Enchanter

by Sara Douglass

  Jayme tried to collect his thoughts. Everything was going so badly. He remembered the time, so long ago now, it seemed, when he had first heard rumours of trouble to the north, of strange ghost-like creatures who nibbled and chewed fully armoured men to death in minutes. How could he have foretold then the disasters that would envelop Achar? Ichtar was gone, lost to Gorgrael. Soon everything east of the Nordra would be gone, lost to the Forbidden and the one who led them. And what did that leave? A relatively narrow strip of land to the west of the Nordra? A pink and gold city?

  “At night, Borneheld,” Jayme said softly, “I can hear the weeping souls of those poor tormented wretches who have been overwhelmed by Axis and the hordes of Forbidden that he directs. Do you know what he does to them, Borneheld? Do you know the pain the poor wretches of Skarabost have suffered as that wretched army overwhelms village after village? Children are sacrificed for the plunders of those flying vermin he calls friends. Women are forced to yield their bodies, then their lives. Men watch their families die, then are gutted and strung up from poles and doorframes by their bowels, to die themselves from pain and shock and loss. Does that not concern you, Borneheld? How can you sit here and say ‘Let him come’? Artor alone will judge you on this.”

  Borneheld fidgeted nervously. He’d been having nightmares since he returned to Carlon. He dreamed that anonymous, pale hands held out the ensorcelled chalice for him, whispering entreaties to him to drink. He dreamed of wandering the halls and chambers of the palace, the whispers and laughter of the court following him.

  And he dreamed of a stern-faced woman, black-haired and raven-eyed, who sat at a counting table, two bowls before her, a gleaming rectangle of light behind her. She raised her eyes as he approached, laughing as she recognised him. “I await your presence before my table, Borneheld, Duke of Ichtar.”

  In vain would he protest that he was Duke of Ichtar no longer, but King of Achar.

  “Your blood names you a Duke of Ichtar, Borneheld,” she whispered. “And your blood condemns you. Your death approaches from the east. Watch for it.”

  Borneheld fidgeted and looked out the window, fancying he could see Artor staring at him from the massed clouds sliding down from the north.

  Faraday sat, half asleep, as Yr brushed her hair out. Unlike Borneheld and Jayme, Faraday regarded the slow approach of Axis and his army as a gift. A gift from the Mother, for Faraday had long since abandoned Artor and his cruel and shallow ways. Each day brought fresh rumours from the streets of Carlon. Axis had won through to Arcness in a battle deserving of the gods in the Bracken Ranges. Axis and his army had been penned up in an isolated glen high in the Bracken Ranges and had fallen into a mighty lake and drowned—Faraday had smiled when she heard that one. Axis and his army had proclaimed a new land and a new nation in Skarabost. Had he proclaimed Tencendor so soon? Faraday had thought Axis would wait until he reached Carlon, until he reached her, before he would do that. Yr heard most of the rumours from the captain of the guards, a darkly virile man. She also heard most of the facts—or as much of facts as anyone in Carlon could get—about Axis’ drive south through Skarabost.

  “And of what do you think, my sweet?” Yr murmured as she brushed Faraday’s burnished gold hair out with long and languid strokes.

  “You know perfectly well that I think of Axis, Yr. It is rare that I think of anything else these days.”

  Borneheld had returned to Carlon a month ago. On his arrival he had granted Faraday an audience, relieved her of most of her court duties, completely disregarding the fact that Faraday had virtually run Achar while he had been ensconced in Jervois Landing fighting the Skraelings, briefly inquired after her health, and then dismissed her. He had not required Faraday’s presence in his bed, and Faraday had heard that he had taken a mistress—none other than the blowsy woman who had accompanied her father, Isend, to court.

  Freed from most of her onerous court duties and Borneheld’s attentions, Faraday now had her time almost exclusively to herself, and she used it to good purpose, spending the larger part of most days in the glorious garden of Ur or wandering entranced through the enchanted forests that spiralled out from the Sacred Grove. Each time she wandered them she found different things—a new glade she had not seen previously, a creature that was more impossibly beautiful than any other she had met before, a mountain more mysterious and fascinating than the rest. But always she ended up at the gate to Ur’s garden, and the woman would emerge from her cottage, or wave at her from her sunny garden seat, and Faraday would smile and enter and begin another lesson.

  Lessons with Ur mainly consisted of learning the names and histories of the tens of thousands of Banes represented by the tree seedlings gently swaying in their tiny terracotta pots. Ur would pick up a pot, hand it to Faraday, and tell her of the Bane who had transformed into this tree.

  Faraday found that as she listened to Ur speak, as she murmured the Bane’s name to herself, she formed a bond, a friendship, with the seedling. As she would never forget the name or the history of a friend, Faraday knew she would never forget the name and the past of each of these seedlings as she heard them from Ur’s lips. It did not matter that there were some forty-two thousand of them.

  They were magical hours, the hours spent with Ur in the garden nursery of the enchanted woods, hours when Faraday was healed of so much of the pain that she had suffered, and given the strength to survive so much of the pain she had yet to endure.

  Raum whimpered behind his hood as he rode his wagon south with Axis. It was all he could do not to cry out loud, and that he managed to keep even mildly sane was due to the support of the three Sentinels who often sat by his side. Each bent what power he had to aid Raum through this transformation that it seemed would take months instead of weeks.

  And it was taking place so far from the Avarinheim. What would happen, Raum worried, if he transformed completely while so far from the shaded walks of the trees? So far from the Mother, from Fernbrake Lake? Would he wither and die under the unremitting sun and wind of the Seagrass Plains?

  “Why me?” he had whispered one day when the pain had finally ceased, when Faraday had finally left the Sacred Grove. “Why am I tied to her like this? Why do I transform only when she uses her power?”

  It was Jack who answered. “You were the one who bonded her to the Mother, Raum. And she was the one who renewed your bonds with the Mother. Perhaps that is what binds you, why you are so tied to her power.”

  Raum shrugged inside his cloak. His face was now so misshapen that he kept it hidden. Axis often sat by his side at night, soothing him to sleep with his harp and his enchanted music. But very little could soothe Raum through this dreadful transformation.

  Faraday was not unaware of Raum’s pain. She sensed it every time she used her power to enter the Sacred Grove and the enchanted forests that surrounded it.

  Sometimes Faraday wandered the enchanted forest, feeling Raum’s pain, knowing that he was transforming, wishing she could help him. She asked the Horned Ones what would happen to Raum, what she could do to help.

  “Nothing,” the silver pelt answered. “Nothing. Raum’s transformation is different because of the bond between you, and because your grasp of the power of the Mother and of these woods is so great. What can you do to help? Wait until Raum manages to find the Avarinheim again, or one of the surviving remnants beyond what remains of the forest. Wait until Raum is ready to step into the Sacred Grove, wait until he is ready to complete the transformation—then pull him here with all your power, help him with every ounce of your strength. Raum cannot reach you until he reaches the power of the trees, and he is currently far from any trees that can help him. Wait. Watch.”

  Faraday turned away, grieving for Raum, but knowing there was not much she could do for him. She knew he was trying to find her, and she hoped for his sake that he would not take too long.

  Faraday did not now need the enchanted bowl to move between this world and the Sacred Grove. Her command of her power ha
d increased to the point where she could simply will herself into the emerald light that led to the Sacred Grove. She did not know what to do with the bowl. She had suggested to the Horned Ones that she give it back to them.

  “You will find a use for it, Faraday,” they had counselled. “Keep it.”

  So she had kept it, pleased that she did not have to give it back, and it now sat on the dresser in her chamber. To any ordinary eye it simply looked like a rather plain wooden bowl, hardly fit for a Queen, but it daily reminded Faraday not only of the enormous task that awaited her, but of the comfort the bowl and the Mother had given her in days past.

  She smiled at Yr as she put the brush down. “Axis comes, Yr. I can feel it. In a few short months he will be here. Oh, Yr, I can hardly wait until we are together!”

  48

  AXIS’ SALUTARY LESSON

  In the dark hours before dawn the Icarii Strike Force had lifted off. Burdel’s men were entrenched themselves in the steep, rocky passes of the Bracken Ranges, and nothing save an airborne force could dislodge them without massive loss of life.

  But this was a battle Axis was highly uneasy over. It was too likely to reopen old wounds and old hatreds. Axis loathed having to set the Icarii Strike Force on humans. He had wanted to use them as little as he could, hoping that the Acharites would the more easily accept the Icarii if they did not perceive them as an invading force. This battle was a risk, but it was a risk Axis had been forced to take. The Icarii were the only ones who could effectively clear the slopes of the Bracken Ranges with minimal losses.

  Now Axis paced back and forth, his blood-red cloak wrapped about him. Every three or four strides he looked up at the Bracken Ranges rising in the rapidly lightening sky. He knew what was happening in the narrow passes of the Ranges, for the eagle circled high overhead.

  “Well?” Belial’s face was almost as strained as Axis’.

  Axis blinked, cleared his vision, and stared at Belial. “It goes well. Burdel’s force had no idea what was attacking them when the Icarii sent down their first volley of arrows. They could not see, and simply shot blindly into the sky.”

  “Casualties?” Magariz asked.

  “Five Icarii have taken arrows in the wings and are limping their way home or are safe among the ridges. The others evaded well. The casualties are all on Burdel’s side. I think,” Axis’ eyes assumed a dreamy quality, and Belial and Magariz knew he was seeing through the eagle’s eyes again, “that Burdel is pulling his men out as fast as he can. The passes will be clear for us by noon.”

  “Pulling back to Arcen?” Belial queried.

  “Undoubtedly.” Axis shrugged. “We will not be able to catch them. It will take at least a day to get this army moving into the lower Ranges, and several days to get through. What remains of Burdel’s force is more lightly armoured and much more mobile. He will be able to race to Arcen and slam the gates shut well before we’re through the Ranges.”

  Arcen was Burdel’s capital in Arcness. It lay some ten leagues south of the Ranges, surrounded by the grazing lands of the province.

  “A siege then,” Magariz remarked.

  Axis sighed. “Yes, a siege.” Axis had ridden through Arcen on his way north to Smyrton almost two years earlier. The city had high walls, thick battlements and a good militia.

  Axis knew he had to be very, very careful with Arcen. Sieges always tended to drag out over months, and Axis could not afford to encamp himself and his army outside Arcen for the next six months. Neither could he afford to ride by and open his rear to possible attack from Burdel sometime in the future. Arcen would have to be conquered.

  Azhure walked up. “Can you send the Strike Force after Burdel as he flees across the plains towards Arcen?”

  Axis glanced at her. Azhure had left Caelum with Rivkah in the camp and walked only with Sicarius as company. She looked slim and fit in her grey and white uniform, the Wolven slung over her shoulder, her hair tied back into a plait rolled in the nape of her neck.

  In the two weeks since Axis had visited Faraday’s childhood home relations between him and Azhure had been, if not cool, then slightly businesslike. Even their lovemaking, on those few nights when there had been the time or the privacy, had lacked the usual laughter and had become intense, almost fierce. Both felt Faraday’s closing presence keenly.

  “No.” Axis turned back to the Ranges. “Most of the Strike Force are too tired. They have been on the wing for close to five hours now, and I want them to remain above the passes to watch for stray remnants of Burdel’s force. To send them flying after Burdel as he flees across the plains towards his home base would drive them dangerously close to exhaustion.” And expose them to the watching eyes and itchy tongues of countless peasants and townsfolk, Axis thought. The last thing he wanted was to have half the population of Arcness watch as the Icarii rained death down on Burdel. It would simply confirm their worst fears about the Forbidden and the Seneschal’s teachings.

  “No,” he repeated, contemplating the siege ahead. “Let’s go. By the time we get this army on the move the Strike Force should have cleared the passes.”

  He forced the problem of the siege to the back of his mind and smiled at Azhure.

  “Come,” he took her hand, “we have a pleasant ride through the hills before us.”

  “You did well, FarSight,” Axis said, reining Belaguez to a halt before the exhausted birdman.

  Most of the Strike Force were now on the ground in the passes, although several dozen circled far overhead, keeping a watch over Burdel’s retreat. It was early afternoon, and the Icarii had been flying and fighting for almost twelve hours.

  FarSight looked up. His dark face was lined and there were pouches of weariness under his eyes, but the expression on his face was one of quiet pride. His force had done a fine job, and he knew it. That dark day in Talon Spike when Axis had painfully outlined each and every flaw within the Icarii Strike Force seemed several lifetimes ago. FarSight now headed an elite fighting force. “Burdel’s men did not fight well, but they fought tenaciously. It took an hour longer than I had calculated to flush them out of their rocks.”

  Axis dismounted and sat down beside FarSight. “And those of the Strike Force who were struck by arrows?”

  FarSight shook his head with relief. “Two will not fly for some time, but the other three were only slightly hurt. A week’s rest and they will be fighting fit again.”

  “EvenSong?” Axis’ sister had returned to the Strike Force for fighting duty for this attack.

  “Fought well, as did SpikeFeather. I think, when the opportunity arises, I shall give him a Crest to command. He is too valuable now to waste on a Wing. His experience with the Gryphon, and his somewhat unconventional recovery, seems to have hardened him.”

  “Axis!”

  Axis jerked his head up. It was StarDrifter, alighting on a nearby rock. His face was flushed with excitement, and his great silver and white wings fluttered behind him. He hopped down and strode over. “Axis, I know I should not be here, but I could not help myself. Do you know how close we are to Fernbrake Lake from here? Only several hours’ flight, if that!”

  “No,” Axis said. “We can’t afford to have any Icarii flying about the Bracken Ranges without any protection and vulnerable to whatever stray forces Burdel or Borneheld has in these hills.”

  StarDrifter’s face coloured in anger and his body stiffened. “The Icarii have waited a thousand years to return to their homeland and the sacred sites lost to them, Axis,” he said.

  “Then another few weeks or months won’t make any difference,” Axis snapped. “Curse your impulsive nature, StarDrifter. It is too dangerous for you to fly off on a whim to view Fernbrake Lake. I cannot afford the Icarii to guard you. Don’t you realise how exhausted FarSight and his Strike Force are? They need days to recover, and in a few days’ time we will be long gone from the Bracken Ranges. Think, StarDrifter, damn you!”

  StarDrifter stared at his son, then FarSight, seeing clearly how fat
igued the birdman was.

  “StarDrifter,” Axis continued, “we head south. We will undoubtedly ride straight through the Ancient Barrows and by the Silent Woman Woods. You cannot see every sacred site you have lost in a week. You have your lifetime ahead of you to recover your heritage. Have patience. First I have to win this land for you.”

  StarDrifter hesitated, then nodded. “I apologise Axis, FarSight. I did not think. Two years ago I never thought that one day I would have the opportunity to see the lost sites of Tencendor again. Now that we are so close…” His voice drifted away.

  Axis relaxed, knowing what StarDrifter was trying to say. StarDrifter and MorningStar, as all other Enchanters, were beginning the arduous task of recovering the lost sites of the Icarii people—the Ancient Barrows, tombs of the twenty-six Enchanter-Talons, Star Gate, buried beneath the barrows, the Silent Woman Woods, their Keep and the Cauldron Lake, Spiredore and the Island of Mist and Memory. That last Axis knew the Icarii yearned after almost as much as the Star Gate, yet it might well prove the hardest to win for them. In any case, they had some bitter fighting to conduct before the Icarii could recover it. As StarDrifter wandered off, Axis watched as the first units of his army wound their way through the passes.

  Burdel succeeded in retreating to his capital, and by the time Axis and his army reached the city of Arcen, it was shuttered and bolted tightly.

  Axis focused on the eagle soaring above the battlements of the city a league away. People scurried back and forth atop the walls, pointing nervously at the approaching army. Axis thought he even saw Burdel himself, a tall and spare man, almost ascetic, standing still and silent as he shaded his eyes against the sun and stared at the approaching black stain across the Plains of Arcness. Axis had taken pains to keep the Icarii well back, and most were still resting in the lower reaches of the Bracken Ranges. The main part of the Strike Force would join Axis’ army later that night, when the people of Arcen would be blinded by the darkness.