Battleaxe

by Sara Douglass

  Numerous bands of citizens from Gorkentown passed them as they fled south. Frightened by the obvious preparations for war and the increasing attacks on patrols by the wraiths, those townsfolk who could were escaping as far south as fast as they were able. Their wagons piled high, the fleeing citizens often blocked the road, and Gautier had to force them into the snow at the side of the road to allow his troops through. The wagons trapped in snowdrifts were simply left, their owners seizing what food and blankets they could and continuing the trek south on foot. Faraday wondered how many of them would survive.

  Stranger still were the occasional bands of Ravensbund people. Faraday had heard vague stories of the wild and barbaric tribes that hunted among the ice packs of the extreme north, but the men and women that passed her on short and ugly yellow-haired horses were even more wild than Gautier’s description. Every one of them had their faces tattooed with a tangle of blue and black lines, while they plaited slivers of blue and green glass and tiny bells into their hair and the manes of their horses. One of Gautier’s scouts reported even larger bands of Ravensbund people moving south through the plains of western Ichtar, and Faraday wondered at the forces that could make an entire people abandon their homeland.

  Timozel rode just in front of Faraday, trying to protect her from the worst of the wind. His only thought was to get her safe to Borneheld, though he found himself wondering just how sane Faraday’s determination to reach Borneheld really was. But Timozel knew he had made the right choice in dedicating himself to her. It must have been through Artor’s personal intervention, Timozel thought, that he had been separated from Axis and the Axe-Wielders. Now he was distant from his former commander, Timozel could see how his talents had been stunted and wasted among the Axe-Wielders. Axis had not only dishonoured his mother and the memory of his father, but had also never given him the opportunity he needed to let his talents shine through. Timozel straightened as he thought about his new path in life. He was a Champion and would one day serve at the head of the most powerful army this land had ever seen. He would serve the WarLord as he would serve his lady wife. Yes, Timozel thought as he glanced at Faraday, riding silent and miserable in her wrappings and blankets, his cause was far more important, far more manly, than it had been in the service of the BattleAxe.

  As he rode through the snow, wrapped in his own thoughts, Artor graced Timozel with a further glimpse of the glory that would be his.

  A great and glorious battle and the enemy’s positions were overrun. Timozel lost not one soldier.

  Another day, and another battle. The enemy used foul magic this day, and Timozel’s forces were grievously hurt…but Timozel still won the field, and the enemy and their crippled commander retreated before him.

  Another day, and the battles were over. Timozel sat before the leaping fire with his Lord, Faraday at their side. All was well. Timozel had found the light and he had found his destiny.

  All was well.

  Borneheld would help him to achieve greatness and glory. Timozel was sure, sure, of it. He would be the Lord that Timozel would fight for.

  Timozel wondered whether he should tell Borneheld what he knew about the Sentinels and the Star Gate. If he told Borneheld about the strange creatures he had met and the places he had seen, Borneheld might suspect him. Worse, if Timozel told Borneheld that much, then he might also tell the WarLord about Gorgrael and the pact he had made with the Destroyer. And then Borneheld would never give Timozel command of his armies. No, safer, much safer, to keep his silence. Dark despair still enveloped Timozel whenever he thought of his pact with Gorgrael. But it would be all right so long as he was Faraday’s Champion. He would prevail. Legend would remember him.

  Day by day, Timozel was changing. The vision that had first accosted him in the tomb of the ninth of the Enchanter-Talons—a Talon so terrible that the Icarii could not bear to speak of him—darkened his heart and warped his soul. The mild resentment Timozel had once harboured towards Axis now festered into an open wound. His ability to judge between right and wrong and between truth and lies cracked beyond repair.

  Finally, when it seemed the whole world had frozen beneath a sunless sky, they reached their destination. Gorkentown and Gorkenfort lay almost smothered in snow and ice, the spires of the town and the towers of the fort glittering under a thin layer of ice. Gorkenfort sat defiantly on a small rise, the town huddling about its steep-walled skirts. It was a massive fort with twenty-pace-thick black stone walls mined from the foot of the Icescarp Alps and foundations sunk into such deep bedrock that the fort’s walls could not be undone by tunnelling beneath them. Ranged along the parapets and battlements were engines of war, ready to wreak destruction. All windows in the fort were simple arrow slits, protection against the missiles of enemies and the bitter winds which swept down from the north. Only the southern wall had a gate set into it, and that was so well fortified and defended that only a fool would direct an attack against it. Borneheld was using the unnatural weather to his advantage, instructing his men to each night pour water down the walls of the fort, so that they were encased in a thick slick of ice, making the walls virtually unscaleable—to flesh and blood foes, at least.

  The awe-inspiring peaks of the Icescarp Alps made a dramatic backdrop to the town and fort. Little snow clung to the steep mountain peaks, so that they rose stark and black from the gentler ice-covered inclines of the lower slopes of the mountains. The Lord of Sorrow Krak, the highest peak in the mountain range, rose twice as high as any of its neighbours and, according to the legends of Achar, was the home of the Dark Lord of the Forbidden. From Gorkenfort its peak was rarely visible, hidden by the cloud and mist that clung to it.

  Gautier led his men down towards the town. It was now ten days since they had left Jervois Landing and Gautier had not allowed his men to stop all day. He had not wanted to spend another night out in the open, and he had been daydreaming about Borneheld’s surprised (and pleased) face when he presented him with his eminently desirable bride.

  The town of Gorkentown lay almost completely dark. Although Borneheld had over six thousand troops stationed in the town itself, he did not want them using precious fuel on fires or for torches; most of the soldiers bedded down with the sun. Experience had taught Borneheld that he could partially counter the attacks of the ice creatures with fire, so it was imperative that all the precious stores of oil and peat be saved for when the creatures mounted their expected major offensive.

  Gorkentown was walled with black stone, although the walls were not as high or as thick as those of the fort itself. Faraday shivered with apprehension as they halted their horses at the first guard post outside the walls. While she would appreciate nothing better than a warm bed out of the cursed wind and ice, that warm bed also meant Borneheld. She thought briefly about Axis, something she had rarely allowed herself to do over these past weeks. Was he all right? Had he managed to reach the fort before her? If so all might yet be lost. “Pray that I am here in time,” she whispered to herself.

  Faraday looked at the shadowy figures of the watch patrolling along the walls rising high above her. Gorkentown huddled in a sprawling mass about the southern and western walls of Gorkenfort, and Faraday strained her eyes through the dusk in an effort to catch a sight of the famed fort. Here is where Axis was born and Rivkah died, she thought, and here is where I must try to keep his life safe from his brother.

  “We ride!” Gautier suddenly shouted, making Faraday jump in surprise. Gautier leaned back and grabbed her horse’s bridle, forcing the tired animal forward at a canter. “Come, my Lady Faraday, the sooner we reach the fort the better.”

  The guards stood back from the town gate that was slowly swinging open, and in a matter of moments Gautier pulled Faraday’s mount through and into the streets of Gorkentown itself. Timozel, his mouth grim, spurred his horse after them with Yr close behind.

  Virtually deserted of citizens, Gorkentown was clearly preparing for a siege. Streets had been partially blocked with tumbled
masonry in case the fighting came down to street-by-street warfare and Gautier was forced to slow their horses down in order to work their way through. Faraday could glimpse the front rooms of houses and shopfronts piled high with provisions, soldiers bedding down for the night in homes close to the barricades. The market square was a virtual tent city, again the number of troops and amount of piled provisions making rapid progress impossible. Faraday looked around anxiously for any sign of the distinctive light grey of the Axe-Wielder uniform, but could see none. For the first time she felt a small twinge of concern for her own safety. A heavily bearded soldier, bedded down in his blankets amongst the hay for added warmth, cursed her as he rolled out of the way of her horse’s hooves.

  “Here! You!” Gautier yelled at a soldier lounging against the support of a tent. The soldier peered through the gloom, then straightened with a snap. “Lieutenant Gautier!” he said, saluting as smartly as his cold-stiffened limbs would allow.

  “I’ve got four hundred men following me into this Artor-forsaken town. They need to be fed, bedded down and their horses attended. Who’s in charge of this sorry camp?”

  “Ah, Goddars, sir.”

  “Then find the damned man and tell him that if I return in the morning and find that a single one of my soldiers or horses has gone cold and hungry for lack of his personal attention then he will be eating hay for the rest of his life,” Gautier snapped, then tugged Faraday’s horse savagely. “Come, my lady, the Duke awaits.”

  Gautier spurred their horses down a narrow street, not checking to see if Timozel and Yr followed safely. Faraday clung onto the pommel of her saddle, seeing the dark streets only through an increasingly thick grey mist of exhaustion. Men, dogs and horses skittered out of the lieutenant’s way, and curses were bitten off hurriedly as men saw who it was who rode so recklessly through the streets of Gorkentown at night. Gautier got almost as much respect, and as much fear, as the WarLord himself.

  The town backed up against the southern wall of Gorkenfort and within a few minutes they were picking their way along a massive stone wall rising to unseen heights in the darkness. Its top was too high for Faraday to pick out any movement of the watch. She turned slightly in the saddle, almost falling as she did so, trying to see if Timozel and Yr were still with them.

  Timozel nudged his horse up beside Faraday’s, catching her arm. “Curse it, Gautier, slow down!” Timozel called out to Borneheld’s lieutenant in front of him. “There’s no point rushing the Lady Faraday to Borneheld’s side if she gets there in pieces!”

  Gautier glanced contemptuously at Timozel, but pulled his horse in a little as he caught a glimpse of Faraday’s white face. The scarf had fallen around her neck, and her skin was pale and pinched in the dim light, her eyes great dark holes of exhaustion. The reins of her horse’s bridle had all but fallen from hands shaking so much with cold and tiredness that they could barely maintain their grip on the pommel of the saddle. “The gate’s but a few more minutes,” he grunted. “Hold on, my lady.”

  But Faraday’s exhaustion, now that the journey had ended, hit her savagely. Shapes and voices passed her by in a blurred haze, and finally she weaved so badly that Timozel hauled her across to his own horse. Gautier looked back with a frown upon his face, but he was so involved with the complicated password requirements to get them through the massive iron-plated gates of the fort that he could do nothing. He let Faraday’s now riderless horse go with a muttered curse and turned back to the standing watch at the gate.

  “Timozel?” Yr edged her horse close to Timozel’s; she was close to exhaustion herself. “Is she all right?”

  Timozel glanced at Yr and nodded. “It is lucky that we arrived when we did. I doubt she could have ridden another day.” He looked dispassionately at the Sentinel. “Surely your magic could have helped her before this?”

  “I have done what I could, Timozel, but I am no healer.” Yr paused, her blue eyes flickering over Timozel’s face. “And be careful what you say here, Timozel, your loose tongue could have us all killed.”

  Timozel’s face tightened, but his retort was stopped by the sound of the gates opening. He spurred his horse after Gautier, leaving Yr standing until she could summon the strength to kick her horse after them.

  The fort was crowded with men and provisions. As Gautier reined his horse to a stop in the centre of the courtyard a tall and powerfully built man stepped out of one of the shadowed doorways of the Keep.

  “What is going on here?” he shouted furiously. “I gave orders to close those gates at dusk and to let no-one through once they were closed for the night!”

  Gautier slid off his horse hurriedly, dropping to his knee in the muddy slush of the courtyard at Borneheld’s feet. “My Lord,” he said a trifle breathlessly, “it is I, Gautier. And look what I have brought you!” Gautier flung his hand out dramatically behind him and Borneheld looked towards the indistinct shadow of Timozel holding Faraday close on his horse.

  Borneheld stepped past his lieutenant towards the horseman. “What could be so important that you could not spend the night in Gorkentown without disturbing the watch? Well, I’m not going to be…” He stopped in amazement as he reached the horse, recognising Timozel first, and then, unbelievably, the woman he held in his arms.

  “My Lord,” Faraday said with the last of her strength. “I simply could not wait for you to return to me, and so I have come here to you.” Then she fainted.

  41

  THE DUCHESS OF ICHTAR

  Faraday woke close to noon the next day in an austere room, the only furniture unadorned serviceable chests and chairs and the bed in which she lay. The walls were of undressed stone, naked of any hangings or tapestries to relieve them of their stark lines. A single narrow window let in dim light through its opaque glass panes.

  Gorkenfort. Gradually Faraday recalled her arrival the night before, the astounded faces of Borneheld, Earl Jorge and Duke Roland—all of whom had believed she and Timozel had died in the earthfall at the Ancient Barrows. She dimly remembered Borneheld carrying her inside to the fire where she had murmured the story she had told Gautier in Jervois Landing, Timozel filling in some of the gaps. She’d remembered, with a supreme effort, to squeeze Borneheld’s hand as he knelt beside her chair. Then, as she had finished speaking, everything had dimmed again.

  “Well, sweet child, do you feel better?”

  Yr was sitting on the far side of the bed. Faraday rolled over and smiled at her. Yr had obviously managed to have the baggage containing their new clothes brought into the fort and was dressed in a light grey woollen dress, its plain cut suitable for a maid. She had pulled her fine blonde hair into a staid roll and her hands were folded primly in her lap, but with her all-knowing eyes Yr looked anything but demure.

  “Where are we?” Faraday asked, looking about. A small fire blazed in a grate along one wall, lending some warmth and cheerfulness to the chamber.

  “Nowhere but Borneheld’s own chamber, dear one. No doubt the WarLord has had to spend a cold night in less comfortable surroundings.”

  Faraday sat up. “Yr,” she frowned, “I can remember so little of last night. What did Borneheld say to our story? Did he believe it?”

  Yr laughed, a throaty pleasant sound. “Dear one, he was so astounded to find you alive that had you claimed to have floated down to Gorkenfort on a moonbeam he would have believed you. Now, you had better get washed and dressed so you can continue to play the part of the lovelorn girl for his benefit.” Yr’s face became serious. “Faraday, we have no time to lose. At the most we can be only a week or so ahead of Axis. I was talking to one of the watch last night and he told me that the fort received word a few days ago that the Axe-Wielders had left Sigholt and were riding for Gorkenfort. You must be married by the time he arrives. You must be able to temper Borneheld’s jealousy of his half-brother. Remember, Tencendor’s fate rests…”

  “On my becoming Borneheld’s wife, not Axis’,” Faraday wearily finished for her. “You do not have t
o remind me every day.”

  Yr dropped her eyes and stood up, turning to fetch a pitcher of water that had been warming by the fire.

  Borneheld met with Earl Jorge, Duke Roland, and Lord Magariz in the stone flagged Great Hall of the Keep. Although the Hall was not overly large for such structures it was barely warmed by the coal fire in the massive fireplace at the end of the Hall. The great dining table was covered with maps and reports and had been placed close to the fire; but even though they stood in close proximity to the fire all the men needed the extra layers of clothing they had on. Timozel stood to one side of the hearth, excited at being able to listen and occasionally advise the deliberations of such important commanders; Axis had never asked his advice or invited him to his consultations. Gautier stood by him, his face calm and patient. Borneheld had already rewarded him well for escorting Faraday to his side and Gautier was feeling very hopeful for his future prospects. The conference had been going almost an hour, and the WarLord and his three commanders were arguing over whether or not to risk men’s lives by sending out extra patrols, when Faraday entered the Hall from the doorway at the far end.