Starman

  DragonStar stared at her unblinking, and Azhure lifted her fingers. “Caelum?”

  Reluctantly Caelum let himself be lowered down to greet his brother, but Azhure could feel his relief as she lifted him back into her arms.

  My poor Caelum, to have such a younger brother to torment you. But you are your father’s heir, and he will have bequeathed you the power to cope with him.

  Brothers, she thought, have given Axis nothing but pain and grief, and I hope DragonStar will bring you more joy. She smiled mirthlessly. I hope.

  Relieved that her maternal duty was over, Azhure stepped back from the cribs. “Tomorrow we sail for Carlon, Caelum, and from there I will rejoin your father.”

  Axis. Azhure sat in an easy chair by the fire and thought about Axis as she nursed her son. The GateKeeper had said that Axis had begged and wept to be allowed through the Gate, to be allowed to die. Only his vow made at their marriage, made with the Enchantress’ ring—the Circle of Stars—had kept him from the death he craved. Stars! she thought dismally, his injuries must be horrific if they had driven him to the Gate.

  And if he yet lives, then how does he manage to bear such death-dealing injuries? Such pain?

  Axis! her mind called, but there was nothing.

  32

  COMMAND

  “Axis?” Belial bent down and touched the man’s shoulder, then leapt back as Axis started violently. “I’m sorry. I did not realise you were asleep.”

  Mother, he thought, how can he sleep through such pain?

  “Drifting,” Axis muttered. “I was just drifting.”

  Belial sat back on his stool and glanced at Magariz. Arne stood by the closed tent flap, shifting from foot to foot.

  No-one knew what to do. How to help. He should be dead, but somehow he would not die. And only in death lay relief from his agony.

  Belial rubbed his eyes, still unable to believe what had happened. As the Gryphon had fallen from the sky he had managed to rally those commanders left alive to get their units back in formation and moving back to the east. Arne and Magariz between them had lifted and dragged what they believed to be Axis’ dead body over to Belaguez, hoisted it over the horse’s saddle, and joined in the retreat.

  Now, some two leagues south-east of the Azle, they had made their camp, expecting attack at any moment. But somehow this had never materialised.

  A movement at the tent flap caught Belial’s eye and he looked up. Ho’Demi, Sa’Kuya and SpikeFeather TrueSong pushed their way in. He nodded at them, relieved beyond measure to see Sa’Kuya, then spoke to Axis.

  “Axis, our supply column has caught up with us and Sa’Kuya is here. Let her tend you.”

  None had known what to do for Axis beyond bathe his injuries in ice-water, and now Belial hoped that Sa’Kuya could somehow relieve Axis of some of his distress. She slipped quietly to his side.

  “StarMan,” she said. “I have salve and analgesic tea. Here, drink this first.”

  Arne helped support Axis’ shoulders while Sa’Kuya raised a small cup to his lips. He grimaced, but managed to gulp down some of the tea.

  “Good,” Sa’Kuya said. “Now, let me rub some of this salve into your burns.”

  Axis’ body jerked as she rubbed the salve as gently as she could over his face, and he could not help but moan.

  With each of his muffled cries both Magariz and Belial shuddered in sympathy, and Magariz had to wipe tears away from his eyes. Gods, he prayed, please let him die, for how can I bring home this twisted husk to either Azhure or Rivkah?

  SpikeFeather, who owed Axis far more than either Belial or Magariz, kept his own dark eyes steady on the man writhing about the bed and wished he could sing Axis the Song of Recreation as Axis had once sung it for him.

  Finally, gratefully, Sa’Kuya was done, and she gathered her jars and bandages and hurried out of the tent. There was no more she could do.

  “Belial?” Axis groaned, and Belial reached out a hand and put it on Axis’ shoulder.

  “Here, my friend.”

  “Then talk to me, man! Give me something to hang on to!”

  Tears slid down Belial’s cheeks, but he kept his voice steady. “I have Magariz and SpikeFeather here with me, Axis, and that is Arne’s hands you can feel on your arms.”

  Axis shuddered as he took a deep breath, but it seemed to help him. “Are any of you injured?”

  Belial shook his head, then remembered that Axis could not see him. “No,” he said hastily. “No. We have all survived with barely a scratch.”

  “SpikeFeather,” Axis said. “Why are you here and not FarSight?”

  Silence. Then…“FarSight is dead,” SpikeFeather said. “As are six of the other Crest-Leaders. Others are critically injured. I…I am the most senior Strike Force commander left.”

  “Oh gods,” Axis cried, and turned his face away. “I should have been quicker.”

  “If you had not acted when you did,” Magariz said, “then none of us would be here.”

  “Tell me the casualties,” Axis said finally.

  “Half the Strike Force are gone,” Belial said. “The Gryphon tore them apart. Of the ground force, over three thousand were killed by the Skraelings or by falling into the Azle when it broke asunder, and some two thousand were taken by the Gryphon. Another four and a half thousand lie wounded.”

  Magariz rose and carefully sat on the edge of Axis’ bed. “Axis. What happened? What can we do for you?”

  For a long time Axis was silent. “I let too much of the power of the Star Dance flood through me,” he said eventually, “in my effort to destroy the Gryphon. Too much…I’m sure that you, at least, can see what it has done to me.” He paused, licking dry lips, and Arne gave him some more of the analgesic tea Sa’Kuya had left behind.

  “I should be dead.” He paused again, remembering how the GateKeeper had refused to hear his pleas. The return journey along the River of Death had been worse than a nightmare.

  Now he had to live in a body that, by rights, should not be allowed to harbour even the barest flicker of life.

  “I should be dead,” Axis said, and none present begrudged him the slight touch of anger in his tone. “And I have lost all power. Lost all touch with the Star Dance.”

  SpikeFeather stiffened. Of all those in the tent, he had the best understanding of what that meant to an Enchanter. “You hear nothing? Feel nothing?” he asked.

  What was left of Axis’ face stiffened in a ghastly parody of a smile; Belial and Magariz both looked away hastily. “I did not know what it meant to live without it, SpikeFeather. Even as BattleAxe, trapped within the lies of the Seneschal, the Star Dance constantly wrapped my soul—although I did not recognise it as such then. Now I do not know how I will be able to live without it. There is no point, and yet I cannot let go.”

  He twisted his sightless face in Belial’s direction. “Belial, why are any of us still alive? I thought…I thought that he would have somehow sent his wraiths after us. How long is it since the battle?”

  “Fifteen hours,” Belial said.

  “Fifteen hours? Has this pain only been going on fifteen hours? I thought I had lived in this…this prison for fifteen years. How much longer must I endure?”

  Belial’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

  Magariz cleared his throat. “Axis. For some reason he, ah, Timozel, has withdrawn far to the north.”

  “I have sent farflight scouts to track his progress, StarMan,” SpikeFeather reported. “No, do not worry. The sky is free of Gryphon and the scouts have returned unharmed. The Skraeling host tracks north along the path of the Azle.”

  “Why?” Belial said. “Why retreat north? He—” as all the others, Belial could hardly believe that Timozel now fought for Gorgrael, “—could have finished us within hours. And yet…”

  “Timozel only follows Gorgrael’s commands,” Ho’Demi put in. “And perhaps Gorgrael was unnerved by your destruction of the Gryphon.”

  “Or perhaps this is yet a trap,” Ax
is said harshly.

  Belial exchanged glances with the others in the tent, then lowered his eyes to Axis. “Axis,” he said, “I am assuming command of the army.”

  Axis lay still, then barked in hoarse laughter. “And I am not going to argue with you on that, Belial, for I am useless, useless, useless.”

  “Axis—” Belial began.

  “Gorgrael has won, Belial, for how can I meet him like this? He has withdrawn Timozel to the north simply to toy with us.”

  “Dammit, Axis!” Belial snapped. “I am not going to give up until I feel my own life fade and die. I fight until there is nothing left to fight for. You still live, and while you live there is hope.”

  Axis turned his head away, but Belial took no notice. “I have sent word to the south, Axis. Word to Azhure.”

  Axis’ head twitched, and he turned his face back to Belial. “Azhure?”

  “Perhaps she can help,” SpikeFeather said. “She has her own power.”

  “She cannot meet Gorgrael,” Axis said. “Call back your messenger, Belial, for I do not want Azhure exposed to this tragedy. Besides, she has some weeks to go before giving birth. I,” his voice broke, “I do not want her to see this.”

  “Nevertheless,” Belial said, “she deserves to know, and she is strong enough to hear the truth. Now, I want advice on where to take this army. Do we follow Timozel? Retreat south? Give me your thoughts.”

  “We are in no condition to chase the Skraelings,” Magariz said, “besides, as Axis says, it could be a trap. Perhaps it would be best to retreat to Carlon.”

  “It is far too long a march,” Belial said. “Every man and horse of us is exhausted, and we have too many wounded to face such a long march.”

  “Perhaps the Murkle Mountains,” Ho’Demi suggested. “There is shelter there, and the Chatterlings would not harm us.”

  “We would be trapped if the Skraeling host swung south again,” Belial responded. “We need more supplies, and we won’t find them in there. And besides, those mountains depress me too much.”

  “Sigholt,” Axis whispered.

  Every eye in the tent swung back to him.

  “Sigholt,” he repeated in a slightly stronger voice. “We would be safe there. And the Lake of Life can heal…”

  His voice trailed off and all looked away from him. As magical as the Lake was, could she heal him?

  Belial sat and thought. Of all havens, such as they were, Sigholt was the closest. But it would be a long march…a long slow march with the injured. And yet, better to attempt something than sit and wait for death.

  “Sigholt,” he said in a firm voice, his mind made up. “We go for Sigholt. SpikeFeather, fly those of the Strike Force you can there immediately. Keep a wing or two back for scouting duty…and keep an eye on the Skraelings. I want to know if they swing south again.

  Magariz, Ho’Demi, we stay here today and pull out tomorrow morning. The injured will have to be strapped to mules, or stretchered between the beasts if they cannot sit. Axis…”

  “I will ride Belaguez,” he said.

  Belial paled. “Axis, you will never manage.”

  “I will not be stretchered, Belial, curse it! Tie me to the bloody horse if you have to, but I will not be stretchered!”

  Belial stared at him, then nodded tersely. “So be it, Axis.”

  After they had all gone, Axis lay in his darkness and tortured himself with thoughts of Timozel.

  Timozel. He had been a delightful baby, and had grown into a mischievous but no less delightful child. He had been full of pranks and laughter, the apple of Ganelon’s eye.

  He had grown into a charming man, but now Axis wondered if some of that charm had been forced. He had certainly developed into a skilful warrior, and Axis had been only months away from giving Timozel command of his own unit when the lad disappeared with Faraday.

  And yet, how he had changed. When? Since I began to bed his mother? Axis wondered. Was that it? He writhed on the bed, thinking on it, then cried out in agony as the blanket caught at his corrugated skin. For long minutes he gulped in cold air, trying to keep a grip on his mind, then he forced it back to Timozel.

  Who knew what had changed the boy. Axis remembered worrying once how he would tell Embeth if Timozel ever found himself at the wrong end of five handspans of sharpened steel—had he ever in his wildest imaginings thought that it might be he who would push that steel into Timozel’s belly as Timozel had pushed it into Jorge’s?

  And now Axis not only wanted to push it in, he wanted to lean on it, twist it, feel blade scrape bone with it.

  “Timozel,” he whispered into the dim interior of the tent, “I hope this is the end of your treacheries. How many of those you once called friends have died through your orders? And Gorgrael? How could you turn to him? What did I do to you, Timozel, that you should repay me so harshly?”

  33

  TRAP!

  “Oh, Goodwife!” Faraday giggled, “surely not!” “Surely indeed,” the Goodwife nodded sagaciously, pleased to see Faraday so merry. “’Twas nothing that could be done. Popped out like a greased…well, popped out nice and smooth. ’Twas my third, so was easier.”

  Faraday knelt down and, still smiling, dug into the soft soil with her fingers. Now that they were in the lower Bracken Ranges the soil had more give in it and was easier to work than the hard-packed dirt of Arcness. And it had never been ploughed, so it was more receptive to Faraday’s touch.

  As Faraday dug out the small hole, the Goodwife handed her the seedling. She was quivering in her pot, almost leaping from her crib in her eagerness, and Faraday hushed the sister, singing to her, stroking her tiny leaves. As the seedling calmed down, Faraday gently tipped her into the palm of her hand, then slid her into the soil.

  “Thona,” she whispered to the seedling. “May you grow tall, and may your voice eventually join with that of the Earth Tree’s.”

  Then, singing the Song of the Earth Tree under her breath, Faraday patted the seedling into the soil and sat back on her heels, remembering Thona’s story, the sorrows and laughters of her life, as she had recalled the events of every seedling’s previous life as she planted them out.

  The Goodwife watched silently. Later she would sing her silly little cradle song over the seedling, the one they all enjoyed so much, but for now she just watched. She was pleased with the girl. She had put on weight and colour since the Goodwife had joined her, and took the herbs that the Goodwife pressed on her without complaining. And a good thing I came along when I did, the Goodwife thought. These noble ladies, fine-bred they be, and pleasing to the eye, but they all need a good, stout sensible lass to look after them and tell them what to expect.

  Faraday looked up and smiled at the Goodwife’s expression. “Nice and smooth-like, Goodwife? Well, I can only hope you’re right. Now, lend me your hand…I swear my knees have stiffened beyond repair with all this upping and downing.”

  The Goodwife helped Faraday to her feet and patted her hand. “You’ve only a few more seedlings for the day, dear. Would you miss me if I wandered up that gully there for an hour or two?”

  Faraday looked up at the gully to her left. It was long and narrow and dim, and doubtless held a store of herbs. She waved the Goodwife away. “Off with you, Goodwife. I hope you find something tasty to spice our evening meal.”

  The Goodwife smiled and bobbed. “And perhaps some more of the claw-leaf mint, m’Lady, for your tea in the mornings?” She patted Faraday’s hand again, then walked off.

  Faraday watched as the Goodwife wandered away, her boots clumping to this side and that, yet never leaving a mark where they trod.

  “Come on, Faraday,” she muttered to herself as the Goodwife disappeared behind a thick stand of bracken, “already it grows towards dusk and you’ve still Meera, Borsth and Jemile to plant out.” She clicked to the donkeys behind her, and strode up the long wide valley.

  Faraday was more than happy with her progress. From Arcen she and the Goodwife had planted in a sw
athe directly north then, as they reached the lower slopes of the Bracken Ranges, they’d gradually swung north-west. I’ll plant all the way through to Fernbrake Lake, Faraday thought, and give these Icarii cities I keep hearing about some shaded walks for the hot summer afternoons. Over the past week or two an increasing number of Icarii flew overhead, sometimes waving, sometimes dropping down for a chat, and Faraday could hardly wait to see what they had recovered further to the west.

  And from there to Fernbrake Lake and the Mother. Faraday took a deep breath of excited anticipation. She would be there in time for Yuletide and there, she hoped, would be some of the Avar to greet her.

  She grinned. What would the Avar make of the Goodwife, and what would she of them? Faraday did not know how the Avar and Icarii would celebrate Yuletide this far from the Earth Tree Grove, but she was sure that whatever they did it would be both beautiful and moving.

  She turned back. Her view of the plains was cut off by the low hills behind her, but she could see a faint sheen of green beyond their rise. Minstrelsea, now planted in a great arc across the plains of Tarantaise and Arcness, sung gently to itself. Tomorrow when she rose, Faraday knew that today’s seedlings would be full grown and full of song and joy, and soon Minstrelsea would spread deep into the Bracken Ranges.

  Whistling cheerfully, the Goodwife wandered along the gully. She had recovered her spirits since that sneaky attack in the market hall of Arcen. That had been a nasty surprise, and the Goodwife was sure she’d prevented a murder. Evil-faced man, and with an even more evil touch about him. Artor, the Goodwife thought, for I smelled the same evil when they came to take my gran away.

  She sighed. She had not told Faraday about the man, for she did not want to worry the girl, but the Goodwife had been immensely relieved when they finally left Arcen. No more crowded marketplaces to trap her Lady, only the open air and the music of the trees behind them.