Sara Douglass – The Axis Trilogy 2 – Enchanter

Rivkah frowned at Azhure as she rode up to her. “What was that about?”

“I don’t know, Rivkah. Perhaps the bridge confused me with someone eke. Hagen never crossed this bridge.”

As they kicked their horses forward, two men stepped out from the shadows of the fortified gateway. Azhure tensed. One was Belial, although the other man she did not know.

“Belial,” she whispered.

But Belial spoke to Rivkah first. “Welcome to Sigholt, Princess. I am Belial, once lieutenant to your son in the Axe-Wielders, now commander of his base here in Sigholt.” He smiled, his pleasant face relaxing under sandy hair, his hazel eyes crinkling at Rivkah. “Welcome home, Rivkah.”

Rivkah greeted him warmly. Axis had told her so much about this man. “I can think of no better man to welcome me back to Sigholt than the man whose friendship has meant so much to my son. I am pleased and deeply honoured to meet you, Belial.”

Belial inclined his head, then turned to Azhure.

“Azhure.” He held out his hands. “Come down from your horse.”

Azhure hesitated, then leaned down, placing her hands on Belial’s shoulders, feeling his hands grasp her about the waist as she swung down from her horse.

Rather than letting her go once her feet were on the ground, Belial’s hands tightened. “I should throw you in the moat for what you did to me,” he said, his face expressionless. “I trusted you, yet you did not repay my trust well.”

Azhure s entire body tensed, and her eyes glinted with tears of shame and regret. She could not say anything to this man she had treated so poorly.

Belial’s eyes flickered over her face. He had thought her beautiful in Smyrton, but since then she seemed to have not only grown more mature, but to have gained an aura of wildness that made her even more fascinating. And now here she was standing before him in Sigholt. Could life get any better? He dropped his hands from her waist reluctantly.

“As much as you might deserve a ducking, Azhure, I will merely welcome you to Sigholt instead. We will discuss the issue of recompense later.” Azhure managed a small smile.

“Magariz?” Belial said, beckoning to his friend. “May I introduce you to the Princess Rivkah and to Azhure?”

The man Azhure had noticed earlier now stepped forward. In late middle-age, his black hair thickly lined with silver, his limp and the raised scar running down his left cheek only accentuated his handsomeness and appeal.

As Belial had helped Azhure from her horse, so now Magariz held out his hands for Rivkah.

“Welcome, Princess,” Magariz said quietly. “It has been a long time. We are both considerably greyer than when we last met, but at least we meet in happier circumstances.”

Rivkah held out her hand for Magariz to kiss. “But I am the greyer, I see, my Lord Magariz.”

“But just as beautiful,” he grinned, raising his eyes from her hand.

“You know each other?” Azhure asked. “How?”

Rivkah laughed at the puzzlement on both Belial’s and Azhure’s faces. “You forget that I was a child of the Carton court, Azhure. When I was growing up Magariz was a youthful page, waiting at high table.”

She turned back to Magariz, who still had not let her hand go. “And now you are a commander, Magariz. It is more than the grey in our heads which tells me how many years have passed.”

Magariz finally let Rivkah’s hand go, stepping back a pace. “I grew heartily sick of waiting at tables, Princess. Sometime after your marriage to Searlas I persuaded my father to let me join the palace guard. After many years, Priam assigned me to Borneheld’s service when he became Duke and eventually Borneheld gave me the command at Gorkenfort. There I mouldered for over ten years before the events of the past eight months propelled me into a greater adventure than I had ever dreamed.” He shrugged a little. “Thirty years in so few sentences, Rivkah. But that is my life since last we spoke.”

“And from Gorkenfort you joined Axis’ cause,” Rivkah said. “You always did make reckless choices, didn’t you?”

Magariz’s mouth twitched. “Some of my choices have been a little impetuous, Princess, but there is not one that I have regretted.”

Rivkah smiled and she turned away slightly, loosening her cloak in the warm air of Sigholt. “I know so little of Borneheld, Magariz. You must spend some time with me, tell me of him.”

Grave now, Magariz bowed slightly from the waist. “Anything, my Princess.”

“And Faraday, the current Duchess of Ichtar,” Rivkah went on. “I know so little of her. You must speak to me of her as well.”

Azhure had a fixed and overly bright smile on her face. Well, thought Rivkah, she must accept that Axis will ride across Achar into Faraday’s arms. She must accept that she has no future with Axis.

Then Rivkah gasped in utter delight as Reinald stepped forth. She hugged him fiercely. When she’d lived here as Duchess of Ichtar, Reinald had been one of her only friends.

Belial introduced Magariz to Azhure, then all were interrupted by the sound of barking, and they turned to watch the Alaunt hounds pacing solemnly across the bridge. The bridge barked at them and Sicarius barked gruffly back.

Belial turned to Azhure. “Where did these hounds come from?”

“They, ah, seem to belong to me, Belial. I hope you will not mind their presence. They are well trained and will cause no trouble. I will tell you their story once I have changed into some clean clothes.”

Belial belatedly realised that he had kept the two women standing in the gateway for far too long, but, just as he was about to usher them into Sigholt, Jack stepped up. Jack had recognised the hounds instantly, and a look of understanding had passed between himself and Sicarius.

“You are Azhure?” Jack asked, and Belial hastened to introduce them.

Azhure shook the hand that Jack offered, and the Sentinel smiled at her genially, thinking he understood her. Unlike the other Sentinels, all of whom had hardly ever conversed with the Prophet who had recruited them, Jack knew the Prophet well and had been entrusted with many secrets.

But there were yet deeper secrets to.the Prophecy, and Azhure was one of them.

Long Live the King!

Faraday’s hopes were dying as fast as the man before her. She stood behind Judith as the Queen leaned over the prone form of her husband, trying to lend the woman the strength of her presence and friendship. Beside her stood Embeth, now Judith’s senior lady-in-waiting. Faraday exchanged a glance with Embeth. Neither could do anything to ease Judith’s grief.

Priam’s bedchamber was quiet and lit only by a few tapers. Incense smouldered out of sight on a high shelf. On the other side of the bed Jayme, assisted as always by Moryson, stood quietly. The Brother-Leader was wearing his full ceremonial vestments of office to mark this sombre occasion. Behind Jayme stood Borneheld, and Faraday’s eyes met his briefly before she looked away, disgusted at what she could see in their depths. To the rear of the ornate gold and pink chamber stood several servants and courtiers, uselessly weeping, and one or two helpless physicians.

Faraday looked back at the King. Three weeks ago to the day Priam, ordinarily so hale and hearty, had begun to show evidence of madness. For three days he strode down the corridors of the palace, seeing demons and sorcerers in every shadow. Judith and sundry servants had followed him, pleading with Priam to let the physicians see him, pleading with him to rest, sleep. Perhaps it was simply stress, overwork.

But Priam had continued to pace the corridors, scarcely ever sleeping, spittle caking his stubbly chin.

His illness was crazy, thought Faraday despairingly. She had spent most of the past few weeks with Judith, supporting her as much as she could. Forcing her to sleep when she would wander after Priam. Trying to reassure her. Trying.

The physicians pronounced that the King was suffering from a severe form of brain heat which caused madness as the King’s noddle sizzled. “It has been building awhile,” they suggested, “and has only now boiled to the surface.” They applied icepack after icepack to the King’s brow, and leeches to his limbs and groin to drain away excess hot blood. They even considered wrapping the King in brandy-soaked bandages and leaving him in a dark room – but they had discarded that idea. The last nobleman to be treated with that particular remedy had died after a careless servant dropped his candle onto the spirit-soaked bandages. Nothing they’d suggested had worked, and the physicians were now forced to admit that they could do little.

Everyone shook their heads and sorrowed. Carlon and the surrounding districts mourned Priam’s decline. And amidst all this sorrow and public shaking of heads came the despicable, rumours. If Priam had considered an alliance with the Forbidden, then it was because his mind was already addled. If Priam so thoughtlessly berated Borneheld, it was because he no longer knew right from wrong, friend from foe.