Crusader

by Sara Douglass

  Once Zared had left, Axis continued his wander through the hordes slowly gathering for the exodus. He had a vague, very slightly uncomfortable feeling, almost as if he was looking for something, but not knowing what.

  So he walked through the half twilight that, in Sanctuary, passed for night. As people approached him and asked questions, so Axis answered as best he could, but he did not seek out conversation. He knew that Azhure and StarDrifter awaited him back in their apartments—StarDrifter in particular had appeared anxious to discuss something with him—but Axis’ need to find something drove him deeper into Sanctuary and the milling hordes of peoples and creatures awaiting escape.

  How many millions had DragonStar made him responsible for?

  Axis felt an immense burden of responsibility literally weigh down on his shoulders and he had to force them back to stand straight. Even with Urbeth’s uncertain aid, could he pull this off?

  And how did he feel about the Skraelings? Gods, he had never thought to have to face them again!

  Then Axis stopped, stunned out of his thoughts.

  What he’d been searching for so vaguely and uncertainly stood in front of him—as nervous and unsure as he was.

  She was plain and brown and with the skittishness of the very young. She lifted her head and caught sight of Axis. She stilled.

  Axis smiled, and held out a hand, moving very slowly towards her.

  She did not move, although her black eyes rolled with her inner uncertainty.

  Axis smiled, and touched her cheek.

  She trembled, and he ran his hand down her neck.

  A fine, brown, but very young mare of only three or four years.

  Axis’ smile broadened. “You’re not quite Belaguez, but somehow I think you will do just as well.”

  Suddenly he relaxed. He had a task, impossible as it might seem, and now he had a mount, as insignificant as she might appear. Life was falling together neatly.

  Axis tugged at the brown mare’s forelock, and she lowered her head and gently butted him in the chest.

  “’Er name’s Sal.”

  Axis looked over the mare’s withers; a small, wizened man sat upon a bale of provisions on the other side almost hidden in the shadows of a pile of canvas-covered provisions rising behind him. His small body was hunched and rounded, his skin brown and splotched, his head covered only by several strands of drab hair, and his face so layered with wrinkles his bright brown eyes were all but hidden. His entire demeanour was generally plain and brown and drab, enlivened only by his mischievous eyes.

  Apart from the incongruity of his eyes, there was something else about the man’s appearance that made Axis stare. This old man, plain and drab as he was, had Icarii features.

  And his cloaked, hunched form looked as though it hid wings within the shadows at his back.

  But what Icarii aged, or was plain and drab, for the gods’ sakes?

  The man’s mouth twisted wryly as he saw Axis’ stare. “Yer recognise a fellow, don’t you?”

  And what Icarii affected such common, country speech?

  Axis opened his mouth, hesitating before he spoke. “You are Icarii bred, and yet you demonstrate none of the beauty and dignity of the Icarii. Why?”

  A Traitor? A Demon?

  The old man cackled, the sound curiously bird-like, and Axis moved slightly so his sword hand was free to move.

  “Well, yeah, yer do be observant,” the man all but whispered, a secretive expression on his face. “I’ll give you that. But I were never Icarii-bred, no sir, not me. I claim no such pretensions!”

  “You have Icarii features. You must have Icarii blood in you.”

  The old man grinned slyly. “I do share my face and blood with your proud Icarii, man, but I’m not one of your flighty lot.”

  Axis narrowed his eyes, his hand now resting on the hilt of his sword, but he said nothing.

  The wizened old man seemed not to care. “Call me Da,” he said. “It’s as good a name as any.”

  It was no name at all Axis thought. “Da” was the peasant word for father.

  Da pointed a gnarled finger at the mare. “And she be Sal.”

  “Well, Da,” Axis said. “You are a strange man—”

  Da giggled, rocking back and forth on the bale.

  “—and I would know more of you. And of your pretty brown Sal.” Axis had still not relaxed his grip on his sword hilt. There was only one thing he was sure of, and that was that this old man was not who he pretended to be.

  Da put a finger to his pursed mouth, in a parody of thought. “Who do I be? And who do be Sal?”

  Axis shifted, annoyed. The man’s affectation of country language was starting to grate.

  “I do be a father,” Da said.

  Father?

  “I do watch over my children.”

  Axis said nothing.

  Suddenly the old man dropped his peasantish affectation, and looked Axis directly in the eye.

  “I do the best for my children,” he said, “even when they demonstrate consummate stupidity. That, I swear, they got from their mother.”

  Axis was caught fast by the man’s eyes, fierce and angry now.

  Far away he heard Urbeth roar.

  Da laughed. “From their mother, aye.”

  Axis went cold. His hand dropped away from his sword. “What do you want?” he said.

  “To give you a gift. To give the Icarii a last gift…and still a gift of flight, methinks.”

  Axis was numb, still not quite believing whom he was talking to. “A gift?”

  “’Er.” The man-sparrow nodded in Pretty Brown Sal’s direction, then turned his eyes back to Axis. “It’s not the first horse I’ve given you, you know.”

  “Which—”

  “Belaguez.”

  And now Axis truly did go cold. He had acquired—there was no other verb to express it—Belaguez when he had just been appointed BattleAxe. One of the Axe Wielders had reported that there was a grey colt tied up in the palace courtyard, with no explanation save for Axis’ name engraved on the small brass plate sewn into the colt’s halter.

  When Axis had walked into the courtyard to see for himself, a small sparrow had been foraging for insects in Belaguez’s forelock. When Axis had attempted to brush it aside, the sparrow had jumped onto his hand and run chattering up his sleeve to his shoulder before finally flying off.

  Then, absorbed by the magnificent colt, Axis had paid no attention.

  Now, he finally managed to recover his manners.

  “I thank you,” he said, moving around Sal so he could bow in the sparrow’s direction.

  The sparrow, still wearing its vaguely man-Icarii form, smiled gently, accepting Axis’ obsequiousness as his due. If only CrimsonStar had been as polite and deferential as this man!

  “Belaguez was…is a special horse,” Axis said.

  “And he was for a special man. Men. You and your son both.”

  Axis looked back to Sal. She was nuzzling her velvety nose about his hip pockets, as if she might find a carrot there.

  “But now your son’s got the starry boy, and you need another. Take Pretty Brown Sal.” And then the sparrow repeated himself, although Axis did not notice. “She’s my final gift of flight to the Icarii, as to all the peoples of Tencendor.”

  Axis ran a hand down Sal’s neck and over her shoulder. She was only a small mare—barely high enough to carry him—but she had a deep chest, fine strong legs, and an intelligent eye.

  And the sweetest disposition, Axis thought, of all creatures in existence.

  He raised his head to speak to the sparrow, but before he could mouth the words, the sparrow-man rose, smiled, and then simply faded away into the shadows.

  But just as Axis thought him gone, there was the soft piping of a sparrow, and the soft, drab form of the father of the Icarii race briefly brushed against Axis’ cheek before finally disappearing.

  Axis lifted a hand, reaching hopelessly out, but the sparrow had gone.

/>   Chapter 37

  Settling In

  They had gone, and DragonStar hoped they would survive. If even one of them failed…He suddenly grew claustrophobic in the dank chamber, and walked for the door, whistling the Alaunt after him. Qeteb and his fellow Demons were undoubtedly occupied elsewhere and, if the StarGrace had spoken true, he need not fear the Hawkchilds. He would surely be safe enough in the fresh air—such as it was in the corrupted realm—for the time being.

  Gods! He needed to feel the wind on his face!

  But although DragonStar climbed unhindered to the surface to sit, as his father had once sat, on a pile of rocks overlooking the Hundred Mile Beach of the Icebear Coast and the battering ocean beyond, he did not long enjoy the peace of the pre-dawn air.

  StarLaughter joined him.

  “Sanctuary,” she said, and leaned teasingly close to him as she sat down.

  He did not give her the satisfaction of moving away.

  StarLaughter forgot her teasing almost as soon as she’d begun it. Sanctuary was so dangerous! What if…? Momentary panic engulfed her. “WolfStar won’t be safe in Sanctuary! Qeteb will surely break through!”

  DragonStar repressed a sigh.

  “We are destined for each other,” StarLaughter said, once more calm and with a faraway expression on her face. “When he sees me again…oh!”

  “He may not be as pleased to see you as you will be to see him,” DragonStar said carefully. While, on the one hand, StarLaughter’s insane idea that she and WolfStar could forgive all their differences, WolfStar falling deeply in love with her the instant he laid eyes on her again, made DragonStar want to laugh incredulously—StarLaughter must indeed have lost her mind!—on the other hand, DragonStar did not want to antagonise StarLaughter to the point where she might turn against him.

  His task had been made infinitesimally easier by the fact that he and his could ignore the Hawkchilds.

  StarLaughter shrugged aside DragonStar’s comment. “We’ve had our differences—”

  DragonStar choked back a laugh.

  “—but we will surely overcome them.”

  “It might take some, ah, time.”

  She shrugged again, but did not respond to DragonStar’s comment. Instead, she said: “How will he manage to escape the Demons when they break through into Sanctuary?”

  Now DragonStar had to fight back anger. She had no thought for the millions of peoples and creatures trapped in Sanctuary, only for WolfStar. Her love was as single-minded as her revenge had been.

  “Axis—”

  “Your father?”

  “Yes, my father. Axis has charge of Sanctuary. I hope he will manage to find a way to save them. Some back door that they can escape from.”

  “But we must help!” StarLaughter cried, sitting up straight and turning a frantic face to stare at DragonStar. “I must do something! WolfStar must get out! We must—”

  “Stars damn it, StarLaughter! You’ve spent thousands of years plotting his death. Now that it might be imminent, I find it hard to believe that you’re in a panic that his death might actually be accomplished!”

  StarLaughter drew completely away from him, her face frozen.

  DragonStar reached out a hand. “StarLaughter, forgive me. I have a great deal on my mind.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, she took his hand. “I had hoped you would support me,” she said, and turned her face aside.

  “StarLaughter, I honestly will do nothing to stand in your way. Indeed, I wish you the best. You and WolfStar make the perfect couple. I just find it so hard to believe that hate can turn so quickly,” and so completely, he thought, “to love.”

  StarLaughter relaxed and smiled prettily. “Oh, DragonStar, you just do not understand love. It takes many twists and turns until it reaches its home.”

  And to that DragonStar had nothing to say, although he smiled wryly.

  After a while, and after some more desultory conversation, StarLaughter moved off, no doubt to plan her single-handed rescue of WolfStar from Sanctuary, and DragonStar also stood up.

  The view of dawn breaking far to the east had been entirely spoilt for him.

  The Strike Force were waiting in the lower corridors of Star Finger, and DragonStar spent almost two hours talking quietly but intently with them. Eventually, in groups of three Wing each, the members of the Strike Force rose like silver into the air above the wasteland and sped off in four different directions.

  By mid-morning Faraday sheltered in a huddle of rubble that had, she thought, once been a customs post on the road into Carlon. It had been a substantial stone building of some three or four rooms, and its destruction at the hands of some demonic band of creatures had left a goodly pile of stone for her to hide within. Indeed, part of the rubble formed its own gloomy cave, and all Faraday was surprised about was that it hadn’t already been occupied by some family of maniacal hogs, or rats, or perhaps even cannibalistic hens.

  Instead, it was surprisingly clean and even partly warm, as it was a haven from the wind, although the floor was rough, and no matter how Faraday shifted, she could not find a comfortable spot.

  Finally, Faraday rose. It was time to look out on the Maze.

  It was…frightening. She remembered when she’d walked past this area with Zenith in the shadow-lands, but even the horror of that vision could not compete with the actuality.

  The Maze enveloped what had once been Grail Lake, as well as the blackened ruins of Carlon.

  But it was now sending tentacles of twisted corridors and dead-end walks out into the surrounding landscape. Mother! Were the Demons planning on turning the entire wasteland into a Maze? Or was this some demented plan of the long-dead Enemy?

  Faraday’s pile of rubble was on a small hillock that commanded a crossroads linking Romsdale, Avonsdale and Carlon. The perfect site for a customs post, but also a perfect site for observing what went on within the Maze.

  It writhed with activity. There were…gods! there must be billions of creatures seething through its twisted veins! The Maze’s walls sheltered a mass of life so dense that Faraday could hardly pick out individual creatures. She was up high and perhaps half a league from the Maze, but even so the mass within the Maze seemed unusually coherent.

  Almost…coagulated.

  “Oh, gods!” Faraday whispered as she realised what the Demons had made of the Maze. It was now the gigantic heart of the wasteland and within it seethed a black blood composed of the billions of creatures that swayed to the call of the Demons.

  At any moment it would pump those creatures out into the wasteland.

  Even as she watched, the Maze appeared to give a perceptible heave, and from four gates flowed four streams of dark, writhing evil.

  One of the streams headed directly for her.

  Of all the five witches, DareWing and Goldman had the most salubrious surroundings. They found Cauldron Lake almost untouched by the destruction and malevolence that had wasted most of Tencendor. The gold and crystal forest stood virtually unscathed, although some of the outer rings of trees had fallen over and shattered as the forests surrounding it had burned to ash, but, most importantly, Cauldron Keep still stood.

  As comforting and as welcoming as it always had been for those it loved.

  As DareWing and Goldman walked in, the lizard only a half-step behind, they found a fire burning in a central hearth, two beds made up with feather pillows and deep quilts, rugs spread between deep armchairs and chaise longues, and a general air of welcome for all three.

  The Keep had laid a magnificent table: smoked hams, fresh vegetables and herbs, eight different cheeses, five loaves of breads, cakes, buns, biscuits, honey, fruit and steaming tea, and a bowl of food for the lizard set close to the fire.

  Goldman rubbed his hands, and sat down at the table.

  DareWing just stood and stared.

  Gwendylyr, ever practical, merely sighed as she surveyed the destruction of the Lake of Life and Sigholt. The destruction of Sigholt had been so well ma
naged that, unlike Faraday, there was not even a pile of rubble suitable for a sheltering spot.

  Gwendylyr looked about. The Lake seethed and bubbled with pestilence—it literally stank of the Demons—and could offer no succour.

  Sigholt’s sad remains were of no use.

  She turned and studied the Urqhart Hills. Ah…there! A stream-bed led down through a narrow gully to what had once been a moat. Gwendylyr frowned, trying to remember the old stories of the days when Axis had battled Gorgrael. Hadn’t Belial once managed to unblock an old spring in a cave nearby? The lines of Gwendylyr’s forehead deepened as she dredged back through all her memories…that gully extended into the hills about half a league, and then should end in the cave.

  Smiling with satisfaction, Gwendylyr picked up her skirts and moved up the gully, stepping daintily over fallen rocks and crevices as she went. Whatever state she found the cave in, Gwendylyr knew she could make it do.

  Physically and mentally exhausted, Leagh sank against the stump of a tree just below the ridge of the crater surrounding Fernbrake Lake…or what had once been a lake.

  Now it was a desiccated garden, a maddened, swirling combination of rose thorns and wind topping the small hillock in its centre.

  Leagh lifted a hand to wipe a tear from her face, and found it was shaking.

  Quickly she clenched it and let it sink to the earth. She closed her eyes, then opened them again almost instantly, still seeing Qeteb striding towards her.

  Better the view of this desecration than the memory of Qeteb.

  But instead of Qeteb, Leagh saw something step out of the bloodied rose wind atop the hillock.

  It was one of the Demons. Sheol, for it had a female form.

  And another…Leagh frowned. Another female? Oh gods! It was Niah, but a Niah indisputably a Demon. DragonStar had been right then. Qeteb had indeed infused the Niah-woman with Rox’s soul.

  Two more Demons stepped out of the twisting thorns, and then one more.

  Qeteb.

  Leagh shrank as close as she could to the earth, wriggling slightly further behind the tree stump.