“Axis,” Jayme said quietly, “Nothing can be accomplished tonight. We cannot talk here and you are exhausted. Come to my rooms in the eastern wing of the palace at sunrise tomorrow morning. We can share prayers and then talk. I think we shall both be summoned to Priam’s presence later.”
Axis was silent for a moment. “It is the news from the north, then?”
Jayme smiled at his protégé. Even in Coroleas the BattleAxe had managed to keep his lines of information open. “Yes, my son. But let us not discuss it here in whispers. Better left till the morning.”
“Besides,” Axis whispered loudly in a stage whisper, glancing along the table with amused eyes, “if I stay here any longer I’ll sour the cream in the trifle.”
Jayme pinched Axis’ arm sharply, but his eyes smiled. “Rest well, BattleAxe. Furrow wide, furrow deep.”
“Furrow wide, furrow deep, Father,” Axis replied, and kissed the Brother-Leader’s emerald ring before he straightened and moved to the edge of the dais. He paused and bowed briefly to Priam before making his way out of the room. As he went he glanced again at the young woman who had stared at him earlier. She blushed and turned away. A moment later at a table some three or four removed from the royal dais, his eye caught that of one of the noblewomen, the Lady of Tare, and she inclined her head slightly, a smile hovering around her lips.
3
THE LADY OF TARE
Embeth, Lady of Tare, made her way carefully along the darkened corridors of the palace. Most of the revellers were still enjoying themselves in the Chamber of the Moons, but she had finally managed to escape; courtly etiquette had kept everyone in their seats until the king and queen left.
She had not expected to see Axis at the banquet and had felt a jolt of surprise and pleasure when she saw him. He wasn’t due back from Coroleas until Frost-month. She was pleased he was here at the palace instead of the forbidding Tower of the Seneschal. There were few places for them to meet privately at the Tower, and few excuses for her to be there in the first instance.
Embeth was some eight years older than Axis, a good-looking woman in her late thirties. They had been friends since Axis, as an eleven-year-old youth, had been sent by the Seneschal to train in arms at her husband’s household in Tare. She had been young then too, and pleased to have the opportunity to make friends with the silent young boy. As her children had come, Axis had been a companion to them as well, and now one of her own sons, Timozel, served under Axis in the Axe-Wielders.
Five years before her husband had died and the friendship between her and Axis had deepened until now they were also occasional lovers. Occasional not only because they rarely had the opportunity to meet, but also because of Axis’ birth; Rivkah’s shame clung close to her son as well. The Lady of Tare had a reputation to protect for she was still young enough to remarry and give another man sons. Those rare nights they spent as lovers were accomplished only with extreme secrecy—and were the sweeter, perhaps, because of it.
Embeth had not brought a candle with her, trusting that the occasional lamp along the corridors would provide sufficient light. She lifted her skirts clear of the floor to prevent them rustling, glad she had chosen her black silk for the feast. She shivered a little in the cool night air, or perhaps it was because she was drawing closer to Axis’ room.
Thank Artor that as BattleAxe he warranted his own room in the palace and was not sleeping in the barracks with the common soldiers. Embeth smiled to herself a little in the dim light—would she still have tried to sneak into his bed in the barracks? She pictured herself being discovered in a room full of common soldiers in the dead of night with her gown unlaced and her breasts bared, and just managed to repress her laughter.
Suddenly Embeth was caught from behind, a strong arm pinning her around her waist, and a hand planted firmly across her mouth to prevent her crying out. For a moment she stiffened in shock, then she relaxed back against the man who held her. She would know the feel of his hands and the smell of him even in the darkest pit of the AfterLife. Axis.
“You walked right past my room,” he whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her cheek. “I wondered if perhaps you had another assignation further along the corridor.” He felt her lips smile against the palm of his hand.
He pulled her gently back a few steps until they reached a closed door. It opened silently with the pressure of his shoulder, and they stepped through into a plain chamber; Priam’s palace steward had instructions not to allocate his king’s bastard nephew a grander chamber in the main wing of the palace. After the door latched closed behind them, Embeth twisted in his arms and rested against his chest. They stood silently, holding each other, their deep friendship more important for the moment than desire.
Finally Embeth pushed herself back and looked carefully at Axis’ face in the dim candlelight of the room. “You look exhausted, Axis. How far have you ridden?”
Axis grimaced and let her go, turning to pour them some wine. “From Nordmuth. Three days ago.”
Embeth accepted the wine he gave her and took a small sip. From Nordmuth to Carlon was an exceptionally hard ride, and circumstances would have to be extreme to make Axis push himself and his horses like that. Axis’ sudden reappearance when he should have stayed in Coroleas for another six weeks confirmed the rumours that something was gravely wrong. Embeth felt a pang of fear for Timozel. If Axis was involved then the trouble would also involve his command.
She turned away and walked a few steps into the small bedchamber. Axis had dumped his saddlebags and gear in one corner and Embeth resisted the urge to straighten things out. His small travelling harp, never far from his side, was set to one side of the bed. His axe, symbol of the Seneschal and of the Axe-Wielders themselves, was propped up against the far wall. But Axis, like most Axe-Wielders, also carried a sword and considered that his main weapon. It lay close to hand in its scabbard, which was slung over the bedhead. Embeth wondered how many men he had killed with it. How many men the Brother-Leader had ordered him to destroy in the name of Artor and the Plough. She loved and respected Axis, but she was more than a little in awe of his position as BattleAxe within the Seneschal, and more than a little scared of the power of the Seneschal and its Brother-Leader.
“Then the news is not good,” she said softly, “if you had to ride back that far and that fast.”
Axis walked up behind her and gently rubbed the back of her neck with his hand, marvelling at how soft her skin was and how silky-slippery her glossy brown hair. “I know little, Embeth. I’m sure court rumour is about as accurate as me at this stage.”
Embeth doubted that very much, but understood his reticence. Axis rarely talked about his position as BattleAxe and never talked about where and to what his duties led him. She let her head relax back against his gently massaging fingers. “Did Timozel do well in Coroleas, Axis?”
“Timozel continues to do well, my Lady of Tare, and you should be proud of him. If Ganelon,” Embeth’s dead husband, “were alive he would be proud of him also. Timozel grows tall,” he kissed the back of Embeth’s neck, “and strong,” another kiss, “and wiser with each passing week.” Axis slowly turned Embeth around and softly kissed her mouth. “He should be arriving back in Carlon with the other Axe-Wielders in two or three days time. But right now, my Lady of Tare, I fear I am far too exhausted to talk any more.”
Axis always found it hard talking of Timozel to Embeth. What would he tell her if Timozel ever found himself skewered on the wrong end of five handspans of sharpened steel? How would he tell her? He forced his mind away from the terrible image.
He was caught, unable to move, trapped by the thick hatred that seethed across the blackness and distance between them. He writhed desperately, trying to free his pinned arms and legs, frantic to run from the horror that drew closer with each breath he took.
“No,” he whispered, “no…go away…no…I don’t want you. You are not my father. Go away.”
But the evil, disgusting presence only dre
w closer. In a few moments he knew that he would be able to smell its putrid breath. He gave up fighting to free himself and instead lay panting heavily, knowing he should garner his strength for the fight ahead.
“Go away!” he whispered again hoarsely.
It approached. He could feel it circling in the dark, could feel its loathsome presence.
“Axis, my son.” Axis shuddered violently as the voice slithered through the dark spaces between them.
“No!” Axis whispered again. All he could feel from the other presence was hatred.
“My son,” the voice repeated. “You should never have been allowed to reach birth. You are an abomination. You should have been aborted. You killed your mother…your beautiful mother.”
The voice drooled over the word “beautiful” and Axis almost vomited with fear and loathing.
“Your beautiful mother. She died because of you, my son. You tore her apart. She cursed you in the end, you know, as you tore her apart. She swore she would drown you when she could finally get her hands on you. But you killed her first. She died with her life blood draining all over you. What a fiery baptism!” The voice rasped at its own joke in a ghastly parody of laughter, and its mad chuckles surrounded Axis like choking smoke.
He was crying now, crying because of the pain he had caused his mother, crying because she had cursed him, crying because he had never known her.
“I never wanted you, my son. If I had known she was pregnant I would have torn you from her body myself.”
“You are not my father!” Axis cried, desperate not to believe it, but scared to the depths of his soul that this unspeakable voice was indeed his father. The muscles of his arms and legs bulged as they fought to escape the pressure of the invisible, magical bonds that bound him, but he remained trapped…trapped in this dark unknowable space with his father. A father who hated him.
“You destroyed your mother, as you will destroy everyone about you. No-one wants you, Axis, no-one loves you. You should be dead instead of your beautiful mother.”
Scores of dreadful red-hot teeth nibbled at his flesh, tearing strips of skin and muscle away from his body. Not enough to kill quickly, but enough to torture slowly to death. Axis battled with his sanity.
“See here,” the voice soothed, suddenly solicitous, “my friends will help you. Tasty, tasty.” The voice hardened with hate. “You are an abomination, Axis, you deserve to die. I have come to do what should have been done while you swam in your mother’s womb. Tear you apart…piece by piece.”
Axis lost control at that point, as he always did, and screamed. It was the only way he knew to escape.
The scream reverberated about the small chamber and brought Embeth out of her slumber with her heart in her mouth. She sat up and twisted around to Axis, who was rolling about on the bed, covered in sweat, his hands gripping the mattress.
“No,” he whispered, his eyes wide open and staring at something that Embeth could not see, “you are not my father!”
Embeth’s heart almost broke. She seized his shoulders, although his violent motions almost threw her off, and shook as hard as she could.
“Axis! Axis! Wake up. Wake up…it’s all right, my love, it’s all right…wake up!”
She remembered these dreams from the time he had first come to stay with her and Ganelon as an eleven-year-old. Once or twice a month they had punctuated his sleep, waking both her and Ganelon even though he was bedded down in the attic of their manor house.
But they had never been this bad…and she thought he had grown out of them. “Axis,” she cried desperately one more time, taking a hand from his shoulders and striking his face. “Wake up!”
Finally he was awake and out of whatever horror had gripped him. He grabbed Embeth’s arms, startled, still desperately afraid, not knowing for a time who she was or where he was.
“Axis,” she murmured, cradling his head against her breasts, “it’s all right, it’s all right, my love. I am here now, I am here.”
Axis wrapped his arms about her as tightly as he dared, clinging to the love she represented. For a few moments they rocked back and forth on the bed, the one gently comforting, the other trying to reestablish some grip on sanity.
Tears streamed down Embeth’s face as she gently stroked Axis’ hair. “Shush,” she crooned, feeling the fear wrack his shoulders, “shush.” After a few minutes Axis pulled away and lay back against the disarranged bedclothes. Embeth said nothing, thinking it better that he speak first.
Eventually Axis took her hand. “Thank you for being here,” he said softly, and Embeth wondered how many nights he had woken up to face this horror himself.
“It is the same dream you had as a child,” she prodded.
He breathed deeply. “Yes. The same, but it has grown worse over the past few months. Infinitely worse.”
He paused and Embeth stroked his face, feeling the sweat of fear starting to dry on his forehead and in his beard.
“Why does he hate me so much?” he asked no-one in particular. “Why? I never asked to be born. How can it be my fault? Embeth?”
“Yes?” Fleetingly, Embeth thought Axis might tell her of his dream. Even as a child he had kept its details hidden from her, no matter how hard she probed.
Axis turned his head so he could look directly at her. He had been going to ask her if she had ever felt as if she were about to die during childbirth, and, if so, if she had ever blamed the child that was tormenting her body with pain. But just as he was about to speak the words he found he couldn’t ask. To do that would be to reveal that every day of his life he lived with the guilt of killing his own mother. His beautiful mother.
Embeth watched the change come over his face, saw his face close over and knew that he needed to be on his own now. Axis had lived so much of his life unwanted by his own family that he found it hard to accept that others could love him for himself.
Embeth kissed his forehead a last time then slithered out of his bed, finding her clothes on the floor where she had discarded them. She dressed quickly in the chill early morning air, and wound her hair back on top of her head in a rough knot that would stand a cursory inspection by any curious eyes.
Axis lay still on the bed watching her, grateful that she had asked no more questions and that she recognised his need to be alone. Before she left Embeth paused by the bed, not touching him.
“Let me know if you need me again,” she murmured, “and I will come.”
He nodded, and Embeth smiled briefly, sadly. Without another word or look she turned and slipped quietly from the room.
Axis was left alone in the dark.
4
AT THE FOOT OF THE FORTRESS RANGES
The two women sat closely together in the cold air, their plain woollen wraps tight about their shoulders, watching the sky begin to lighten over the Fortress Ranges. They had been sitting talking most of the night, and each knew they would have to move soon so that the younger could be back in her bed undiscovered by dawn.
The older woman turned her eyes from the sky. She had fine features, and such incredibly thick and wavy hair that it threatened to break free of the pins holding it protesting in its coil. From the widow’s peak on her forehead a startling swathe of gold, two-fingers wide, ran back through her silvery hair. She smiled gently at the younger woman, who had risked a lot to meet her here tonight.
“You are very generous to offer to help us, my dear.”
The younger woman looked at her companion. “You still do not trust me.”
The older woman’s eyes were as sooty-grey as the smoke from a damp wood fire. They held as many sparks, too. “You understand the reasons for that, surely.”
The young woman sighed and rubbed her arms. “Yes. I do. But what can I do to make you trust me? What?”
“Trust cannot be bought, or hurried. It always takes time.”
“But you do not have time.”
The silver-haired woman paused. “We’ve never had enough time, Azhure. We hav
e never had enough space. We have never had enough respect. And though we need the help of people like you, we must remain wary.”
Disappointed at the rebuff, Azhure turned and waved her hand towards the distant village. “They hate anything they do not understand. It is the Way of the Plough.”
The older woman rested a hand on Azhure’s arm comfortingly and said, her voice filled with sadness, “I know, Azhure, I know.”
“GoldFeather, you must trust me. Please! You desperately need help with the children.”
GoldFeather shook her head slowly, resigned. “No, Azhure. It is too late. The only one that can save us from the Destroyer is lost and cannot be found. The Sentinels do not yet walk the land and Tree Friend has yet to be found. Soon winter comes. Ice will come to claim us. Tencendor cannot fight divided.”
Her eyes glittered with tears. “You must return to your home before it is too late. Sing well and fly high, Azhure, and may you find some kind of peace in this most treeless of lands.” She leaned forward and kissed Azhure’s pale cheek.
5
IN THE PALACE OF THE KING
Axis lay awake for another hour after Embeth left, then, as the sky began to lighten towards dawn, cursed silently and stood up. He still felt exhausted. He’d only had an hour or two of sleep before the nightmare had claimed him and he’d needed a good eight or nine after the hard ride.
He splashed himself with cold water to rid himself of the stale sweat of his nightmare and dressed silently in the dark, not bothering to light a candle. He dreaded what Jayme might tell him this morning.
Jayme was already up and at prayer when Axis slipped into his quarters. The Brother-Leader was kneeling at the altar in his room, praying before an exquisite silver and gold icon of Artor the Ploughman. Axis knelt quietly behind him and bowed his head in prayer, trying to find some ease of mind in the rhythms of the ancient words and rituals. But prayers could not comfort him this morning, not after the nightmare he had endured, and after a few minutes his thoughts drifted to the daily problems of commanding a force of four thousand men.
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