Enchanter Page 9

  She stood, gently fingering the material, her eyes downcast, then she looked up, and Axis felt his heart clench a little at the expression in her beautiful eyes.

  “I’ve noticed you touching the tunic over your left breast, where once the twin crossed axes of your station rested. Now you are no longer BattleAxe, but rather Axis SunSoar, son of Princess Rivkah and StarDrifter, heir to the powers and gifts of the SunSoar Enchanters and to the Prophecy of the Destroyer. You need a new emblem, Axis, a new standard, a sign to mark you the StarMan.”

  She shook the material out. “Rivkah found the fabric for me, and over the past few weeks I have spent the occasional hour sewing this for you.”

  Axis took a sharp breath of amazement as the material unfolded in Azhure’s hands. It was a finely crafted tunic of deep golden silk, its texture slightly roughened so that it caught the light. Around the bottom of the sleeves and the high neck Azhure had embroidered designs recalling the exotic writing of the ancient Icarii language. The design embroidered in silk on the centre of the golden tunic made him catch his breath anew. It was the SunSoar blazing sun, but in blood-red rather than its usual insipid pale gold.

  Azhure relaxed at the expression on Axis’ face. She hadn’t known whether or not he would accept it. “I have almost finished a battle standard for you in the same design, Axis SunSoar.”

  “I will be proud to accept tunic and standard and to embrace this emblem as my own, Azhure,” Axis whispered, cradling the silken tunic in his hand. It was light, so light. “You have done me honour.”

  10

  PROPOSITIONS AND ENDINGS

  Azhure shot off yet another arrow, hitting the scarlet target globe which already bristled with her previous shots. She gazed at the beautiful bow. No-one knew what wood it had been made of. Perhaps WolfStar had altered it with his enchantments, she thought vaguely, running her fingers over its smooth ivory surface. Strange patterns in gold tracery spiralled about the length of the bow, like nothing else she had seen decorating Icarii walls or art works. She wondered what WolfStar had been like. No-one among the Icarii liked talking about him much. Would he have minded that his bow had been lost into the possession of an Acharite woman?

  She reached for an arrow and finding her quiver empty, abruptly realised she had a problem. Always there had been an Icarii present to retrieve her arrows for her. But now the target ball swung sixty paces above her head. She could hardly leave the ball bristling with arrows—the next Icarii to use the chamber would be furious at her carelessness. She sighed and hung the Wolven on a wall hook. Either she’d have to climb up herself, a choice she quickly discarded as she glanced about the smooth walls, or she would have to find an Icarii willing to retrieve the arrows for her.

  “I should be pleased to retrieve them for you, Azhure,” a voice said from behind her, and Azhure whipped about.

  StarDrifter stood at the rail of the observation gallery, smiling down at her, then launched himself into the air with his powerful wings. Watching him, Azhure envied the Icarii ability to fly. What would it be like, she thought, to be able to escape into the limitless freedom of the skies?

  StarDrifter alighted before her, passing over her arrows.

  “Thank you,” Azhure said, dropping the arrows into the quiver across her back. “Next time I will make sure someone else is using the chamber whenever I practise.”

  StarDrifter smiled. She had such a lovely face. For weeks now his desire for her had been growing. Yet she tried to keep herself so distant, avoiding the times he used the Chamber of Steaming Water.

  He gazed longingly at her hair. No Icarii woman had long hair, it stopped growing once it reached the level of their neck feathers, and StarDrifter loved the feel of long hair—it was one of the attractions human women had for him. Unable to stop himself, he reached over and cradled the back of her head, feeling the weight of the coiled braid.

  Azhure started in alarm. “StarDrifter!” she began, then StarDrifter’s other arm was about her and he pressed her against his body, stopping her objections with a deep kiss.

  For long minutes Azhure did not resist. She had never been kissed like this before. The few experiences she’d endured from the awkward boys of Smyrton had not pleased her, and their groping fumblings had repulsed her.

  This was different. The feel of his chest under her hands, the warmth and taste of his mouth, curiosity at new sensations, the subtle but unmistakable touch of his Enchanter’s power, all made her hesitate to break the embrace.

  Encouraged by Azhure’s initial reaction, StarDrifter’s mouth left hers to caress her jaw and throat, gently biting, nibbling. He wrapped his wings about her, cradling her within them so his hands were free. He started to unfasten the buttons of her tunic.

  Azhure finally found the resolve to push her hands more firmly against his chest. It was difficult, for part of her mind screamed at her to stay and let him do what he wanted, but another part recalled Rivkah’s words about being cradled in a lover’s wings during Beltide, and the thought of Rivkah gave Azhure the courage to speak.

  “No,” she mumbled. “No, StarDrifter. Stop.”

  He smiled and slipped his hand inside her tunic, cupping a breast. “You do not want me to stop, Azhure.”

  “If you do not stop then it will be rape, StarDrifter,” Azhure insisted, her voice now firm. “I love and respect Rivkah too much to betray her like this. Let me go.”

  “Rape? But do you not enjoy this, my beautiful woman?” StarDrifter asked, his fingertips drifting over a nipple. “I can feel you tremble. You do not want me to stop.”

  Azhure freed an arm and struck him across the face. The effect was electric. StarDrifter stumbled backwards, a hand clasped to his shocked face.

  Azhure jerked her tunic closed, fumbling with the fastenings. “I do not welcome your advances, StarDrifter. Please do not lessen my respect for you by pursuing me like this,” she said emphatically, then, picking up the Wolven, she turned and climbed the ladder into the observation gallery with as much dignity as she could muster.

  Azhure was as furious with herself as she was with him. She had almost managed to put her scruples aside in order to indulge her curiosity and enjoy what StarDrifter was offering. She crossed the observation gallery, her steps quickening as she got closer to the door and escape. In her haste she did not notice the figure who had sought refuge in a shadowed corner just minutes before.

  StarDrifter watched her go, only slowly dropping his hand from his cheek. He was appalled, not that Azhure had hit him, but that she been forced to hit him. Rape—sexual force of any kind—was a concept almost totally alien to the Icarii people. All of them loved the chase and the seduction, but no Icarii ever pursued one who was unsure or unwilling.

  StarDrifter took a deep breath. He would apologise. But his desire for Azhure was driving him crazy. He had never felt like this about anyone, not even Rivkah during the height of their passion. Why? StarDrifter asked himself. There were more beautiful women than her about, and surely more willing than her. But he felt driven to possess her by a force so deep within him that he did not, could not, understand it.

  He looked up to the gallery, hoping Azhure had not left. But the woman standing there was not Azhure.

  Rivkah stood with her hands resting lightly on the gallery rail. She looked calm and cool, elegant in a sky-blue gown, her silver and golden-streaked hair left free to trail down her back. “We need to talk, StarDrifter,” she said quietly. “And I would appreciate it if you could join me up here.”

  Oh Stars! StarDrifter thought helplessly, his face, every entire muscle of his body, showing his tenseness.

  Rivkah waited until he joined her, then touched his face. “This must end,” she said, her eyes inexpressibly sad.

  “I do not know what came over me, I will not do it again,” StarDrifter began, but Rivkah cut him off.

  “No. Our marriage must end while we still respect each other. StarDrifter, it is time we talked plainly.”

  StarDri
fter’s face stilled, his pale-blue eyes narrowing. “Very well. Let us talk.”

  A slight tremor belied Rivkah’s calm exterior. “StarDrifter, We both know that in past years we have been slowly but inexorably drifting apart. We had a grand passion, we loved each other dearly, we both sacrificed dearly for that love and passion. But we must now face the reality that our marriage is no longer viable.”

  “Rivkah—” He reached out, but Rivkah stepped back.

  “No. Let me finish. You are Icarii and I am human. You have, potentially, another four hundred years of life, StarDrifter. Already I grow old. I will not become an object of pity in your eyes. I must end this marriage while there is still respect—perhaps even a little love—left between us.” She paused. “Now I know why the Ferryman thought that resuming the name Rivkah would be a high price for me to pay. GoldFeather may have belonged here, StarDrifter, but Rivkah does not. After Beltide I will return to Achar.”

  “Rivkah!” StarDrifter reached for her again, and this time she did not attempt to resist. For a long time they stood, holding each other, StarDrifter gently stroking the golden streak through her hair. Despite what she had implied, Rivkah still loved him deeply, but she wanted to walk away from their marriage while she knew that StarDrifter still enjoyed their intimate relationship.

  Eventually she pulled back. “StarDrifter,” she whispered, grateful for the unforced tears of regret in his eyes, “don’t let your consuming need for Azhure destroy her life. Don’t make her go through what I am now going through. She is human too, and in another twenty or thirty years I don’t want her to be standing here ending her marriage to you because your eye has been caught by a woman younger and more vital than her. Let her go. Respect her enough for that. Find an Icarii woman who will be with you for the rest of your life.”

  “Azhure was not at fault for what just happened.” StarDrifter knew how deep the friendship was between the two women.

  “I know.” Rivkah forced a smile. “I admire her resistance. If I remember correctly I conceded at a single smile from you. I do not blame her…nor you, really. I want us to go to RavenCrest and formally break the marriage.” Soon, she thought bleakly, while I still have the strength for this.

  “What will you do?” StarDrifter asked. “Where will you go?”

  “I will return to my people, StarDrifter. I will find myself a home among them.”

  11

  “ARE YOU TRUE?” ASKETH THE BRIDGE

  “See?” Jack, pointing his hand. “Do you see?”

  Belial, Magariz and Arne stood at his shoulder at the western window of Sigholt’s spacious map-room. Behind them Reinald sat comfortably by the fire, sipping some spiced wine.

  “There was a lake there, once,” Jack said, a little impatient with the three men. “A beautiful lake. Do you not see?”

  “Yes, Jack,” Belial finally responded, wondering what all this had to do with why the Skraelings seemed to be keeping their distance from Sigholt. “But why is it important?”

  “If Jack’s going to give us lessons in geological curiosities,” Magariz grumbled, “then let us at least fortify ourselves with some of that wine before Reinald drinks it all.”

  Belial had led his command into Sigholt almost four weeks ago. He, like Magariz, had been stunned to find the garrison both undamaged and deserted, except for Jack and the retired cook. Reinald had grinned toothlessly at his amazement and explained that once word reached Sigholt that Gorkenfort had fallen, the majority of Borneheld’s men stationed there had retreated south. Once Hsingard fell, and it seemed that the Skraelings were only a day or two away from Sigholt, the rest had fled in the middle of the night in a mad and cowardly dash that had left three men trampled to death in the gateway of the garrison.

  But the Skraelings had never attacked. The day after the last of the garrison fled, leaving only Jack and Reinald to inhabit the huge Keep (“And I would have fled too,” Reinald confessed, “save that my arthritis was so bad that week I was bed-bound”), a band of hungry Skraelings had appeared at some distance from Sigholt, sniffing around the perimeters of the old lake bed. But they’d approached no closer, and Jack and Reinald had been bothered no more by the wraiths.

  Jack had apparently never been concerned that the Skraelings would attack, and to Reinald’s dismay he’d even refused to lock the garrison’s gates at night. After two or three weeks of peace, Reinald had relaxed as well, enjoying the company of this strange man who’d sought refuge at the gates of Sigholt during the first week of the new year.

  So it was that Sigholt lay waiting for Belial and his three thousand men. They had settled in quickly. The garrison complex—the ancient Keep, its kitchens, orchards, barracks, stables, courtyards, cellars and sundry storage and outbuildings—held easily all the men and their horses. The garrison Borneheld had maintained here had been almost as large, and when his men fled they’d taken their horses but not much else, leaving enough supplies to keep Belial’s men fed for some months.

  As yet no-one had received an adequate explanation from Jack about why the Skraelings had left Sigholt alone after destroying Hsingard, which was a hundred times the size of Sigholt. In fact, two days after their arrival Jack had disappeared for over three weeks, returning only some four or five days ago. Despite Sigholt’s apparent safety, Belial had spent some sleepless nights, wondering if the Skraelings had left the garrison alone only to mass for a surprise attack. But Belial had gradually relaxed, supervising the daily training routines of his men while making sure they spent an equal amount of time in leisure. The horrors of Gorkenfort and the rigours of the march through eastern Ichtar to Sigholt were still evident in some haggard and prematurely lined faces, but generally the men were recovering well from the trials of the previous months.

  A week ago Belial had sent a small detachment of men to make contact with the Axe-Wielders left in Smyrton, inquire further south about supply routes, garner what information they could about Priam and Borneheld’s plans and, most importantly, to see if news of the Prophecy had spread any further south than the Nordra. “If no-one knows the Prophecy, then repeat it,” Belial had instructed. “It will only serve Axis that the Prophecy, and thus the news of his coming, precedes him.”

  A couple of days after their departure Jack had reappeared as suddenly as he’d disappeared and refused to answer Belial’s questions. His stubborn silence sent Belial stamping from the room, but this morning Jack had appeared at the daily command conference in the map-room and announced he was prepared to answer all of Belial’s questions as best he could.

  “So,” Belial said as he accepted a glass of wine from Magariz. “An ancient lake bed. How does that explain why the Skraelings haven’t attacked?”

  “The ancient lake bed explains both why I am here and why the Skraelings have not attacked—and probably won’t attack unless Gorgrael pushes them very hard,” Jack replied. “Please, Belial, may I have some of that spiced wine before we continue? Sigholt may be protected from the worst of Gorgrael’s cold, but it is still chill enough.”

  Belial started to move towards the table, but Arne indicated he would fetch Jack a goblet. Since their arrival at Sigholt Arne had made himself Belial’s general personal assistant, although Belial was sure that when Axis reappeared Arne would resume service with him.

  Jack sipped the wine Arne handed him with pleasure. He had spent the past three weeks exploring the surrounding hills and cliff faces in detail, searching for what he knew must be there. Finally he put his wine down.

  “Each of the Sentinels are associated with one of what were known as the Sacred Lakes of Tencendor, Belial. There were four, now there remain only three. You have seen one of them, Grail Lake—although Arne has seen two. The remaining two Sacred Lakes are Cauldron Lake in the heart of the Silent Woman Woods, and Fernbrake Lake in the highest valley of the Bracken Ranges. All are magical, and the Skraelings—who hate water of any sort—will stay far away from them. The Keep of Sigholt sat on the very edge of the most powe
rful of the four Lakes—the Lake of Life.”

  Jack chewed his lip, debating whether to tell them the rest, then made up his mind. The Lake’s secrets would be revealed soon enough anyway.

  “But the Lake of Life has been drained,” he continued. “It has disappeared. And with it has gone its Sentinel, Zeherah.”

  Belial shifted impatiently. “Yes, I can understand the Sentinels’ alliance with the Lakes. I’m aware that the Skraelings dislike water, and I suppose that they would dislike magical Lakes more than ordinary water. But since the water has now disappeared, why don’t they attack?”

  Jack shrugged. He had discarded his peasant garb and now stood clothed in a fine green woollen tunic and trousers edged with scarlet that would have done a minor noble proud. “Some of the magic lingers, Belial. Enough to discourage them from an attempt on the Keep itself.” That the Keep was also magical Jack did not tell Belial and Magariz.

  “But they might one day surmount their dislike enough to attack?” asked Magariz, limping over to the window again.

  “Perhaps.” Jack sighed, worry straining his face. “Especially if Gorgrael decides the garrison might be a worthwhile enough target.”

  “Gorgrael has spread himself thin,” Belial said slowly. “We were hardly bothered in the journey south to Sigholt. My guess is that we damaged him so badly above Gorkenfort that he’s concentrating on maintaining his hold, rather than extending it.”

  “I agree. We’re probably safe for the moment, perhaps for the entire summer coming while Gorgrael reinvigorates his Ghostmen. But…” Jack paused.

  “But?” Magariz prompted, one heavy eyebrow raised.

  “But I need your help. I want to make Sigholt secure against the Skraelings, a strong base for Axis as he builds the forces necessary to beat the Destroyer back. And…” he hesitated. “And I want to see if I can find Zeherah. Belial, Magariz, if I cannot find her then we may as well turn our backs and let Gorgrael occupy the whole of Tencendor—or Achar, as you still call it. We need the five—Axis needs the five—to defeat Gorgrael.”