Battleaxe (6 page)

A
xis 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.

A little later Axis realised Jayme was standing beside him, his hand resting comfortingly on his shoulder. He sighed inwardly—Jayme’s interruption had distracted him from calculating the logistics needed to move six cohorts of Axe-Wielders from Nordmuth to Carlon.

“My son, you must not pray so devoutly, otherwise it might be said that the BattleAxe is more devout than the Brother-Leader…and we cannot have that.”

Axis smiled and gripped Jayme’s hand as it lay on his shoulder. “I find great comfort in prayer, Father, but there is no man who serves Artor more reverently and faithfully than you.”

Jayme helped Axis to his feet and the two men embraced warmly, Jayme touching Axis’ forehead briefly in blessing. “Well, at least I’ve managed to impress someone!” he said. “Come, I have fruit and bread, and some delicious fresh warm milk sent up for us to break fast with.” Jayme had arranged their breakfast at a small table by a window overlooking the twisting streets of Carlon far below the palace.

The sun was just beginning to rise above the horizon and, although thick snow clouds blanketed much of the sky, a few rays managed to catch the glittering rooftops of the city’s buildings. Jayme turned and looked out across the beautiful view for a moment, watching myriad colourful pennants and banners snap in the stiff breeze. What fruit trees there were in the city waved their bare branches at the sky. They had lost their leaves weeks earlier. Axis noticed that Jayme’s face seemed older and more tired in the early morning light, and he wondered how haggard he looked himself.

Jayme’s tone turned serious as soon as they seated themselves. “Axis, you probably know something of what is happening in the north.”

“Something, but mostly rumour.”

Jayme was silent a moment longer, then he sighed. “Unfortunately, Axis, much of what you’ve heard is probably more truth than not. Gilbert and Moryson will give you exact military details later, and I have yet to hear what Priam’s intelligence is, but let me tell you what I know.”

For the next twenty minutes or so, while Axis ate his breakfast, his chewing becoming slower with each passing minute, Jayme outlined what he knew.

“So, my BattleAxe,” Jayme finished with a sad smile, “are your Axemen ready to face unbodied wraiths that can kill the most experienced soldier?”

Axis put down the piece of bread he had been turning over and over in his hand. What he had heard horrified him. Lord Magariz was an exceptional commander and his Gorkenfort units were among the best in Achar. If he was losing men in this manner then the situation was more than serious.

“Is there a possibility that the events of last winter were isolated, Father?”

Jayme frowned. “The Forbidden, or whatever they are, are starting to move south. Last winter…”

“Last winter they were simply probing,” Axis finished for him, speaking slowly, thinking it out. “This winter there is every possibility that they will come in force.”

“Yes,” Jayme nodded. “I think so, and so, I believe, do Priam and Borneheld. These past few weeks they’ve been as jumpy as cats. Borneheld travelled to Gorkenfort over the summer months to assess the situation for himself. Now he is starting to move large units of infantrymen and cavalry north; for the past ten days all the merchant rowing transports on the River Nordra have been busy with men and armour rather than grain. And, as the good brothers of Gorkentown reported, the mood is not good. Nor is it here in Carlon. Even the traditional drunken revelry in the streets following the public nameday banquet for Priam was less than enthusiastic last night. Men preferred to return to their wives rather than take advantage of other, um, offers. And over the past week or so my brothers in the city and surrounding districts have been performing more marriages than usual. Those soldiers moving north are making sure their affairs are in order.”

Axis’ face was grim. “Will Priam and Borneheld ask for our help?”

“If it truly is the Forbidden that they face…then they’ll have to.” He paused a moment. “Axis, I am more than pleased you managed to return to Achar so quickly. I have a feeling that we will need you desperately over the coming months.”

Axis met Jayme’s eyes above the remains of breakfast. After a moment both men looked back out over the city view. At first Axis had been puzzled by Jayme’s insistence on eating breakfast by the window when the warm fire beckoned, but as he gazed out he realised that Jayme had probably wanted him to have a good look at the weather. DeadLeaf-month was too early by eight weeks for heavy snowclouds.

P
riam had requested that Jayme and Axis meet him in his Privy Chamber mid-morning, and Moryson accompanied them, to advise the Brother-Leader and swell the numbers of the Seneschal.

The Privy Chamber was one of the largest chambers in the royal palace, smaller only than the Chamber of the Moons. It was lit by narrow windows high in walls which sported as their only decoration the nine standards of the major provinces of Achar. At the centre of the chamber sat a massive round table that, according to legend, was made from a single section of an immense oak tree which had stood on the site of the palace many hundreds of years before.

The moment they stepped into the stone chamber the three men sensed the tension among those present. There were five men sitting at the table, Priam, Borneheld, Earl Isend of Skarabost, Duke Roland of Aldeni and Earl Jorge of Avonsdale. Behind Borneheld stood his lieutenant, Gautier, while Duke Roland’s lieutenant, Nevelon, stood behind his lord’s chair. There were no servants in the Council chamber—unusual, because normally Priam had at least one clerk present to record the discussions and decisions of the King’s Privy Council. Nor
was this a full meeting of the Privy Council, which normally contained the nine lords of the provinces and their advisers. The significance of those who were present was not lost on either Jayme or Axis. Borneheld, Duke of Ichtar and WarLord of Achar; the darkly handsome but foppish Earl Isend and the bulky Duke Roland, the lords of the two provinces that lay directly below Ichtar; and the wiry and grey-headed Earl Jorge, a cunning and experienced campaigner with a lifetime of advice to give. This was nothing less than a war council consisting of the most senior commanders in Achar as well as those lords whose provinces would be most affected by any incursions into Ichtar.

Isend and Roland looked visibly relieved to see them enter, as though the previous few minutes had been spent in uncomfortable silence. Borneheld looked darkly resentful at Axis’ presence, Jorge looked impatient, and Priam looked so haggard that Axis wondered if night-demons were invading his sleep as well.

Priam nodded at Jayme and Axis and waved them towards two chairs. Moryson stood a few feet behind his Brother-Leader’s chair, waiting to be called upon if needed.

Jayme inclined his head towards Priam. “My apologies if we have kept you waiting, Priam.” As spiritual leader of Achar, Jayme felt he was the King’s equal and rarely accorded him his title, something that grated with Priam.

Borneheld broke in before Priam could speak. “Is it necessary for the Brother-Leader’s lackies to attend this Council, sire?”

“Borneheld, the BattleAxe is here at my invitation, and I have no objection if Moryson stays,” Priam said, passing a hand over his reddened eyes. Now that Axis was closer he could swear that Priam had hardly slept the previous night. His face had deep lines carved from nose to mouth, his auburn curls hung loose and unattended, and his clothes had the look of garments hastily thrown on simply to avoid nakedness. Not the fastidious Priam’s normal appearance. Axis grew more apprehensive.

Priam took a deep breath and sat up in his high-backed chair, his hands splayed out on the table before him, his eyes studiously avoiding those of the other men about the table.

“Let us begin, and let us not waste words,” he said quietly. “We all know of the troubles in the northernmost regions of Ichtar, and the reported sightings of the Forbidden by the villagers of Smyrton near the Forbidden Valley. Lord Magariz lost close to ninety good men while on patrol from Gorkenfort this past winter. Whatever attacked them has also devastated the Ravensbundmen. Over the past six months many thousands of them have been moving into northern Ichtar through Gorken Pass. Whatever we may think of the Ravensbundmen—”

“Carrion-eating barbarians,” Earl Jorge muttered.

“—we know they are not cowards,” Priam finished, as though he had not been interrupted. “Attacks on patrols have eased over the past months, have they not, Borneheld?”

Borneheld nodded. “I heard from Magariz last week. Over summer, such as it was, he lost only three men. But over the past two weeks the number of Ravensbundmen moving down from the north has increased dramatically. At the same time the weather is deteriorating badly in the north. Perhaps coincidence, perhaps not.”

“And now winter stands before us again,” Axis said quietly. He looked up from the table where his fingers had been idly tracing the ancient whorls in the wood.

Borneheld stared at him as Priam spoke again, his voice stronger. “Borneheld, you are the only one of us who has been to Gorkenfort. We would appreciate your understanding of what is going on there.”

Borneheld shifted in his chair and deliberately addressed his answer to every man at the table but Axis. “No man has seen anything like this before. A foe who lives and breathes the winter, who has no form or substance, who advertises his presence only with a whisper on the wind. A foe who laughs at naked steel and who has no respect for the bravery of soldiers. A foe who apparently despises a clean kill and who prefers to inflict as much pain as possible; harrying his victim over hours, watching him bleed to death by degrees rather than killing with a clean stroke. The Ravensbundmen say that it feeds as much off its victims’ fear as it does off their flesh. What is it we face? I do not know. All I know is that, no matter the skill, bravery and
determination of those who have faced it, no-one has ever killed one of them. If they ever come in force, Artor help us.”

Earl Isend shifted in his seat. “You’ve been sending more soldiers to Gorkenfort over the past weeks, Borneheld.”

“Yes. I have to anticipate that they’ll come back with the winter snows.”

Priam slowly rested his face in his hands on the table, and Axis glanced worriedly at him, but Priam looked up after a moment. His eyes looked even worse. “Do you think these creatures are the Forbidden?” he asked Jayme. “Is this what we face?”

Axis had never seen Jayme look lost for words, but he did so now. “I am embarrassed to say that I do not know, Priam. It has been so long, a thousand years, since they were penned behind the Fortress Ranges and in the Icescarp Alps. Most of the ancient lore regarding them has been lost or is hidden in riddles. But if you want an answer, then, yes, I am afraid to the very depths of my being that these are the Forbidden. What else
could
they be?”

“Achar,
Ichtar
, stands in dire peril and you sit there and weep and wail and say, very sorry, but it’s been too long! You can’t remember! Then tell me, Brother-Leader,” Borneheld snarled, half rising out of his seat as he leaned menacingly across the table, “of what use are you when it is my men dying out there in the snow? Do you think mumbled platitudes will stop the Forbidden? Have
they
forgotten exactly what it is they hunt?”

Jayme flinched, but waved Axis back as he started to rise from his chair. “I feel as frustrated as you do, Borneheld, and I can only assure you that I and the entire Seneschal will do everything in our power to assist you.”

Even Axis, much as he hated to admit it to himself, felt the inadequacy of Jayme’s reply. Moryson shifted slightly behind his Brother-Leader as if he meant to step forward in Jayme’s defence, but thought better of it as Borneheld glared at him.

Priam held a hand in the air. “There is more I have to tell you, and I have found it hard to find the courage to speak of it.”

Every eye in the chamber fixed itself on the King.

Priam stared straight ahead, avoiding eye contact, his features looking even more ravaged. “In the early hours of this morning I received intelligence from Gorkenfort. A message, flown down by carrier bird.” Priam glanced at Borneheld, who looked surprised. “Yes, I know Borneheld, normally you would have received such a message, but the contents were so,” Priam paused and his face visibly paled, “terrible, that it was addressed to me personally.”

Roland and Jorge exchanged glances. Terrible news received almost nine hours ago? Why had Priam waited this long to call them together?

“My friends,” and now everyone in the room felt dread pierce their heart, for Priam had never addressed them so before, “four nights ago both Gorkenfort and the Retreat in Gorkentown suffered devastating attacks from creatures such as no-one has ever seen before.”

Both Borneheld and Jayme leaned forward as Priam continued. “Lord Magariz was attacked personally in his quarters. He escaped but was severely wounded and several of his guards were torn to shreds.”

“But how?” Borneheld’s face was a mask of confused anger. “Gorkenfort is impregnable. How could anyone have attacked Magariz in his quarters with no alarm sounding?”

“There is worse,” Priam whispered, and Axis felt a finger of ice trace through his bowels.

“It appears that the attack on Magariz was only a blind for the real attack—a ruse to keep the garrison’s attention focused inwards. A much stronger force overran the Seneschal’s Retreat in Gorkentown.”

Jayme groaned and gripped the top of the table. If these creatures had penetrated into the heart of the highly defended Gorkenfort, then what they could have done in the brothers’ Retreat horrified him.

Priam looked at Jayme. “Brother-Leader, I am most sorry, but most of the brothers were slaughtered as they sought to flee. Only two escaped with their lives. The carnage was…terrible.” He fell silent for a moment.

“But that’s not all.” Priam’s voice dropped to a whisper and his face blanched to a sickly yellow. “It appears that these creatures had two specific purposes in attacking the Retreat. They completely destroyed all the books and records of the Retreat, although that was not their first or main target.” Jayme’s head sank down to rest on the table and his shoulders shuddered once, heavily. “First…first,” Priam’s voice almost broke, and he had to clear his throat; Jayme pushed himself back upright and stared at Priam. “First, they broke into the crypt of the Retreat and…stole…my…sister’s…body. They stole Rivkah’s body. Then they desecrated her tomb with their excrement and the blood and entrails of those brothers they had slaughtered.”

Apart from Priam and Borneheld, all eyes in the room swivelled towards Axis then, an instant later, swivelled away again. Rivkah had been buried in the crypt of the Retreat after she had died giving birth to Axis.

Jayme and Moryson exchanged shocked, silent glances as Priam spoke, but Jayme recovered himself enough to turn to Axis and lay a warm hand on his arm. “My son, I am so sorry,” he said quietly.

So closely was Axis associated with his mother that for a moment no one remembered that Rivkah was Borneheld’s mother as well.

They were quickly reminded. As soon as the words were out of Priam’s mouth Borneheld leapt to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. His hand automatically reached for his sword, until halfway there he remembered that he had left it in the antechamber.

“They stole my mother!” he screamed, his eyes wild, his hand still half-raised.

Axis felt as though Priam’s news had driven a sword through his soul. He was stunned, and for an instant was propelled back into that black nothingness where the demon who claimed to be his father tormented him. He stared sightlessly ahead, oblivious to Borneheld’s reaction, but after a moment he half turned his head towards Jayme and gropingly placed his own hand on top of the Brother-Leader’s where it rested on his arm. “It’s all right,” he murmured.

Borneheld, still with one hand raised, took a step towards his half-brother. “It’s all right?” he whispered incredulously, his face slowly turning dark red. “Is that how you react to the news that some demon-spawned fiends have stolen my mother’s body? Is that all you can say?”

He kicked his chair away from his feet and took a step towards Axis. “Is that all you can say when it was you who killed her and put her in that stone tomb?” he screamed, and lunged around the table past Jayme, grabbing Axis by the throat and driving him to the floor of the chamber.

As the others leapt to their feet Jorge and Gautier dragged Borneheld away while Nevelon held Axis back. Both men had taken punishment, although Axis, at a disadvantage of weight and muscle, came out of it slightly worse. He managed to regain control of himself though and shrugged off Nevelon’s restraining hands, dusting down his tunic coat and wiping some blood from his mouth with the back of one hand. He looked across at Borneheld who had blood streaming from a cut above his eye.

“At least Rivkah loved and respected my father enough not to betray him,” Axis said quietly, his eyes blazing fiercely as they locked with Borneheld’s. “Would that your father had received such love and respect from our mother.”

His quiet words sent Borneheld into a frenzy, and it was all that Jorge and Gautier could do to hold him back from attacking Axis a second time.

“By Artor!” snarled Roland, stepping between the two men, his massive flesh quivering with anger. “Is it not enough that we face this peril from the northern wastes? How can we face outside dangers when we tear ourselves to pieces within?” He turned to Borneheld and abruptly slapped him across the face, sending droplets of blood scattering across the floor. “Is this how a WarLord acts in the heat of battle? What will you do when your
foes
taunt you across the battlefield, if this is how you react in the King’s Privy Council?”

Roland stared at Borneheld until Borneheld dropped his eyes and ceased to struggle against Jorge and Gautier. Then, belying his bulk,
Roland whipped around to face Axis. “BattleAxe!” he snapped, and Axis straightened up from the wall, his gaze challenging. “Such a taunt belongs in the women’s chamber, and if you have to resort to that level of remark among this company then perhaps that’s where you belong!”

Axis’ face hardened, but he held his tongue. Roland stepped back and glanced at both men. “Well. Enough. I would scarcely have expected this behaviour from such high commanders. If you lead men, both of you, then you will have to learn a little more self-control. Am I right?”