through.
―What?‖ she whispered. ―What did you say?‖
Azhure looked across to Raum and Barsarbe for a moment, but they looked as mystified
as she felt. She turned back to GoldFeather. What was wrong with her? Pease moved over to
GoldFeather and put her arms about her shoulders trying to comfort her. GoldFeather hardly
noticed.
―The BattleAxe, Axis, is the son of Rivkah, sister to King Priam,‖ Azhure said again.
―GoldFeather, what is it?‖
―But he died,‖ GoldFeather whispered around her fingers. ―He died!‖
No-one else about the fire could understand what had upset GoldFeather so much.
Barsarbe leaned forward and spoke firmly. ―GoldFeather—what is it?‖
GoldFeather blinked her eyes and seemed to refocus on the group about her. She lowered
her hands and clenched them in her lap. ― I am Rivkah,‖ she said bluntly. ―And my son died at
birth. They told me he died! ‖
―But it is said that you died,‖ Azhure said slowly, beginning to understand. No wonder
GoldFeather had always appeared so courtly and gracious, so sure of herself.
―They tried to murder me,‖ GoldFeather said, her voice becoming harsh, ―but they did
not succeed. But they told me he was dead!‖ Her voice cracked with grief again.
Raum turned to Azhure. ―Azhure, we do not understand. What is this story of Rivkah?‖
Azhure told them what she knew of the story. Of Searlas‘ young bride who fell pregnant
to an unknown lover. Of the birth in Gorkentown that left the mother dead and the son barely
alive.
Raum spoke very quietly to GoldFeather…Rivkah. ―GoldFeather, was StarDrifter your
son‘s father?‖
GoldFeather nodded. Pease tightened her hold about GoldFeather‘s shoulders and
whispered comfortingly into her ear.
―So,‖ Barsarbe said softly, ―now we know how the BattleAxe carries Icarii blood.
StarDrifter is of the oldest and strongest line of Icarii Enchanters, the SunSoars.‖
―He was dead when they carried him from the chamber,‖ GoldFeather whispered. ―He
was so blue, so still. They told me he was dead! Azhure,‖ she raised her eyes to the Nors woman.
―Who raised my son? Who cared for him?‖
Azhure thought for a moment, remembering the gossip she‘d heard when the
Plough-Keepers of neighbouring villages visited Hagen. ―Why, Brother Jayme, I think. He is
Brother-Leader now.‖
GoldFeather took a sharp intake of breath and her eyes glittered. ―Jayme and his comrade
Moryson were the two who abandoned me in the Icescarp Alps to die,‖ she said bitterly. ―And
now I find that they not only tried to murder me, but stole my son as well.‖ Her face crumpled
again. ―How could I stand so close to him and not know,‖ she whispered, her voice losing all its
strength. ―How could I have raised my hand and stopped before I touched him? How could I not
have known he was my son? ‖
GoldFeather lowered her face into her hands and began to cry.
―Our need to reach the groves for Yuletide is now even greater,‖ Raum said quietly to
Grindle. ―We must share this news.‖
GoldFeather heard him. ―I must tell StarDrifter,‖ she said, ―I must tell my husband that
our son lives.‖ A great sob wracked her body. ―How could I have stood so close and not known
that he was my son?‖
40
GORKENFORT
Gautier drove his troops north as fast as he could, keen not only to deliver Faraday to
Borneheld personally, but also to reach Gorkenfort after months of delays. They stopped only the
minimum time needed to prevent complete exhaustion of both horses and riders, to warm a thin
meal of gruel and the stale bread they carried with them, and to reprovision and feed the horses
from the supply depots along the road to northern Ichtar. First and foremost a fighting man,
Gautier could almost smell the approaching battle as they rode closer to Gorkenfort.
His sharp face pinched and whitened by the cold, light grey eyes peering out from above
his scarf, Gautier spent much of the day spurring his flagging horse up and down the column of
troops, cursing and shouting at them to push their horses just that little bit faster. Any horses that
were plainly too exhausted in the morning to go any further were slaughtered on the spot. His
troops, witnessing Gautier‘s treatment of the horses, made sure that they never looked too
exhausted to go on when their lieutenant rode by.
The weather, cold and snowy since southern Skarabost, had now degenerated into the
worst weather Faraday had ever seen. The blacksmith travelling with Gautier was forced to
screw thick spikes into the horses‘ shoes so that they could grip the icy road more easily and,
when she rose in the mornings after another night spent shivering sleepless beneath her covering
of blankets, Faraday could hear the outer layer of blankets crack and splinter with the thin film of
ice which spread over her during the night. Few spoke during the day as they rode, their faces
wrapped in thick woollen scarves to keep the frozen air from searing their lungs raw, their eyes
almost squinted shut against the snow glare whenever the sun managed to struggle through the
thick and low cloud layer. But no matter how many layers they wrapped about themselves the
wind managed somehow to pierce right to the very marrow of their bones, and the horses‘ heads
hung low as they trotted like automata along the road, long ropes of ice hanging down from their
muzzles and tangled through the thick hair of their manes.
Numerous bands of citizens from Gorkentown passed them as they fled south. Frightened
by the obvious preparations for war and the increasing attacks on patrols by the wraiths, those
townsfolk who could were escaping as far south as fast as they were able. Their wagons piled
high, the fleeing citizens often blocked the road, and Gautier had to force them into the snow at
the side of the road to allow his troops through. The wagons trapped in snowdrifts were simply
left, their owners seizing what food and blankets they could and continuing the trek south on
foot. Faraday wondered how many of them would survive.
Stranger still were the occasional bands of Ravensbund people. Faraday had heard vague
stories of the wild and barbaric tribes that hunted among the ice packs of the extreme north, but
the men and women that passed her on short and ugly yellow-haired horses were even more wild
than Gautier‘s description. Every one of them had their faces tattooed with a tangle of blue and
black lines, while they plaited slivers of blue and green glass and tiny bells into their hair and the
manes of their horses. One of Gautier‘s scouts reported even larger bands of Ravensbund people
moving south through the plains of western Ichtar, and Faraday wondered at the forces that could
make an entire people abandon their homeland.
Timozel rode just in front of Faraday, trying to protect her from the worst of the wind.
His only thought was to get her safe to Borneheld, though he found himself wondering just how
sane Faraday‘s determination to reach Borneheld really was. But Timozel knew he had made the
right choice in dedicating himself to her. It must have been through Artor‘s personal
intervention, Timozel thought, that he had been separated from Axis and the Axe-Wielders. Now
he was distant from his former commander, Timozel could see how his talents had been stunted
and wasted among the Axe-Wielders. Axis had not only dishonoured his mother and the memory
of his father, but had also never given him the opportunity he needed to let his talents shine
through. Timozel straightened as he thought about his new path in life. He was a Champion and
would one day serve at the head of the most powerful army this land had ever seen. He would
serve the WarLord as he would serve his lady wife. Yes, Timozel thought as he glanced at
Faraday, riding silent and miserable in her wrappings and blankets, his cause was far more
important, far more manly, than it had been in the service of the BattleAxe.
As he rode through the snow, wrapped in his own thoughts, Artor graced Timozel with a
further glimpse of the glory that would be his.
A great and glorious battle and the enemy’s positions were overrun. Timozel lost not one
soldier.
Another day, and another battle. The enemy used foul magic this day, and Timozel’s
forces were grievously hurt…but Timozel still won the field, and the enemy and their crippled
commander retreated before him.
Another day, and the battles were over. Timozel sat before the leaping fire with his Lord,
Faraday at their side. All was well. Timozel had found the light and he had found his destiny.
All was well.
Borneheld would help him to achieve greatness and glory. Timozel was sure, sure, of it.
He would be the Lord that Timozel would fight for.
Timozel wondered whether he should tell Borneheld what he knew about the Sentinels