Sara Douglass – The Axis Trilogy 2 – Enchanter

He was cut off by a shout from the leading horseman who had kicked his rangy roan into a canter. “Ogden, Veremund? Old men? Is that you?”

“Why,” Ogden beamed happily, “it’s Arne!” A knot of nervousness formed in Azhure s belly. Arne was one of the senior commanders from Axis’ Axe-Wielders – a man who had been in Smyrton when she cracked Belial over the head in order to help Raum and Shra escape. Would he remember her? And, if so, what would he think? Hurriedly she unnotched the arrow, sliding it into her quiver and slinging the Wolven over her shoulder.

Arne pulled his gelding to a halt beside Veremund and slid down from the saddle, glancing apprehensively towards the hounds. “Ogden, Veremund, it is good to see you again.” He shook their hands. “Icarii farflight scouts sent word that you would be travelling across the WildDog Plains.” He looked back at the hounds. “Where did you find these hounds, Ogden?”

“Ah, well,” Ogden began, “they found us, really, but that is a long story. Um, Arne, you might not remember Azhure. She conies from —”

“I remember Azhure well enough,” Arne broke in, his face hardening. “I also remember how many weeks it took before Belial’s headaches faded.”

Azhure’s face flamed and the thought that she still had to confront Belial only made her feel worse. What had she been thinking of to club him so badly?

Arne stared at her, then turned to the other woman.

“The Princess Rivkah,” Veremund mumbled at his side.

Arne’s demeanour changed instantly. His face became respectful, and he bowed deeply, a gesture courtly even in this incongruous setting. “Princess, I am your servant to order as you will.”

Rivkah smiled and held out her hand. Arne took it and pressed his lips briefly to its back. Ogden and Veremund stared at the man. The dour and uncommunicative Arne was showing a side they had not suspected previously.

“And my Lord Axis?” Arne asked, only reluctantly relinquishing Rivkah’s hand. “He is well?”

Rivkah nodded. She liked this man. He had a good heart and honest intentions. ;’He is well, Arne, and has embraced his heritage.”

Relief crossed Ames face. “The farflight scouts had told us so, but to hear it from the woman who gave him birth is more than I had hoped for.”

He gave Azhure one more hard stare, noting the handsome bow across her back, then whistled his men closer.

“Our camp is nearby,” he said. “And we have spare horses there. Tomorrow morning we will ride for Sigholt.”

As they turned the last bend in the HoldHard Pass and Sigholt came into view, Ogden andVeremund reined in their donkeys, astonished.

“Changed, hasn’t it?” Arne remarked.

Rivkah kneed her horse beside the Sentinels’ donkeys. Once she had hated Sigholt as the symbol of her loathed marriage to Searlas, Duke of Ichtar and father of her eldest son, Borneheld. Even though StarDrifter had come to her there, even though Axis had been conceived on its roof, Rivkah had never wanted to come back.

But the Sigholt that stood less than half a league down the pass was a very different Sigholt to the one she had known.

“The farflight scouts said that Sigholt had come alive,” Veremund said, his voice full of awe, “but I had not realised how much the Keep had regained its vigour.”

Ogden sat silently, tears of joy streaming down his face.

The most obvious difference was the Lake. It stretched away into the distance, ruby tints reflecting in the occasional shaft of sunlight that broke through the clouds. Steam gently rose from its surface, wafting towards them as it was caught by the northerly wind. In the month or more since the spring had been unblocked, the Urqhart Hills immediately surrounding the Lake had come alive. Red and purple gorse flowered across the mid- to high slopes, while in the lower slopes close to the heat and life of the water, ferns and rock-flowers were starting to spread. The stone Keep itself, once a uniform and depressing leaden hue, had lightened so that it was now a pale silvery and welcoming grey. Colourful pennants fluttered from its parapets. In the following months, as the greenery and the flowers spread across the nearby hills, Sigholt would become a paradise. Even now it was close to being the most beautiful place Rivkah had ever seen.

“The air is warm,” Azhure remarked. Ever since Arne had found them Azhure had been uncharacteristically quiet. Rivkah smiled reassuringly at her, knowing she was nervous about meeting Belial again.

Arne glanced at Azhure. Two days ago he had challenged her to demonstrate her skill with the bow she carried – Arne had thought that perhaps it was simply a gaudy toy. But she had won his grudging respect with her skill. Even Belial, one of the best archers Arne had ever known, would find it hard to match her. Then, of course, there were the hounds. The Alaunt were a well-trained, well-disciplined pack, and answered instantly whenever Azhure spoke to them. Arne had worked with hunting dogs before, but he had never seen such as these. They followed close behind Azhure day after day, the leading dog, Sicarius, loping by her side.

“The water is hot,” Arne finally said, turning to face Azhure, “and it warms the air. Gorgrael cannot touch us here with his icemen. Sigholt is a haven.”

As they rode closer, the sparkling moat surrounding Sigholt became obvious.

“It looks so different,” Rivkah said to Azhure as they rode up to the bridge. “This Sigholt lives and laughs.”

“Stop,” Arne ordered as they neared the bridge. “Ogden, Veremund, you go across first, then Princess Rivkah and Azhure.”

Ogden and Veremund, smiling broadly, dismounted from their donkeys so they could step across the bridge personally.

“Welcome, Ogden. Welcome, Veremund,” the bridge said, joy obvious in her melodious voice. “It is long since I felt your steps across my back.”

Rivkah s and Azhure’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

“The bridge lives, Princess/’ said Arne, “and she guards against all who are not true.”

Ogden and Veremund prattled happily to the bridge as they crossed, then embraced Jack who waited in Sigholt’s open gate for them. They greeted him cheerfully, but their faces fell as they heard Zeherah had not been refound.

“Princess.” Arne motioned with his head towards the bridge. “You next.”

Rivkah heeled her horse s flanks. Just before the horse stepped onto the bridge, the bridge spoke. “Are you true?”

“Yes, I am true,” Rivkah said in a clear voice.

“Then cross, Princess Rivkah, and I will see if you speak the truth.”

Rivkah urged her horse forward. What did the bridge mean?

When she was halfway across the bridge spoke again. “You were once Duchess of Ichtar, Princess Rivkah.” The beautiful voice was now toneless.

Rivkah was suddenly all too aware of the waters rushing underneath the bridge. Huddled in the shadows of the gate of Sigholt she could see a group of men waiting for her. Ogden and Veremund, as the man beside them, had fearful expressions on their faces. “Yes,” she whispered. “I was.”

Her horse abruptly stopped and Rivkah could not make it move forward. Perspiration began to bead her forehead.

“You were not true to your husband, Rivkah. You were not true to the Duke of Ichtar, Searlas. You betrayed him with another.”

Rivkah swallowed. “No,” she finally forced out. “No, I was not true to Searlas.” Somehow she could not lie to this bridge. “I betrayed him atop this very Keep.”

There was silence as the bridge contemplated this. Then, shockingly, it laughed, a peal of sheer merriment. “Then you have my heart, Princess Rivkah, for I do not like the Dukes of Ichtar! You and I will be friends!”

Rivkah grinned weakly, and her horse moved forward once more. “Thank you, bridge,” she said. “Thank you.”

Watching from the far side Azhure breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment she had thought the bridge would reject Rivkah. She glanced at Arne, who nodded at her, then she kneed her horse forward.

“Are you true?” the bridge asked as she approached.

“Yes, I am true,” Azhure answered confidently.

“Then cross, Azhure, and I will see if you speak the truth.”

The bridge accepted Azhure almost as soon as her horse had stepped onto the red-veined silvery-grey masonry.

“You spoke the truth, Azhure. Welcome to my heart.”

“Thank you, bridge,” Azhure said, looking to where Rivkah had halted her horse just the other side, waiting for her so that they could enter Sigholt together.

But the bridge was not yet finished. “I have not felt your father’s step for many a long year, Azhure. Where is he?”

Azhure stared, open-mouthed. Hagen had crossed this bridge?

“Er, he is dead,” she finally managed to say.

“Ah,” the bridge said sorrowfully. “I am sad. I loved your father, although many did not. We passed many a night deep in conversation.”