Battleaxe
Page 23
Where had his talent for the harp and the music come from in the first place? Axis could never remember actually learning the harp. He had simply always played. Even as a small child he had been more skilful than the court bards. If the Seneschal learned of these strange tunes and words that bubbled out of long-hidden memories, Axis himself might face the purifying flames, or, at the very least, be subjected to rigorous inquisition. For the first time in his life he was glad for the distance separating him and the Tower of the Seneschal.
He wandered slowly through the pitch-black night, listening to the soft sounds of the camp settling down for the night. Despite his best efforts, Axis’ thoughts turned to Faraday and Timozel. Two such young and innocent people, both with such promise and zest for life. One the son of his closest female friend, the other a beautiful woman who had earned his respect and admiration. Axis had never been in love before, although he had never been slow to charm women into his bed, and had sometimes wondered if he was too cynical and bitter to ever open himself to the risks of love. But that night in the shadows of the Barrows, with the bones of the Icarii kings mouldering beneath his feet and Faraday weeping in his arms, Axis had realised that perhaps, just perhaps, her freshness, innocence and above all, honesty, might be enough to break through the barriers he had spent years building around his heart.
Axis bent down and pulled a strand of grass from the ground, absently chewing it as he thought. What had he meant when he’d told Faraday to think about risking spending her life with someone she could learn to love? Had he meant himself? Yes, Axis admitted. Yes he had. He laughed bitterly. Had he really been so brazen as to suggest to the daughter of an Earl that she would forget a life of ease at court, possibly a life as Queen, for his bed? Borneheld’s taunt in the palace courtyard had stung deep. Axis could never hope to win the hand of a noble heiress like Faraday. Was that why he had kissed her? Was he attracted to her only because it would be a triumph to win her away from Borneheld?
Axis wasn’t sure. But he did know that he had never met another woman like her. Perhaps he had kissed her simply because she was Faraday and because she was close and warm and because he thought he might be falling in love with her.
Axis’ mouth twisted. Now she lay mouldering with the Icarii kings along with her mother and over three hundred of his Axe-Wielders. In any event, what was love if it made him so careless that he condemned so many to death while he was lost in dreams of his would-be lover? Despite the reassurances of Ogden and Veremund, Axis still burned with guilt at leading the Axe-Wielders out of the Barrows that day.
“You must not blame yourself, Axis.”
Axis spun around. Strolling out of the dark, Belial smiled and saluted casually, although the use of Axis’ name implied he came as a friend, not as Axis’ lieutenant. In front of their men Axis and Belial were always BattleAxe and Lieutenant; in private they were friends and companions.
Axis tried to be annoyed and angry at the interruption, but failed on both counts. “I was responsible,” Axis said, turning away to look at the clouds. “There is no-one else to blame.”
Belial stood by him, watching the clouds as well, offering the simple comfort of his presence. There was nothing else to say about what had happened at the Barrows. It was the worst—in fact, the first—serious military defeat Axis had ever suffered and Belial knew that it would take time for Axis to come to terms with himself. Especially since the loss involved the Lady Faraday. Belial had not failed to notice his commander’s attraction to the woman.
He turned his mind back to the storm. How could one call an altercation with a roiling storm a “military” defeat? Because Belial, like so many of the Axe-Wielders, had made the connection between the unnatural ice spears of the storm and the Gorgrael of the Prophecy. What else from the Prophecy would rise up and bark at their heels before this adventure was ended?
“Belial?”
Belial snapped out of his reverie and realised that Axis had called his name two or three times.
“Your introspection is catching, Axis,” he laughed. “What is it?”
“Belial, what did I play there tonight?”
Belial gazed steadily at his friend, then clapped Axis on the shoulder and grinned. “Who knows, Axis? To play something that beautiful you must have the soul of a bard, and all know that only bards and pregnant women need never explain their actions.”
To his relief Axis laughed and relaxed under his hand. “You have the soul of a diplomat, Belial. What are you doing wandering about with the Axe-Wielders?”
“I’d look ridiculous in satins and ribbons, Axis, and I can’t make a courtly bow to save my life. Now, to more mundane matters. I came out here with a purpose. The fifth cohort has a problem with its…”
“Belial!” Axis whispered, appalled, and Belial stopped short at the horror in Axis’ voice.
Rolling down from the north, perhaps half a league away, were great churning clouds hanging to the ground, shot through with silver and blue lightning.
Gorgrael! Axis thought, furious with the Destroyer and with Ogden and Veremund for claiming Gorgrael would be too weak to strike soon. With his anger came fear. How could he save his men in these open spaces?
As one both men raced for the camp.
As they reached the first of the lines Axis grabbed Belial’s arm. “Get word to the commanders,” he shouted. “Tell the men to dig themselves as far into the ground as they can before the storm hits. It’s our only hope!”
As Belial ran off, Axis looked back to the clouds, expecting to see the ghastly head of Gorgrael. But although they boiled with unnatural malevolence, they took no other form, and Axis turned back into camp.
Everywhere men were digging frantically with whatever came to hand—spades, swords, even pots and pans. Axis made himself walk slowly through the lines of men, stopping every now and then. Fear showed on every face.
The storm clouds were closer now, perhaps only a few minutes away. They were massive, dragging along the ground even as they boiled and tumbled among themselves, glowing and crackling in the night air with flashes of silver and blue lightning. It was one of the most frightening—and weird—sights Axis had ever seen.
“There’s no wind, BattleAxe,” Ogden shouted, grabbing at his arm. “Listen to me, Axis, Gorgrael can’t—”
Axis threw his arm off, furious at the sight of the old man. “You told me that Gorgrael was too weak to strike again this far south. You were wrong then. Why should I listen to you now?”
“He is weak, Axis!” Veremund said, rushing up behind Ogden. “Look at those clouds. Do you sense the same power in those that infused the last storm?”
“There is no wind, no fury, Axis. Gorgrael has weakened himself,” Veremund continued more quietly.
“Then what is that I see approaching, gentlemen?” Axis snarled.
“It is a storm of fear,” Ogden said very, very quietly. “The Destroyer knows he can cause as much damage with fear as he can with ice spears.”
Axis knew he was right. Panic was as deadly to an army as were spears…of any description. Without another word he turned on his heel and strode further into the camp.
Veremund laid his hand on Ogden’s shoulder. “We can make ourselves useful amongst the horses. If they panic when that cloud hits they will kill more effectively than any ice spears that Gorgrael can send our way.”
Most men managed to dig themselves a small pit in the ground, dragging armour and cloaks over themselves, wriggling as close as they could into the earth.
When Belial indicated a small depression he had prepared for them Axis shook his head. “Hand me my cloak, Belial. I want nothing else. I will meet Gorgrael’s fear on my feet.”
He pushed Belial down, dragging a canvas ground sheet over him, then wrapped himself in his cloak and turned to face the clouds.
Already they had enveloped the outer edges of the Axe-Wielder lines and Axis could see the hunched forms of his men disappear as the clouds rolled forward.
But he had eyes only for the clouds.
He wondered if death was like this. The clouds consumed everything before them. One moment a line of hunched shapes was clearly visible, the next it was simply gone as if it had never existed.
Suddenly Axis’ face was lit with an eerie blue and silver light, the reflection of the glow of the clouds, and in the next instant they had consumed him as well.
A cloud of fear, Ogden had said, and the moment they rolled over his head Axis knew why.
It was as though he stood alone in all existence. The enveloping cloud, clinging to every curve of his body and seeping up his nostrils, cut him off from every other living creature. Even the stars and the earth were gone. Although Axis knew Belial lay in a depression at his very feet, knew he was there, yet he was not. Belial was gone and Axis was alone. There was nothing but this cloud, running its hungry, icy fingers over the exposed skin of his face, sending slivers of fear sliding into the darkest niches of his body.
The interior of the cloud was brighter than the hottest day. The silver and blue bolts of lightning somewhere deep in the cloud’s interior reflected off every particle of water in its misty substance so that Axis had to squint to keep the light from hurting his eyes.
He began to tremble. There was nothing here in this cloud but himself. He was alone, isolated in existence.
Wrong. The whispers began again.
“Axis, Axis…pretty, pretty…tasty, tasty…”
Axis bit his tongue to stop himself from screaming. They were like yet unlike the whispery voices from his nightmares. The whispers of his nightmare had hot teeth which stripped his skin and flesh achingly slowly so that he died the most painful death possible. These whispers were simply hungry…and Axis could hear them seeking through the mist.
“Pretty, pretty.”
“Tasty, tasty.”
“Axis, Axis.”
And then, horribly, from somewhere off to his right, Axis heard the click of claws. Click, click. Click, click. Click, click. As if some ghostly creature was scraping through the mist towards him.
He tried to tell himself that there was nothing there. Just voices. Just fear.
Click, click.
And, far away, the sweep of great wings through the air. And again.
“Axis, Axis.”
Click, click. Click, click.
And the sweep of wings.
He felt a movement at his feet and thought it was a creature come to devour him. He jumped back, feeling his heart seize so violently he thought it would kill him.
“No,” a soft voice moaned.
Belial! Axis took a deep breath. He was not alone! Not only Belial, but over three thousand of his men were out there.
How could he have forgotten that?
Again Axis breathed deep, clinging to the thought that he was not alone. Gradually he regained some measure of composure. Fear. That was all that Gorgrael could throw at him. Fear. Whispers in the cloud. Fear.
But Ogden was right. Fear could kill. If you allowed it to run away with your reason it would eventually persuade you to relinquish your hold on life.
And no doubt every one of the Axe-Wielders out there in their own private nightmares were as consumed with fear as he had just been.
Axis laughed, hard as it was, and reached down with his hand. He fumbled about then hauled the canvas off Belial. The rough feel of the material in his hand gave him added heart and even when a set of teeth snapped so close to his ear that he could feel their passing, Axis did not let it distract him.
“Belial? Belial, my friend!” Axis forced a hearty tone into his voice. “Why do you cower on your belly when you still have myriad adventures to face on your feet? Arise, my friend, and give me some company in this cursed mist.”
“Axis? ”
Axis flinched at the fear evident in Belial’s voice. If Belial had succumbed this badly, then how were the rest of his men faring isolated in the mist?
Axis grasped Belial’s hand. “Come, Belial, we still have a night of revelry ahead of us.” He hauled Belial to his feet, appalled at the sickly blue hue over the man’s face.
“Revelry,” he repeated slowly, then suddenly he knew what he had to do. “Belial? Come, wake from your fugue.” He snapped his fingers.
“Axis? What do you plan? A dance?” His voice was as forced as Axis’ had been moments earlier, but at least he was making an effort.
“A dance, Belial? If I plan a dance then we need partners. Come,” he gave Belial a shove that propelled him into the mist. “Wake those about us and we will have a night of revelry such as Gorgrael has never seen.”
Pray keep your heart, my friend, Axis thought as Belial stumbled into the mist. Pray keep your heart.
Axis sat down, reached into the pack he could feel at his side, “Ah, here you are. Well, Gorgrael, do you know this little ditty, perhaps?”
He struck a chord on the harp, then began to sing merrily, his voice clear and sweet, cutting through both mist and whispers.
Belle my Wife, she loves no strife
she said unto me quietly,
Rise up and save Cow Crumbocke’s life!
man! put thy cloak about thee!
Standing among the horses, Veremund and Ogden stared at each other wide-eyed. They had been affected by the mist, but not as badly as the Axemen.
“I thought he would have sung—” Ogden began, but Veremund cut him off.
“No. No, this is perfect. Anything else would have been alien to his men’s ears. This they know. This they can cling to.”
“This,” Ogden laughed, understanding, “they can sing along with.”
Cow Crumbocke is a very good cow
she has always been good to the pail,
She has helped us to butter and cheese, I trow
and in other things she will not fail.
One by one men turned over in their pits. Many, like Axis, had been at the edge of madness. Some had teetered over.
Each of them had been alone with their fears and the dreadful whispers and scrapings of claws and beatings of wings. The mist, ghastly silver and blue and as dank and cold as a five-day corpse, had crept beneath armour and cloaks and had edged between tightly closed eyelids.
For I would be loath to see her pine,
so therefore, good husband, hear me now
Forsake the court and follow the Plough,
man! take thine old cloak about thee!
Men grabbed onto Axis’ voice as they would a hand reached out to save them from a raging sea. “Belle my wife…she loves no strife…” then they heard another voice, and another, and yet another. Then they realised that they were not alone. There were others out there.
It was the ballad that linked them and that allowed courage to flow between them.
The cloud roiled and hissed and lightning shot from earth to sky, but the song went on, and a greater chorus of voices began to sing it.
My cloak it is a very good cloak,
it has always been good to the wear,
It has cost me many a groat,
and I’ve had it this forty-four year.
The ballad, three thousand voices strong, soared into the night.
The cloud began to disperse. The lightning slowed then disappeared. Whispers faded. Claws and wings withdrew into the night. Soon there was silence and single shreds of mist clinging stubbornly to a few shards of grass. Then there was simply nothing but the night and low pregnant clouds beginning to shed their load of snow.
Yet, despite the three thousand voices, Axis’ voice still rang clear and sweet through the night, leading the choir.
Belle my Wife, she loves no strife
she said unto me quietly,
Rise up and save Cow Crumbocke’s life!
man! put thy cloak about thee!
Some had been at the edge of madness. Some had teetered over.
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But all came back.
27
TOWARDS FERNBRAKE LAKE
They left the next morning armed against the cold with clean clothes, new clothes and boots for Yr (and even an old but serviceable cloak that had once belonged to the Goodman’s father), a plentiful supply of provisions, blankets, and, as promised, the trusty and sound mule to carry their newly acquired belongings. Jack set off in the lead, his vacant expression lasting only until they were out of sight of the Renkins’ farmstead, his pigs trotting happily before him. Timozel followed, leading the placid mule, and the two women brought up the rear, walking with healthy strides now that their energies had been a little replenished. Although the snow continued to drift down about them, the wind had abated. Nevertheless, all were aware that mid-Bone-month was six weeks too early for snowfalls this far south. No-one spoke his name, but the lingering menace of Gorgrael’s threat shadowed their footsteps.
Although Faraday and Timozel had told the Goodpeople Renkin they were headed north for one of the towns of Rhaetia, Jack slowly led them north-east towards the Bracken Ranges, the low and narrow mountain range that divided Skarabost from Arcen. As they approached the ranges their legs ached with the constant scrabbling up and then down low rolling hills. They met no-one and encountered no insurmountable obstacles, although it rankled with Timozel that Jack was leading this expedition north when Artor’s vision in the stairwell had clearly shown him to be a mighty warrior who would one day lead a great army. But Timozel said nothing. Artor would show him when the time was right. Meanwhile, as Faraday’s Champion he devoted his days completely to her, making sure she had the most advantageous spot before their evening campfire and the choicest portions of food. His nights were devoted to other pursuits.