Devera thought dryly, and decided to steer the conversation away from religious matters. ―What
do you think of King Priam, Faraday?‖
Faraday smiled and her face looked truly beautiful. ―He‘s handsome, Devera.‖ Her eyes
twinkled impishly. ―But such curls!‖
Devera laughed despite herself. Priam had inherited the regal good looks of his family as
well as their magnificent dark auburn hair, but it really was a trifle ridiculous for a man in his
late forties to continue to have his hair curled so tightly.
―That must be his wife, Queen Judith.‖ Faraday indicated a woman of ethereal and fragile
beauty sitting between Priam and the Brother-Leader. As they watched, Priam leaned over
attentively and gave her the choicest meats from his own plate.
―Yes. It‘s so sad. They say that Priam loves her dearly, but that she cannot have children.
Every year of their marriage but the past two she has fallen pregnant, only to lose the babe in the
fourth or fifth month. Now, perhaps, she is too old.‖
Both girls fell silent for a few minutes as they contemplated this supreme tragedy. The
primary purpose of any noblewoman was to bear her husband sons as quickly as possible. No
matter the dowry, the connections or the beauty that a woman brought to her marriage bed, her
life became meaningless if she could not produce heirs. Faraday picked up a piece of cloudberry
cheese and nibbled delicately at its edges, a line of worry appearing between her eyes. ―It would
be a tragedy if King Priam does not have any sons to follow him.‖
―Ah,‖ Devera took a healthy sip of wine, ―that would leave the way open for his closest
living relative. Now tell me, if you can, do you know who that is?‖
Her tone irritated Faraday. ―His nephew, Duke Borneheld of Ichtar,‖ she retorted.
Faraday had arrived at court only the day before and had yet to be introduced to the King
and his family. If she knew names, faces as yet meant little to her. To her humiliation, Faraday
could not place Borneheld‘s face among the three or four noblemen at the royal table she still
could not identify. Which one was he?
Devera savoured Faraday‘s embarrassed confusion for a moment, then inclined her head
towards the man sitting immediately at Priam‘s right hand.
―Ah,‖ Faraday breathed, for now that Devera had pointed him out she could see some
resemblance. Borneheld had Priam‘s grey eyes and his hair was precisely the same shade of
auburn, although dressed in a soldier‘s close crop rather than Priam‘s court curls. He was a man
in the prime of his life, about thirty, and as solid as he might be, it was clear that his bulk was all
muscle. If Priam was a courtier, then it was obvious that Borneheld was a warrior, his body
honed by years in the saddle and wielding the sword. He looked a formidable man. Her mother
had been remarkably silent on Priam‘s immediate family.
―Borneheld is the child of Priam‘s only sister, Rivkah, who married Borneheld‘s father
Searlas, the previous Duke,‖ Devera explained.
Faraday paused in her contemplation of Borneheld to glance back at Devera. For a
moment she thought that there was some hesitation, or some darker shadow, behind Devera‘s
words, but she couldn‘t quite put her finger on it. ―So, if Priam has no children, Borneheld will
become king.‖
Devera shrugged and took another sip of wine. ―Probably, unless the other Earls and
Barons decided to fight him for the privilege.‖
―But that would mean civil war! Are you suggesting that our fathers would be so
disloyal?‖ Faraday valued loyalty above most other virtues.
―Well, the prize would be worth it, wouldn‘t it,‖ Devera snapped, the wine she had drunk
making her tongue dangerously loose.
Faraday turned her head away and concentrated on the food before her. Perhaps it were
best if she let Devera chat to the youth on her right for a time.
Some twenty silent minutes later, Faraday became aware of a man moving quietly
through the shadows behind the great columns, then weaving sinuously between the crowded
tables and the darting, anxious serving men and women. Occasionally he bent to speak to a
person or two seated at the tables.
She watched him, fascinated by his unusual grace and the suppleness of his movement.
He was moving towards the dais where the royal table stood, and she wondered if he were one of
the nobles. Faraday was enthralled.
Finally he stepped into the main body of the chamber and Faraday had her first clear look
at him; she took a quick, sharp breath of surprise. Not even Priam commanded the same presence
that this man did.
He was still a relatively young man, perhaps some ten or eleven years older than herself,
striking rather than handsome. This was due partly to his lithe grace, but also to the unusual alien
cast of his features. His shoulder-length hair, drawn back into a short tail in the nape of his neck,
and his close-shaven beard were the colour of sun-faded harvest wheat, his eyes an equally faded
blue—but as penetrating as a bird of prey‘s. He was tall and lean, and wore a uniform unlike any
that Faraday had seen before, either in her home of Skarabost or here in Carlon. Over slim-fitting
black leather trousers and riding boots, he wore a black, close-fitting hip-length tunic coat of
cleverly woven wool. Even the trimmings and the raised embroideries down the sleeves of his tunic were black. The only relief was a pair of crossed golden axes embroidered across his left
breast. As he stepped into the brilliance of the central chamber the entire effect was as if a
panther had suddenly strolled out of a dark jungle into the sunlight of a glade.
―Devera!‖ she whispered.
Devera turned and looked in the same direction. ―Ah,‖ she said, in understanding.
Faraday‘s reaction was the same as every woman‘s the first time they laid eyes on the BattleAxe.
It was a reaction the BattleAxe was fully aware he created and, if in the mood, capitalised on.
She sighed and tapped Faraday‘s hand to get her attention as the BattleAxe weaved
through the last few tables towards the royal dais. ―That is Axis, BattleAxe of the
Axe-Wielders.‖
The Axe-Wielders! The legendary military wing of the Seneschal! And this was their
commander! No wonder he had caught her attention. Faraday hadn‘t even hoped to lay eyes on
one of the Axe-Wielders while she was in Carlon, since they generally stayed close to the Tower
of the Seneschal across Grail Lake.
Devera‘s lips twitched. It was a shame to disillusion Faraday about this man, but if she
didn‘t do it, then someone else soon would.
―Faraday. Look at Priam for a moment, and tell me if you see a resemblance.‖
Faraday did as Devera asked. ―Oh! They‘re related—they must be. They have the same
distinctive hairline and forehead.‖
―Yes. They are related. Axis is also Priam‘s nephew and Borneheld‘s half-brother, and
Borneheld is just as unlikely to acknowledge that fact as Priam is to acknowledge Axis as his
nephew. For the royal family, Axis is the ultimate embarrassment.‖
Faraday frowned, wondering why her mother had not told her of this man, but she did not
take her eyes from the BattleAxe. He had stopped to laugh for a moment with a lady of minor
nobility sitting at one of the tables close to theirs, and she did not want to take her eyes from him
while he was so close. ―I don‘t understand,‖ she said.
Devera settled back in her chair and smiled. The story of Axis‘ birth was well known in
Carlon—although it was not widespread elsewhere—and it was not often that she had the
opportunity to tell the deliciously scandalous tale of Rivkah‘s shame to someone who knew
nothing about the affair.
―Axis is the illegitimate son of Rivkah, Priam‘s sister,‖ she said bluntly, and her words
were finally enough for Faraday to tear her gaze from Axis and look at Devera.
―Really!‖ she breathed.
―Yes,‖ Devera nodded sagely. ―Rivkah was married at an early age, younger than you are
now, to the ageing Searlas, Duke of Ichtar. Within a year she had produced a son, Borneheld.
Searlas was pleased. While Rivkah had the young babe to occupy her, he left her at the fort of
Sigholt in the Urqhart Hills, safe enough one would think, while he went on an extensive tour of
the northern fortifications at Gorkenfort and the River Andakilsa. He was gone a year. When he
returned to Sigholt it was to find that Borneheld had grown into a strong, one-year-old boy, and
the Princess Rivkah was holding court at Sigholt with a bulging eight-month belly. Can you
imagine the scandal? Even the stableboys knew of the pregnancy before Searlas did.‖
Faraday‘s curiosity would not let the next question lie. ―Who was the father?‖
Devera‘s blue eyes twinkled and her mouth curved mischievously. She tossed her curls