Battleaxe

by Sara Douglass

  Faraday managed a small smile back, uncertain what to do. “Good morning, Yr,” she finally managed. The cat jumped across to Faraday’s side of the tent, walking up Faraday’s body until she stood on her chest. There she sat and began to knead uncomfortably. “Good morning, sweet one,” she whispered in a burr that was all but inaudible. “May I suggest that now you bear me more respect you might be a little less tardy about enquiring after my breakfast?”

  Faraday closed her eyes for a moment. It had been no dream. She remembered what she had agreed to do on top of the Barrow and shuddered. “Food!” hissed Yr.

  An hour after daybreak the column of Axe-Wielders wended its way through the Barrows and out onto the exposed plains of Arcness. Overnight the weather had deteriorated and daybreak had seen the landscape lighten scarcely beyond a dim twilight. The wind had doubled in strength and the clouds to the north, which hung so low that in places they dragged along the ground, bubbled and broiled. Streaks of lightning shot through them at intervals and occasional rumbles of thunder reached the riders as they moved out. The mood within the column was grim, and even Veremund was sunk in uncharacteristic gloom. Occasionally he exchanged glances with Yr, huddled behind Faraday’s saddle.

  “Excuse me,” Veremund said finally, booting his heels into his donkey’s flanks, “I must talk to the BattleAxe.”

  Timozel turned to Faraday and raised his eyebrows, but she only turned to watch Veremund’s back disappear towards the front of the column, a worried expression growing on her face.

  Veremund cantered up to Ogden who was riding a few paces behind Axis and Belial.

  “My friend, I do not like what is happening,” he said softly.

  Ogden gave him an anxious look. “No. It is not good. These clouds are not natural. We make a tempting target for Gorgrael—four Sentinels within the vicinity, Axis and Faraday.”

  “What can we do?”

  Ogden shook his head. “We can but warn, Veremund, we can but warn. Yet I know not how to warn Axis against what looks like approaching.”

  They both booted their donkeys forward until they were riding next to Axis.

  “BattleAxe,” Ogden leaned forward. “I like not the look of this approaching storm. We are so exposed here—there is nowhere to shelter.”

  Axis glanced at him briefly. He had been thinking the same thing himself, over the past few minutes the wind had almost doubled in strength so that it now blew around them in malevolent gusts. He reined Belaguez to a sudden halt. “Belial, how far out are we from the Barrows?”

  Belial considered a moment. “We have hardly seen the sun this morning, BattleAxe, so it is hard to estimate. But I would think that we have not been riding for much more than an hour.”

  Axis chewed his lip, berating himself for pulling out this morning at all. He had been so preoccupied with thoughts of Faraday, of the feel of her pressed against his body, that he had failed to consider the dangers of a march in this weather. What an Artor-cursed fool he was!

  “And the storm, Belial, how far away do you think that is?”

  The column of mounted Axemen had started to ride past them now, and the four men edged their mounts out of the way. Some of the men gave them anxious glances.

  Belial squinted into the distance. “Less than an hour, BattleAxe. The horizon is already lost.”

  Axis quickly made his decision. “Belial, get this damned column turned around. Spread the men out as much as possible so that they don’t ride each other down. And tell them to ride, damn it, ride as fast as they can. Those Barrows will give us the only shelter we’re going to get!”

  Belial turned his horse and started shouting at the men. Axis cursed again. It was well-nigh impossible to get such a large column turned around and moving fast without some degree of chaos. Belaguez fidgeted nervously, tossing his head and prancing as the column slowly, achingly slowly, started to wheel about and spread out over the plains.

  “Go, damn you,” Axis whispered. “Ride before this wind!”

  The Axe-Wielders started in ones and twos to push their horses faster. Ogden leaned as close as he could to the prancing stallion and shouted to attract Axis’ attention above the increasing thunder of hooves. “Axis! BattleAxe!”

  Axis only just heard him and looked down at the two Brothers, still keeping him company on their placid white donkeys. “Damn you! Ride!” he yelled at them. Belaguez reared in excitement and fear. He wanted nothing more than to stretch his powerful body out after the rest of the horses fleeing before the wind.

  Ogden wheeled his donkey out from under the stallion’s hooves. “Axis,” he shouted again. “Listen to me! This is no ordinary storm. This is the work of Gorgrael!”

  “Then tell me how to fight it, man!” Axis almost screamed at him, keeping his seat on Belaguez’s plunging back only through his remarkable gift of balance. “Tell me how to save my Axemen from this demon-spawned nightmare!” The wind was now so strong that it tore Axis’ blond hair from its braid, whipping it wildly about his face.

  “I don’t know,” Ogden whispered, terrified, “I don’t know.”

  Axis stared at him for a long moment, anger and fear battling across his face, then he kicked the donkey’s rump. “Then ride, damn you, ride! It’s our only chance!”

  He finally let Belaguez have his head and the stallion raced away after the rest of the Axe-Wielders. Ogden and Veremund followed as fast as their donkeys’ short legs would allow. This was not how it was supposed to be.

  Timozel turned Faraday and Merlion’s horses about as soon as it became apparent what was happening, and screamed at their maids to do the same thing. He whipped his sword out of his weapon belt and beat their horses’ rumps with the flat of the blade, his too-long hair falling over his eyes. Every time he looked around the storm clouds were closer, heavier, angrier. Never had he seen clouds move in such a fashion, or boil in defiance of the wind. Red, blue and silver flashes lit them from within.

  Faraday gripped her horse’s mane in her hands, terrified by the sudden turn of events. She remembered the shot of lightning and the anger of the thunder last night when the Sentinels had shouted their presence at the sky, and she knew that somehow these two events were connected. “Oh Axis, please be safe,” she cried to herself as she struggled to keep her hands tangled in the horse’s heaving mane, “please be safe!” Behind her, Yr clung with her claws to the saddle blanket, fighting to keep her balance on the horse’s wildly heaving back, her eyes glowing deep blue, her lips pulled back in a snarl. “Jack!” she hissed, and her eyes flashed as she spat the word. “Help us! Be there for us!”

  It was every rider for him or herself in this mad race. Adding to the danger of a flat-out gallop of over three thousand horsemen were the packhorses and relief horses, most of which were running out of control. Faraday prayed that her horse would not stumble and fall. A terrified shriek sounded behind her. She turned and saw her mother’s maid disappear under the flashing hooves of the horses that came behind her. She gave a cry and might have tried to turn back, if Timozel had not grabbed her horse’s head and kept it moving forward.

  “She’s gone, Faraday!” he screamed at her. “There’s nothing you can do. Save your own life!”

  Faraday glanced across at her mother who, white-faced, was clinging grimly to the pommel of her saddle. Her fingers tightened in her horse’s mane until the coarse black hair started to cut deep into her flesh. She began to cry soundlessly.

  At the back of the mass of fleeing riders Axis finally managed to bring Belaguez under some control. He swung the horse’s head around to look for the two Brothers, but what he saw drove all thoughts from his mind. The line of broiling black clouds was now much, much closer. Frighteningly close. In their centre a gigantic head had formed out of the cloud mass; Vaguely manlike, although its bulging forehead and massive beaked nose looked almost like those of a bird of prey, it had a set of vicious tusks emerging from its cheeks that glinted wickedly as it twisted its head from side to side. Its mout
h hung open, a too-large tongue protruding over its lower lip, canine fangs hanging from its upper gums. Huge silver orbs were sunk into deep eye sockets. Its skin was leathery and scaled, like a lizard’s skin. The cloud head was the most terrifying thing Axis could imagine encountering.

  And then it spoke. It saw the solitary man sitting on the grey stallion behind the fleeing riders and in front of the two small figures on the donkeys, and it spoke.

  “Axis,” it boomed across the distance. “My son.”

  “No,” Axis whispered, lost again in his nightmare—except that this time the darkness had lifted, and he could see his tormentor. “You are not my father,” he croaked from a mouth gone dry and papery with fear. He was no longer capable of rational thought. The writhing, twisting tusked head held him entrapped.

  Ogden and Veremund reached him. “Axis!” Veremund screamed, standing tall in the stirrups of his saddle to reach up to Axis’ face and slap him as hard as he could. “That is not your father, simply a likeness of Gorgrael created from cloud and ice! Axis! Listen to me! Do not listen to him—he speaks only lies!”

  “I came to your mother like this,” the voice said, long ropes of saliva twisted down from its tongue. “I came to your mother like this and she loved me as I am! Yes! She loved me! She writhed for me!”

  Axis felt the evil presence of his dreams. Despair threatened to overwhelm him. There was nowhere to run. There was never anywhere to run.

  “He won’t listen to me!” Veremund turned to shout at Ogden. “What can we do? If he stays here he will die when that cloud rolls over him!”

  Ogden thought frantically, then edged his donkey as close to Belaguez as he possibly could, stood as high in his stirrups as he dared and, eyes glowing, launched himself onto Belaguez’s back, hauling himself up behind Axis. Belaguez plunged and danced at the unexpected weight, but Axis had him on such a tight rein that the stallion could do very little to dislodge the weight from his back.

  “My boy,” Ogden breathed into Axis’ ear, “do you remember this tune?” He started to hum, a strange lilting tune that gained strength and thrived despite the howling wind. Axis blinked and turned his head slightly. Ogden continued humming, his voice becoming stronger with each phrase. Axis’ eyes started to refocus and Ogden felt some of the tension draining out of his rigid muscles.

  “Oh,” Axis gasped, turning his eyes from the apparition of Gorgrael and hummed a few bars along with Ogden.

  “Yes! Yes, that’s it, m’boy. Sing! Sing with me!” Axis’ voice grew stronger and Veremund finally recognised the tune. It was an ancient ward for protection that Icarii fathers sang to their babies while still in the womb. If Axis’ father was of the line of Icarii Enchanters, then the ward of protection would be strong indeed. Very strong. It was the first gift Icarii fathers gave their sons, and, some said, the most valuable.

  “Sing, Axis,” Veremund whispered, tears in his eyes, “sing!”

  And Axis did indeed sing, his voice now stronger than Ogden’s, his eyes blazing in his face, the melody lilting above the wind. He took the melody beyond what Ogden had sung to him, adding new variations and creating strange new depths to the song. He sang words, alien words, rather than simply humming a melody. Now he was smiling, some distant memory resurfacing in his mind, and an expression of joy crossed his face. His voice was very beautiful and very moving.

  Veremund gave a shout of triumph, and wheeled his donkey around so he could shake his fist at the head as it advanced towards them. “Did your father sing that to you, unloved one?” he screamed. “Did your father bother to sing that to you while you grew in your poor mother’s womb? Did your father love you enough to sing to you?”

  The head of Gorgrael gave a terrifying scream of rage, viciously swinging its tusks from side to side, and for a moment Veremund thought that he had only provoked it into a more dreadful display of power. But as the scream died the head started to dissolve, reforming into simple cloud again. But the storm still came on. And it was as angry and as deadly as previously.

  Veremund swung back to Axis and Ogden, still clinging precariously to Belaguez’s back. “Ogden! Axis! Ride now!”

  Turning Belaguez’s head for the Barrows, Axis gave the long-suffering stallion his head. “That was not my father!” he whispered to himself.

  Veremund kicked his white donkey after Belaguez, but Ogden’s riderless donkey outraced them all.

  20

  THE STORM

  Few of the Axe-Wielders were aware of what was happening behind their backs, and Faraday, her mother and Timozel had completely missed it.

  The first riders were now approaching the Barrows, but the storm was rapidly gaining on them. Already Axis, Ogden and Veremund were encased in heavy rain, their horses finding it harder and harder to keep their footing in the slippery mud churned up by the Axe-Wielders’ mounts. The wind increased to gale force, screaming across the plains behind them, and Axis bent low over Belaguez’s neck to give the horse as much assistance as possible. Ogden clung on grimly behind him. Because of the double weight that Belaguez carried, Veremund’s donkey was able to keep pace. Ogden’s white donkey had disappeared in the pelting rain.

  As Timozel and Faraday approached the Barrows, Merlion and her maid close behind, Timozel grabbed the bridle of Faraday’s horse and pulled it towards the shelter of one of the steep-walled Barrows. The rain was upon the Barrows now, streaming down from the sky in unnatural floods, driven by the brutal wind. Every rider was drenched to the skin whether they wore a heavy sealskin cloak or not. Men and horses scurried towards the most sheltered spots among the Barrows, and the air filled with the sounds of men shouting, horses neighing and the increasing fury of the storm as it swept over them.

  Faraday pulled her horse to a halt and frantically looked about her. “Timozel!” she cried. “My mother?”

  “Faraday, get off your horse. We’ve got to find some shelter. Now!” Timozel shouted as he slid off his bay gelding and stumbled across to Faraday.

  But Faraday tugged at the reins of her exhausted horse, trying to kick it into the turmoil about her. “Mother?” she shouted, desperately searching. “Mother!”

  Timozel reached up blindly, his eyes closed against the beating rain, fumbled for a moment with Faraday’s soaked cloak, then seized her waist and hauled her unceremoniously off the horse.

  “Timozel!” Faraday wailed, trying to twist out of his hands but overbalancing and falling to her knees in the mud. Her horse swerved back into the confusion of men and horses about them, causing Yr to leap from its back, feet and claws extended, wet fur standing in spikes all over her body. She landed squarely on the back of Timozel’s head and neck.

  “Ug!” grunted Timozel, collapsing on top of Faraday and pushing them both down into the ground.

  Yr’s leap undoubtedly saved all three of their lives. Just as Timozel collapsed on top of Faraday a great sheet of what appeared to be lightning speared through the sky, striking Faraday’s horse as it turned to bolt into the storm.

  Timozel rolled off Faraday and squinted through the rain. The horse lay completely still not four paces from them, its head shattered by a massive spear of thick ice. As Timozel gaped, unable to believe what he was seeing, more ice spears rained with vicious purpose from the sky; those men and horses still in the flat open spaces between the Barrows took the full impact of the dreadful deluge.

  Timozel grabbed Faraday by the shoulders, pulling her half out of the mud. “Faraday! We’ve got to get out of here! Move!” He hauled her to her feet, Faraday having just enough time to grab Yr out of the mud as Timozel pulled her, hunched over as far as they could go, towards the lee of a Barrow about thirty paces distant. Dreadful screams of those transfixed by the ice spears rang out about them.

  They had taken about fifteen faltering paces, buffeted by men, horses and the wind and pelting rain, when the dying body of a headless horse struck Timozel squarely on the shoulder.

  “No!” Timozel screamed, as he and Faraday were pu
shed to their knees in the mud again. Timozel tried to drag Faraday up, but she shrieked in complete horror and wrenched herself out of his hands before he could haul her to her feet.

  Timozel saw Faraday’s shocked face, and followed her eyes down. Lying on the ground, so close that Faraday’s knees were touching the body, was the lifeless form of Merlion. A few paces away was the body of her maid, crushed under her horse. An ice spear had caught Lady Merlion in the back as she ran towards the Barrow, and now protruded in jagged red-tipped spikes from her belly and breast. The rain had washed most of the blood from her face and her lifeless eyes stared into the murderous heavens, the heavy raindrops making small indentations on the surface of her eyeballs before running like tears of sorrow down her pale cheeks.

  Tearing his eyes away from the dreadful sight, Timozel groped for Faraday’s shoulders. Artor save them! he thought numbly, for surely nothing else would. His lips moved but no sound came. Faraday’s initial scream had weakened into a series of heart-rending wails, and now she dropped Yr, her hands patting ineffectually at Merlion’s body as if it was somehow possible to put her back together again.

  “Faraday. Faraday,” Timozel mumbled feebly, “come, we’ve got to go.”

  Faraday did not hear a word he said, and Timozel began to cry himself, overcome by the dead and dying about him, his tears mingling with the rain streaming down his face. This was not how he envisioned death, warriors should die nobly on the battlefield, fighting a flesh and blood foe—not this terror that rained down from a demonic sky. He closed his eyes and rested his face on Faraday’s shoulder, resigned to their imminent death.

  “Now, now,” a soft burred voice said. “Time to move, young man. No use staying here in this weather. Come, lovely lady, take my hand.”

  Timozel slowly lifted his head, twisting to look behind him. A roughly dressed peasant, long heavy staff in his hand, was leaning down and smiling into his eyes. He appeared totally unmoved by the carnage about him. He must be simple, thought Timozel vaguely. What was a peasant doing here in this nightmare?