waist was thickened with mid-term pregnancy. Her long auburn hair drifted about her back,
flicking slightly in the gentle breeze. She took a long step towards him, hands open in
supplication. ―StarDrifter,‖ she called again, and then her face frowned a little. ―Is that you, my
love? What is that you wear?‖ Her voice was puzzled.
Axis took an involuntary step towards her, reaching out his own hand. Tears began to
slide down his cheeks. ―Mother?‖
The vision wavered and Rivkah took a step backwards. ―Who are you?‖ she whispered,
her hand pressed protectively to her belly, and then the image wavered again before folding in on
itself and disappearing.
―Mother!‖ Axis called, taking another step to where she had stood, but now only the
wintry wind gusted across the roof, and the balmy air and smell of roses was gone. He turned to
Reinald, his face pleading. ―Did you see?‖
Reinald‘s face was white. ―Yes, BattleAxe. I saw. That was Rivkah. That was your
mother,‖ he whispered.
Axis whipped around, hoping that she had reappeared, but the roof was barren. He gave a
cry of anguish and Reinald hobbled over to him. ―Axis,‖ he said intently, grasping the
BattleAxe‘s arms, ―you are truly your father‘s son! Look,‖ he fumbled inside his gown for a
moment and pulled out a long chain. There was a ring dangling at the end of it. He slipped it over
his head and held it out for Axis. Axis blinked away his tears and took the chain and ring.
―Your father gave her this, young man. When Searlas returned Rivkah was terrified he
would seize the ring and somehow find the father through it. So she left it in a bowl of uneaten
trifle for me to find and look after. I suppose she thought she could always ask me to return it
later. But she never did—Searlas had her transported to the Retreat in Gorkentown where she
died. BattleAxe, I never knew what would happen to this ring when I died. What could I do with
it? But I never thought that I would meet Rivkah‘s son, nor that I would ever see Rivkah again,
laughing and smiling with love and joy atop this roof. You have brought wonder and joy back
into my life, young man, and I would now pass on a little of that to you with my heartfelt
thanks.‖
Axis‘ fingers closed over the ring. ―Thank you, Reinald, thank you,‖ he whispered, and
he did not mean only for the ring.
After Reinald had gone Axis stood for a very long time atop the Keep. ―StarDrifter,‖ he
whispered. ―My father, StarDrifter.‖
A name. He had a name. And he had the memory of the love on his mother‘s face as she
turned to gaze at his father. He opened his fist and gazed at his father‘s ring. It lay heavy and
golden in his palm. It was a wide gold band, slightly reddish in tinge, and star patterns were
picked out in tiny diamond chips around its circumference. The detail was incredible. The closer
Axis looked at it the more patterns and stars he could see and no matter how hard he looked he
could not find the same pattern twice. He unclasped the chain and slid the ring off before
slipping it on the middle finger of his right hand. It fitted beautifully, as if it had been made for
his hand alone.
Belial looked from the assembled and mounted Axe-Wielders to the garrison of Sigholt
as he waited for Axis to come out of the Keep. They had stayed only long enough to reprovision
and rest and water the horses. Axis had brought almost all of the Axe-Wielders with him from
Smyrton. Despite the vocal fears of the villagers Axis had told them shortly that they had almost
nothing to fear from the Shadowsward, and had left them only thirty men to protect them from
whatever ghouls their own fears might engender. Belial smiled as he remembered the looks on
the faces of those thirty men left behind. They had been livid that they were left to guard a flock
of superstitious peasants when the rest of the Axe-Wielders were off to fight the forces of
Gorgrael at Gorkenfort.
It was fortunate, Belial mused, not only that the story of the Prophecy had spread so
quickly among the men but that they had also so quickly accepted it. With the tacit consent of
Axis, Ogden and Veremund had spent a good deal of time among the Axe-Wielders, speaking of
what they knew about the Icarii and Avar. They did not directly reveal themselves to the
Axemen as the Sentinels of the Prophecy, but the understanding grew among the Axe-Wielders
that the two old men were more than they had originally appeared. On the journey from Smyrton
to Sigholt the Axe-Wielders had asked myriad questions about the Icarii and Avar. Gradually, at
first in their own minds and then openly about the campfires at night, the men had begun to
question the prejudices the Seneschal had instilled in them. While the Seneschal had preached
hatred of the Forbidden for the past thousand years, the Acharites, Icarii and Avar had lived in
harmony for thousands of years before the Wars of the Axe. Ogden and Veremund, using their
own gentle arts and the stronger enchanted powers of the Prophecy, appealed to the ancient
memories that all three races shared.
Whether it was the efforts of Ogden and Veremund, the brief glimpses of long repressed
race memories, or the power of the Prophecy itself, by the time the Axe-Wielders reached
Sigholt they clearly understood that they rode to face Gorgrael and his Ghostmen. The Icarii and
Avar—and the Axemen no longer even referred to them as the Forbidden—were in as much
danger as the Acharites. Many were already openly discussing the identity of the mysterious
StarMan who was supposed to lead them to victory against the Destroyer. That was good, Belial
thought. That meant that, when the time was right, they would the more readily accept Axis in
his new guise. Axis had always been different and perhaps a brilliant commander because of
that.
Belial turned away from the Keep and surveyed the Axe-Wielders. For the three days
they had stayed at Sigholt they had camped in the wide depression that lay at the foot of the
garrison. Sigholt was situated at the mouth of the HoldHard Pass in the Urqhart Hills; the Pass
itself led to the southern WildDog Plains and, eventually, to Smyrton as it lay on the banks of the
Nordra. The garrison had been built many centuries previously, some said it was the oldest fortress in Achar, and the Keep was by far the most ancient part of the fortress. It sat on the
rising slopes of the HoldHard Pass above a deep depression which stretched in a westerly
direction. After three thousand men and more horses had trampled all over it for three days and
nights the snow was packed hard, and to Belial‘s curious eye it looked as though this had once
been the bed of a wide lake at the foot of Sigholt Keep and HoldHard Pass. Perhaps a long,
dried-up tributary of the Nordra had once flowed through the pass into a lake in the basin of the
Urqhart Hills. Belial had seen Ogden and Veremund staring at the depression one day, muttering
darkly to themselves, and he assumed they were as curious about the depression as he was. But
Belial had paid the two Sentinels little attention; like Axis, he had grown somewhat used to their
mutterings. Turning from the assembled Axe-Wielders before him, Belial‘s eyes focused further
afield. Several leagues away lay Hsingard, the main city of Ichtar and the official residence of
the Dukes of Ichtar. Axis planned to ride straight by it.
The ride to Gorkenfort from Sigholt was straight forward if hard. Snow and ice lay thick
on the ground in Ichtar, and, if you listened to the locals, had remained all the previous summer.
Gorgrael was indeed spreading his ice clouds further south. Yet Borneheld had been moving
troops north for months, and once the Axe-Wielders hit the main trail leading north from Jervois
Landing to Gorkenfort the going would be faster. Borneheld had established regular provisioning
stations along the trail so the Axe-Wielders would not have to burden themselves with added
supplies. Barring misfortunes, they should be there in about two weeks.
Belial rubbed his arms in the frosty air. Where was Axis? They were all ready and
waiting, and for once the BattleAxe himself was late. Ogden and Veremund patiently sat their
white donkeys to one side, Ogden‘s cherubic face and Veremund‘s ascetic one showing no sign
of their true identity and powers. Belial snorted under his breath. How many other faces about
him held mysteries that he could only guess at? He wondered for a moment about Azhure and
where she was. There was a pretty face that held hidden depths of determination. Belial smiled