Sara Douglass – The Axis Trilogy 3 – StarMan

Belial’s man stood back and Belial straightened and looked at Magariz. “Nervous, my friend?”

“Deathly afraid, more like.”

“There is no shame in admitting to fear,” Belial said. “I hardly slept myself. But think of it this way, Magariz. Either we will be dead by this evening or we won’t. And if we lose the field, if Timozel’s forces win the day, then I don’t want to be alive to witness the destruction that will sweep Tencendor.”

“You sink into philosophy again, my friend,” Axis said cheerfully, and Belial turned to look, then started.

Axis had emerged from his tent dressed in his golden tunic with its blood-red sun blazing across his chest. Across his shoulders flowed the red cloak, and the rising dawn light caught golden flecks in his beard, trimmed close to his cheeks, and in his hair combed neatly back into its braid. His hand rested on his sword hilt, and Belial realised that Axis still wore Jorge’s sword.

“Perhaps I shall get to stick Timozel with it today,” Axis said.

“Have you gone mad?” Belial hissed. “Where’s your armour? Axis, you will fall in the first minute if you attempt to ride into battle dressed like that.”

Axis’ lightness faded. “I want them to know who they face, Belial, and I want them to know where I am. And,” his smile returned, “I shall not need armour.”

Belial opened his mouth to retort, but just then Azhure stepped out of the tent, Caelum clasped in her arms. She paused to speak quietly with a man-at-arms, then stepped to her husband’s side. “Belial, Axis and I have spent much of the night talking. We have revised the battle plans somewhat.”

“Oh, damn it!” Belial snapped. “We spent hours last night working those plans out to the finest detail, and now you say lightly that you have revised them? Without thinking to consult your commanders?”

“Belial,” Axis said, “We apologise for any lack of thought. Yes, we should have consulted you, but it was so late when we had finalised things in our own heads that it would have been pointless waking you.”

” was awake most of the night, anyway,” Belial said.

Magariz stepped forward. “Tell us, Axis. What have you dreamed up that makes you leave your armour behind?” Axis always wore armour for major action, as did all his men, and even Azhure wore chain mail when she entered the fray; Magariz could remember she wore as heavy a complement of chain as any man during the Battle of Bedwyr Fort.

“I have sent for SpikeFeather and Ho’Demi,” Azhure said. “I want them here.”

“And then we will explain,” Axis said, taking Caelum from Azhure’s arms and laughing with him over some shared thought.

Belial stared at them. When they had sat about the campfire last night, sharing food and ideas, Caelum had almost been inseparable from his father, clambering about his lap or sometimes sleeping quietly in his arms. He shuffled in his heavy armour. It always took an hour or so to get used to, and after eight or nine hours of chafing and rubbing it was a relief to be divested of it. But it was not the weight of his armour that concerned him now.

Why was Axis so cheerful? Belial had fought by his side for many years now, and they had survived more battles together than Belial cared to remember. Always, whether before a march or a battle, Axis was snappy – it was his way of releasing tension – and Belial had never seen him this relaxed before. What had those two planned?

“A rout,” Axis said softly. “Ah, here’s SpikeFeather and Ho’Demi. My friends, today Azhure fights with us and whatever victory we glean will be at her hands. Azhure, will you speak?”

Azhure smiled at him, then turned to the other commanders. “Gentlemen, there are only two tasks to be accomplished today – to rid the skies of Gryphon, and to rid the land of Gorgrael’s ice creatures, the Skraelings foremost among them. Simple.”

“Simple, Enchantress?” SpikeFeather raised his eyebrows. He was an imposing sight in the early light, his wings again dyed black, his dark red hair and feathers slicked back down his neck, his black eyes snapping with determination. “Simple? There are hundreds of thousands of Skraelings who wait for us. And the Gryphon, well, we do not even know where the cursed Gryphon are.”

“SpikeFeather.” Azhure’s voice was heavy with sorrow, and she stepped forward to rest a hand on his arm. “Even now the Gryphon are massing on the rocks of Gorken Pass. They flew in during the night. . . from Talon Spike.”

SpikeFeather gave a low cry and turned away. When he had composed himself, he looked Azhure in the face again. “Enchantress, this I swear,” he said. “Every member of the Strike Force will kill two of the creatures before we die ourselves. For RavenCrest’s and BrightFeather’s deaths, as all

those of their fellows and of so many of the Strike Force, I pledge to you the Strike Force will do you proud today!”

“Oh,” Azhure said, “I know you will do me proud. Here.”

She lifted the quiver of arrows from her back, pressing it into SpikeFeather’s hands. “SpikeFeather, do you remember these arrows?”

Puzzled, SpikeFeather nevertheless smiled with the memory. “Yes, Enchantress, I do. I did not believe you would be able to use the Wolven, which I had flaunted before you, and I wagered ownership of the bow itself and a quiverful of arrows fashioned with my own hands and fletched with feathers from my own wings if you managed to use it.”

“And I demanded that you dye the feathers as blue as my eyes,” Azhure laughed. “Well, all know the result, and now you hold the quiverful of arrows that you fashioned so long ago. SpikeFeather, tell the members of the Strike Force that they will not need their weapons today. Instead, take this quiver and distribute an arrow to each member.”

“But there aren’t enough for more than three Wings -”

Azhure placed her hands over his. “SpikeFeather, I think you will find there are exactly enough arrows in this quiver for all the members of the Strike Force, and one left for me.”

Captured by the expression in her eyes and the warmth of her hands, SpikeFeather nodded. “As you order, Enchantress.”

“And when we step out onto the field of battle, SpikeFeather,” she said, “the Icarii will have some measure of revenge for the hurt the Gryphon have done your people.”

SpikeFeather took a deep breath. “Good.”

Axis, shifting Caelum to one hip, motioned at the fire. “Will someone stoke that fire for me? I have not yet breakfasted, and I not want to do so before cold ashes.”

“But, Axis,” Magariz began, then suddenly found himself encumbered with Caelum.

“Here, Magariz, your task today will be to play nursemaid, for Azhure and I wish that our son ride at the forefront of the

force. Besides, Magariz, you shall shortly have your own son to bounce on your knee, and you need the practice.”

“Axis!” Belial said. ” Will you tell us what it is that you and Azhure have planned?”

Axis’ smile died. “We are teasing you, my friend, and for that I apologise. Come, sit here with me, and divest yourself of some of that armour. Spread the word. I want my men to enjoy a hearty breakfast, for we will not be rushing the field before mid-morning, I think, and I want them to wear only enough armour to make a decent glint under the sun.”

Then, as his companions sat down about the fire, Axis spoke.

They rode past the ruins of Gorkenfort and town in the hour before noon, holding tight formation, the Strike Force wheeling above and slightly behind them. Axis shivered as he thought of all the men he had lost there, but he winked at Caelum, riding at the front of Magariz’s saddle. As requested, Magariz had divested himself of most of his armour, wearing only a breastplate to gleam under the strengthening sun, and there was plenty of room in the saddle for both man and boy. Caelum was patently excited at being allowed to ride into battle. His cheeks were red and his eyes bright, and he was bundled into a suit of blue-tipped white fur that kept the cold winds from his skin.

Axis turned to his other side. There rode Azhure, the hounds restrained at her side, and beyond her Belial. Belial had recovered his good temper, and had spent much of the ride thus far chatting with Azhure about which oils were best added to the fires used to temper the metal of arrow heads.

From Gorkenfort, Axis swung his column northward, delighting in the sound of the hooves, the jingle of gear and weapons, and the melodious chime of Ravensbund bells behind him. His army was a fine sight, he knew, and he hoped that Timozel would have a moment’s doubt when they rode down the pass.