Starman

  Azhure smiled and extended both arms now, the power flowing from her eyes and beckoning fingers. “Lover? Are you there?”

  An agitated movement came from amongst the rocks. Gryphon shifted painfully, caught fast by their desires, caught fast by the dream.

  “Lover? Come to me. Come.”

  The soft voice echoed through their minds and inflamed them still further.

  “I wait for you, here in the snow,” she said. “Come, join with me.”

  Suddenly a Gryphon burst from her hiding place among the rocks and plunged down the cliff face.

  In his Ice Fortress, Gorgrael stirred at the moaning and wailing that arose from the corridors. He flung open the door of his chamber and stared outside. Half-matured Gryphon, their bellies already bulging with the young they carried, writhed and twisted along the floors of the corridor, and a great moaning filled the entire Ice Fortress. Among the masses and spaces of the fortress lay well over sixty-five thousand of the Gryphon, and all were caught by the dream.

  Lover? Lover?

  Gorgrael stared at them, excluded this time from the pleasure of the dream, and wondered what was going on. Did they all have colic?

  “Pretty, pretty,” Azhure murmured, and the Gryphon crawled through the snow towards her. “Come to me, Lover. I will give you the fulfilment you crave.”

  Another Gryphon plummeted from rocks to snow, and then another, and another, and soon the rock face was furred with descending Gryphon and a wave of the creatures undulated across the snow towards her.

  “Lover? Lover? Come to me…come.”

  “What?” Timozel muttered, appalled and confused by what he witnessed, and then the Gryphon by his side abruptly leaped out into the swirling air and fell to the snow to crawl weeping and grunting with her sisters towards the woman.

  “Sorceress!” Timozel barked, and jumped to his feet.

  Soon the snow was thick with Gryphon. They rippled before Azhure, a seven-thousand-strong tide of feathers, tawny fur, tufted tails and eagles’ heads weaving back and forth. She rubbed the head of the first Gryphon soothingly, and a great muttering arose from the ranks of the Gryphon behind it.

  As Azhure stroked the head of the first Gryphon, so all experienced the ecstasy, and as one they bobbed their heads in time to the movement of her hand.

  As one they closed their minds to anything and everything else.

  With her free hand behind her back, Azhure motioned the Strike Force forward.

  Timozel finally collected himself enough to share his thoughts and the view with Gorgrael.

  Bitch! Gorgrael screamed in his mind. The bitch will betray them as she did me! Gryphon! My pets, heed me only!

  But the Gryphon did not. There was only the Lover, and she stood before each of them, and each of them felt her fingers stroke their heads and their bodies and each of them sighed and moaned and rolled over so that the Lover could rub her hand along their bellies…oh! Ah, yes! There! And there!

  Listen to me! Gorgrael capered about his chamber, fists clenched, wings outstretched. Listen to ME!

  Azhure’s smile broadened as she felt SpikeFeather at her shoulder. He stared at the sight before him, and thought that no-one who could not see this for themselves would believe it.

  Azhure touched only the front Gryphon, but as she moaned, so all the Gryphon moaned, and as she rolled and jerked, so all Gryphon rolled and jerked. Now their pale underbellies were exposed to the sun, their bodies twitching, their eyes rolling back in their heads.

  Azhure stared at him and SpikeFeather jumped, remembering what she had asked him to do. He held out her quiver, and, as she had told him, there was one arrow left. She took it with one hand, the other still rubbing the Gryphon’s belly, and then motioned with her head.

  SpikeFeather nodded, and waved the Strike Force forward. Each of them stood ready with an arrow grasped in his or her hand.

  “Lover,” Azhure whispered, “the moment of final fulfilment is upon you.”

  As one the Gryphon cried and moaned.

  No! Gorgrael screamed in his Ice Fortress as Azhure raised the arrow. No!

  Azhure smiled at the sound of his voice reverberating in her mind, then she plunged the arrow into the Gryphon’s vulnerable belly.

  The Gryphon shrieked, and shrieked again, screaming for more, more, more! And so Azhure obliged, wrenching the arrow from her belly and plunging it down again and again.

  Even as the Gryphon disintegrated she continued to shriek and howl, begging for more.

  And in the Ice Fortress, the Gryphon’s nine pups shrieked in equal ecstasy…and died, their bodies disintegrating into thin air. They left no trace behind.

  Among the writhing mass of Gryphon stepped the members of the Strike Force, plunging their arrows time and time again, and every time their arrows pierced the belly of a Gryphon, her pups writhing in the corridors of Gorgrael’s Ice Fortress shrieked and died and disintegrated along with their mother.

  Gorgrael screamed into Timozel’s mind. Put a halt to this NOW! NOW! NOW! NOW!

  Writhing himself, but with the agony of Gorgrael’s shrieks rather than the ecstasy of the dying Gryphon, Timozel ordered the Skraelings forward.

  But as they began their march towards the manlings, the snow erupted before them and great sheets of ice speared into the sky. They screamed and backed away. The sight of their comrades plunging through the shattered ice of the Azle was still fresh in their minds, and they had no intention of suffering the same fate themselves. Even the SkraeBolds, wheeling above the Skraelings, neglected to force them forwards, horrified by the death of the Gryphon and the ice spears lunging for the sky.

  Axis sat on Belaguez deep in concentration. It was a delusion only, and not a very strong one at that. But the ice was enough to terrify the Skraelings, and the sight of the Gryphon rolling onto their backs to be pierced and killed convinced them that powerful sorcery was at work.

  Behind Axis, his army watched astounded. Never had the men seen such a rout before.

  Azhure stood, the arrow loose in her hand now. The Gryphon before her was dead, her flesh falling away to the grave from whence she had been called. The Dark Music that had gone into her making disintegrated. Within moments at the most, all trace of the Gryphon had disappeared.

  Azhure looked up. The Strike Force had worked its way through to the back ranks of the Gryphon, where only a few remained, still writhing in anticipation of the fulfilment they had felt their fellows enjoy, exposing their bellies for the flashing arrows.

  Gorgrael slowly sank to the floor, his hands gripping the doorframe.

  Before him stretched a corridor filled with congealing blood and little else. His entire pack…his entire family…of Gryphon had been destroyed. Not even a scrap of flesh remained from which he could have reconstituted the pack. Blood in itself was useless. He needed the grey substance. The flesh. All that had gone. Gone back to the ancient graves of the Gryphon, and there was nothing Gorgrael could do to recall them.

  But for the moment Gorgrael did not care. He slowly bent his forehead to the floor and wept, his arms over his head. He wept for the loss of his friends. They were his children, and they had gone.

  And so Gorgrael mourned. He did not have the heart to watch the Skraeling destruction as well.

  Finally, SpikeFeather turned about. His right arm was covered in Gryphon blood to its elbow, his eyes sparkled with satisfaction and vengeance. Azhure waved, and SpikeFeather called to the Strike Force, and in the space of a single breath they had lifted into the air and were winging their way back behind the final lines of Axis’ army. Their day was done, and now it only remained for them to stay out of the way.

  Axis scanned his army urgently—were they all in place?

  Yes. He relaxed, and his eyes swung back to his wife.

  Azhure stood alone in the centre of the pass. The only sign of the Gryphon’s existence was the trampled, blood-soaked ground. She sank to one knee, and rested her face in a hand.

  Befor
e her, their courage recovered, the Skraeling host inched forward.

  “Mirbolt,” Azhure whispered.

  Mirbolt.

  Mirbolt swayed, her roots sunk deep in the caverns of the earth so she could fathom the mysteries they held, her branches spread to the sky so that the Star Dance could whisper about and between her leaves.

  The Nordra leaped and roared, its music a faint undertone to the music that Mirbolt made with her sisters and with the Mother herself, the Earth Tree standing strong and luxuriant in the northern groves.

  Mirbolt was content.

  Mirbolt?

  She stirred, remembering the voice.

  Mirbolt, I have need of your assistance.

  Yes, Mirbolt remembered that Azhure would ask the trees for aid.

  What aid, Azhure? she sang.

  Azhure sighed in relief. Mirbolt, see with my eyes.

  The Skraelings advanced, their fear diminishing. All they saw was the woman kneeling in the snow before them. Her power had gone, and the arrow lay useless beside her. She sat there, patiently waiting for death.

  They whispered and laughed and hiccupped.

  They seethed towards her.

  To one side, Axis stirred in alarm. The Skraelings had now covered over a quarter the distance between themselves and Azhure…and Azhure just sat there, terribly vulnerable.

  Azhure! Say the word and I will order the attack!

  No, beloved. Mirbolt listens and she sees. Be patient.

  And indeed Mirbolt did see. As the Earth Tree had seen two and a half years earlier, so now Mirbolt. Mirbolt lost her temper and screamed into the sky.

  Mirbolt! Stay your anger! Do not let it flood unused! Whisper to your sisters. Whisper, Mirbolt, and show them what you now see. Whisper to the Earth Tree! Ask her for aid. Do this for me, Mirbolt, and for our shared love for Faraday, and for the magical land we both inhabit.

  The Skraelings were loping forward, their claws held before them, their teeth gleaming and glinting, their jaws hanging open and slavering obscenely.

  See, Mirbolt? See what comes?

  Mirbolt saw, and she shared her vision. Anger now rippled through the forests of western Tencendor from the Earth Tree in the extreme north to the Silent Woman Woods in the south.

  The Earth Tree saw the threat, and saw the final chance to rid the land of its obscenity. No more would her daughters or the Avar people face slaughter again.

  Azhure, the Earth Tree whispered, and Azhure closed her eyes in the face of the Tree’s power. Azhure, you slew the Ploughman for me and for my children. For this we thank you. In return, I shall sing for you.

  The Earth Tree changed the note and cadence of her Song. No longer was it the Song of her Making, but…something else.

  For a heartbeat every tree in the great extended forest felt silent, listening, learning. Then every one of them took a single breath, held it, added their own voices to the Song.

  Azhure opened her eyes and smiled in relief. She could hear the panting of the Skraelings, feel their heat pound towards her, and she could feel Axis’ anxiety reach critical levels. Axis! Stay your hand! They come!

  Axis swung away from Azhure to stare south down the pass. All his men turned as well, for all felt it. Horses stirred, and the Alaunt howled and backed away, tails between their legs.

  Wrath. It seared across the land in a tide of full-throated vengeance. Song. The Song of the Forest, but altered and rewoven with such ancient anger that it surged in a great wave of death.

  The Skraelings halted fifteen paces from Azhure, their laughter and hiccups turning to whimpers.

  Azhure, feeling the first stirrings at her back, fell face down in the snow, her body spread as flat as she could make it, her hands extended before her, her fingers gripping the shaft of the arrow, its head pointing directly down the Pass towards the Skraeling host.

  The Song roared across the land. It flew over the heads of men and beasts alike, leaving crops quivering and rooftops shaking in its wake. People fell to the ground in terror, but the Song ignored them. It had only one purpose, one destination. The woman lay in the snow, and in her hands lay the arrow, and body and hands and arrow all pointed at one thing—the grey mass of wraiths.

  Trapped in the Pass.

  The Skraelings tried to run, but their mass was too great to turn easily. Many panicked and fell into the River Andakilsa to be swallowed up by the foaming waves. Others were dashed to death against the rocky walls of the Pass as their fellows pressed frantically against them.

  And towards them roared the Song. It swept over the ruins of Gorkentown, and even the solid Keep of Gorkenfort trembled at its passing.

  It surged across the plains leading to Gorken Pass, and it funnelled and intensified as it moved between the ranks of the army lining either side of the Pass. It left them unharmed.

  All it saw was the woman in the snow, and the arrow in her hands. The Song flowed over Azhure, not stirring a single hair of her head, but she felt it anyway, and trembled at its power.

  Then, with the power of the massive reborn forest behind it, the Forest Tree Song hit the milling ranks of the Skraeling army.

  As one the Skraeling host broke apart. Limbs fell from torsos and heads rolled from shoulders. Teeth clattered to the ground and jaws wrenched apart.

  The SkraeBolds fell from the sky in pieces.

  Even the IceWorms, curled waiting at the back of the host, shuddered and split asunder.

  In the space of three heartbeats the Song enveloped the Skraeling host and tore it apart.

  And, having destroyed, having glutted, the Song vanished.

  Far to the south and the east, the forest gently hummed to itself, rustled its leaves, and, in its own way, smiled.

  Thank you, Mirbolt. Thank you, Earth Tree. Thank you, forest.

  Do not forget us, Azhure.

  Axis kicked Belaguez forward and stared at the sight before him. Behind him his army likewise stared.

  Where once had stood a vast host, now blew cold wind. Snow drifted almost apologetically over piles of Skraeling teeth, which were the only remaining sign of what had once been Gorgrael’s conquering force. After a moment, even the cold wind died, and the Pass was wrapped in silence and stillness.

  Azhure had told him that the Earth Tree, backed by her daughters, could do this. It was, she had whispered to him late the previous night, only an extension of what the Earth Tree had done to the Skraeling force in the groves that initial Yuletide attack.

  Axis understood this. He just found it impossible to credit that this host which had harried him and his for so long had been wiped out so easily.

  He slipped from Belaguez’s back and lifted Azhure from the snow. “I honour you,” he whispered.

  Timozel clung to the rocky outcrop before his cave and gibbered in disbelief. Everything had gone! Everything had been lost! His vision…his vision…

  He fought for a Great Lord, and in the name of that Lord he commanded a mighty army that undulated for leagues in every direction.

  Yes, and that army had vanished in the blink of an eye.

  Remarkable victories were his for the taking.

  Yes, and for the losing, apparently.

  In the name of his Lord he would clear Achar of the filth that invaded.

  Lies, lies, lies, lies…

  His name would live in legend forever.

  Timozel laughed, softly at first, then in great bitter gulps that tore through his chest and throat and rattled out across the still, cold air of the pass.

  Axis and Azhure both turned at the sound.

  “There,” she said, pointing.

  “Timozel,” he snarled, clutching the sword at his side.

  “Too late, Axis. See? He is high in the mountains, and even now he darts behind a rock.”

  “Heading for his master’s den, no doubt.” Axis turned to wave the Strike Force into the air, and then halted. “No.”

  Azhure turned back to him. “No?”

  “No. He will run
to Gorgrael, and I will doubtless see him there. I want to be the one to sink these five handspans of sharpened steel into his belly, Azhure! SpikeFeather and his command have already had their gratification for the day.”

  Timozel panted, his breath sharp and frosty this high in the mountains. He struggled along the alpine pass, heading for the Icebear Coast. Every third or fourth step he glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see some of the feathered evil descending on him from the heavens.

  “Friend Timozel.”

  Timozel halted. “Friend?”

  Scrambling down from a rocky perch was Friend, the one whom Gorgrael called the Dark Man. His cloak lifted and flapped as he leaped from rock to rock, but still Timozel could not see beneath its vast blackness. “Friend?”

  “Assuredly, Timozel!” Friend laughed. “It has been some time, has it not?”

  “All is lost,” Timozel whispered.

  “Oh, no, hardly, Timozel. All is still well. A setback or two, I grant you, but all will still be well.”

  “How can you say—?”

  “Timozel.” Friend took the young man’s arm and Timozel felt warmth and peace flood his body. “All will be well.”

  “Really?” Timozel said.

  “Truly. Now, listen to me. All we have to do is regroup at your master’s icy palace. Axis has to go there at some point, does he not?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you will still have the chance to save Faraday, young man.”

  Timozel stirred. “Faraday? Can she still be saved from this disaster?”

  “Oh, certainly!” Friend said. “She can still be saved. Helped to find the light. Now, just down this pass a way I have my trusty coracle, and we can launch into the Iskruel Ocean and row for Gorgrael.”

  “A toast, my friends. To Azhure!” Axis raised his mug and grinned at Azhure across the fire.