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  “It was Moryson’s idea,” Jayme said. “He thought it best that you die in a place far enough removed from civilisation that your bones would not corrupt Artor-fearing souls.”

  “Yet you let my son live.”

  “He was innocent of your evil—at least, that’s what I thought at the time. I did not know then what it was that had put him in your belly. Knowing what I know now I would have put a knife to your throat, Rivkah. Well before you had a chance to give that abomination birth.”

  Rivkah’s hands jerked slightly, the only sign she had been disturbed by Jayme’s words. At that moment she longed to flee, so great was her loathing for him, but she had one more thing to ask.

  “Why did you name my son Axis?”

  Jayme blinked at her, surprised by the question, and fought to remember. He shrugged slightly.

  “Moryson named him.”

  “But why Axis?”

  “I do not know, Rivkah. It seemed a good enough name at the time. I could not have known then that he would prove to be the axis about which our entire world would turn and die.”

  Rivkah took a deep breath. “You denied me my son and warped his soul for almost thirty years, Jayme, while you left me to die a slow, lingering death.” She stepped forward, and spat in Jayme’s face. “They say that forgiveness is the beginning of healing, Jayme, but I find it impossible to forgive the wrong you have done myself, my son and his father.”

  She turned and strode to the door.

  Just as she reached it Jayme spoke. Where the words came from he did not know, for the knowledge behind them and their sudden ferocity were not his.

  “It is my understanding that the birdman you betrayed Searlas for has now betrayed and rejected you, Rivkah. You have been discarded, thrown aside because of your ageing lines. Betrayal always returns to those who betray.”

  Rivkah turned and stared at him, appalled. This was not strictly correct, but it was close enough to the truth to hurt. Had the price for her betrayal of Searlas been the eventual death of StarDrifter’s love for her? What price would she pay for the hurt she had caused Magariz so many years ago? She licked her lips and silently cursed her voice as it quavered.

  “Then I am confident you will die a ghastly death, Jayme,” she said.

  Despite her brave words, Rivkah’s entire body shuddered, and she flung the door open, running past the startled guard and down the corridor.

  Jayme smiled, remembering Rivkah’s agitation. But the smile died as he recalled his second visitor.

  Jayme had heard Axis well before he entered the room.

  Axis stood outside the closed door for several minutes, talking with the guard posted there. Jayme knew Axis was toying with him, letting the sound of his casual conversation outside increase Jayme’s trepidation.

  And his tactic worked. Jayme’s stomach heaved as he heard the key in the lock.

  “Jayme,” Axis said flatly as he stepped inside the room.

  Axis had always carried an aura of power as BattleAxe—now it was magnified ten times and carried with it infinite threat. Jayme opened his mouth to speak, but there was nothing to say.

  “I have decided to put you on trial, Jayme. Rivkah has told me of your conversation,” Axis said, “and of your wretched effort to lay the blame for her attempted murder at Moryson’s feet. But it is not only the wrongs you have done me and my mother that you should answer for, Jayme, but the wrongs you have done the innocent people of Tencendor.”

  Jayme found his voice and his courage. “Yet how many innocent people have you murdered for your depraved purposes, Axis? Justice always seems to rest with the victor, does it not?”

  Axis stabbed an accusing finger at the former Brother-Leader. “How many innocent people did I murder in the name of the Seneschal, Jayme? How many people, guilty of nothing save innocent questions, did you send your BattleAxe out after, to ride down into the earth? How many innocent people have I murdered? You tell me. You were the one who sent me out to murder them in the name of Artor!”

  “I only did what Artor told me, Axis. I only did what was right for the Way of the Plough.”

  The anger faded from Axis’ face and he stared incredulously at Jayme. “Have you never thought to question the world about you? Have you never thought to question the narrow and brutal Way of the Plough? Have you never stopped to think what beauty the Seneschal destroyed when it drove the Icarii and the Avar beyond the Fortress Ranges a thousand years ago? Have you never stopped to question Artor?”

  “Axis,” Jayme said, stepping forward. “What has happened to you? I thought I knew you, I thought I could trust you.”

  “You thought you could use me.”

  Axis stared at Jayme a moment longer, then turned for the door.

  “I only used you for Artor’s sake,” Jayme said so softly that Axis barely heard him.

  Axis looked around to his once-beloved Brother-Leader. “I shall spare no effort in dismantling the Seneschal, Jayme. I shall grind it and the cursed Way of the Plough into the dust where it belongs. I shall bury your hatreds and your bigotry and your unreasoning fears and I shall never, never, allow it or any like it to raise its deformed head in Tencendor again. Congratulations, Jayme. You will yet live to witness the complete destruction of the Seneschal.”

  Jayme’s face was now completely white and his mouth trembled. He held out a hand. “Axis!”

  But Axis was gone.

  The memory of that visit disturbed Jayme so much that he abased himself once more before Artor’s icon, seeking what comfort the crude figure could give him.

  The guards had taken from his room the beautiful gold and enamel icon of Artor that had held pride of place in the centre of the main wall. During the first two days of his captivity Jayme had laboriously carved out a life-sized outline of the great god into the soft plaster of the wall. Even though he had torn his nails with the effort, at least he had an icon to pray to.

  He pressed his forehead to the floor.

  The sound of noisy celebrations in the streets below finally roused him in the early evening. Curious despite his despondency, Jayme wandered over to the window.

  Cheerful crowds thronged the streets and Jayme listened carefully, trying to make out what they shouted. Most held beakers of beer or ale, a few had goblets of wine. All were smiling.

  “A toast to our lord and lady!” Jayme heard one stout fellow shout, and the crowd happily obliged.

  “A marriage made in the stars, they say!” shouted another, and Jayme was horrified to see that it came from one of several winged creatures in the crowd.

  He frowned. Had Axis married Faraday already?

  A tiny piece of plaster fell to the floor behind him. Then another. Deep in concentration on the scene below him, Jayme did not hear.

  “To Axis!”

  “And to Azhure!”

  Large cracks spread across the wall, and a piece of plaster the size of a man’s fist bulged into the room.

  “Azhure?” Jayme said. “Azhure?”

  More plaster crumbled to the floor as further cracks and bulges raced across the wall, but Jayme was so engrossed in the crowd’s celebrations he did not hear it.

  “Who is this Azhure?” Now Jayme had both hands and face pressed to the window pane in an effort to catch the shouts of the crowd.

  She is one of the many reasons for your death, fool.

  Jayme whimpered in terror and his eyes refocused away from the street below him and onto the reflection in the glass.

  Plaster fell to the floor in a torrent as the wall came alive behind him.

  Jayme whimpered softly again, so horrified he could not move. His eyes remained glued to the terror in the reflection.

  Nothing in his life could have prepared him for this, and yet he knew precisely what it was.

  Artor, come to exact revenge for the failings of the Brother-Leader of his Seneschal.

  “Beloved Lord,” Jayme croaked.

  In the reflection Jayme saw the wall ripple and
a form bulge through, taking the shape of the icon Jayme had scratched in the plaster days ago.

  It was too much, and Jayme screwed shut his eyes in terror.

  Have you not the courage to face Me, Brother-Leader? Have you not the courage to face your Lord?

  Jayme felt a powerful force seize control of his body. Suddenly he was spun around and slammed back against the window; he retained only enough power over his muscles to keep his eyelids tightly closed. Some part of his mind not yet completely numbed with terror hoped that Artor would use too much force and the window panes would crack behind him, allowing him to fall to a grateful death on the cobbles below.

  But Artor knew His own power, and Jayme did not hit the glass with enough force to break it.

  He was held there, his feet a handspan off the floor, and none of the crowd celebrating Axis and Azhure’s marriage spared so much as a glance above to see Jayme pinned against the window as effectively as a cruel boy will pin an ant to a piece of paper.

  The great god Artor the Ploughman completed His transformation and stepped into the room. He was stunningly, furiously angry, and His wrath was a terrible thing to behold. Jayme had failed Him. The Seneschal was crumbling, and soon even those fragments that were left would be swept away in the evil wind that blew over the land of Achar. Day by day Artor could feel the loss of those souls who turned from the worship of Artor and the Way of the Plough to the worship of other gods. He was the one true god, He demanded it, and Artor liked it not that those gods He had banished so long ago might soon walk this land again.

  Jayme had failed Artor so badly and so completely that the god Himself had been forced from His heavenly kingdom to exact retribution from Brother-Leader Jayme for his pitiful failure to lead the Seneschal against the challenge of the StarMan.

  What have you done, Jayme?

  Jayme shuddered, and found that Artor had freed those muscles he needed to speak with. “I have done my best, Lord,” he whispered.

  Meet My eyes, Jayme, and know the god that you promised to serve.

  Jayme tried to keep his eyes tightly shut, but the god’s power tore them open—and Jayme screamed.

  Standing before him was a man-figure, yet taller and more heavily musclebound than any man Jayme had ever seen before. Artor had chosen to reveal Himself in the symbolic attire of the ploughman: the rough linen loincloth, the short leather cape thrown carelessly over His shoulders, its hood drawn close about Artor’s face, and thick rope sandals. In one hand Artor held the traditional goad used to urge the plough team onwards; the other hand He had clenched in the fist of righteous anger. Underneath the leather hood of His cape Artor had assumed the heavy, pitted features of a man roughened by years of tilling the soil, while His body was roped with the thick muscles needed to control the team and the cumbersome wheeled plough.

  And underlying this immensely powerful and angry physical presence was the roiling fury of a god scorned and rejected by many of those who had once served Him.

  Artor’s eyes glittered with black rage. Daily My power diminishes as the Seneschal crumbles into dust. Daily the souls of the Acharites are claimed by other, less deserving gods. For this I hold you responsible.

  “I could not have foreseen—” Jayme began, but Artor raised the goad menacingly above His head and took a powerful step forwards, and Jayme fell into silence.

  The power of the Mother threatens to spill over into this land as the bitch you failed to stop prepares to sow the seeds of the evil forest across Achar. The Star Gods now threaten to spread their cold light through this land again.

  “I had not the knowledge or the power to stop these gods of whom you speak—”

  Yet you incubated the egg that would hatch the traitorous viper. You nursed the viper to your—to My—bosom! You raised him, you taught him, you gave him the power and the means, and then you turned him loose to destroy all that I have worked to build.

  “Axis! I could not have known that he—”

  As the Brotherhood of the Seneschal falls to its knees so the worship of the Plough fades and I grow weak. Long-forgotten gods seek to take My place and banish Me from this land.

  “Give me another chance and I will try to—”

  But Artor did not want to hear empty excuses or useless promises. His judgment was final.

  I shall seek out among those remaining to find one who will work My will for me. One who is still loyal. One who can steer the Plough that you have left to wheel out of control. Die, Jayme, and prepare to live your eternity within My eternal retribution. Feel My justice, Jayme! Feel it!

  As Artor stepped forward, Jayme found breath enough for a last, pitiful shriek.

  The guard standing outside the door thought he heard a cry, and he started to his feet. But the next moment a burst of fireworks lit the night sky and the guard relaxed, smiling. No doubt the noise had been the echo of the street celebrations below.

  Another burst of fireworks exploded, drowning out the screams from the chamber as Artor exacted his divine retribution.

  Faraday and Embeth, almost a league into the Plains of Tare, paused and looked back as the faint bursts of the fireworks reached them.

  “He has married her,” Faraday said tonelessly, “and now the people celebrate.”

  She turned the head of the donkey and urged it eastwards.

  Later that night, when the guard checked his prisoner, all he discovered was a pile of plaster by the far wall and a bloody body lying huddled underneath the locked window.

  It looked suspiciously like…well, like it had been ploughed.

  2

  THE SONG FOR DRYING CLOTHES

  Restoration of the royal apartments in the ancient palace of Carlon had been going on since Axis had defeated Borneheld, but the workmen doubled their efforts in the days after Axis married Azhure. Helping them—else how could so much work have been accomplished in so short a time?—were twelve of the best Icarii Enchanters who discovered the ancient lines and colours hidden behind a thousand years of veilings, and who directed the workmen and sewing women in the best and simplest ways to redecorate the chambers to suit the StarMan and the Enchantress.

  The Icarii were amazed by the news that the Enchantress’ ring had resurfaced to fit snugly on Azhure’s finger—and yet, they said among themselves, who better to wear both ring and title than the woman who already commanded the Wolven and the Alaunt and the heart of the StarMan? Those who had seen her in the past few days had noted how the promise of strange power lay in the shadows of her eyes, and they wondered whether the ring had placed that power there, or whether the power released during her ordeal of her wedding day had called the ring to her.

  None, whether Icarii or human, doubted that Azhure was a figure who could be as powerful as the StarMan, a legend in her own right.

  Now Axis, Azhure and StarDrifter sat in their living chamber, Caelum playing quietly in a corner. On two walls windows stretched from the floor to the foot of a great jade dome, gauzy curtains billowing in the cool breeze of late afternoon. They had been there for some hours, and Azhure was clearly tired. Axis turned from her and addressed his father.

  “These rooms are of Icarii origin, StarDrifter, and the Chamber of the Moons is obviously patterned on the Star Gate. How so? I thought Carlon an entirely human affair.”

  StarDrifter, sprawled on his belly across a couch some paces away, his wings spreading across the floor on either side, shrugged his shoulders.

  “The Icarii had to live somewhere, Axis. In the time of Tencendor gone, both human and Icarii must have lived in Carlon—it is a very ancient city.”

  He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Both Axis and Azhure, wingless, wondered at StarDrifter’s grace in rolling completely over without entangling himself in his wings.

  “I have no doubt that Carlon would have been a popular residence for Icarii, Axis,” StarDrifter continued, “as close as it is to the sacred Grail Lake and Spiredore.” He paused, his face dreamy. “One could lift
directly from those windows into the thermals rising off the great plains.”

  Azhure smiled briefly at Axis. StarDrifter looked far too lazy to do anything more than loll about the chamber. Her smile died as she shifted uncomfortably and pushed a pillow into the small of her back—every day the unborn twins grew larger and more cumbersome.

  Axis looked at her, concerned. We have tired you, beloved.

  “No,” she said, although both StarDrifter and Axis could see the exhaustion tugging at her eyes. “No, I want to try again. Please, one more time before you go back down to your army.”

  Axis had belatedly realised how much time had elapsed since his defeat of Borneheld, and he was in the process of organising a force to speed northwards to bolster the defences of Jervois Landing. Every hour brought them closer to autumn and Gorgrael’s inevitable attack.

  StarDrifter sat up, as concerned as Axis was with Azhure’s condition. Faraday had obviously healed her back (and how much more desirable the woman was with her back clean and smooth and aching to be stroked, StarDrifter thought), but Azhure remained very weak from both the physical and emotional battering she had been forced to endure four days ago. Neither Axis nor StarDrifter was prepared to argue with Faraday’s prediction that Azhure would have to rest until the birth of her children.

  And yet how desperately I will need her against Gorgrael, Axis thought. How desperately I need her skill with both bow and command, her Alaunt, and her power. I can ill afford to lose her to a drawn-out recovery over the next few months. But how much less can I afford to lose her to inevitable death should I push her too hard now? Axis was still trying to come to terms with his guilt, not only over the events of a few days ago, but also over the fact that, unknown to him, Azhure had fought through the dreadful Battle of Bedwyr Fort while encumbered with such a difficult pregnancy. His hand tightened about hers as he realised his good fortune that Azhure had managed to survive the past weeks at all.