Sara Douglass – Battleaxe

was nowhere to run. There was never anywhere to run.

―He won‘t listen to me!‖ Veremund turned to shout at Ogden. ―What can we do? If he

stays here he will die when that cloud rolls over him!‖

Ogden thought frantically, then edged his donkey as close to Belaguez as he possibly

could, stood as high in his stirrups as he dared and, eyes glowing, launched himself onto

Belaguez‘s back, hauling himself up behind Axis. Belaguez plunged and danced at the

unexpected weight, but Axis had him on such a tight rein that the stallion could do very little to

dislodge the weight from his back.

―My boy,‖ Ogden breathed into Axis‘ ear, ―do you remember this tune?‖ He started to

hum, a strange lilting tune that gained strength and thrived despite the howling wind. Axis

blinked and turned his head slightly. Ogden continued humming, his voice becoming stronger

with each phrase. Axis‘ eyes started to refocus and Ogden felt some of the tension draining out

of his rigid muscles.

―Oh,‖ Axis gasped, turning his eyes from the apparition of Gorgrael and hummed a few

bars along with Ogden.

―Yes! Yes, that‘s it, m‘boy. Sing! Sing with me!‖ Axis‘ voice grew stronger and

Veremund finally recognised the tune. It was an ancient ward for protection that Icarii fathers

sang to their babies while still in the womb. If Axis‘ father was of the line of Icarii Enchanters,

then the ward of protection would be strong indeed. Very strong. It was the first gift Icarii fathers

gave their sons, and, some said, the most valuable.

―Sing, Axis,‖ Veremund whispered, tears in his eyes, ―sing!‖

And Axis did indeed sing, his voice now stronger than Ogden‘s, his eyes blazing in his

face, the melody lilting above the wind. He took the melody beyond what Ogden had sung to

him, adding new variations and creating strange new depths to the song. He sang words, alien

words, rather than simply humming a melody. Now he was smiling, some distant memory

resurfacing in his mind, and an expression of joy crossed his face. His voice was very beautiful

and very moving.

Veremund gave a shout of triumph, and wheeled his donkey around so he could shake his

fist at the head as it advanced towards them. ―Did your father sing that to you, unloved one?‖ he screamed. ―Did your father bother to sing that to you while you grew in your poor mother‘s

womb? Did your father love you enough to sing to you?‖

The head of Gorgrael gave a terrifying scream of rage, viciously swinging its tusks from

side to side, and for a moment Veremund thought that he had only provoked it into a more

dreadful display of power. But as the scream died the head started to dissolve, reforming into

simple cloud again. But the storm still came on. And it was as angry and as deadly as previously.

Veremund swung back to Axis and Ogden, still clinging precariously to Belaguez‘s back.

―Ogden! Axis! Ride now!‖

Turning Belaguez‘s head for the Barrows, Axis gave the long-suffering stallion his head.

―That was not my father!‖ he whispered to himself.

Veremund kicked his white donkey after Belaguez, but Ogden‘s riderless donkey

outraced them all.

20

THE STORM

Few of the Axe-Wielders were aware of what was happening behind their backs, and

Faraday, her mother and Timozel had completely missed it.

The first riders were now approaching the Barrows, but the storm was rapidly gaining on

them. Already Axis, Ogden and Veremund were encased in heavy rain, their horses finding it

harder and harder to keep their footing in the slippery mud churned up by the Axe-Wielders‘

mounts. The wind increased to gale force, screaming across the plains behind them, and Axis

bent low over Belaguez‘s neck to give the horse as much assistance as possible. Ogden clung on

grimly behind him. Because of the double weight that Belaguez carried, Veremund‘s donkey was

able to keep pace. Ogden‘s white donkey had disappeared in the pelting rain.

As Timozel and Faraday approached the Barrows, Merlion and her maid close behind,

Timozel grabbed the bridle of Faraday‘s horse and pulled it towards the shelter of one of the

steep-walled Barrows. The rain was upon the Barrows now, streaming down from the sky in

unnatural floods, driven by the brutal wind. Every rider was drenched to the skin whether they

wore a heavy sealskin cloak or not. Men and horses scurried towards the most sheltered spots

among the Barrows, and the air filled with the sounds of men shouting, horses neighing and the

increasing fury of the storm as it swept over them.

Faraday pulled her horse to a halt and frantically looked about her. ―Timozel!‖ she cried.

―My mother?‖

―Faraday, get off your horse. We‘ve got to find some shelter. Now!‖ Timozel shouted as

he slid off his bay gelding and stumbled across to Faraday.

But Faraday tugged at the reins of her exhausted horse, trying to kick it into the turmoil

about her. ―Mother?‖ she shouted, desperately searching. ―Mother!‖

Timozel reached up blindly, his eyes closed against the beating rain, fumbled for a

moment with Faraday‘s soaked cloak, then seized her waist and hauled her unceremoniously off

the horse.

―Timozel!‖ Faraday wailed, trying to twist out of his hands but overbalancing and falling

to her knees in the mud. Her horse swerved back into the confusion of men and horses about

them, causing Yr to leap from its back, feet and claws extended, wet fur standing in spikes all

over her body. She landed squarely on the back of Timozel‘s head and neck.

―Ug!‖ grunted Timozel, collapsing on top of Faraday and pushing them both down into

the ground.

Yr‘s leap undoubtedly saved all three of their lives. Just as Timozel collapsed on top of

Faraday a great sheet of what appeared to be lightning speared through the sky, striking

Faraday‘s horse as it turned to bolt into the storm.

Timozel rolled off Faraday and squinted through the rain. The horse lay completely still

not four paces from them, its head shattered by a massive spear of thick ice. As Timozel gaped,

unable to believe what he was seeing, more ice spears rained with vicious purpose from the sky;

those men and horses still in the flat open spaces between the Barrows took the full impact of the

dreadful deluge.

Timozel grabbed Faraday by the shoulders, pulling her half out of the mud. ―Faraday!

We‘ve got to get out of here! Move!‖ He hauled her to her feet, Faraday having just enough time

to grab Yr out of the mud as Timozel pulled her, hunched over as far as they could go, towards

the lee of a Barrow about thirty paces distant. Dreadful screams of those transfixed by the ice

spears rang out about them.

They had taken about fifteen faltering paces, buffeted by men, horses and the wind and

pelting rain, when the dying body of a headless horse struck Timozel squarely on the shoulder.

―No!‖ Timozel screamed, as he and Faraday were pushed to their knees in the mud again.

Timozel tried to drag Faraday up, but she shrieked in complete horror and wrenched herself out

of his hands before he could haul her to her feet.

Timozel saw Faraday‘s shocked face, and followed her eyes down. Lying on the ground,

so close that Faraday‘s knees were touching the body, was the lifeless form of Merlion. A few

paces away was the body of her maid, crushed under her horse. An ice spear had caught Lady

Merlion in the back as she ran towards the Barrow, and now protruded in jagged red-tipped

spikes from her belly and breast. The rain had washed most of the blood from her face and her

lifeless eyes stared into the murderous heavens, the heavy raindrops making small indentations

on the surface of her eyeballs before running like tears of sorrow down her pale cheeks.

Tearing his eyes away from the dreadful sight, Timozel groped for Faraday‘s shoulders.

Artor save them! he thought numbly, for surely nothing else would. His lips moved but no sound

came. Faraday‘s initial scream had weakened into a series of heart-rending wails, and now she

dropped Yr, her hands patting ineffectually at Merlion‘s body as if it was somehow possible to

put her back together again.

―Faraday. Faraday,‖ Timozel mumbled feebly, ―come, we‘ve got to go.‖

Faraday did not hear a word he said, and Timozel began to cry himself, overcome by the

dead and dying about him, his tears mingling with the rain streaming down his face. This was not

how he envisioned death, warriors should die nobly on the battlefield, fighting a flesh and blood

foe—not this terror that rained down from a demonic sky. He closed his eyes and rested his face

on Faraday‘s shoulder, resigned to their imminent death.

―Now, now,‖ a soft burred voice said. ―Time to move, young man. No use staying here in

this weather. Come, lovely lady, take my hand.‖

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