of a soft material, coloured in shifting shades of green, blue, purple and brown. It reminded her
of the shapes and shades of the emerald light as it shifted and darkened and formed into the
shapes of the trees down the path to the Sacred Grove. ―It is beautiful,‖ she said as she belted it
about her waist. It left her shoulders bare and felt delightfully cool in this warm garden.
―Yes, it is,‖ the Mother nodded. ―You must wear it for special occasions. You will know
when. Keep it safe until then. Now, come.‖
As they walked, again arm in arm, they talked of inconsequential things for a while: the
garden, the birds, the quality of the water gurgling beside the path in a small streamlet. But
gradually the Mother‘s face turned more serious, and She stopped Faraday beside a weeping
silver birch tree.
―Daughter, I have another gift to give you and some advice before you return to your
husband.‖
―Return? So soon?‖
The Mother smiled lovingly at Faraday and caressed her cheek. ―You have been gone
some three hours. Your maid grows frantic. Soon you will have to return. But first I have another
gift for you.‖
She held Faraday‘s head firmly in Her hands and Faraday felt the Mother‘s love flow
through her. Then the warm glow of power that she had felt ever since she had entered the
emerald light flared and seared through her body, as though fire consumed her flesh, and Faraday
cried out and fell against the Mother. ―Shush,‖ the Mother soothed, letting Faraday‘s head go and
cradling the weeping girl in Her arms. ―It is better now, see?‖
Faraday realised that the pain was indeed seeping away, and she nodded and stood up.
―What did you do?‖
―I gave you the power that My Daughter will need. It is power, unusual power, power to
love and comfort, to nurture and enhance, to protect and endure. It is My special gift to you. You
will learn how to use it. Follow your heart.‖ She paused. ―Hark!‖ The Mother‘s head tilted to one
side for a moment. ―Your husband‘s patrol returns. No…don‘t fret, shush and listen to me. I have
more to say and not much time to say it. Faraday, dear Daughter, it will be some time before you
come back to Me, but come back you will, never fear. Now, listen to My words.‖ She caught
Faraday‘s head between Her hands again and Her eyes burned, searing Her words into Faraday‘s
memory. Her eternal happiness would depend on it.
―Remember, I will always be here for you. Daughter, listen to me! When your life drains
away from you with your heart‘s blood, call My name and I will come. When pain tears at your
mind until you are no longer sane, call My name and I will come. You are My Daughter.‖
She paused and Her voice became softer as She started to intone a short verse.
When all seems lost and dead and dark,
Of this I can assure you—
A Mother’s arms will fold you tight,
And let you roam unfettered.
―Repeat it,‖ She hissed fiercely, and Faraday mumbled the verse through again. ―Never
forget it, Daughter, never, never forget it! Remember to call my name…remember!‖ The
Mother‘s eyes filled with tears and She leaned forward and kissed Faraday hard on the mouth.
―Remember!‖
Then everything faded.
Yr‘s arms folded about her fiercely, hugging her tight. ―Thank the Prophecy, Faraday! I
thought I had lost you forever.‖
Faraday opened her eyes and blinked. She was back in her chamber in Gorkenfort, the
bowl held in outstretched hands before her, the emerald light fading as she watched. She still
wore the gown the Mother had given her.
―Quick!‖Yr hissed, ―Borneheld has ridden into the courtyard and even now calls your
name. Off with this gown—where did you get it?—and into this robe. Here, let me take the bowl,
where‘s that pitcher? Good girl. The robe, the robe! Good. Ah, I can feel him striding down the
corridor. Quick, there is no time, on the bed, I‘ve rumpled it for you. Do your best to look
sleepy…well, all right, a muddled look will do as well. Now, let me fold this gown about the
bowl and, ah!‖
The door opened and Borneheld strode into the room, his face lit with a strange light.
Faraday sat on the bed, just risen from her nap, rubbing puzzlement and sleep out of her eyes.
That maid, always too damn close, was folding some old clothes into the chest at the side of the
bed.
―Out!‖ Borneheld shouted at Yr.
48
YULETIDE MORNING
It was early in the morning of the seventh day of the third week of Snow-month, and if
the defenders of Gorkenfort and the town that lay beneath it had still followed the same yearly
calendar of festivals as the Avar and Icarii, they would have known it was the morning of
Yuletide, the night of the winter solstice. The winter solstice was the most critical night of the
year for the Icarii and the Avar; if their rites did not help the sun survive the solstice and rise
again the next morning then winter could well last forever.
For the past two days blizzards had pushed down through Gorken Pass, so bad that none
could venture past the walls of either town or fort. Water froze in barrels. Men had to take to
meat with axes. Tent flaps not tied down were frozen into whatever weird shapes the wind blew
them. Not even Brother Francis could remember the fort and town being struck by such a severe
storm. Yet the coal for fires had to be rationed. With almost fourteen thousand men crowded into
the fort and town, fuel was in short supply. Life was appalling, and Borneheld feared fighting
would be nigh impossible if the Skraelings attacked during the height of the blizzard. Tension
kept men awake at night, expecting attack any moment.
The defence of Gorkentown was going to be a nightmare. It was critical for the town
walls to hold against any attack, because the entire army could never fit inside the walls of the
fort. If the town fell, then almost eight thousand men would perish; Gorkenfort might well hold,
its walls and defences were three times as strong as the town defences, but at a dreadful cost to
those trapped outside. As commanded by Borneheld, Axis had assumed responsibility for the
town walls. Although he did not fear the responsibility, Axis feared the eventual attack. The
Skraeling attacks on patrols would be nothing to what Gorgrael would unleash on town and fort.
If this was a normal siege the triangular battlements jutting out from the walls could be
used to direct flights of arrows, even pour fiery oil, onto the besieging forces as they beat against
the town walls. But no-one knew what sort of attack they would have to prepare for against
Gorgrael‘s forces. Atop one of the battlements, Axis, Magariz and Jorge huddled deep in their
cloaks, their backs to the wind, trying to peer into the snowstorm. They had stood there ten
minutes, their beards and eyebrows already frosted with ice below their tightly drawn hoods.
Magariz tugged at Axis‘ cloak and tipped his head toward the trapdoor leading down into the
battlement tower. Axis nodded, and the three men moved as quickly as they could on the icy
footing through the trapdoor and down the ladder into the room beneath where the war council
awaited them.
All breathed easier once they were out of the immediate wind, and aides helped the three
men out of their ice-stiffened cloaks. A small fire blazed in a grate and they stood about it, not
talking as they tried to warm their bodies before the inadequate flames, rubbing the ice away
from their brows and beards with fingers so cold that the fire hurt where it warmed them. The
room was bare of all furniture save the racks of lances and bows and quivers of arrows lining the
walls. A single narrow window looked out over the territory beyond the town, but in this storm it
was tightly barred shut.
―Well?‖ Borneheld demanded. ―What do you think?‖
Magariz glanced at Axis, then turned to face his WarLord. All the men were dressed for
battle, mail shirts over thick felt and leather tunics and trousers, light metal plate protecting arms,
thighs and shins. In this weather men had learned not to touch their armour with bare fingers; all
had lost patches of skin on their finger tips to the frozen metal. Borneheld and Roland were
joined by several of the commanders‘ lieutenants, including Belial and Gautier.
―The blizzard is as fierce as it has been for the past two days, WarLord,‖ Magariz said for
the three of them. ―It is a cursed storm, driven by the Destroyer himself. Its cold eats at men‘s
joints and flesh, its evil eats at their souls and their courage.‖ All present knew what he meant. A