Sara Douglass – The Axis Trilogy 3 – StarMan

“Because then Gorgrael would have you, Axis’ Lover, and your death would be Axis’ death.”

“The third verse …” Azhure whispered. Adamon nodded. “Yes, the third verse. Azhure, you cannot go storming in there with hounds clamouring and an arrow to the Wolven. Gorgrael would laugh at you, rip your hounds apart and break the Wolven over his knee – he may doubt himself sometimes, but never doubt that he is more powerful than you. And once your bow and your hounds were gone, Gorgrael would take you. And he would have many weeks in which to enjoy you before Axis arrived.”

Azhure leaned back, her face white and still. “Knowing all this, Azhure, do you still want to chance rescuing Caelum? Knowing that to fail would mean not only your death and your son’s death, but Axis’ as well?”

“And if Axis and I survive, how could I look him in the eye, knowing that I hesitated to risk myself -”

“And Axis,” Adamon added under his breath. “- in Caelum’s rescue?” She paused. “I have no choice. I gave Caelum life, and I would risk my life to let him live his.”

Adamon had expected nothing less from her. “Then listen to me, Azhure. You will have to use all your power, and all that I lend you, to rescue your son. And this power will have to be tempered with even more guile. Now, did you not carry Caelum within your body for nigh on eight months?” Azhure nodded.

“And is he not flesh of your flesh?” Azhure nodded again. Adamon smiled and kissed her gently. “Then listen to me,

Azhure. Listen well.”

She sat in a shaft of moonlight, letting it surround her, fill her.

She was naked, her raven hair spilling down her back and over her breasts, the moonlight rippling over her ivory skin and sparking blue glints in her hair.

In a corner sat Adamon, Azhure’s blue suit in his hands, his eyes fixed on the woman. He sent her all the strength of his power.

Azhure let it flood her, renew her own strength, bolster her courage, calm her.

She put everything from her mind save the beauty of the moonlight and the warmth of its caress. “Lady Moon,” she said, and she talked only to herself, “bathe me in your light.”

The moonlight flared and Adamon blinked in the sudden radiance. But he did not shift his eyes from Azhure.

“Lady Moon, bathe Tencendor in your light.”

And the Moon bathed the land in her light, and across the land, men and women stirred as dream filled their sleep.

“Dream,” Azhure whispered, her own eyes wide.

But she did not see Sigholt’s roof. Instead she saw the land as the moon saw it. Saw every field and furrow and laneway. Saw every roof and every doorway. Saw, and heard, as dogs sat back to howl their homage. Saw cats slink into shadows and owls blink and tilt their heads in thought.

The shadow of the Moon slid over the land and with it slid Azhure’s mind eye. There lay Carlon, people still crowding the midnight streets, pointing to the sky.

She smiled.

There lay the Grail Lake and the Cauldron Lake and the Fernbrake Lake, and they winked at the moon.

Azhure winked back.

There, to the north, lay Axis’ army, and moonlight flooded the campsite so that sentries shaded their eyes and all those asleep murmured as dream flooded their minds. They all dreamed of the same thing.

There tossed Axis, half asleep, half awake. He mumbled also, but then his sleep quietened and deepened as the dream caught him. He smiled.

“Dream on,” Azhure whispered, and she let her gaze rest a moment.

To east and west and north and south the tides beat and tugged at the shores of Tencendor and with them fluctuated the dream. The Moon, driver of the tides and keeper of dreams.

“North,” Azhure whispered, and the moonlight surged northwards, a flood in itself, and the northern Avarinheim and Icescarp Alps rippled underneath.

And then . . . then the great northern tundra. Stretching unmapped for as far as the imagination would allow, flat ice, barren soil, lifeless.

Except for the great Ice Fortress that reared in a thousand reflected colours towards the moon. A gigantic prism that was too beautiful for the horror it contained, and yet horror it was, for it was no natural creation.

“Linger,” she whispered, and the moonlight lingered.

Watching, Adamon saw her draw a deep breath and close her eyes. She was there.

Courage and daring, Azhure, and good fortune, my darling.

Moonlight bathed the Ice Fortress, and as the light swept down its corridors and across its halls and through its spaces, Gryphon mewed and sighed in their sleep. And they all dreamed the same dream.

Gorgrael twisted in his chair, uncomfortable, half awake yet too languorous to rise and fall to his mat before the fire. He whispered and muttered and…finally succumbed to the dream.

He dreamed of a white light so pure he almost cried at its beauty. It called to him. Whispered. “Lover? Lover? Lover?”

“Yes,” he muttered. “Yes, I am here.”

Deep in sleep, the tens of thousands of Gryphon writhed and trembled across the spaces of the fortress, each seeking her lover.

Azhure tilted her head back and moaned deep in her throat and Adamon leaned forward, sending all that he could without sending the last spark of his life as well. Courage, my darling.

And Azhure took courage.

She gazed at the Ice Fortress from her vast height. Then she began to feel. Feel…feel the tiny heartbeat that reverberated through the moonbeam towards her.

She knew that heartbeat. Had not her body cradled it for eight-months? Had not her arms clasped it to her breast for a year and more after her body had struggled in its birth?

Thump-thud.

Azhure trembled.

Thump-thud.

She moaned.

Thump-thud.

And she grasped it, using it to pull her towards the Ice Fortress.

Thump-thud.

She disappeared from atop Sigholt and Adamon cried out.

Thump-thud.

She descended through the moonbeam, letting the thud of her son’s heart pull her to him.

Thump-thud!

Gorgrael dreamed of a woman of such exquisite beauty that his breathing quickened and a moan escaped his lips. She walked the corridors of his Ice Fortress, her hands extended, her mouth open in longing . . . and she walked towards him!

Azhure walked the dreams of every sleeper in the land. Many called her name, many more cried wordlessly, wanting her, reaching for her.

But only in one habitation did she walk in actuality.

Gorgrael moaned again, louder this time, and he writhed in the chair. Never had he seen a naked woman before, never had he thought a woman deprived of her clothes could stir such desires in him. Never! This was a sensation worth revelling in!

His blood surged with the ebb and flow of the tides that beat relentlessly at the edges of the northern ice-cap.

His clawed hands clenched the arms of his chair in time with the crash of the waves.

And still she came. She walked sinuously, invitingly, a smile on her face, gladness lighting her eyes. She stepped about the writhing Gryphon, uncaring, and shook her hair back from her face and off her body and laughed . . . and Gorgrael cried out.

He clung to the dream, for he did not want to lose this. Not now! Not before she had reached him!

She was outside his door now, and it glided open before her.

Yes!

Now she glided, glided across the floor, and Gorgrael’s mouth fell open and his tongue unravelled and dripped across his chin.

“I have come only for you,” she whispered, behind his chair now, and the next moment he felt her hands on his shoulders, and then sliding down his body, sliding, sliding . . .

His could not help himself and his body convulsed.

“For you only,” she whispered, and her mouth brushed his brow.

Oh! she was so exquisite!

“Only for you. Come.”

Oh!

“Come.”

And Gorgrael’s eyes flew open and he turned to grab her, to throw her to the floor and to take her as she so desperately wanted.

But his claws seized only thin air.

Snarling in frustration and desire Gorgrael leapt to his feet and . . .

. . . saw the beautiful woman, naked, aching for his touch, standing with the mewling infant in her hands and cradled to her breast. Moonlight flooded into the chamber and bathed her in light so pure it seemed almost as if she were made from moonlight herself.

“Only for you,” she whispered into the boy’s hair.

Still trapped by the memory of his dream Gorgrael’s solitary thought was to wrest the tiresome infant from her hands and seize her himself. Oh, he groaned, see how smooth the skin, see its sheen, see the curve of hip and breast and the loveliness of her face as she turned towards him.