“Do not do that, Axis,” Orr said. “It is disrespectful of those gone to touch their statues.”
“They are dead and long gone, Orr. I do not think they will mind. Besides,” he had reached the eighth in the line and ran his hand over its outstretched wings, “I will one day stand among them.”
“Axis.” Orr’s tone was firmer now. “There is a longstanding tradition that to touch these statues is bad luck, and I think you should stand back.”
Axis reached the ninth and touched it briefly, ready to stop, but instead of his fingers feeling cold hard stone, they went straight through the statue.
Axis gasped in shock and stepped back, then leaned forward and tentatively touched the statue again. It shimmered, wavered, then disappeared entirely, and Axis and Orr were left staring at nothingness.
“It was an illusion,” Orr finally managed to say. “An illusion!”
Axis dropped his hand. “What does this mean, Orr?”
Orr wrapped the cloak about himself protectively. “I never thought to see this,” he whispered. “Never.” “See what?” Axis snapped.
“The ninth of the Enchanter-Talons has returned,” Orr said in a very weak voice. “WolfStar SunSoar has come back through the Gate.”
Axis took a shocked breath. “When?” “I do not know,” Orr said. “He died some four thousand years ago, but he could have come back at any time since then.”
“Is he the SunSoar Enchanter who trained me? Who trained Gorgrael?”
“He could be wearing any disguise,” said Orr. “Any at all. A babe, an aged man, a pretty young woman. WolfStar was already powerful when he died and went through the Star Gate. If he had the power to come back then he is now powerful beyond imagination.”
“But why, Orr? Why did he come back? Why hasn’t he revealed himself?” Orr shrugged.
Axis quickly ran his hand over the remaining statues. All were solid. He turned back to Orr. “Where could he be?”
Orr laughed harshly. “I wish I knew, Axis SunSoar, because then I would know the safest place to hide.” “Why say that?” Axis could not hide his concern. “Because WolfStar was a terrible, terrible Enchanter-Talon. His power was virulent]” Orr said, “He was so horrifying that he was eventually murdered by his own brother.”
Virulent? Axis thought to himself, remembering how loath MorningStar and StarDrifter were to talk of their ancestor.
“Who is more terrible, Orr, WolfStar or Gorgrael?” Orr replied without hesitation. “WolfStar has the potential to be far more terrible, Axis.”
“But why would WolfStar train us both?” Axis said.
“Why?”
“Because he is already manipulating both of you, Axis.
For whatever foul purpose he has.”
But what purpose? Orr asked himself. Revenge? Is that why WolfStar has come back to haunt us?
“Orr,” Axis asked, “what is the connection between WolfStar and the Prophecy of the Destroyer? If WolfStar is manipulating both Gorgrael and myself, then is he also manipulating the Prophecy? Or is he being manipulated by the Prophecy?”
Is WolfStar the traitor the third verse of the Prophecy warns me about? Axis wondered.
“Orr, this is news that I must take back to MorningStar and StarDrifter. Perhaps, somehow, we can discover where he is. Why he has come back. But there is one more thing I must do within the waterways. One more thing. I made a promise.” “What?”
“I must return FreeFall SunSoar from the dead,” Axis said, staring the Ferryman in the eyes. “And you are going to help me.”
Gorgrael Makes a New FriendGorgrael stared at the frozen grey sludge. It was the remains of the SkraeBold Belial had killed outside Gorkenfort and Gorgrael was determined to do something with it.
He had his Skraelings and he had his IceWorms, but Gorgrael wanted to create something special for his drive south. He was rapidly building his forces for the winter push south through Jervois Landing, or even, perhaps, the WildDog Plains.
What Gorgrael wanted was something that could fly. Something that would turn Axis’ face grey with worry. Something that could destroy the Icarii in the air.
Now, let me see, Gorgrael thought, surveying the grey matter before him. Dragons? When he was but a child, his Skraeling nursemaids had whispered stories to him about great dragons that had once flown the sky. Beautiful dragons, vicious dragons, dragons that had carried off creatures as large as whales. But dragons were too gaudy, and far too large to make from what he had before him.
What, then? Gorgrael shifted from foot to foot, his claws clicking sharply on the floor.
“Gorgrael,” the loved voice said behind him.
“Dear Man!” he cried in delight. Two visits in such quick succession — he was blessed!
The Dark Man emerged from a darkened corner unlit by the failing fire, his heavily cowled head and figure almost indistinguishable from the shadows about him.
“You are going to recreate?” the Dark Man asked.
“Yes,” Gorgrael said, and indicated the grey sludge in front of him. “It was the SkraeBold who failed me. I had thought to cast his remains to the crows, but that —”
“Would have been a waste of such good building material,” the Dark Man finished thoughtfully.
“Precisely,” Gorgrael said, suppressing the edge of triumph in his voice.
“And what did you think you would make from this, Gorgrael?” the Dark Man asked. “What creature would you make to work your will?”
Gorgrael couldn’t answer. He glared at the grey sludge as if it were at fault in this.
“Demon-winged,” the Dark Man suggested, sliding his gloved hands into the deep sleeves of his cloak.
“Demon-winged,” Gorgrael repeated. Yes, that was good.
“Ogre-bellied.” Now the Dark Man’s voice was louder.
“Ogre-bellied.” Gorgrael nodded. “Yes. Yes, I like that.”
“Grave-jawed.”
“What creature is this, Dear Man?”
The Dear Man tipped his head to one side and regarded his protege. “Can you not yet recognise it, Gorgrael?”
Gorgrael shook his head in frustration.
“Dragon-clawed,” the Dark Man prompted.
A dim memory of ancient nightmares stirred. “Blight-eyed!” Gorgrael cried.
Underneath his cowl the Dark Man smiled. “It will cry with the voice of despair.”
“Gryphon!” Gorgrael shrieked, triumphantly.
They waited, each on edge, unsure of how their enchantments had worked. The Gryphon was to be a creature that could thrive, not only in the snow and ice of GorgraeFs homeland, but in the warmer climes of southern Achar. It would have to soar in the air thermals above Grail Lake, and penetrate to the very heart of Axis’ command. It would be a creature brave and committed, single-purposed.
“You will be my vanguard,” Gorgrael said. “My herald. Your voice shall be mine, and it shall be the voice that the forces of the StarMan shall hear as they die. Despair.”
The working of the Gryphon had been fraught with worry. The Song of Recreation was hard and dangerous when worked with the Dark Music. The power of the Dance of Death had flooded through both Gorgrael and the Dark Man as they wrestled with the Song. But the Dark Man, Dear Man, was a master, and he had managed to control the Dark Music as it threatened to rope out of control through their bodies and about the room.
They had both sung, both waited as the grey sludge firmed and warmed and writhed beneath their touch. As the Song had wound to a close, Gorgrael, almost in ecstasy, plunged his hands into the all-but-dead fire in the fireplace and seized two coals, still smouldering bright. Ignoring his own burning flesh Gorgrael had carried the coals to the writhing grey sludge on the floor and plunged them deep into its mass. As he withdrew his clawed hands the Song finally died, and the Dear Man pulled him back a safe distance.
“Now we must wait, Gorgrael,” he said. The grey sludge darkened, became even more ill-defined, until Gorgrael could see only a quivering, black mound that absorbed what little light the room held. Deep within glowed two spots of red. Every so often it jerked, and every time it jerked it doubled its size. Soon both the Dark Man and Gorgrael had to step back to avoid being absorbed by the growing creature.
“Something is wrong,” Gorgrael suddenly hissed. “We did not sing the appropriate music. We missed a phrase, a beat.
We did not twist enough power through for a successful making.”
“Patience, Gorgrael!” the Dark Man barked. “You were ever too impatient!”
Gorgrael subsided at the criticism, his contorted face coiling into a frown, wondering if it was past time he asserted his own power over the Dark Man.
“Ah!” the Dark Man gasped. “It will be born!”
His moment of rebellion gone, Gorgrael dropped his eyes. The round black mass, now the size of a small boulder, had a dark membrane stretched over it. Something roiled within, as if it struggled to be free.
A slight perforation suddenly appeared in the membrane and, an instant later, the membrane split down one entire side. A sleek head emerged, twin eyes glowing with the promise of death. It blinked, looked about briefly, then it opened its beak and shrieked with the victory of birth.