Enchanter

by Sara Douglass

  Be strong, Azhure, he whispered into her mind, stay safe.

  She hesitated as his thought reached her, and Axis cursed himself for a fool. She could not afford to be distracted—for any distraction might easily kill her—but in the next instant an arrow flashed from the Wolven, and Sicarius leaped for the throat of a foot soldier who thought to thrust his spear into her side.

  As he gazed across the field Axis thought he could see more of his men left standing than Borneheld’s, and Borneheld’s standard looked like it was being forced, step by step, back towards the trenches.

  Is the day mine? he wondered. Will another hour or two see this bloody and senseless civil war finished once and for all?

  But then the eagle drifted a little further out over the battlefield and Axis saw something that appalled him.

  Eight massive Corolean transports were moving inexorably towards Bedwyr Fort. How many men did they carry, Axis wondered desperately, how many? Four or five thousand, at the least, and four or five thousand fresh men would swing the battle Borneheld’s way. They had been fighting now since the break of dawn—nine hours—and many of his men were succumbing through exhaustion rather than lack of skill or lack of will to fight on. Five thousand fresh men?

  “Stars save us,” Axis muttered, and Arne glanced at him, worried.

  Another movement caught Axis’ eyes. As well as the transport ships, smaller barges, packed with Corolean soldiers, were moving along the southern edges of the Grail Lake and the Nordra above Bedwyr Fort, moving to outflank Axis’ army, attack from the rear. There were perhaps fifteen, containing some two and a half thousand men—enough to prop up those areas where Borneheld’s force was beginning to fail.

  Azhure! Ho’Demi! Those two were the only commanders who Axis knew he could reach with his mind. Look to the waters to the north! Stop those men before they can join the fray!

  Axis watched as gradually Azhure and Ho’Demi rallied their units, and directed them to the shoreline where the barges were disgorging their loads. Axis desperately looked about for the Strike Force. They had been hovering over the battlefield all day, doing what they could. Finally he spotted FarSight and sent the eagle reeling in his direction.

  “Ware to the north!” the eagle screamed as it flashed past FarSight, and FarSight sent five Crest of Icarii winging to Azhure and Ho’Demi’s aid.

  That should stop the barges, Axis thought desperately, but what about the transports? If they manage to land their soldiers then I am finished!

  Even though the battle had closed about him again, Axis continued to watch through the eagle’s eyes, relying on Arne to protect him. He had to watch—for those transports meant the death of his hopes and the death of the Prophecy.

  Bleeding from numerous small wounds, his sword hanging limp from his hand, Borneheld also watched the ships with worried eyes. What were they doing this close to Bedwyr Fort? He had sent clear instructions that they were to disgorge their soldiers much further south so that, together with the barges to the north, Borneheld could attack both flanks of the battlefield with fresh soldiers.

  “By Artor!” Borneheld swore, “you’d think they were intent on attacking us rather than Axis.”

  An awful premonition gripped him, and his voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “Is this more infernal treachery? Has the Corolean Emperor forsaken our agreement and turned against me?”

  Almost as one the Corolean transports dropped anchor by the banks of the Nordra and dropped their landing ramps. Each began to disgorge hundreds of men, hundreds and hundreds of them, running screaming with delight and battle-lust straight towards Borneheld’s standard.

  Every last one of them a dark-skinned, brightly scarved, gleaming-toothed, scimitar-waving pirate.

  “Foul treachery!” Borneheld croaked, then leaped in surprise as Gautier’s hand fell on his shoulder.

  “Sire!” he gasped. “Treachery! Your safety is compromised. I have a barge waiting—we must seek refuge in Carlon.”

  “What?” Borneheld yelled. “Leave the field?”

  “We have lost the day,” Jorge shouted hoarsely, riding to join Borneheld. “If you wish to save yourself, then do so now. I will continue to lead your forces on this bloodied field—to the death if you so order.”

  Borneheld stared at Jorge and Gautier. The gleeful screams of the pirates were getting uncomfortably close. The next instant he dug his spurs deep into his horse’s sides and was galloping towards safety.

  All this Axis saw through the eyes of the eagle.

  Azhure, Ho’Demi, he called, Borneheld rides for one of the barges and for escape into Carlon. LET HIM GO! I need him in Carlon. It is VITAL that he escapes to Carlon!

  At the same time that Axis felt the agreement of their minds, the eagle screamed the same order to the Icarii Crests above the northern part of the battlefield: “Let Borneheld escape! It is vital that he escapes!”

  As the pirates streamed down into the fray Axis turned to see Baron Ysgryff, helmetless now, grinning at him.

  “Did you like my surprise, Axis SunSoar?”

  Laughing with joy, Axis booted Belaguez next to Ysgryff’s horse and, leaning over, seized the man by the top of his tunic as it peeked above the chest plate of his armour.

  “I will make you a Prince for this!” he grinned, then, letting Ysgryff go, turned to the men still struggling about him.

  “The day is mine!” he screamed, waving his sword in an arc about his head. “Tencendor is mine!”

  In an hour it was over. Demoralised by Borneheld’s desertion, his army slowly ground to a halt and, as the sun set over the Nordra, Axis took the army’s surrender from Jorge, the most senior commander left on the field.

  Jorge glanced about the battlefield and noticed as if for the first time the thousands of bodies and the reddened soil. A pointless waste of life, Jorge thought bleakly. Could it have been avoided if Roland and I had found the courage to follow Axis after Gorkenfort? Would our departure have weakened Borneheld to the extent that he would not have had the resources of command experience left to wield an army against Axis?

  “He would still have fought,” said Axis, and Jorge slowly raised his eyes.

  The man’s earlier excitement had died, and Jorge could see that exhaustion and sad-heartedness hung heavily over him.

  “Jorge,” Axis said softly, stepping forward and placing his hand on the man’s shoulder. Jorge’s eyes filled with tears at the gesture of support. “Jorge, where does Borneheld hold your family?”

  Jorge named a small town to the north of Carlon and Axis beckoned to FarSight. “FarSight, can you detail the two Wings you held in reserve to fly to free Jorge’s family?”

  FarSight nodded and turned away.

  Axis turned and stared at Jorge. “Welcome to Tencendor, Jorge.”

  Jorge nodded wearily. He did not expect to hold a place of high honour within the new order.

  54

  THE AFTERMATH

  The following hours were confusion and chaos. After accepting the surrender of both Borneheld’s army and Borneheld’s kingdom, Axis’ first priority was to fill the eight Corolean transports with as many of the remaining Coroleans as he could and get them home as quickly as possible. He had no intention of holding thousands of Coroleans prisoner. Let their Emperor take care of them.

  “Tell your Emperor, or your Ambassador, or the first whore you come across in Coroleas for all I care,” Axis said tiredly to the most senior Corolean he could find, “that I repudiate the treaty Borneheld made with your Empire and that I repudiate all conditions, payments and other varied promises Borneheld may have foolishly made. Go home. I bear you no personal ill will, but I will not stand for your continued presence in my realm.”

  It was a startling word, “realm”; Axis was mildly surprised at how easily it had slipped past his lips.

  The Corolean captain gave a short bow. “May I inform my Emperor that you will be willing to receive his Ambassador at a future date when all,” he looked br
iefly at the darkening carnage about him, “has settled down?”

  “As long as he realises that I refuse to pay any of Borneheld’s debts.”

  “I will be sure to tell him,” the captain said shortly, then he sketched a salute and wheeled about, walking stiffly up the loading ramp into the nearest transport and wishing he were home already. Too many of his men had died in a cause not their own.

  “Belial.” Axis turned and leaned briefly on Belial’s shoulder. “Belial, can I leave you in charge of the burial pits?” A thankless task, but it needed to be done and it needed to be done fast.

  Axis snapped his fingers at the boy holding Belaguez and mounted the stallion when the boy led him over. He rode slowly across the battlefield, stopping now and again to speak to a group of soldiers, or to lend a word of support to one of the wounded being carried towards the physicians’ tents. He saw Arne in the distance, detailing guards to watch over the remaining prisoners of Borneheld’s army—and there seemed to be thousands of them. What was he going to do with them? Axis thought wearily. They are all Acharites, and all mostly good men who simply found themselves on the wrong side through no fault of their own.

  Axis’ depression deepened as he rode east across the field of battle. Soldiers were slowly starting to pile the dead—and the piles were both numerous and large. How many thousands had died?

  And where was Azhure? Axis’ mind was so tired that he could not feel her anywhere, and the eagle had roosted for the night. The darkness closed in about him as he rode, but he continued to peer through the gloom, asking all he came across if they had seen her. Each time a head shook wearily Axis pushed Belaguez further east, searching, until he reached the site where his army had camped the previous night.

  He found Rivkah at his personal camp site, Caelum asleep in her arms.

  “Azhure?” he asked anxiously, slipping from Belaguez’s saddle.

  Rivkah nodded towards a blanket-wrapped bundle at her feet and Axis fell to his knees and pulled the blanket back from Azhure’s face. She was asleep, her face white, great circles of weariness under her eyes.

  “Is she all right?” Axis asked his mother, his hand stroking back the tangled hair from Azhure’s forehead.

  Rivkah considered a moment. Should she tell him about Azhure’s pregnancy? The woman had ridden into the camp an hour before and had simply collapsed in an exhausted heap at Rivkah’s feet. It had taken the combined strength of Rivkah and a passing soldier to pull her chain mail off and wrap her in this blanket and Azhure had not stirred once during the procedure. Rivkah knew Azhure was finding this pregnancy a difficult one, and she feared that Azhure was so drained the baby would simply slip from her.

  Rivkah finally shrugged. “She is exhausted, but she has no wounds. Perhaps sleep is all she needs.”

  Axis sat down and took Caelum from his mother’s arms.

  “He has been awake all day, Axis,” Rivkah said quietly, “fretting and crying. He knew that both his parents were in battle, and he seemed to know how desperate the fighting was. He refused to eat or to be comforted until Azhure stumbled back into camp.”

  She paused. Dare she ask? “And Magariz? Is he well?”

  “I have not heard if he is alive or dead, Rivkah,” Axis said flatly after a long pause, “as I have not heard about most of my commanders or soldiers. With that you will have to be content.”

  A servant stepped forward and helped Axis unbuckle his armour. Axis passed the baby back to Rivkah and gratefully let the servant cart the armour away. He literally tore his sweat- and bloodstained tunic from his torso and threw it to one side.

  Rivkah noted the wounds across his chest and back, but said nothing. They were not life-threatening and would heal quickly. “Sleep Axis. I will watch over you. You will be able to do nothing until you get some sleep.”

  Axis wrapped himself in the blanket and lay down beside Azhure. “Two hours, no more,” he mumbled. “Wake me after two hours.”

  Both within and without the palace, Carlon was in confusion. Most of the city folk learnt the outcome of the battle, and many had stood in silence as Borneheld, Gautier and perhaps two dozen men had run through the city gates, ordering them locked and barred.

  Two dozen men and one King to defend them? the Carlonese wondered. Carlon, as Achar, is lost.

  Courtiers abandoned the palace for discrete townhouses hidden deep within Carlon’s twisting streets. Borneheld’s court was no place to stay a-visiting now. What would Axis’ court be like? Would he find a place for them? Undoubtedly, most consoled themselves. Every King, new, usurped or borrowed, needed a court to keep him wrapped in happy flatteries.

  In the streets eyes turned once again to the battlefield, where torches burned as soldiers carried on with the grim task of digging and filling the burial trenches. Of those watching from the city walls, many had lost sons, fathers or husbands—on both sides of the battle, for as many men from Carlon had fought for Axis as had fought for Borneheld.

  All in all, the mood along the streets of Carlon was one of sadness and acceptance rather than anger or fright. Like Axis, most regretted that the battle had been fought at all—surely the brothers could have come to some compromise? Now it looked as if Borneheld had lost it all—for Carlon was not designed to withstand siege. It had walls, but virtually no militia to repel an attack or stores to withstand a siege. Carlon was normally a city of fun and laughter, money-making enterprises and sins, not a city destined for the grim realities of battle that now surrounded it.

  If the good people of Carlon were resigned to Borneheld’s defeat, then Jayme was close to hysteria.

  “You have lost the kingdom and you have lost the Seneschal!” he screamed at Borneheld, his habit stained and dirty.

  Borneheld sat on his throne in the Chamber of the Moons, drunk. All his dreams? Ambitions? Come to this end? What had gone wrong? A flagon of red hung empty and useless from one hand as it dangled over the armrest of the throne—the next moment it was flying through the air towards Jayme’s head.

  The Brother-Leader managed to duck the flagon and it smashed on the floor behind him.

  “All gone,” he whispered, appalled at the consequences of the day. “The work of a thousand years gone in one day!”

  “I hear you lost, Borneheld,” a light voice said from the doorway, and Faraday walked into the Chamber. Borneheld looked away from Jayme and towards his wife. She was resplendent in a deep-emerald velvet gown, her hair piled elegantly on top of her head, diamonds and pearls at her ears and throat. “You look unwell, Borneheld. Should I call the physician? Perhaps you are suffering from whatever ailed Priam.”

  Borneheld curled his lip; it was the best he could do. “Axis has won through treachery. It is his way. If my kingdom falls apart before me it is simply because I have been betrayed once too often. Nothing remains.”

  “If your kingdom falls apart around you, husband,” Faraday retorted, feeling nothing but scorn for this man who sat before her, “it is because you were never meant to hold it. How long before Axis sits that throne, Borneheld? How long?”

  Borneheld lurched forward on the throne, almost falling, he was so drunk. “Whore! How much of this treachery do I owe to you? How many men have you taken to your bed and turned against me? How many times have you betrayed me with Axis?”

  Faraday’s face twisted in contempt. “I have remained true to our vows, husband. Unlike you.”

  Without giving him the time to reply Faraday swung around and stared at Jayme. “You are a pitiful old man, Jayme. You have lost as much as Borneheld has out there on the battlefield today, you and your god. Do you know, Jayme, that once I believed in Artor fervently? Then I fell under the thrall of the Prophecy and I was introduced to new gods, new powers. Artor means as much to me as does my husband, Jayme. And that is not very much at all.”

  She turned on her heel and strode from the room.

  Jayme trembled. He looked about uselessly for Moryson. But both Moryson and Gilbert had disappeared the mo
ment they realised Borneheld had lost the day.

  “Moryson?” Jayme muttered weakly, peering into the shadows. “Moryson?” Oh Artor, why wasn’t his friend here now?“What are we going to do,” he whispered. We? Me. Me, alone. I am alone, save for this drunken mule sitting on the throne of Achar.

  Borneheld smiled at him. “What are we going to do, Jayme? Why, have another drink, Brother-Leader. I think you will find a flagon in the cabinet in the far wall.”

  Out in the corridor Faraday’s show of bravado faltered and died.

  Faraday knew well what would happen. Somehow, and Faraday did not care about the details for they were unimportant, Axis would appear to challenge Borneheld in the Chamber of the Moons. And when he appeared Faraday knew that the dreadful, apocalyptic vision that the trees of the Silent Woman Woods had given her two years previously would be played out in real life.

  Even though Faraday believed, desperately wished to believe, that Axis would win—that the trees had shown her only shattered and jumbled images—she clutched at the front of her gown, feeling again Axis’ warm blood running down between her breasts.

  “Win, Axis, win!” she whispered.

  As the night passed Rivkah anxiously sat guard over Axis, Azhure and Caelum. Several hours before dawn her fears were finally allayed when Magariz walked into the circle of firelight. Rivkah stood and held him close, tears streaming silently from her eyes.

  As tired and as sick at heart as Axis had been, Magariz sank down by the fire, Rivkah gently unbuckling his armour, and, his words stumbling through his exhaustion, he told Rivkah the story of the battle until he fell asleep mid-sentence. Rivkah lowered him gently to the ground and covered him with a blanket.