StarMan (3 page)

"Faraday! He will help rescue Faraday?" Was there hope for Faraday yet?

"With your help, Timozel. With your help."

"With
my
help?" Could he redeem himself in Faraday's eyes?

"Ah, Timozel," the Dark Man said dejectedly. "Gorgrael is truly misunderstood and he fights for a true cause, but he is not a good war leader." He sighed, and Timozel leaned even closer, eager. "Timozel, he needs a war leader. He needs you and you need him. Together you can rid Achar of its foul corruption."

A small voice deep in Timozel's soul told him not to listen to this man, not to believe his smooth words. Had not Borneheld fought Gorgrael as well? Were not the Skraelings as evil as the Forbidden?

But, caught as he was by the weight of the enchantments being woven about him and by the blackness that was eating into his soul, Timozel pushed those thoughts out of existence. Gorgrael would be the one to restore sanity and good health to Achar.

"He would give me command of his army?"

"Oh, surely. He knows that you are a great warrior."

Timozel sat back, enthralled. A command of his own, at last! Even Borneheld had not done that for him.

"Don't you see, Timozel?" the Dark Man asked, drawing the net of his lies closed. "Don't you
understand? Gorgrael
is the Great Lord of your visions. Fate must have sent me south to fetch you, to bring you north so that your Lord can give you control of his armies."

"Truly?" Perhaps there
was
still a chance the visions would be fulfilled. That there was still a chance he could do some
good.
Yes, fate must have manoeuvred this meeting.

"Very truly, Timozel."

Timozel thought about it, one thing gnawing at him. "But why has Gorgrael been disturbing my sleep with such dark dreams?"

The stranger reached out his hand and rested it on Timozel's shoulder. "The Forbidden are desperate to turn you from Gorgrael. They have been the instigators of those dreams, not Gorgrael. You will have no more bad dreams from now on."

Certainly not once I have a word with Gorgrael, the Dark Man thought. There had never been any need to disturb the boy's mind with such dreams - but Gorgrael was ever inclined to the melodramatic.

All doubts had gone from Timozel's mind now. At last he had found the right path. The visions
had
been true.

"Gorgrael will free Faraday from Axis' foul clutches?" he asked.

"Oh, assuredly," the Dark Man said. "Assuredly. He will be a master whom you will be proud to serve. You will sit by the fire with your Great Lord, Timozel, with Faraday by your side, sipping wine."

"Oh," Timozel breathed ecstatically, letting the vision engulf him.

"Now," the Dark Man rose with the Icarii grace that he could not completely repress, "why don't I take you to Great Lord? I have a boat, and in only a few short hours we shall reach his fortress. Your
saviour's
fortress. Will you come?"

"Friend." Timozel stood by the Dark Man's side, shaking sand from his cloak. "You have not told me your name."

The Dark Man pulled his hood closer. "I have many names," he said quietly, "but you may call me Friend."

As Timozel climbed into the boat he realised how familiar Friend's voice sounded. Why? Who was he? Where had he heard the voice before?

"Timozel? Is anything the matter?"

Timozel stared at the man, then he shook himself and climbed in.

"No, Friend," he said. "Nothing's the matter."

Jayme abased himself before the icon of his beloved Artor the Ploughman, the one true god of all Acharites - or at least, who
had
been until the setbacks of recent weeks.

Once the powerful Brother-Leader of the Seneschal, most senior mediator between Artor the Ploughman and the hearts and souls of the Acharites, now Jayme mediated only between his own broken soul and the ghosts of his dreams and ambitions. He had once manipulated kings and peasants' alike; now he manipulated little more than the buckles on his sandals. He had once resided in the great Tower of the Seneschal; now the Forbidden had reclaimed the Tower and burned the accumulated learning of over a thousand years. He had once sat easy with power, protected by the might of the military wing of the Seneschal, the Axe-Wielders and their BattleAxe. But now the remaining Axe-Wielders had cast aside their axes to serve the ghastly Forbidden, and their BattleAxe now claimed to be a Prince of the Forbidden. The BattleAxe. He had been as a son to Jayme, yet had betrayed both Jayme's love and the Seneschal in leading the Forbidden back into Achar.

Jayme had once enjoyed the friendship and support of his senior adviser, Moryson. But now Moryson had deserted him.

Slowly Jayme rose to his knees and stared about the chamber where he had been incarcerated for the past nine days.

They had not left him much. A single wooden chair and a plain table. A bedroll and blanket. Nothing else. Axis believed Jayme might try to kill himself, and so guards had emptied the room of everything save what Jayme needed for basic comfort.

Twice a day guards came to bring him food and attend his needs, but otherwise Jayme had been left alone.

Apart from his two visitors. His eyes clouded as he remembered.

Two days after the death of Achar's hopes in the Chamber of the Moons, the Princess Rivkah had come to see him . . .

She entered the room silently and Jayme did not know she was there until he stood from his devotions before the sacred icon of Artor.

The moment Jayme turned and saw her his mouth went dry. He had never expected to be confronted by the woman he thought he and Moryson had murdered so many years previously.

For long minutes Rivkah just stood and stared at him. Jayme could not but help contrast her proud bearing with his own hunched and subservient posture. How is it, he thought, that the woman who did Achar and Artor so much wrong can stand there as if justice was on her side? How is it that she can stand there so beautiful and queenly when all Moryson and I deposited at the foot of the Icescarp Alps was a broken woman near death?
Artor, why did you let her survive? Artor? Artor? Are you there?

"Why?" she eventually asked.

Surprising himself, Jayme actually replied in a moderately strong voice. "For the wrong that you did your husband and your country and your god, Rivkah. You did not deserve to live."

"I was the one wronged, Jayme," she said. "Yet you would that I had died a horrible death. You did not have the courage, as I remember, to put a knife through my throat."

"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.