Battleaxe Page 8

  After a moment’s awkward silence Moryson cleared his throat. “Perhaps we need to talk about your journey, Axis.”

  The men walked over to the fire, Jayme waving the other two into chairs.

  Moryson leaned forward to warm his hands. “The Brother in charge of the records in the Silent Woman Keep is named Ogden, Axis. He has been at the Keep many years and is the most knowledgeable of the brothers who study there. I know him well, he is a good man, dedicated to his duty. He will help you.”

  “Ogden is almost as damned independent and proud as you are, Axis,” Jayme muttered. “I will send a rider off today to make sure he is aware of your coming.”

  “And we will send Gilbert with you, Axis,” Moryson said. “When you continue on for Smyrton, Gilbert can return to us with what information Ogden and you’ve found.” The plan was sensible enough, and an added benefit was that Jayme and Moryson had a few weeks free of Gilbert.

  Axis closed his eyes and let the fire warm his face, idly stroking the cat as he thought.

  Moryson and Jayme exchanged glances for a moment before Jayme asked, “When will you be able to leave, Axis? And how long do you think the trip to the Wood and then Smyrton will take you?”

  Axis thought for a moment longer then opened his eyes. The firelight caught peculiar golden glints deep in his blue eyes. “How many of the Axe-Wielders do you want me to take?”

  Jayme considered, his fingers steepled against his nose. “Most, I think. There is little point in leaving more than a token force at the Tower of the Seneschal. Take seven cohorts and leave one here. Depending on what you find at Smyrton you might need to leave several units there. Take the rest onto Gorkenfort.”

  “The six cohorts that I took down to Coroleas will arrive here within a day. They have been travelling for over a week, so I’ll need to rest them and their horses a few days. I’ll use that time to organise our support and supplies. We can leave within five days, six at the most. From here to the Silent Woman Woods—two weeks at a solid pace. From the Silent Woman Woods to Smyrton,” Axis paused as he calculated the distance, “perhaps a month if we travel through Arcen and across the River Bracken.”

  “And from Smyrton to Gorkenfort?”

  “That is a harder and longer journey. If the reports of ice above the Urqhart Hills are true then it will be even harder. Especially if the winter closes in early.” Jayme and Moryson, who were in a position to see the window, nervously glanced at the heavy snowclouds. “Perhaps twenty days. If all goes smoothly and I am not detained too long at Smyrton, then I should be at Gorkenfort by early to mid-Snow-month.”

  Jayme looked concerned. “That’s very late. Winter, may well be there before you.”

  Axis’ gaze was steady. “It’s the best I can do given the number of cohorts and the route you suggest.”

  “Could he send a cohort or two directly to Gorkenfort via the River Nordra, Brother-Leader? They could be there several weeks ahead of the main force of Axe-Wielders that come via Smyrton,” said Moryson.

  “The force stays intact and it stays with me,” said Axis, fiercely.

  Jayme hesitated, then nodded. “I will grant you that BattleAxe. Borneheld will have enough troops there soon enough, and he will be ably supported by Jorgre and Roland. No, all seven cohorts go with you, Axis.”

  Axis relaxed. “Good. Then, if you will excuse me, Brother-Leader, I have an expedition to organise.”

  Jayme nodded and waved a sketchy blessing with his right hand. “Furrow wide, furrow deep, BattleAxe.”

  “Furrow wide, furrow deep, Brother-Leader,” Axis replied, standing. The cat jumped down and sat before the fire. Axis bowed slightly to Jayme and Moryson, his right fist clenched over the golden axes on his breast, then he strode from the room, his boot heels clicking sharply on the stone floor.

  “Well,” said Moryson quietly, after Axis had closed the door behind him.

  “Well, indeed,” Jayme replied equally as softly.

  “Can we trust him?” Moryson asked.

  Jayme took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes. He won’t like passing over command of the Axe-Wielders, but he will do it in the end. It would look peculiar if we didn’t send the Axe-Wielders to help in the defence of Achar, and even more peculiar if we didn’t send their BattleAxe with them.”

  “What will he find out?” Moryson asked.

  Jayme squirmed in his chair, and the cat paused in her washing to gaze at him. “Hopefully nothing. With luck his rivalry with Borneheld and the threat of the Forbidden will keep him occupied. Moryson—”

  “I know, old friend, I know. Priam’s news shocked me as much as it shocked you. What did those creatures want with Rivkah’s body?”

  Jayme looked up and caught Moryson’s gaze. His eyes were cold and calculating and his face no longer wore its usual kindly mien. “And what will they do when they discover it wasn’t hers?”

  Moryson suddenly looked ten years older, his already hollow cheeks deepening further. “My friend, I think they already know that. I think that’s why they destroyed the scriptorium in a rage.”

  Jayme smiled bleakly. “Then in that at least they did us a favour. For years I have wanted those records destroyed. We can only hope that the two brothers who survived were two of the younger brothers—with no memory that stretches back thirty years.”

  The cat paused briefly, her head still bent over her tail, but her bright eyes fixed on Jayme. Then she flipped over and began washing her protruding stomach.

  “But it doesn’t answer the question,” Moryson said, his voice revealing the strain he was under, “why did they want Rivkah’s body? Why?”

  Jayme did not, could not, answer. The cat stretched and sat for a moment, regarding them both with level blue eyes. Then she rose to her feet and stepped languidly over to the door, scratching to be let out. Moryson obliged.

  8

  FARADAY’S BETROTHAL

  Faraday sat at the lead-paned window in her father’s apartment and gazed down at the activities in the palace courtyard below her. For the past five days the palace, and Carlon itself, had been bustling with activity as soldiers, archers, pikemen and cavalry arrived, formed into their units and then dispersed. Four days ago, six cohorts of Axe-Wielders had finally arrived from Coroleas. One more cohort had come from the Tower of the Seneschal to swell their numbers. Both Axe-Wielders and regular soldiers were billeted out across Carlon as war and transport plans were made, supplies obtained, horses shod and gear cleaned. In the palace itself there was almost no room to move. The cooks complained, the officers shouted, the dogs barked, the serving girls scurried from place to place with red spots in their cheeks, and numerous important-looking palace officials strode along the palace corridors carrying wads of thick documents under their arms. Those nobles resident in the palace for the festivities surrounding Priam’s nameday gathered in small groups and whispered the day away.

  Faraday had done little but sit in her window and watch the activities below her. She caught frequent glimpses of the BattleAxe, and on those occasions she leaned a little closer to the frosty panes of glass, watching him as he conferred with his officers or chatted and smiled with his men. Sometimes a broken strap or a slow servant would make him lose his temper momentarily and shout, the sound of his voice just managing to drift to her ears. At his heels trotted a large white cat, as faithful as a dog. Faraday had actually forgotten her own troubles enough to laugh out loud when the cat tripped the BattleAxe up and he fell into a pile of straw the stable lads had just mucked out. Even the BattleAxe had enough of a sense of humour to smile wryly, and the cat had leapt into his lap as he sat in the hay, butting her head against his chin in a feline display of affection.

  As the dusk set in she could just make out her father below in the courtyard talking to Axis. Axis was shaking his head firmly and her father was gesturing animatedly with both his hands. They had been standing there for some twenty minutes and Faraday could see that Axis was impatient to get away. But her father was per
sistent, and after a few more minutes, as Faraday pressed her forehead to the glass in order to see, Axis gave in and reluctantly nodded his head to whatever her father was planning. When Borneheld strode into the courtyard to join her father, Axis turned on his heel and left them to confer quietly in the shadows.

  As she watched her father and Borneheld, Faraday’s lovely face lost much of its animation. When she had first arrived in Carlon everything had seemed a grand adventure. She had wanted to visit court all her life, and had been quietly excited when her father and mother had told her she was to come to the King’s nameday feast this year. The weeks of fittings for clothes grand enough to wear at court had entertained her, while the journey to Carlon had exposed her to landscapes and people she had not imagined existed. The clothes, the jewels, the sights and sounds of the court, the noisy crowds thronging the streets of Carlon—it all seemed a dream.

  But three days ago the dream had ended and Faraday had come down to earth with a shock. Three days ago her father had come to her, his eyes bright and a great beam of pleasure lighting his face. He had arranged a marriage for her. Faraday had known that one day she would marry, and had realised that one of the reasons her parents had brought her to Carlon was to present her to the court as an eligible daughter, but she had vaguely assumed that marriage still lay a year or two into the future. But whatever had thrown the palace into a fever of activity had apparently also hastened her parents’ plans. And hastened her prospective bridegroom’s fervour.

  Borneheld. She was to become the Duchess of Ichtar. It was, by anyone’s reckoning, a splendid marriage for her. Borneheld was the most powerful noble in the realm and the current heir to the throne. Her parents were ecstatic. Devera was wide-eyed with amazement and had spent much of this morning with Faraday, chatting nonstop about clothes, servants and babies until Faraday’s temper snapped and she asked Devera to leave. Devera had been offended, and left muttering about how Faraday would have to learn some manners when she was married to Borneheld.

  Faraday shuddered. She’d had to pretend pleasure for her parents’ sakes, but inside she felt hollow. She was very unsure of Borneheld; he was so large, so overbearing, and his manners were so gruff. They had met briefly the day before and had talked haltingly of this and that while her parents stood by, their faces mirroring their pride. Despite her best efforts, Faraday could not help comparing Borneheld to his half-brother. She was sure that conversation with Axis would not be peppered with the same embarrassing silences that her conversation with Borneheld was. Where Faraday could somehow imagine Axis being gentle and humorous, she could only foresee Borneheld being terse and impatient. She sighed. On the two occasions she had ventured a witty remark Borneheld had only stared at her uncomprehendingly.

  Faraday shivered and gulped, trying desperately to hold back her tears. This afternoon was the formal betrothal ceremony and she could not afford to have swollen and reddened eyes. The usual niceties were being hurried because Borneheld would leave so soon for the north. The prenuptial contract, covering the legalities of dowry and jointure, had been signed yesterday. This afternoon her mother had dressed her in a gown of ivory silk that had left her shoulders bare and exposed so much of her breasts that Faraday thought it verged on the indecorous. Her thick chestnut hair had been left to flow down her back in virginal style.

  Faraday suddenly realised that her father and Borneheld had disappeared from the courtyard. They must be on their way up here, she thought, her mouth suddenly dry, and she stood on wobbly legs just as the door to the apartment opened.

  Her parents, Isend and Merlion, entered, and behind them came Borneheld, his lieutenant Gautier and Earl Burdel of Arcen. Faraday wet her lips and dipped into a curtsey as Borneheld crossed the room.

  “My dear,” he said awkwardly as she remained deep in her curtsey, her head bowed. He thrust his hand out clumsily, uncomfortable with courtly manners, and she took it lightly between her fingers, rising gracefully to her feet. She was a tall girl, and did not have to tip her head too far back to meet his eyes.

  “My lord,” she said softly but clearly, “I am honoured by your offer of marriage.” It was what her mother had told her to say this afternoon, and Faraday had no way of knowing that it was her father who had done all the offering and persuading. But Borneheld’s greed and lust had made him listen and finally agree. Although Isend was not overly wealthy, Faraday was an heiress in her own right, due to inherit her maternal grandfather’s estates. Faraday was not only pleasing to the eye but would bring rich lands to her marriage. Borneheld had not had to think overly hard about the offer.

  “The honour is all mine,” Borneheld replied after some considerable thought. Gautier grinned behind his master’s back. That was the most courtly phrase he had heard pass Borneheld’s lips in a number of years. Borneheld was always more comfortable cursing his soldiers than passing pleasant conversation with well-bred women.

  “Ahem.” Isend stepped forward. “I know how busy the Duke of Ichtar is, Faraday, so perhaps we can proceed with the ceremony. The Earl of Burdel and Lieutenant Gautier are here to act as witnesses.”

  Faraday’s smile trembled a little, but she managed to keep her eyes level as Borneheld grasped her hand more firmly and began to speak the ancient ritual words of betrothal.

  “I, Borneheld, son of Searlas, Duke of Ichtar, do plight thee, Faraday, daughter of Isend of Skarabost, my troth in marriage. Before Artor and these people here assembled I do promise to take thee as my wife and to give thee an honoured place by my side. And to this I do freely consent.”

  Everyone waited expectantly. Faraday swallowed and wet her lips before repeating the vows. She hesitated a moment before finishing. “And to this I do freely consent.”

  Borneheld grinned a little lopsidedly, put his free hand into his pocket and withdrew a large ring of twisted dark gold mounted with a massive round ruby, fumbling slightly as he slid it onto the heart finger of Faraday’s left hand. It fit perfectly. Faraday’s eyes widened; the ruby was one of the largest stones she had ever seen.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful!” her mother whispered to one side.

  Borneheld smiled happily and, placing his large strong hands on Faraday’s shoulders, he leaned down and kissed her. Faraday tried not to tense under Borneheld’s hands as his kiss lingered. He smelled of horses, leather and sweat and Faraday found his size and closeness intimidating. She trembled slightly as Borneheld finally leaned back, wishing she could respond to this man as spontaneously as she had been attracted to his brother.

  Borneheld took her hesitancy as a compliment. “I can hardly wait until our marriage, my dear,” he whispered. He dropped his hands from her shoulders, but did not seem to know what to say or do next.

  Faraday forced a smile, likewise searching for some light remark. She supposed she would develop an easier rapport with Borneheld in the future, but for now she simply hoped that someone would do something that would bring this awkward occasion to an end.

  Earl Burdel finally stepped up behind Borneheld and clapped him jovially on the shoulder. “I shall watch her like a hawk, Borneheld, and let no harm come to her. I’m sure that when you return from Gorkenfort you will want the marriage ceremony as soon as possible.”

  Faraday looked across at her father in confusion. Burdel? Surely she would remain with her parents until the marriage?

  “My dear,” Isend smiled at her confusion. “With the problems in the north both your affianced husband,” he paused to bestow a wide grin on Borneheld, “and I believe that it might be too dangerous for you to return to Skarabost, and the court is no place for a young girl.”

  Oh no, Faraday thought in despair, please let me stay with you a while longer.

  “So, I’ve decided to send you and your mother to stay with Burdel’s family in Arcen. He will join you in a few short weeks once his business here is concluded. A sensible solution. But to get you there safely and in the quickest possible time, my dear, you will have to leave early in the morning.�
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  Faraday looked even more confused.

  “The Axe-Wielders ride for Smyrton through Arcness and I have managed to persuade the BattleAxe to let you and your mother ride with them. Three and a half thousand Axe-Wielders should provide a safe enough escort. The Lady of Tare will also be joining you for part of the way, so you will not be lacking for female company. Yes, yes, I know that they will be moving fast, but both you and your mother can ride well.”

  Borneheld stood to one side, pleased with the afternoon’s events, but now impatient to get back to his men. In truth, he was not particularly happy that Axis should be the one to provide his future wife with an escort to Arcen, but as there were few men to spare as escort it would be foolish to ignore the service he could provide. Besides, Borneheld grinned to himself, Axis would have several weeks to envy the wife his elder brother had won. Axis would never be able to find a wife so well-bred or with such lands.

  Isend stared at his daughter impatiently. “Well?”

  Faraday looked between her father and Borneheld, feeling a confused mixture of emotions: relief, that she would not have to endure many more awkward moments with Borneheld in the near future; sadness, that she would not be returning home, and a welter of complex emotions about Axis. She managed to maintain a smile on her face, although she felt that everyone in the room must see how false it was.

  “It sounds like the best solution,” she finally said dutifully.

  9

  LEAVETAKINGS AT DAWN

  Axis strode about the courtyard in the predawn darkness, impatient to get moving and irritated beyond measure that he was to be saddled with a group of women. That one of them was the Lady of Tare did not diminish his displeasure one whit.

  “Belial!” he shouted, frowning into the milling men and horses in the courtyard, trying to spot his lieutenant. “Belial!”