and the Star Gate. If he told Borneheld about the strange creatures he had met and the places he
had seen, Borneheld might suspect him. Worse, if Timozel told Borneheld that much, then he
might also tell the WarLord about Gorgrael and the pact he had made with the Destroyer. And
then Borneheld would never give Timozel command of his armies. No, safer, much safer, to
keep his silence. Dark despair still enveloped Timozel whenever he thought of his pact with
Gorgrael. But it would be all right so long as he was Faraday‘s Champion. He would prevail.
Legend would remember him.
Day by day, Timozel was changing. The vision that had first accosted him in the tomb of
the ninth of the Enchanter-Talons—a Talon so terrible that the Icarii could not bear to speak of
him—darkened his heart and warped his soul. The mild resentment Timozel had once harboured
towards Axis now festered into an open wound. His ability to judge between right and wrong and
between truth and lies cracked beyond repair.
Finally, when it seemed the whole world had frozen beneath a sunless sky, they reached
their destination. Gorkentown and Gorkenfort lay almost smothered in snow and ice, the spires
of the town and the towers of the fort glittering under a thin layer of ice. Gorkenfort sat defiantly
on a small rise, the town huddling about its steep-walled skirts. It was a massive fort with
twenty-pace-thick black stone walls mined from the foot of the Icescarp Alps and foundations
sunk into such deep bedrock that the fort‘s walls could not be undone by tunnelling beneath them. Ranged along the parapets and battlements were engines of war, ready to wreak
destruction. All windows in the fort were simple arrow slits, protection against the missiles of
enemies and the bitter winds which swept down from the north. Only the southern wall had a
gate set into it, and that was so well fortified and defended that only a fool would direct an attack
against it. Borneheld was using the unnatural weather to his advantage, instructing his men to
each night pour water down the walls of the fort, so that they were encased in a thick slick of ice,
making the walls virtually unscaleable—to flesh and blood foes, at least.
The awe-inspiring peaks of the Icescarp Alps made a dramatic backdrop to the town and
fort. Little snow clung to the steep mountain peaks, so that they rose stark and black from the
gentler ice-covered inclines of the lower slopes of the mountains. The Lord of Sorrow Krak, the
highest peak in the mountain range, rose twice as high as any of its neighbours and, according to
the legends of Achar, was the home of the Dark Lord of the Forbidden. From Gorkenfort its peak
was rarely visible, hidden by the cloud and mist that clung to it.
Gautier led his men down towards the town. It was now ten days since they had left
Jervois Landing and Gautier had not allowed his men to stop all day. He had not wanted to spend
another night out in the open, and he had been daydreaming about Borneheld‘s surprised (and
pleased) face when he presented him with his eminently desirable bride.
The town of Gorkentown lay almost completely dark. Although Borneheld had over six
thousand troops stationed in the town itself, he did not want them using precious fuel on fires or
for torches; most of the soldiers bedded down with the sun. Experience had taught Borneheld
that he could partially counter the attacks of the ice creatures with fire, so it was imperative that
all the precious stores of oil and peat be saved for when the creatures mounted their expected
major offensive.
Gorkentown was walled with black stone, although the walls were not as high or as thick
as those of the fort itself. Faraday shivered with apprehension as they halted their horses at the
first guard post outside the walls. While she would appreciate nothing better than a warm bed out
of the cursed wind and ice, that warm bed also meant Borneheld. She thought briefly about Axis,
something she had rarely allowed herself to do over these past weeks. Was he all right? Had he
managed to reach the fort before her? If so all might yet be lost. ―Pray that I am here in time,‖
she whispered to herself.
Faraday looked at the shadowy figures of the watch patrolling along the walls rising high
above her. Gorkentown huddled in a sprawling mass about the southern and western walls of
Gorkenfort, and Faraday strained her eyes through the dusk in an effort to catch a sight of the
famed fort. Here is where Axis was born and Rivkah died, she thought, and here is where I must
try to keep his life safe from his brother.
―We ride!‖ Gautier suddenly shouted, making Faraday jump in surprise. Gautier leaned
back and grabbed her horse‘s bridle, forcing the tired animal forward at a canter. ―Come, my
Lady Faraday, the sooner we reach the fort the better.‖
The guards stood back from the town gate that was slowly swinging open, and in a matter
of moments Gautier pulled Faraday‘s mount through and into the streets of Gorkentown itself.
Timozel, his mouth grim, spurred his horse after them with Yr close behind.
Virtually deserted of citizens, Gorkentown was clearly preparing for a siege. Streets had
been partially blocked with tumbled masonry in case the fighting came down to street-by-street
warfare and Gautier was forced to slow their horses down in order to work their way through.
Faraday could glimpse the front rooms of houses and shopfronts piled high with provisions,
soldiers bedding down for the night in homes close to the barricades. The market square was a
virtual tent city, again the number of troops and amount of piled provisions making rapid
progress impossible. Faraday looked around anxiously for any sign of the distinctive light grey
of the Axe-Wielder uniform, but could see none. For the first time she felt a small twinge of
concern for her own safety. A heavily bearded soldier, bedded down in his blankets amongst the
hay for added warmth, cursed her as he rolled out of the way of her horse‘s hooves.
―Here! You!‖ Gautier yelled at a soldier lounging against the support of a tent. The
soldier peered through the gloom, then straightened with a snap. ―Lieutenant Gautier!‖ he said,
saluting as smartly as his cold-stiffened limbs would allow.
―I‘ve got four hundred men following me into this Artor-forsaken town. They need to be
fed, bedded down and their horses attended. Who‘s in charge of this sorry camp?‖
―Ah, Goddars, sir.‖
―Then find the damned man and tell him that if I return in the morning and find that a
single one of my soldiers or horses has gone cold and hungry for lack of his personal attention
then he will be eating hay for the rest of his life,‖ Gautier snapped, then tugged Faraday‘s horse
savagely. ―Come, my lady, the Duke awaits.‖
Gautier spurred their horses down a narrow street, not checking to see if Timozel and Yr
followed safely. Faraday clung onto the pommel of her saddle, seeing the dark streets only
through an increasingly thick grey mist of exhaustion. Men, dogs and horses skittered out of the
lieutenant‘s way, and curses were bitten off hurriedly as men saw who it was who rode so
recklessly through the streets of Gorkentown at night. Gautier got almost as much respect, and as
much fear, as the WarLord himself.
The town backed up against the southern wall of Gorkenfort and within a few minutes
they were picking their way along a massive stone wall rising to unseen heights in the darkness.
Its top was too high for Faraday to pick out any movement of the watch. She turned slightly in
the saddle, almost falling as she did so, trying to see if Timozel and Yr were still with them.
Timozel nudged his horse up beside Faraday‘s, catching her arm. ―Curse it, Gautier, slow
down!‖ Timozel called out to Borneheld‘s lieutenant in front of him. ―There‘s no point rushing
the Lady Faraday to Borneheld‘s side if she gets there in pieces!‖
Gautier glanced contemptuously at Timozel, but pulled his horse in a little as he caught a
glimpse of Faraday‘s white face. The scarf had fallen around her neck, and her skin was pale and
pinched in the dim light, her eyes great dark holes of exhaustion. The reins of her horse‘s bridle
had all but fallen from hands shaking so much with cold and tiredness that they could barely
maintain their grip on the pommel of the saddle. ―The gate‘s but a few more minutes,‖ he
grunted. ―Hold on, my lady.‖
But Faraday‘s exhaustion, now that the journey had ended, hit her savagely. Shapes and
voices passed her by in a blurred haze, and finally she weaved so badly that Timozel hauled her
across to his own horse. Gautier looked back with a frown upon his face, but he was so involved