She finished and bowed her head, then smiled at her son and stepped back.
“Good people of Arcen,” Axis resumed. “Earl Burdel is the one who is guilty of trying to destroy the peace of this land. He has ridden his force through Skarabost and has tortured, burned and murdered all those who sought to follow the way of truth. Truth-seekers have ever been persecuted, and none more cruelly than those in Skarabost. Burdel has acted, it is true, under the orders of your King, Borneheld – but his own spite and cruelty have driven him to extremes even beyond those his master called for. Good people of Arcen, doubt not that I speak the truth. See.”
The air in the open space between Axis’ encircling soldiers and the walls of the city shimmered and shifted. Culpepper Fenwicke, as all who stood on the walls, save Burdel, cried and muttered in horror.
Arcen was now ringed by a ghostly circle of crosses and wooden frames. Hanging from each were the torn and twisted bodies of those whom Burdel had ordered murdered. Some had been nailed to their frames, others hung from ropes slung under armpits and around necks, their eyes and tongues bulging as they had slowly suffocated to death.
“See,” Axis whispered, his own eyes gaunt with the fright-fulness of it, and his whisper reached into the heart of every man, woman and child within Arcen. Even those within the city who could not see over the walls experienced ghastly visions of their northern neighbours’ dreadful deaths.
Burdel had been responsible for this?
“No,” Burdel tried to shout, but his voice did not rise above a hoarse whisper.
“Listen,” Axis whispered, battling to control the power that was needed to produce these visions, trying to stop it from consuming him completely.
Then, in a nightmare that surpassed even the vision of the bodies strung to die, each of the ghostly images spoke, spoke whatever had last crossed his or her mind as they slipped towards a grateful death.
One whispered the name of his sweetheart, raped and strung up on the cross next to his, dead an hour before him and already eyeless from the attentions of the crows. Another murmured Burdel’s name, a curse before dying. Yet another cried out for his children, burned to death within his home. Another cried Burdel’s name and wished on him the same death as she suffered. One old woman wondered what she had done in her life to die in this manner. A child whimpered and wondered at the gaping hole in her chest where a soldier had thrust a careless spear. Another man whispered Axis’ name and called on him to save him. The woman next to him took up the cry, and soon the entire circle of murdered souls about Arcen were crying Axis’ name, crying out to him to save them, crying out to him to avenge their death.
Axis swayed on his feet, not only from the power that he struggled to control, but also from the horrors that the murdered souls revealed. He had no control over what they said, he could only release what they had actually been thinking at the moment of their deaths. And that flood of thought was horrifying to listen to. Azhure and Rivkah stepped close to Axis, each taking his arm, each supporting him.
“I can stand no more!” Axis rasped, and he let go the enchantment. Abruptly the circle of bodies strung up about the city of Arcen vanished, but their cries and laments seemed to linger in the air and in the memories of the people listening for hours – and in some cases, for years – to come.
Men and women broke down and wept in the streets of Arcen, and more than one of the militiamen standing on the walls had to put his spear or bow aside and turn aside to lean for comfort on his neighbour, Axis took a deep breath and stood straight. “I am all right,” he said to Azhure and Rivkah, and reluctantly they let his arms go. “Azhure,” he said, “I rely on you now, do not fail me. Take your bow.”
Azhure nodded, and Axis raised his head and spoke again. “Culpepper Fenwicke. You harbour a criminal within your ranks. I ask that you give him and his senior commanders to me. You heard the souls of the people as they died. They cry out to me to avenge their deaths. I can do no less.”
“No!” Burdel shouted, amazing even himself with the strength of his voice. “No! Fenwicke, I am your Earl and overlord. You must listen to me. I order you to listen to me! He,” Burdel pointed a shaking finger at Axis, “can do nothing to us. We are all safe behind these walls. Eventually he will simply go away. Fenwicke, I order you not to listen to him.”
“You are wrong, Earl Burdel,” Axis called. “I have asked Culpepper Fenwicke and the citizens of Arcen to cooperate with me, for my fight and my grievance is not with them. Indeed, wish all of them well. I do not want to fight them. But know this, Fenwicke, if I am forced to fight I can decimate your fair city.”
Axis indicated Azhure. “I command a force of archers such as you have never seen before. They could mark every man, woman and child within your fair walls. We do not need vision or an unobstructed view to mark with deadly certainty. In the streets behind you there is a cart piled high with baskets of fruit. At the top of the pile is a basket full of overripe melons. The topmost melon has been marked. Watch.”
Azhure, watch with me. See? This is what the eagle sees.
A vision of the interior of Arcen flooded Azhure s mind.
Trust in me, A zhure, and trust in what the eagle sees. The cart is directly behind the gates. Do you see?
“Yes, I see.”
Then aim.
Almost in a trance, Azhure raised the Wolven. She sighted along the arrow, but she did not see the walls before her. Instead she saw the great fat overripe melon sitting atop the cart of fruit as if the walls did not exist.
Jrust in me. Trust in yourself.
Azhure let fly the arrow, and every man along the walls traced its arc with their eyes. It flew high above the walls, then dropped straight and true into the melon, exploding it in a shower of juice and bright red pulp.
“And so might every head in Arcen be marked, Culpepper Fenwicke. I do want to threaten you, for, as I said, my quarrel is not with you but with the man who stands by your side. Give him to me.”
/ thank you, Azhure.
Burdel struggled and shouted, but Fenwicke was adamant. It had not been the arrow that persuaded him, but the cries of those that Burdel had murdered. If Burdel could do that to the poor people of Skarabost, how long would it be before he turned on the people of Arcen? Best hand him over to Axis SunSoar now. Those few soldiers who came to Burdel’s aid were tied and bundled outside the city gates with Burdel, his two sons and his three surviving commanders.
Axis would let none of them live — not after what he had witnessed. The soldiers were killed instantly with quick blades to the back of the necks. But Burdel, his sons – both of whom had ridden with their father in Skarabost – and the three commanders did not escape so lightly.
“Culpepper,” Axis said, turning away from Burdel for a moment. “You know what I must do.”
Culpepper Fenwicke nodded. “I know. I accept it.” “Good. Belial, have cause to erect six crosses. These men will die as the people of Skarabost died.”
Belial, his face pale but determined, nodded and walked away. Within moments the sound of saws and hammering could be heard.
Axis turned back to Burdel, who stood stiff and defiant. “Perhaps I should ask you if you have anything to say, Burdel.”
Burdel hawked and spat at Axis. “I hope that Borneheld gut-knifes you and leaves you to linger at death’s door for days as the juices of your bowels slowly poison the rest of your body.”
Axis ran slow eyes over the Earl. “I hope that thought comforts you as you hang a-dying, Burdel,” he said and turned away.
Axis glanced at Burdel’s sons as he walked away a few paces. They were Burdels only children. That was good. In the new nation of Tencendor he would have no place for the aggrieved sons of nobles whose fathers had died in Borne-held’s cause. Axis was deeply thankful that Isend had no sons. He would not have liked to kill Faraday’s brother, but he would not have hesitated to do so.
The six men were strung up naked to the splintery crosses, held by ropes underneath their arms and about their necks. Lead weights were tied to their feet and then they were left with only their consciences for company.