and Shra‘s lives. But…your acts of violence still upset them. Yet they are prepared to be
forgiving. You may freely walk the paths of the Avarinheim, Azhure, and you can continue with
the GhostTree Clan for as long as you will, but you will not be accepted as Avar. I am sorry, my
dear.‖
Azhure physically swayed on her feet and Raum‘s hand grabbed her elbow to steady her.
The villagers of Smyrton had tolerated her presence, but they had never accepted her. Now the
Avar would do the same thing.
―I understand,‖ she said eventually. ―Thank you for allowing me to stay with you.‖
46
IN THE HAND OF ARTOR
―Gorgrael!‖ the wraith whispered ecstatically and reached its hungry claws for the man
on horseback.
Borneheld struck the Skraeling a death stroke through the eye, cursing the sweat that
dripped in his own eyes as he did so. About him his men fought feverishly. They had been
attacked by the Skraelings an hour into their patrol and for a time Borneheld thought the wraiths
would overwhelm him and his men.
But his men fought bravely, and after half an hour Borneheld swung his horse about,
looking for more wraiths, and noticed that the deadly mist was dissolving about them. He
breathed easier and took the time to wipe his brow, running his eyes across his patrol. How many
were left?
―They‘re going, my Lord Duke!‖ Gautier screamed by his side. ―We‘ve won through!‖
Borneheld stared coldly at him, then indicated the reddened snow under their horses‘
hooves. ―And how many men have I lost, Gautier?‖
It had been only a small mass of Skraelings, but they had been vicious and deadly. Many
of the men had died, their brands and swords ineffective against the ferocity of the wraiths.
We‘ve survived, not won through, Borneheld thought grimly as his horse sidestepped a headless
corpse. How is it that Axis‘ patrols return unscratched while I lose man after man? Every patrol
that Axis led only furthered his reputation, while every patrol Borneheld led fought and came
home, but came home with casualties.
―Eight men are dead, two more injured,‖ Timozel said, reining his horse to a halt beside
Borneheld.
Besides Gautier‘s flushed face, Timozel appeared cool and composed. Borneheld eyed
him speculatively. His respect for Timozel had grown four-fold since the man‘s appearance at
the fort. This was the second time Timozel had accompanied Borneheld on patrol, and Borneheld
was impressed with the man‘s fighting skills. Again he pondered the fact that the
twenty-year-old Timozel had the assurance and manner of a man much older and more
experienced. He was a good fighter, very good, and Borneheld thought he would give Timozel
still more responsibility about the fort.
Yet more than Timozel‘s fighting skills, Borneheld valued the man‘s patent loyalty and
admiration. He had brought Faraday to Borneheld. He preferred to ride on Borneheld‘s patrols.
He conspicuously disliked Axis. Borneheld decided he liked Timozel very, very much.
―My Lord?‖ Gautier‘s voice cut across his thoughts. ―Do we leave them here?‖
―Of course, Gautier,‖ he snapped. ―Would you have me load down the living with the
dead? We are only an hour into our patrol and have another four hours to go. Leave them here,
but share their brands among the soldiers left.‖
He swung his horse away and shouted curt orders, pulling his men back into formation,
and led them deeper into the northern wastes.
Although Borneheld remained alert for Skraelings, his thoughts drifted to Faraday. She
was never far from his thoughts, even in battle. Remembering the pain in Axis‘ eyes when he
saw Faraday encircled in his arms, Borneheld almost laughed. He knew Faraday truly loved him.
Whenever Faraday was in the same room as him and Axis, her eyes never drifted towards the
BattleAxe. No. She constantly leaned to him! Whispered endearments to him! Borneheld felt very, very in control.
But he wished his patrols enjoyed the success that Axis‘ did.
He wondered if he should have sent Faraday south as Jorge had suggested. Would she be
safe in Gorkenfort? Borneheld reviewed the defences of the fort and town. He knew he faced a
desperate battle if—when—the Skraelings attacked in mass. The town walls were the weakest
link in the defences. They were not so high nor so heavily defended as those about the fort, and
they needed a capable commander to defend them.
Axis.
Now Borneheld did smile. Axis was a capable commander, Borneheld was prepared to
admit that, and he was the best person to trust the town‘s defence to.
But if the town fell then Axis would almost certainly die.
There was a shout among his men and Borneheld swung his horse about.
―Skraelings,‖ a man cried, and the entire patrol tensed again, their swords and brands
held ready.
But it was a simple drift of snow kicked up by the horses‘ hooves that had spooked the
man, and Borneheld reprimanded him.
Skraelings. Borneheld had finally and extremely reluctantly admitted to himself that the
creatures he faced were not the Forbidden. Increasingly the wraiths whispered the name of
Gorgrael among themselves, and their appearance was too similar to the description of the
Ghostmen of the Prophecy. But was the rest of the Prophecy true?
Artor, no! I will not believe it! Borneheld prayed, invoking the sign of the Plough under
his cloak. Although he found the Brotherhood of the Seneschal irritating at times, Borneheld was
a devout man and believed utterly the word of Artor as revealed in the Book of Field and
Furrow. The Forbidden were evil. They worked magic. They harboured foul ambitions.
Borneheld believed the Prophecy was of their creation, designed to trap Artor-fearing
Acharites. But Borneheld was not deceived. The Forbidden had taken a single sliver of
truth—Gorgrael‘s invasion—and embellished it with lies in order to accomplish their own
invasion.
Whatever happens, he vowed silently, whatever happens, I will never consider an alliance
with the filthy Forbidden. He was the WarLord. He was the heir to the throne. And he would be the one to save Achar.
Not Axis. Borneheld was beginning to wonder if Axis had begun to believe the
Prophecy—why else should he have the Brothers recite it in front of him?
―Before Artor,‖ he whispered, ―I vow that I will save Achar from both Gorgrael‘s
Ghostmen and the Forbidden. I will be the one to save Achar.‖
―You will, ‖ Timozel said intently, pulling his horse close to Borneheld‘s and leaning over
to stare his Duke in the eyes.
Borneheld frowned at Timozel‘s intrusion, but Timozel took no notice of his Duke‘s
irritation. ―I have had a vision from Artor,‖ he said, his voice low but fanatical. ―I have seen
great victories. I have led great armies for your cause. And we will win through. Our enemies
will cower before us. We will sit beside a leaping fire and drink fine wine, you and I, Faraday by
our side.‖
By Artor! Borneheld thought, the man is touched! But at the same time he felt the thrill of
power run down his spine. Was Timozel truly Artor-inspired? He had appeared at his side just as
he had vowed to Artor. Did Timozel speak with Artor‘s authority? Borneheld struggled to make
sense of it.
Timozel reached across a gloved hand and grabbed Borneheld‘s arm.
―Artor has vouchsafed me this vision time and time again,‖ Timozel said fiercely, his
eyes daring Borneheld not to believe him. “You will be the one to save Achar from both
Gorgrael and the Forbidden! Believe me!‖
―Yes,‖ whispered Borneheld. This is what he needed to hear. ―Yes. I believe you. I will
save Achar and I will not need an alliance with the dark Forbidden to do it.‖
Timozel released Borneheld‘s arm and sat back in his saddle. ―You will win through,‖ he
said softly. ―Not Axis. We do not need Axis.‖
Borneheld‘s eyes hardened with conviction. Timozel spoke the truth. ―Yes. We do not
need Axis. Yes, I will win through.‖
―Yes, we will,” Timozel said, his eyes flaring with fanaticism again, ―because we fight in
the hand of Artor!‖
They met no more Skraelings that day.
47
IN THE HANDS OF THE MOTHER
With both Borneheld and Timozel gone Faraday took full advantage of her spare
afternoon. Since she‘d met with Axis in the Retreat Faraday felt much calmer, much more at
peace with herself. She could feel the tension in the garrison, knew that the general feeling
among commanders and soldiers alike was that a major attack from the Skraelings against
Gorkenfort was imminent, but Faraday was at peace knowing Axis loved her, knowing he knew
she loved him.
Now Faraday and Yr were safely cloistered in Faraday‘s bedchamber. Faraday had swept
about the chamber and removed the few traces of Borneheld that there were, dumping an old
comfortable pair of boots, an undershirt that needed mending, his second best tunic and his
shaving gear into one of the chests.
―There,‖ she said in satisfaction, turning to Yr. ―He‘s gone.‖ She smiled. ―We‘re finally