Finally the midwife stood up from the end of the bed, her right arm bright with blood to
the elbow ―Artor knows, it is done,‖ she said hoarsely. Rivkah was still sobbing in pain and the
midwife rinsed her arm and sat down by the woman again, stroking her forehead in a vain effort
to soothe her. ―He has been turned, Lady. If he is still alive I do not know. If you have the
strength, then birth him. But do it quickly or you will both die.‖
Rivkah bit down on her lip and strained as hard as she could. The other midwife looked
up. ―He comes, Marta.‖ A show of blood stained the sheets about Rivkah‘s hips. Marta hurried to
help and, moments later, the baby slithered into her waiting hands. ―The cord is about his neck,‖
she said urgently. ―Quick, hand me the knife!‖ She sliced the knife around the cord, releasing the
baby‘s neck so he could breathe.
With the last of her strength Rivkah struggled onto her elbows. ―Please…is he alive?‖
The door opened slightly, and the two midwives looked up. What they could see Faraday
did not know, but Marta nodded imperceptibly and, seizing a waiting sheet, wrapped it about the
baby, blue and still in her hands. She hugged the bundle to her chest. ―I am so sorry, my Lady,
but he is dead. The cord strangled him.‖
Rivkah moaned and held out her hands. ―Please, let me hold him! Please!‖
But the midwife rose to her feet, clutching the baby close to her. ―No, my Lady. Best you
do not see him. Come,‖ she said to her assistant, and the pair of them hurried out of the room
without a backward glance.
― Nooo!‖ Rivkah screamed. ―Bring me my child! Bring me my baby!‖ She half fell out of
the bed, trying to reach the women as they passed her, but she was too weak to do any more. She
lay there, panting and sobbing, twisted so that her head and shoulders hung below the level of the
mattress. Faraday moved as if she would go to her, but Axis held her tight. ―No,‖ he whispered.
―I must see what happens now.‖
For a moment or two Rivkah hung there, then she pulled herself back onto the bed.
―Help,‖ she whispered to no-one in particular. ―Help me! They have stolen my son!‖ The door
slowly swung open and Rivkah turned to look. ―You,‖ she said woodenly, all hope draining from
her face. ―I might have known it would be you. Have you come to kill me then?‖
Two Brothers entered the room, walked over to the bed and stared at Rivkah
dispassionately. Neither said anything. They looked at each other, then the larger bent down, wrapped Rivkah in one of the stained blankets she lay on, and picked her up. As they turned
from the bed Axis and Faraday had a clear look at their faces. Even Faraday recognised them.
Jayme and Moryson.
―You have advised me well,‖ Jayme said in a conversational tone to Moryson. ―We will
take her to the foot of the Icescarp Alps and dump her there. Let the crows eat her tainted flesh.‖
―Quite,‖ replied Moryson as they left the room. ―We need her no more.‖
Faraday released Axis and stood back to look at him. His face was hard and brittle. ―If
there was a body in the crypt here it wasn‘t my mother‘s,‖ he said harshly. ―The ravens have
undoubtedly picked her bones well-clean by now.‖ His face turned to Faraday‘s. ―I trusted that
man for almost thirty years, Faraday. He was the only parent I ever knew. And now I find that he
and Moryson murdered my mother.‖
Faraday started to speak but her mouth was so dry that she had to clear her throat. ―Axis,
why didn‘t they murder you as well? Why keep you alive?‖
―I don‘t know. But rest assured that one day I will ask them both—just before I slit their
throats.‖
Faraday leaned close again and hugged him, but this time Axis‘ arms hung limp by his
sides and his eyes stared into space. The lies that had bound him all his life were shattering about
him.
Below them, hidden deep in the shadows, Timozel waited, dark with anger, for Axis and
Faraday to emerge from the Retreat. An hour or so ago the old brother had trotted out the door
and back up the street towards the fort, but Axis and Faraday remained within. What was she
doing in there with the BattleAxe? Only the fact that his Lady Faraday had walked into this
building of her own free will kept him from decisive action.
He would have to remind her that her future lay with Borneheld. She was weak, and she
needed a strong hand to guide her.
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.
They drank from crystal glasses, sipping fine wine, Faraday in her wedding gown.
All was well.
Unseen by Timozel, a Dark Man stood behind him, a hand on Timozel’s shoulder.
He was crying with silent laughter.
45
THE GROVES
At the beginning of the third week of Snow-month, four days before the most sacred
festival of Yuletide, the GhostTree Clan arrived at the groves of the northern Avarinheim at the
foot of the Icescarp Alps. Over the past week they had met up with the last of the other Avar
Clans who were moving towards the groves and by the time they arrived their group was some
eighty strong. Barsarbe cautioned Azhure not to speak with the other Avar until after the Clans
had met to discuss her case. Mindful of Barsarbe‘s cold eyes Azhure avoided the other Avar Clans, sitting lonely by a small campfire at night while the Avar gossiped and passed news
about, joined only by GoldFeather, and occasionally Pease and Shra or Raum. She was glad to
have left Smyrton behind her, but daily wished she had found some better way to free Raum and
Shra.
Sometimes GoldFeather worried that Azhure was unnaturally quiet, but she had grown
into such a reserved woman herself that she easily accepted reticence in others. And since
Azhure had revealed the shocking news that the BattleAxe, Axis, was her son, GoldFeather had
thought of little else. Rivkah. She thought she had buried Rivkah on the slopes of the Icescarp
Alps. Over the past thirty years GoldFeather had rarely let herself think back on her last year of
life as Rivkah, burying her old life with her dead son. She had established a new life as
GoldFeather, finding a new meaning and a new happiness.
Now she let herself think back to the day when StarDrifter had landed on the roof of
Sigholt. GoldFeather had known instantly what he was. An Icarii Enchanter. Although she had
listened to the Seneschal‘s teachings about the Forbidden, GoldFeather—Rivkah as she had been
then—had developed a fascination for the Forbidden in her early teens. A new troubadour had
arrived in Carlon, a handsome man with coppery hair, and he spent many days performing before
King Karel and his court. But he had also entertained the young Princess, singing songs for her
ears alone. Songs about the lost Icarii and Avar and their magical lives. He was a very unusual
man, sitting wrapped in a dark cloak even on the warmest days, but Rivkah had been fascinated
by the songs he sang…and she had remembered them for years after the troubadour had left
Carlon. So she had not been afraid when StarDrifter alighted before her; she had looked up from
the baby she nursed, looked into his eyes, and was lost. They had conceived their magical child
that day, and both had yearned for the moment when they could hold him in their arms.
But Jayme had deceived her! GoldFeather‘s lips curled in fury when she thought of how
Jayme had stolen her son and tricked her into believing he was dead. Her grey eyes hardened
when she thought of how the midwives had fled the room with her son still breathing in their
arms. She had thought that she would have died, except that somehow, from somewhere, enough
strength and love flowed into her to enable her to survive her trial on the mountain.
Within two hours of CrimsonCrest dropping to her side and asking politely, with the
utmost arrogance, as was the Icarii way, if she truly intended to die beneath his favourite roost,
StarDrifter had held her in his arms. Soothing her, loving her, healing her, crying with her at the
death of their son, he had carried her personally back to Talon Spike, refusing all help from his
fellows. Her healing had taken weeks, weeks during which StarDrifter had not left her side,
refused to let her die, refused to let her give in to self-pity. ―We have our lifetimes to create other