only had a strong force behind him, but possibly now held the upper hand? Lose eastern Achar to Axis? Better that than Carlon. But it would leave Borneheld with only a tiny proportion of his kingdom. Less than a third, perhaps even only a fifth. Gautier and Jorge wished they were anywhere rather than in this room. Both wished they were three years into the past, when all was as it should be and no-one had heard of Gorgrael, wraiths, or the Artor-cursed Prophecy.

  Gilbert stepped from his shadowed corner, his face sallow in the late afternoon light. “Borneheld, you have no choice. I add my voice to those of Gautier and Jorge. Carlon is vital. Vital! If Carlon falls to Axis, then the Seneschal also falls. I do not have to remind you what that might mean.”

  Indeed Borneheld did not have to be reminded. The Seneschal was one of his main supporters. Indeed, he would not be King if…if…

  Borneheld forced his mind away from the guilt. “And you would be content to let the Forbidden crawl over eastern Achar, Gilbert? What would your Brother-Leader say to this?”

  “He would say that united the King and the Seneschal will have a good chance of winning Achar back, from Axis and Gorgrael. Have you forgotten the lesson of the Wars of the Axe? We drove the Forbidden out of Achar once, we can do it again. These are dark days, Borneheld, no-one denies that. What we need is a King who can lead us out of them.”

  Gilbert’s words infused Borneheld with determination. “Yes, these are dark days, gentlemen. And I am the one to lead us out of them.” He laughed, the sound harsh in the room. “Imagine what would have happened if that lily-livered Priam had still sat the throne of Achar, gentlemen! Artor must have indeed meant me to lead Achar out of the shadows and into glory if he struck Priam down in the prime of life.”

  Yes, that was the message of Timozel’s visions, wasn’t it?

  Borneheld’s mind was now made up. The Skraelings had all but retreated into Ichtar, and only a token force could man the defences. Yes. He would ride for Carlon with the majority of his army. He would wait for Axis to ride into the Plains of Tare and meet him there. Borneheld’s mouth curled. He would finally enjoy meeting his brother on the battlefield. They had waited all their lives for this confrontation.

  “We ride for Carlon within the week, gentlemen. There we will make our stand. From there we will begin our march into victory over both Gorgrael and Axis.”

  46

  CONTEMPLATIONS OF A RAG DOLL

  In the eight weeks since they’d left Sigholt Axis’ forces had swung east through northern Skarabost, then south in an almost direct line through the centre of the province. Axis had to curb his impatience to move faster. He was determined not to wear his army out on a march that left them facing battle weakened and tired.

  Frustratingly, Burdel’s force retreated before them. There had been some minor skirmishes with the rearguard of his men, but they had not managed to push Burdel himself to battle. He no doubt intended to make a stand either in one of the passes of the Bracken Ranges, where the defending force would have the advantage, or in his home province of Arcness, probably in the heavily fortified city of Arcen itself.

  Burdel also had another very good reason for riding out of Skarabost before Axis’ invading force. For at least six months Burdel had been running a campaign of retribution in Skarabost. Determined to stop the spread of the Prophecy, and equally determined to stop local villagers drifting north to join Axis’ rebel base at Sigholt, Borneheld had given Burdel a free hand. “Do whatever you need to stop those village idiots who wish to join Axis,” Borneheld’s orders to Burdel had stated. “Do whatever you have to do to kill word of the Prophecy. And do more than you have to in order to cut Axis’ supply routes into northern Skarabost.”

  For the past five months, as groups of refugees drifted into Sigholt, Axis had been hearing horrific tales of Burdel’s campaign of terror through the province. Now, as he rode through the Seagrass Plains, the winter-sown crops just starting to shoot their heads above the last of the spring snow, Axis had a chance to see Burdel’s handiwork for himself. Village after village had been razed to the ground, sometimes only on vague rumour that someone there had recited the Prophecy. In other villages, the houses had been left standing and the majority of the villagers left alive, but crosses lined the approaches to the village, and crow-picked cadavers hung from ropes and nails. It was sickening. Wherever they found villages where people remained Axis spent a few days, his army helping to rebuild houses and the confidence of those left alive.

  It helped that Axis’ name had been well-known and widely praised as BattleAxe. Now he commanded a vastly different force, but he received as much—if not more—respect. Not only was his force numerically superior to the Axe-Wielders, but Axis had grown immeasurably in assurance and authority. With his stunning red cloak, the outline of the blazing sun stitched in gold across its back, Axis looked like a King as he walked among the villagers, talking to them quietly, and most remembered that he was the son of the Princess Rivkah and would have been a prince in his own right, save for the stain of bastardy. This man did not look like the skulking rebel or the desperate felon they’d been warned against.

 
; Unlike Burdel’s loose command, Axis kept his army under strict control. They always camped well away from the villages they came to, careful not to trample growing grain crops, and they moved into a village only to help rebuild homes and barns. Axis could not rebuild the lives of those rotting on crosses, but he did have them cut down and buried. It was a thankless and stomach-turning task.

  As each village slowly began to take shape again, Axis often had Rivkah come and talk to the villagers about her life among the Icarii. The Princess Rivkah’s name was well remembered, and her presence generally overawed the local peasants, but Rivkah spoke well and persuasively, letting these people know that the Icarii were hardly the gruesome creatures of legend at all, but living breathing creatures as the peasants were, who shared many of the same problems, and who laughed at many of the same things. Depending on how well a particular village had reacted to Rivkah’s words, Axis would often call in several of the less intimidating Icarii to talk to the villagers too.

  Whatever village they were in, the villagers always reacted the same. There would be a few moments of shocked silence as the first Icarii landed into the square before them. EvenSong was usually among them, for she was good with the peasants of the Seagrass Plains, and would alight among them, all gold and violet, laughter and smiles. It would invariably be the children who approached the Icarii first, crying out to be allowed to touch their wings. Reassured by the Icarii reaction to the children, perhaps a few of the elderly women, braver than most, would come forward, and then, finally, the entire village would flock about the Icarii, listening in awe as one or more of the Icarii started to sing, stroking their soft wing-backs, exclaiming over their beautiful and alien faces.

  Slowly, slowly, and not always successfully, Axis tried to reeducate the people of Skarabost about the Forbidden. Resistance to the idea that the Forbidden were acceptable people rather than demon-spawned horrors was strongest in those villagers which still had a resident Plough-Keeper, the Brother assigned to a village by the Seneschal to instruct them in the Way of the Plough. Generally these Brothers warned the villagers back from both Axis and any Icarii who happened to be about.