were in a position to see the window, nervously glanced at the heavy snowclouds. ―Perhaps
twenty days. If all goes smoothly and I am not detained too long at Smyrton, then I should be at
Gorkenfort by early to mid-Snow-month.‖
Jayme looked concerned. ―That‘s very late. Winter, may well be there before you.‖
Axis‘ gaze was steady. ―It‘s the best I can do given the number of cohorts and the route
you suggest.‖
―Could he send a cohort or two directly to Gorkenfort via the River Nordra,
Brother-Leader? They could be there several weeks ahead of the main force of Axe-Wielders
that come via Smyrton,‖ said Moryson.
―The force stays intact and it stays with me,‖ said Axis, fiercely.
Jayme hesitated, then nodded. ―I will grant you that BattleAxe. Borneheld will have
enough troops there soon enough, and he will be ably supported by Jorgre and Roland. No, all
seven cohorts go with you, Axis.‖
Axis relaxed. ―Good. Then, if you will excuse me, Brother-Leader, I have an expedition
to organise.‖
Jayme nodded and waved a sketchy blessing with his right hand. ―Furrow wide, furrow
deep, BattleAxe.‖
―Furrow wide, furrow deep, Brother-Leader,‖ Axis replied, standing. The cat jumped
down and sat before the fire. Axis bowed slightly to Jayme and Moryson, his right fist clenched
over the golden axes on his breast, then he strode from the room, his boot heels clicking sharply
on the stone floor.
―Well,‖ said Moryson quietly, after Axis had closed the door behind him.
―Well, indeed,‖ Jayme replied equally as softly.
―Can we trust him?‖ Moryson asked.
Jayme took a deep breath. ―Yes. Yes. He won‘t like passing over command of the
Axe-Wielders, but he will do it in the end. It would look peculiar if we didn‘t send the
Axe-Wielders to help in the defence of Achar, and even more peculiar if we didn‘t send their
BattleAxe with them.‖
―What will he find out?‖ Moryson asked.
Jayme squirmed in his chair, and the cat paused in her washing to gaze at him.
―Hopefully nothing. With luck his rivalry with Borneheld and the threat of the Forbidden will
keep him occupied. Moryson—‖
―I know, old friend, I know. Priam‘s news shocked me as much as it shocked you. What
did those creatures want with Rivkah‘s body?‖
Jayme looked up and caught Moryson‘s gaze. His eyes were cold and calculating and his
face no longer wore its usual kindly mien. ―And what will they do when they discover it wasn‘t
hers?‖
Moryson suddenly looked ten years older, his already hollow cheeks deepening further.
―My friend, I think they already know that. I think that‘s why they destroyed the scriptorium in a
rage.‖
Jayme smiled bleakly. ―Then in that at least they did us a favour. For years I have wanted
those records destroyed. We can only hope that the two brothers who survived were two of the
younger brothers—with no memory that stretches back thirty years.‖
The cat paused briefly, her head still bent over her tail, but her bright eyes fixed on
Jayme. Then she flipped over and began washing her protruding stomach.
―But it doesn‘t answer the question,‖ Moryson said, his voice revealing the strain he was
under, ―why did they want Rivkah‘s body? Why?‖
Jayme did not, could not, answer. The cat stretched and sat for a moment, regarding them
both with level blue eyes. Then she rose to her feet and stepped languidly over to the door,
scratching to be let out. Moryson obliged.
8
FARADAY’S BETROTHAL
Faraday sat at the lead-paned window in her father‘s apartment and gazed down at the
activities in the palace courtyard below her. For the past five days the palace, and Carlon itself,
had been bustling with activity as soldiers, archers, pikemen and cavalry arrived, formed into
their units and then dispersed. Four days ago, six cohorts of Axe-Wielders had finally arrived
from Coroleas. One more cohort had come from the Tower of the Seneschal to swell their
numbers. Both Axe-Wielders and regular soldiers were billeted out across Carlon as war and
transport plans were made, supplies obtained, horses shod and gear cleaned. In the palace itself
there was almost no room to move. The cooks complained, the officers shouted, the dogs barked,
the serving girls scurried from place to place with red spots in their cheeks, and numerous
important-looking palace officials strode along the palace corridors carrying wads of thick
documents under their arms. Those nobles resident in the palace for the festivities surrounding
Priam‘s nameday gathered in small groups and whispered the day away.
Faraday had done little but sit in her window and watch the activities below her. She
caught frequent glimpses of the BattleAxe, and on those occasions she leaned a little closer to the frosty panes of glass, watching him as he conferred with his officers or chatted and smiled with
his men. Sometimes a broken strap or a slow servant would make him lose his temper
momentarily and shout, the sound of his voice just managing to drift to her ears. At his heels
trotted a large white cat, as faithful as a dog. Faraday had actually forgotten her own troubles
enough to laugh out loud when the cat tripped the BattleAxe up and he fell into a pile of straw
the stable lads had just mucked out. Even the BattleAxe had enough of a sense of humour to
smile wryly, and the cat had leapt into his lap as he sat in the hay, butting her head against his
chin in a feline display of affection.
As the dusk set in she could just make out her father below in the courtyard talking to
Axis. Axis was shaking his head firmly and her father was gesturing animatedly with both his
hands. They had been standing there for some twenty minutes and Faraday could see that Axis
was impatient to get away. But her father was persistent, and after a few more minutes, as
Faraday pressed her forehead to the glass in order to see, Axis gave in and reluctantly nodded his
head to whatever her father was planning. When Borneheld strode into the courtyard to join her
father, Axis turned on his heel and left them to confer quietly in the shadows.
As she watched her father and Borneheld, Faraday‘s lovely face lost much of its
animation. When she had first arrived in Carlon everything had seemed a grand adventure. She
had wanted to visit court all her life, and had been quietly excited when her father and mother
had told her she was to come to the King‘s nameday feast this year. The weeks of fittings for
clothes grand enough to wear at court had entertained her, while the journey to Carlon had
exposed her to landscapes and people she had not imagined existed. The clothes, the jewels, the
sights and sounds of the court, the noisy crowds thronging the streets of Carlon—it all seemed a
dream.
But three days ago the dream had ended and Faraday had come down to earth with a
shock. Three days ago her father had come to her, his eyes bright and a great beam of pleasure
lighting his face. He had arranged a marriage for her. Faraday had known that one day she would
marry, and had realised that one of the reasons her parents had brought her to Carlon was to
present her to the court as an eligible daughter, but she had vaguely assumed that marriage still
lay a year or two into the future. But whatever had thrown the palace into a fever of activity had
apparently also hastened her parents‘ plans. And hastened her prospective bridegroom‘s fervour.
Borneheld. She was to become the Duchess of Ichtar. It was, by anyone‘s reckoning, a
splendid marriage for her. Borneheld was the most powerful noble in the realm and the current
heir to the throne. Her parents were ecstatic. Devera was wide-eyed with amazement and had
spent much of this morning with Faraday, chatting nonstop about clothes, servants and babies
until Faraday‘s temper snapped and she asked Devera to leave. Devera had been offended, and
left muttering about how Faraday would have to learn some manners when she was married to
Borneheld.
Faraday shuddered. She‘d had to pretend pleasure for her parents‘ sakes, but inside she
felt hollow. She was very unsure of Borneheld; he was so large, so overbearing, and his manners
were so gruff. They had met briefly the day before and had talked haltingly of this and that while
her parents stood by, their faces mirroring their pride. Despite her best efforts, Faraday could not
help comparing Borneheld to his half-brother. She was sure that conversation with Axis would
not be peppered with the same embarrassing silences that her conversation with Borneheld was.
Where Faraday could somehow imagine Axis being gentle and humorous, she could only foresee
Borneheld being terse and impatient. She sighed. On the two occasions she had ventured a witty
remark Borneheld had only stared at her uncomprehendingly.