Enchanter

by Sara Douglass

  Rivkah swallowed. “No,” she finally forced out. “No, I was not true to Searlas.” Somehow she could not lie to this bridge. “I betrayed him atop this very Keep.”

  There was silence as the bridge contemplated this. Then, shockingly, it laughed, a peal of sheer merriment. “Then you have my heart, Princess Rivkah, for I do not like the Dukes of Ichtar! You and I will be friends!”

  Rivkah grinned weakly, and her horse moved forward once more. “Thank you, bridge,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Watching from the far side Azhure breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment she had thought the bridge would reject Rivkah. She glanced at Arne, who nodded at her, then she kneed her horse forward.

  “Are you true?” the bridge asked as she approached.

  “Yes, I am true,” Azhure answered confidently.

  “Then cross, Azhure, and I will see if you speak the truth.”

  The bridge accepted Azhure almost as soon as her horse had stepped onto the red-veined silvery-grey masonry.

  “You spoke the truth, Azhure. Welcome to my heart.”

  “Thank you, bridge,” Azhure said, looking to where Rivkah had halted her horse just the other side, waiting for her so that they could enter Sigholt together.

  But the bridge was not yet finished. “I have not felt your father’s step for many a long year, Azhure. Where is he?”

  Azhure stared, open-mouthed. Hagen had crossed this bridge?

  “Er, he is dead,” she finally managed to say.

  “Ah,” the bridge said sorrowfully. “I am sad. I loved your father, although many did not. We passed many a night deep in conversation.”

  Rivkah frowned at Azhure as she rode up to her. “What was that about?”

  “I don’t know, Rivkah. Perhaps the bridge confused me with someone else. Hagen never crossed this bridge.”

  As they kicked their horses forward, two men stepped out from the shadows of the fortified gateway. Azhure tensed. One was Belial, although the other man she did not know.

  “Belial,” she whispered.

  But Belial spoke to Rivkah first. “Welcome to Sigholt, Princess. I am Belial, once lieutenant to your son in the Axe-Wielders, now commander of his base here in Sigholt.” He smiled, his pleasant face relaxing under sandy hair, his hazel eyes crinkling at Rivkah. “Welcome home, Rivkah.”

  Rivkah greeted him warmly. Axis had told her so much about this man. “I can think of no better man to welcome me back to Sigholt than the man whose friendship has meant so much to my son. I am pleased and deeply honoured to meet you, Belial.”

  Belial inclined his head, then turned to Azhure.

  “Azhure.” He held out his hands. “Come down from your horse.”

  Azhure hesitated, then leaned down, placing her hands on Belial’s shoulders, feeling his hands grasp her about the waist as she swung down from her horse.

  Rather than letting her go once her feet were on the ground, Belial’s hands tightened. “I should throw you in the moat for what you did to me,” he said, his face expressionless. “I trusted you, yet you did not repay my trust well.”

  Azhure’s entire body tensed, and her eyes glinted with tears of shame and regret. She could not say anything to this man she had treated so poorly.

  Belial’s eyes flickered over her face. He had thought her beautiful in Smyrton, but since then she seemed to have not only grown more mature, but to have gained an aura of wildness that made her even more fascinating. And now here she was standing before him in Sigholt. Could life get any better? He dropped his hands from her waist reluctantly.

  “As much as you might deserve a ducking, Azhure, I will merely welcome you to Sigholt instead. We will discuss the issue of recompense later.” Azhure managed a small smile.

  “Magariz?” Belial said, beckoning to his friend. “May I introduce you to the Princess Rivkah and to Azhure?”

  The man Azhure had noticed earlier now stepped forward. In late middle-age, his black hair thickly lined with silver, his limp and the raised scar running down his left cheek only accentuated his handsomeness and appeal.

  As Belial had helped Azhure from her horse, so now Magariz held out his hands for Rivkah.

  “Welcome, Princess,” Magariz said quietly. “It has been a long time. We are both considerably greyer than when we last met, but at least we meet in happier circumstances.”

  Rivkah held out her hand for Magariz to kiss. “But I am the greyer, I see, my Lord Magariz.”

  “But just as beautiful,” he grinned, raising his eyes from her hand.

  “You know each other?” Azhure asked. “How?”

  Rivkah laughed at the puzzlement on both Belial’s and Azhure’s faces. “You forget that I was a child of the Carlon court, Azhure. When I was growing up Magariz was a youthful page, waiting at high table.”

  She turned back to Magariz, who still had not let her hand go. “And now you are a commander, Magariz. It is more than the grey in our heads which tells me how many years have passed.”

  Magariz finally let Rivkah’s hand go, stepping back a pace. “I grew heartily sick of waiting at tables, Princess. Sometime after your marriage to Searlas I persuaded my father to let me join the palace guard. After many years, Priam assigned me to Borneheld’s service when he became Duke and eventually Borneheld gave me the command at Gorkenfort. There I mouldered for over ten years before the events of the past eight months propelled me into a greater adventure than I had ever dreamed.” He shrugged a little. “Thirty years in so few sentences, Rivkah. But that is my life since last we spoke.”

  “And from Gorkenfort you joined Axis’ cause,” Rivkah said. “You always did make reckless choices, didn’t you?”

  Magariz’s mouth twitched. “Some of my choices have been a little impetuous, Princess, but there is not one that I have regretted.”

  Rivkah smiled and she turned away slightly, loosening her cloak in the warm air of Sigholt. “I know so little of Borneheld, Magariz. You must spend some time with me, tell me of him.”

  Grave now, Magariz bowed slightly from the waist. “Anything, my Princess.”

  “And Faraday, the current Duchess of Ichtar,” Rivkah went on. “I know so little of her. You must speak to me of her as well.”

  Azhure had a fixed and overly bright smile on her face. Well, thought Rivkah, she must accept that Axis will ride across Achar into Faraday’s arms. She must accept that she has no future with Axis.

  Then Rivkah gasped in utter delight as Reinald stepped forth. She hugged him fiercely. When she’d lived here as Duchess of Ichtar, Reinald had been one of her only friends.

  Belial introduced Magariz to Azhure, then all were interrupted by the sound of barking, and they turned to watch the Alaunt hounds pacing solemnly across the bridge. The bridge barked at them and Sicarius barked gruffly back.

  Belial turned to Azhure. “Where did these hounds come from?”

  “They, ah, seem to belong to me, Belial. I hope you will not mind their presence. They are well trained and will cause no trouble. I will tell you their story once I have changed into some clean clothes.”

  Belial belatedly realised that he had kept the two women standing in the gateway for far too long, but, just as he was about to usher them into Sigholt, Jack stepped up. Jack had recognised the hounds instantly, and a look of understanding had passed between himself and Sicarius.

  “You are Azhure?” Jack asked, and Belial hastened to introduce them.

  Azhure shook the hand that Jack offered, and the Sentinel smiled at her genially, thinking he understood her. Unlike the other Sentinels, all of whom had hardly ever conversed with the Prophet who had recruited them, Jack knew the Prophet well and had been entrusted with many secrets.

  But there were yet deeper secrets to the Prophecy, and Azhure was one of them.

  21

  LONG LIVE THE KING!

  Faraday’s hopes were dying as fast as the man before her. She stood behind Judith as the Queen leaned over the prone form of her husband, trying
to lend the woman the strength of her presence and friendship. Beside her stood Embeth, now Judith’s senior lady-in-waiting. Faraday exchanged a glance with Embeth. Neither could do anything to ease Judith’s grief.

  Priam’s bedchamber was quiet and lit only by a few tapers. Incense smouldered out of sight on a high shelf. On the other side of the bed Jayme, assisted as always by Moryson, stood quietly. The Brother-Leader was wearing his full ceremonial vestments of office to mark this sombre occasion. Behind Jayme stood Borneheld, and Faraday’s eyes met his briefly before she looked away, disgusted at what she could see in their depths. To the rear of the ornate gold and pink chamber stood several servants and courtiers, uselessly weeping, and one or two helpless physicians.

  Faraday looked back at the King. Three weeks ago to the day Priam, ordinarily so hale and hearty, had begun to show evidence of madness. For three days he strode down the corridors of the palace, seeing demons and sorcerers in every shadow. Judith and sundry servants had followed him, pleading with Priam to let the physicians see him, pleading with him to rest, sleep. Perhaps it was simply stress, overwork. But Priam had continued to pace the corridors, scarcely ever sleeping, spittle caking his stubbly chin.

  His illness was crazy, thought Faraday despairingly. She had spent most of the past few weeks with Judith, supporting her as much as she could. Forcing her to sleep when she would wander after Priam. Trying to reassure her. Trying.

  The physicians pronounced that the King was suffering from a severe form of brain heat which caused madness as the King’s noddle sizzled. “It has been building awhile,” they suggested, “and has only now boiled to the surface.” They applied icepack after icepack to the King’s brow, and leeches to his limbs and groin to drain away excess hot blood. They even considered wrapping the King in brandy-soaked bandages and leaving him in a dark room—but they had discarded that idea. The last nobleman to be treated with that particular remedy had died after a careless servant dropped his candle onto the spirit-soaked bandages. Nothing they’d suggested had worked, and the physicians were now forced to admit that they could do little.

  Everyone shook their heads and sorrowed. Carlon and the surrounding districts mourned Priam’s decline. And amidst all this sorrow and public shaking of heads came the despicable rumours. If Priam had considered an alliance with the Forbidden, then it was because his mind was already addled. If Priam so thoughtlessly berated Borneheld, it was because he no longer knew right from wrong, friend from foe.

  Jayme had been quick to seize these rumours and make them his own—Faraday wondered if they had been his all along.

  “He has been struck by a miasma of the Forbidden,” Jayme had ventured, and many had listened. “Their evil presence has stretched right into the heart of Carlon to implant the noxious notion of an alliance with them into Priam’s mind.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Now all can see how the Forbidden work, now all can see the wickedness of their actions. Has not the Seneschal been teaching this for many hundreds of years? Is this not why we drove the Forbidden from our fair land in the first instance?”

  And with the rumours and the King’s increasing madness, Faraday’s hopes died. Borneheld would take the throne and throw all Achar’s resources against Axis. Now the brothers would tear Achar apart in their hatred for each other, tear it apart until finally they stood sword to sword in the Chamber of the Moons. As the vision had foretold.

  Faraday bowed her head, trying to rub away her tears.

  Borneheld had stayed with Priam constantly, and all remarked on the devotion that he showed his uncle. Day after day Borneheld had followed Priam about the corridors, offering him comfort, and holding his chalice for him so that Priam could wet his throat whenever he became thirsty. And when Priam had finally collapsed into his bed, Borneheld had helped care for him. Holding his head as Priam drank from the chalice, wiping his lips as he lowered his uncle’s head to the pillow.

  Faraday did not believe the charade of devotion for an instant. In those hours when he was not at Priam’s side, Borneheld whispered with Jayme or one of his advisers. Gilbert hung about their apartments like an evil shadow, and Moryson glided along the corridors, the hood of his robe pulled close about his face.

  Solicitous during the day, at night Borneheld slept badly, tossing at Faraday’s side, his hands gripping the sheets. He muttered in his dreams, but Faraday could not catch his words, and the one night she had awoken him to save him from his nightmares and offer him a drink of water, he had screamed and struck the goblet from her hands.

  After that Borneheld slept in another room, saying Faraday no longer pleased him and her presence disturbed his sleep. Grateful for her empty bed, Faraday nevertheless wondered.

  Judith leaned back, and Faraday gave her a fresh cloth.

  “I thank you,” Judith murmured, then leant back to her husband’s dying.

  Four days ago, when Faraday had sent Judith to snatch some sleep, she had sat by Priam’s bedside and laid her hands on the man. She had reached for the power of the Mother so she could heal Priam as she had healed Axis.

  But Faraday had reeled back from the King’s prone form almost instantly. What she had felt underneath her hands had been no natural illness. Dark enchantments had writhed beneath the King’s skin. For long minutes Faraday had sat shaking, waving away a servant’s murmured concerns. Enchantments? But how? By whom?

  She had no dearth of suspects for the murder of Priam. Borneheld, obviously, but the whole Brotherhood of the Seneschal would doubtless fight for the privilege of slipping a knife into Priam’s back, and Faraday also wondered if some of the nobles thought they might have too much to lose if the King concluded an alliance with the Icarii and Avar.

  And yet who among all those could wield dark enchantments? Faraday had felt the power, but she could not understand it. It was like and yet totally unlike what she had felt from Axis.

  Priam was in the final grips of a murder, and a murder effected by enchantment.

  Embeth put a hand on Faraday’s arm, bringing the woman back into the present. Faraday nodded her thanks, and realised that Jayme had reached across the bed and touched Judith’s hand.

  “I am sorry, my Queen, but I must commence the Service soon. Priam, well, he has only a small amount of time left.”

  Judith took a great gulping breath, her fragile shoulders heaving, then nodded. “Begin, Brother-Leader.”

  Jayme began intoning the Service of Passage, the age-old service meant to ease the soul of the dying into the next world. The words were beautiful and comforting, exhorting not only the dying to meet his maker with joy and thankfulness, but exhorting all those who grieved to remember that on the other side of death Artor waited to receive Priam into His eternal care. It was the duty of the dying to make a good death, to remember his faults and his sins so that Artor would accept him into His care, and it was the duty of those witnessing the death to make sure that the dying made their death the best one possible.

  Faraday watched Jayme carefully, trying to discern the slightest note of satisfaction in his voice, the faintest gleam of triumph in his eyes. But if Jayme felt any of these emotions, he hid them well.

  “Priam,” he asked very softly, resting his three middle fingers on the King’s waxen forehead, “listen to me. You must bind yourself to Artor’s care, but you must remember that He will only receive you into His care once you have confessed your faults, flaws and sins. Priam, confess your sins now, that Artor may receive you with love.”

  Priam’s eyelids opened. His cracked lips moved soundlessly, and Jayme motioned to Borneheld for the chalice.

  “Drink, my King,” Jayme whispered, “drink so that you may confess your sins.”

  Faraday stared at the chalice for a moment, disturbed. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her stomach. The more she stared at the chalice, the more she realised that there was something evil, shadowed, about it. Dark letters hovered about its rim, and Faraday felt her marrow chill. It was the source of the dark enchant
ment that killed Priam!

  Nonetheless, Priam seemed to have been revived by the sip of water. He started to mumble, and Judith’s eyes filled with tears—he was remembering the early years of their marriage, when all had seemed so bright, so full of life, when they were still convinced that healthy children lay only a year or two into the future. Unusually for a court-arranged union, Judith and Priam had enjoyed a marriage filled with love, even when disappointment at their childlessness sometimes threatened to overwhelm them.

  “Yes, yes,” Jayme encouraged Priam, his eyes gleaming strangely, “confess all, confess all that Artor may receive you.”

  Faraday stared at Jayme. He and Borneheld had handled the chalice. How was it they stayed healthy and Priam sickened? She averted her eyes, but her gaze was instantly caught by Moryson. What was the man doing? He was standing behind Jayme and Borneheld, the hood of his robe pulled close, but Faraday could see his lips moving silently and his eyes riveted on the chalice.

  As Faraday stared Moryson suddenly lifted his eyes to hers…and grinned.

  Faraday shuddered. The man’s eyes were as ice, and they bore relentlessly into her own.

  “Faraday?” Embeth murmured at her side, and Faraday finally tore her eyes away from Moryson.

  When next she looked Moryson had his eyes back on the King, his face a mask of sorrow.

  A spasm crossed Priam’s face, and his entire body convulsed. Judith gave a soft cry of distress and grasped Priam’s hand as tightly as she could. A trickle of bloodied froth issued from Priam’s gaping mouth, and Embeth leaned over and wiped it away. The King’s eyes now stared sightlessly at the canopy of his bed and his breath came in great uneven gasps.

  Judith’s mouth trembled, but she whispered to her husband words of love and farewell.

  Then Priam rallied, and reached out a quavering hand. He pulled Judith’s head close to his mouth. He whispered into her ear. Faraday saw Judith’s entire body stiffen in reaction.

  Finally Judith sat back, her face impassive. Priam’s head sank down onto the pillow, his fingers trailed down Judith’s face one last time, and then he died.