Battleaxe

by Sara Douglass

  “May I stay?” she asked, a little afraid at asking so much. She knew what he would answer.

  “You will come back one day,” he said gently, “when your work and life is done, and then, if you wish, you may stay.” His voice and words held the certainty of a benediction.

  Faraday’s eyes filled with tears of joy. He would not lie to her.

  “But before that day arrives you may visit whenever you wish.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and the Horned One let go of her hands. He turned to one of his younger companions and took something from his hands.

  “Tree Friend. We would give you a talisman that will help you to grow into the person you need to become, and will also help you find us again if you are nowhere near the Mother. Grow in strength and understanding, Daughter, and never forget your service to the Mother.”

  He handed Faraday a wide shallow bowl that looked as if it had grown into its present shape rather than having been carved into it. The wood had a deep reddish colour, almost glowing under the night sky, and it felt warm in her hands.

  “Thank you,” Faraday said, awed by the honour of the gift, and just then a falling star blazed across the firmament above them.

  The Horned One looked at Raum. “Time grows short, young brother. Go in peace. Take care of yourself and the little one. There are too few of you in these times of need.” He bent back down to Shra. “Peace, little sister. Serve the Mother well, and learn how to sing to the seasons and the land. If you learn well, then perhaps it will be your voice that will make the difference.”

  The little girl nodded seriously. “Will,” she whispered, and both Raum and the Horned One smiled affectionately at her.

  “She will do well,” the Horned One said, then turned a final time to Faraday. “Be true,” he said, and touched her forehead, sending a jolt of power through her. “You will have to be.”

  Then he turned and, all at once, the clearing was bare save for Faraday, Raum and Shra. “Come,” said Raum quietly, “it is time to go.”

  This time the blackness could not save Timozel. He felt the mad hatred of the creature reaching through the blackness for him just before fierce, clawed hands seized his throat and started to pull him back into the iced cavern that the creature called home. “No escape,” it whispered, “no escape. If you will not be my friend then you will have to serve me as others do.” The power of the creature forced Timozel to his knees and for a minute he cowered there. A hand grasped his head and forced him to look up. The creature bent over him, yellow gobs of phlegm oozing down its protruding tongue and spattering on the ice floor. “Timozel,” it whispered, drooling over the word, “what a pretty boy! Yes! You will serve me well.” Timozel felt a force unlike anything he had ever experienced before compelling him to pledge his service to the foul being before him. He was completely and utterly powerless to resist. Except…”Can’t!” he choked. “What?” the creature spat, its eyes glowing red for a moment. “What does it mean—can’t?” “Can’t,” Timozel whispered with the last of the strength in his body. “Already pledged my life…my service…” The creature howled in fury, raising itself to its full height and shaking its entire body in a frenzy of rage. Timozel, still held tightly in its grasp, was flung about like a wet rag. His muscles and tendons screamed with the abuse they were receiving. The creature shrieked again, infuriated. “Who? Who have you pledged your life and service to?” Timozel shook his head weakly; this the creature’s power could not compel him to answer—to do so would break his oath of protection to Faraday. The creature hissed in maddened frustration. “Listen to me, you crawling piece of excrement, listen to this. You will promise to serve me if you are released from your other vow! Well?” It started to twist Timozel’s head about at such an unnatural angle that Timozel could feel his spinal column crack with the strain. Red spots floated before his eyes. He could feel the unnatural compulsion building again within his body. His resistance to the power of the creature faded. “Yes, I do so swear,” he whispered, hating himself more foully than he hated this creature before him. “I do so swear. If I am released from my current pledge of service then I will serve you before any other.” Gorgrael smiled. He knew he would have Timozel in the end. He indicated a shadow behind him. “The Dark Man bears witness, Timozel. Your vow binds you to Gorgrael. On the day that you are freed from your current vows you will come to me.” He held Timozel a heartbeat longer then let him go.

  Gorgrael turned to the cloaked figure behind him. “Did you set his feet on the dream paths to find me?”

  He felt rather than saw the smile from the hooded man.

  “Then thank you, thank you!” he almost grovelled.

  The Dark Man inclined his head, accepting Gorgrael’s gratitude. “It is going well,” he said. “Very well.”

  “Will you stay awhile?” asked Gorgrael.

  “No. No, you know that I have duties elsewhere. All will be well.”

  The cloaked figure before Gorgrael vanished.

  As they rose through the emerald light it began to thicken about them, until in the last few paces, when they could just see the brilliance of the stars in the night sky, it thickened into water, and they burst coughing and choking through the surface of the Fernbrake Lake about fifteen paces from the shore. Raum and Faraday were just tall enough to feel the bottom with their toes, and they carried Shra above them to the shore. Jack and Yr were waiting anxiously with blankets and wrapped them up as tightly as they could against the predawn ice.

  Faraday hugged the blanket to her, feeling the wooden bowl press against the skin of her stomach.

  All three of them slept for the rest of the morning, exhausted by the events of the predawn hours. When they finally rose, Raum and Shra immediately made preparations to leave for the Avarinheim.

  Faraday hugged them both. “Take care. Do not let those Plains Dwellers snatch you.”

  Raum laughed at her. “We travel only at night, and few humans can catch sight of us at night.”

  “Listen to her, Raum,” Yr said, seriously. “The Axe-Wielders will be in Smyrton sometime within the next few weeks on their way to Sigholt and Gorkenfort. Take care as you pass by on your way to the Avarinheim.”

  Jack, Yr and Faraday left for their camp in Pig Gully later that afternoon, arriving some time during the night. All seemed as they had left it; the mule and the pigs were close by and safe, Timozel lay asleep in his blankets. Yr slipped out of her clothes and snuggled down beside him, removing the enchantment. “He will wake as normal in the morning,” she whispered. Jack and Faraday nodded and retired to their own blankets. Their sleep was sound that night. All seemed well.

  31

  SMYRTON

  On the first day of Frost-month, almost three weeks after traversing the passes in the Bracken Ranges, the BattleAxe rode at the head of his column into the large Skarabost village of Smyrton.

  He was still on schedule to reach Gorkenfort at the beginning of Snow-month, but only just. He had been forced to slow the Axe-Wielders’ advance through Skarabost; in places the horses had foundered in the deepening snowdrifts. But there had been other frustrations and delays. The direct route from the Bracken Ranges to Smyrton would have taken Axis uncomfortably close to Earl Isend’s estates in the southern part of the province. Although he knew the Earl was still in Carlon, Axis had taken the Axe-Wielders almost a day out of their way to avoid the estates. Although the grief he felt over Faraday’s death was less keen than it had been, his guilt was no less painful. Axis could not bring himself to explain to Faraday’s two elder sisters how he had managed to lose their mother and sister. So he led the Axe-Wielders a day to the east.

  In itself that day’s detour should not have caused any problems, but it brought them into a village that had, over the previous several months, been terrorised by a vicious gang of bandits some sixty strong. It had taken the Axe-Wielders two days to deal with the bandits, but, when added to the delays caused by the weather, it meant that Axis reached Smyrton cl
ose to six days later than he had wanted.

  At least Gorgrael had not struck again since the night he had rolled his cloud of fear over the Axe-Wielders. The weather over Skarabost, while worsening towards an unnaturally early winter, had not had the feel of evil enchantment of the storm at the Ancient Barrows or the roiling cloud outside Arcen. His reaction to Gorgrael’s cloud had reassured Axis. He had dealt with it without recourse to the strange music or songs that still haunted him from time to time.

  As Axis rode into Smyrton, music and song were the last things on his mind. Smyrton was a village like any other village in the Seagrass Plains of Skarabost except that it was, perhaps, slightly larger than most. The lower taxes of the outpost regions attracted many settlers to this village, despite its proximity to the Forbidden Valley. Even in this distant outpost of civilisation, the open fields that surrounded the village were well-tended and the road into the village well-repaired and cleared of snow. The few villagers out in the snow-covered fields in the late afternoon waved excitedly as the long column of Axe-Wielders rode by.

  There were sixty or seventy houses in the village; each with an ample garden containing vegetables and fruit trees as well as chickens and the occasional pig. White-washed picket fences kept stray children and animals from straying onto the roadway. Most of the village homes lay clustered about the well-built Worship Hall where the good people of Smyrton met every Seventh Day for the Service of the Plough. As the largest and most solidly built building in the village, the Worship Hall also served as courthouse, village hall and place of refuge should Smyrton come under attack. Close behind it stood the home of the local Plough-Keeper, and to one side a well-tended graveyard. A large market square was the only other notable feature of the village, and Axis wondered as he rode into the square what life must be like for country folk in these isolated regions.

  There was a small knot of visibly excited people standing in the market square to greet them. The Plough-Keeper, clad in a flowing habit that wrapped about his legs in the stiff wind, was instantly recognisable at the head of the group. His fat cheeks were red; whether from the wind or from excitement, Axis knew not. Axis reined Belaguez to a halt in front of him, unable to resist the impulse to touch his heels to the stallion’s flanks and make him slide to a halt in a half-rear so Axis could leap down to the ground in a fluid movement. Most of the village folk took two or three rapid steps back to avoid the stallion, but Axis noted that one woman, unusually striking for a country wife, had stood her ground and was now gazing at Axis with something approaching disdain.

  Axis saluted the Plough-Keeper. “Brother Hagen, Brother-Leader Jayme sends personal regards and thanks for the reports you have been sending the Brotherhood of the Seneschal. They have been most valuable.”

  Brother Hagen beamed with pleasure and returned Axis’ bow. “I am overcome that the Brother-Leader should send the BattleAxe and so many Axe-Wielders to investigate.” Brother Hagen’s smile faltered a little as he gazed anxiously at the number of men still arriving. “But I am unsure that our village can provide adequate hospitality for so many of your men, BattleAxe.”

  Axis smiled reassuringly at the man. No doubt he thought the Axe-Wielders would eat the entire village to the ground before they were through. “We will make camp well away from the village, good Brother. Be assured that all we will need from you is water from your well. We travel with our own provisions.”

  Brother Hagen looked visibly relieved. “Then might I invite your good person to share my humble abode, BattleAxe? We cannot provide your entire command with comfortable beds, but at least you and your officers will sleep well.”

  “Myself and my officers will share the hard ground with our Axe-Wielders, Brother Hagen.” Axis caught a glimmer of surprise across the face of the woman standing to one side of Hagen. “But I would be glad for the opportunity to share your table this evening. There are matters we should discuss, I think.” He did not want to offend the man by entirely refusing his hospitality.

  “Excellent! Ah, BattleAxe, might I present some of these Goodpeople?”

  Axis smiled politely. Might as well get the introductions over with as soon as possible.

  Brother Hagen motioned two middle-aged men forth. “BattleAxe, this is Goodman Hordley,” a sandy-haired stout fellow nodded, “and Goodman Garland,” his companion, a bald-headed man with a pockmarked complexion nodded at Axis, “the two senior men of the village. Their Goodwives,” Axis nodded politely at the two beaming, plump women. A tall, thin man was introduced as Miller Powle and the equally tall and thin young man by his side as his son, Wainwald. Hagen paused and Axis glanced across at the woman who had regarded him so disdainfully. Most of the country folk of Skarabost were of fair colouring with sandy or light brown hair, but this woman had the exotic features of a Nors woman with thick, raven hair waving back from a pale face, framing smoky blue eyes. She wore the usual plain woollen dress of most country women, although hers was of a soft blue shade that matched her eyes, covered by a rough black-weave, full-length apron.

  “Ah,” Hagen looked a little embarrassed. “This is my daughter, Azhure.”

  Axis could not keep the surprise from his face. The Seneschal generally encouraged their brothers to avoid women and the responsibilities of a family so that they could concentrate entirely on their duties in the Seneschal. Those that did marry, mostly country Plough-Keepers like Hagen, generally married one of the local folk. But from the look of Azhure, Hagen had gone out of his way to find an extraordinarily exotic wife. The Nors people were known for their somewhat relaxed attitude to morals and community standards, and few of the conservative northern Acharites would welcome a Nors woman into their homes, despite their considerable beauty. And Nors people rarely came this far north.

  Axis realised he was staring at the woman. He turned back to Hagen and the other villagers. “I am pleased to meet you, Goodpeople,” he said. “My name is Axis Rivkahson and this,” indicating Belial, “is my lieutenant, Belial.”

  On the long ride north Axis had decided to accept the one gift Faraday had given him—the first glimmerings of pride in his birthright. From now on he would bear the metronymic of Rivkahson as a badge of honour.

  Now he had surprised both Hagen and Azhure, although none of the other Goodpeople blinked at the use of the name. As a member of the Brotherhood of the Seneschal Hagen would know of the scandal attached to the BattleAxe, and presumably he had told Azhure as well. Axis held Hagen’s eyes until the man blushed and came to his senses. “Ah, um, BattleAxe,” said Hagen, obviously discomforted, “perhaps your good self and Belial would care to join me in my home to share some ale while we discuss, ah, recent developments?”

  Axis narrowed his eyes at the man. Was his nervousness simply due to the presence of the Axe-Wielders, or was there something else?

  Axis nodded his acceptance and turned and shouted for Arne. “Take the Axe-Wielders a good distance out of the village, Arne, and set up camp. Make sure you cause no damage to fences or outlying buildings. I’ll join you later.” Axis handed Belaguez’s reins to a young Axe-Wielder, giving the horse a well-earned pat, and turned back to Hagen, pulling his leather gloves off. “Your offer of a draught of ale is deeply appreciated, Brother Hagen. Shall we go?”

  Goodmen Hordley and Garland joined them inside the Brother’s comfortable home. Although it followed the usual one-roomed design of most country homes, Brother Hagen and his family obviously enjoyed a slightly better standard of living than most country folk. Well-made furniture, and a goodly quantity of it, stood about the house, and the internal walls had even been plastered. The curtains and wall hangings reminded Axis of the designs he had seen for sale in the marketplaces of Ysbadd in Nor, and he glanced again at Azhure as she poured foaming ale from a ceramic jug for the men sitting down at the well-crafted table in the centre of the room. His eyes narrowed idly. She was of an age to be married yet she wore no ring.

  “Is your mother not home at present, Azhure?”

&n
bsp; Her eyes flashed a little at his casual use of her name; although she loathed the title, the use of ‘Goodmistress’ would have been considered polite. She hid her dislike carefully and smiled at this arrogant Carlonite. “My mother ran off with a travelling pedlar when I was five, BattleAxe. She obviously found the pace of life in Smyrton a little slow for her blood,” she finished sweetly as she handed him a mug of ale.

  Hagen looked both mortified and furious at the same time and Axis bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Artor! but Azhure must be a handful for the Plough-Keeper, he thought, amused. One could only hope that the bed sport with her mother had been worth the daughter. He noticed that Belial had almost choked on a mouthful of ale in his efforts to avoid laughing out loud. He took a draught and looked back at Hagen.

  “My sympathies, Brother Hagen. The price these pedlars demand for their tin pots can sometimes be over-high,” he said blandly, unable to refrain from commenting on the issue. Belial made a sound suspiciously like a chuckle into his mug. Hagen’s colour deepened and he angrily waved Azhure back into a corner by the fireplace. Axis quickly changed the subject. “Have you seen any other of the strange creatures you reported were coming out of the Forbidden Valley?”

  Again the mood changed abruptly. Azhure’s face tightened completely and she turned away to jab angrily at the fire with an iron poker. Goodmen Hordley and Garland both leaned forward, their eyes bright with excitement, barely restraining themselves from speech. Hagen forgot his embarrassment of a moment previously, and smiled indulgently at the BattleAxe.

  “Why, yes, BattleAxe. Indeed we have. In fact, just four nights ago we managed to capture two of the frightful creatures as they tried to re-enter the Forbidden Valley. We have them now, caged and guarded in the cellars of the Worship Hall. How fortuitous that you should arrive in time for their execution tomorrow morning.