As they probed, Faraday‘s fingers persuaded living tissue to bind itself together, enticed
and in some cases seduced blood vessels into retying and replenishing themselves. She muttered
to herself as she worked, wordless sounds, encouraging murmurs. Yr could feel what was
happening and she leaned back, looking first at Faraday‘s face, then turning to share her
amazement with Belial. She looked back down again. Already Faraday had dealt with the major
wounds on Axis‘ body and her fingers were now closing the lesser lacerations. Finally Faraday
trembled, her face losing concentration, her eyes losing their power and returning to normal.
She looked up at Belial, her chestnut hair tumbling down over her shoulders, her face
pale and bewildered. ―What have I done?‖ she whispered. Belial leaned across Axis‘ body and
gripped her bloody hand. ―You have saved his life,‖ he said quietly, ―and for that I thank you.‖
Axis took a deep breath and shuddered, and although his eyes remained closed his face
was regaining some colour, relaxing away from death.
―What‘s going on here? What piss-brained soldier ordered the gates open?‖ Borneheld
had finally struggled down from the battlements, limping heavily. Didn‘t they realise that the
Skraelings could have staged a mass charge and broken through?
There was a knot of men gathered about by the stables and Borneheld thumped over,
shouldering his way through. Axis lay unconscious on the ground, bloodied and torn clothes
about him. Faraday knelt to one side of him, her hands tearing strips from her cloak to wrap
about his wounds, while the maid, Yr, sat cradling the BattleAxe‘s head in her lap.
―If those are the only wounds he has to show for the loss of Gorkentown then I would
hazard to guess that he spent more time running than fighting,‖ the WarLord observed derisively.
―Faraday, come. The servant can see to those bandages. You should not be demeaning yourself
out here in the cold and mud.‖
Faraday rose, her face drawn with the effort she had spent. ―It is part of my duties as
chatelaine of Gorkenfort to see to the wounded, Borneheld. And there are many more here for
me to attend.‖ She turned towards another group of injured men lying a few paces away.
Borneheld‘s fury returned in full force. ―Who ordered the gates open?‖ he yelled.
Magariz opened his mouth, straightening his shoulders, as Faraday turned back to
Borneheld. ―I did, my husband,‖ she said quietly. ―I was sickened at watching men die
needlessly when we could shelter them in here.‖ Her eyes flickered to Magariz, daring him to
contradict her. Magariz‘s mouth hung open, appalled at the risk she took. Even though Faraday
was Borneheld‘s wife, in his present mood there was no telling what he would do to her.
Borneheld stared at his wife, furious with her. How dare she interfere with his orders!
―You stupid…!‖ he started to shout, then stopped himself with a massive effort. He breathed
heavily, the veins standing out on his forehead, struggling to bring his rage under control. If it
had been anyone else Borneheld would have struck out. But Faraday was his wife and only a
woman. She didn‘t understand military matters or the danger that could have seethed through the
gate when she ordered it open. She was upset by the battle about her. She…she had saved Axis‘
life through her interference. ―Do not meddle in matters beyond your concern!‖ Borneheld
rasped finally. ―Mop up the blood if you wish, but then go inside and sit by the fire where you
belong. I don‘t want your sentimentality endangering this fort again.‖
He stared at her a full minute longer, then turned and stomped off towards the Keep.
Faraday‘s face and body relaxed in undisguised relief. Her eyes met Magariz‘s briefly.
―You have won the respect and more from all here who witnessed what you did for the
BattleAxe and what you just did for me,‖ he said quietly, his striking face intense with
undefinable emotion. ―I am humbled by your courage and awed by the power that you carry
inside you. I am your servant.‖ He bowed jerkily, then turned to follow Borneheld into the Keep.
Faraday watched him for a moment, then turned to Belial. She leaned down to his
forehead and touched him with her hands. ―Let me help you,‖ she said.
51
THE LAKE OF LIFE
Jack stood still in the early morning air, the breeze ruffling his straight blond hair, his
green eyes gazing intently to the north. He listened to the Song of the Earth Tree. Ordinary ears
could not hear it, but to Jack‘s Sentinel ears the music reverberated through the crisp morning
air, filling his soul with consolation. Earth Tree was awake, and the Avarinheim would be denied
a little longer to Gorgrael. His entire force would have to flow into Achar through the Gorken
Pass.
Jack had left his pigs in a sheltered valley in the southern Urqhart hills while he had spent
the past week trudging further north, seeking out the fifth Sentinel.
The Prophecy had recruited and then recreated only the five of them. Jack, the wanderer
and the one who largely bore the weight of responsibility for their mission; Ogden and
Veremund; Yr. And Zeherah. No-one had heard from Zeherah, felt Zeherah, for over two
thousand years. It worried Jack. Since their creation they had largely stayed apart, happier not to
congregate as five lest that in itself trigger the Prophecy. But their minds had touched even if
hundreds of leagues had separated their bodies. All but Zeherah. She had vanished. If Jack could
not find her in time for her to fulfil her assigned role in the Prophecy then all would be lost. She
should have awakened and walked with the rest when Axis entered their lives.
Jack knew that Gorgrael had struck strongly the night before. Yuletide. Jack should have
been able to feel the revitalised joy of the sun this morning as it rose. It had risen, but only
half-heartedly, and winter retained its strong grip on the country north of the River Nordra. Jack feared in his heart that the Yuletide rites had not been completed. He could only hope that
enough had been done for the sun to somehow struggle towards spring.
Tears sprang to his eyes as he contemplated the slaughter he had felt in the Earth Tree
Grove. Each scream had torn at his soul. And yet…yet it had been worse at Gorkentown. Were
Axis and Faraday still alive? He knew Yr, Ogden and Veremund were, for he could still feel
them, and he could only hope that Axis had not perished along with so many of the others whose
souls had passed him by throughout the night.
Jack had watched the dead as he sat through the river of the night. He had seen the Icarii,
torn and some wingless; the Avar, shocked and bewildered; the mass of soldiers from
Gorkentown, all wandering disconsolately through the night and along the River of Death
towards the great Gate of the AfterLife. He had finally roused himself as the last of the soldiers
killed in Gorkentown passed him by. At least Axis had not passed. There was still hope.
Jack stood on the southern face of HoldHard Pass in the Urqhart hills. The garrison of
Sigholt sat on the northern face about a league away. While it stood there unviolated this
morning, if Gorgrael moved through Ichtar then it might well be overrun if its ancient magic
could not save it. But Jack‘s eyes did not linger on Sigholt, even though it was one of the
remaining three ancient Keeps of Tencendor left standing. Instead Jack‘s eyes turned towards the
wide basin at its foot, his eyes tracing the outlines of an ancient shoreline. There should have
been a lake here. One of the four magical Lakes of Tencendor. Yet there was none. It was gone.
And with it had gone Zeherah.
All the Sentinels had been tied in some way or another to the lakes. Yr with Grail Lake.
Ogden and Veremund, inseparable, with Cauldron Lake. Himself with Fernbrake Lake, the
Mother. And Zeherah with the Lake of Life, the most magical, some said, of all the Lakes.
Sigholt had guarded its shores for millennia. Now it guarded nothing but a bowl of snow, and
undoubtedly during summer held nothing but dust.
The Lake of Life had been drained—perhaps by one of the ghastly Dukes of Ichtar
sometime during the past two thousand years. The Lake of Life was dead.
And the love of his life was dead with it, blown away with the dust that formed when the
lake was drained. Zeherah. Jack bowed his head and wept. For the moment he did not mourn the
Prophecy, but his own loss. Zeherah had, in another existence, once been his wife.
All the Sentinels had once been members of the lost fourth race of Tencendor. The
Charonites. The Ferrymen who plied their boats along the waterways of the UnderWorld.