Sara Douglass – The Axis Trilogy 3 – StarMan

Gilbert, his head bowed, felt Artor step to his side and he trembled, but the god only rested a benevolent hand on Gilbert’s shoulder.

Let me lend you power, Gilbert. Let me make you a more effective instrument.

This time, when Gilbert screamed, even the distant trees heard it, and faltered momentarily in their melody.

If you use it well, Gilbert, you will be able to stop her.

“Yes,” Gilbert whispered, amazed he could talk at all. He dimly realised he had wet himself when Artor had flooded him with power. Beside him the god lifted his head and surveyed the trembling semi-circle behind Gilbert.

Serve him well.

Almost as one, the Brothers screamed that they would.

To one side Moryson descended into terror once more. Pray don’t touch me with your hand, Artor, he chanted over and over in his mind, because I don’t know what would happen. I don’t know how I will react!

Do as he tells you.

Yes!

Destroy her.

Yes!

The Sword Axis stood in what was left of the market hall of Jervois Landing and stared at the frozen corpse of Jorge, Earl of Avonsdale. His eyes, ice now, gazed into whatever eternity he was enduring, while his hands were still wrapped about the blade that had killed him…his own.

From the Three Brothers Lakes, Axis had led his army cautiously – oh, so cautiously! – north for four weeks. It seemed that he had spent every waking moment, and many a sleeping one, expecting attack. Where were the Skraelings? Where had they gone? Whenever the wind lifted a drift of snow from a low hill Axis would jump, whenever a bird cried behind him he thought it was an Icarii scout warning of disaster.

He had travelled slowly, not only because he expected attack, but because he did not want to lose contact with his supply lines. With an army this size, and with territory this useless, he would have to retreat if his supplies could no longer be inched north on mules – no carts could travel through these snowdrifts. Axis worried as much about food as he did about Skraeling attack.

Gorgrael’s storms had rendered Aldeni a wasteland. Duke Roland’s province had once been one of the main food-producing regions of Tencendor; now it was little more than a bowl of snow and ice. If I ever chase back the Skraelings, Axis asked himself, unable to tear his eyes away from Jorge’s frozen agony, if I ever manage to best Gorgrael, will this land ever recover? “Axis?”

Belial’s soft voice sounded behind him, and Axis turned.

Belial stopped as he saw Jorge’s corpse, then raised his eyes to Axis’ face. “It is the same all over the town. Corpses, frozen in death, litter the buildings. Most have been torn apart. Not like …”

“Not like Jorge, Belial? When did you ever know a Skraeling, or an IceWorm, or even a Star-damned SkraeBold, use a sword?”

“Axis.” Belial placed a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Perhaps Jorge -”

“No!” Axis’ voice was firm. “He was a courageous man, Belial, and he would not have died by his own accord. No.” His tone softened. “See the angle. That sword was driven in by another hand.”

But whose hand? Did Jorge also have a traitor in his camp?

Belial guided Axis away from Jorge’s corpse. “We will arrange a cremation for all who died here. Farewell them honourably into the AfterLife.”

They walked slowly out of the building. Outside the air was frigid, but calm, as it had been for the entire time they’d been in Aldeni. Gorgrael was playing games with them.

Axis felt a shiver of premonition. “I don’t like it here, Belial. Why didn’t the Skraelings stay to feed? These men have been butchered, but they have not been eaten. Not the usual Skraeling way. Someone controls them now, Belial, someone …”

Suddenly he twisted away from Belial’s hand and punched his fist into the air. “Where are they}” he screamed.

They burned and farewelled the dead that evening. For a time Belial had thought they would not find the fuel to ignite the frozen corpses. But, by chance, his men had discovered a cache of oil secreted deep in the cellars of the market hall, and the dead burned with a crispness that partially alleviated the horror of their passing.

Belial and Magariz joined Axis in his tent later; the camp had been set up well outside the town, for none could bear to

sleep amid its memories, and Axis could not escape his premonition that the buildings, largely unscathed, remained a trap.

Axis sat on his bunk, head bowed, turning a sword over and over in his hands. It was Jorge’s sword; Axis had pulled it from the man’s belly as two men carried him to the funeral pyre.

“A well-made sword, Axis,” Magariz said as he sat down.

“Yes,” Axis said absently. “Well made indeed. Despite lingering for weeks in Jorge’s belly it has neither rusted nor stained. See? The remaining blood flakes off.” He raised his head. Belial stood before a small brazier that gave off a cheerful glow, if not much heat. “I thought I would keep it, Belial. Wear it, perhaps.”

“Axis . . .” Belial began, but Axis dropped his eyes and continued.

“I am not so attached to my own sword that I cannot replace it with one better, and this is better. It is an Escatorian blade, sharp and sure, and has a hilt crafted, if I’m not mistaken, in the sweat-riddled forges of Ysbadd. It is a good blade . . . and it yearns for revenge. I shall use it to stick whoever thrust it into Jorge’s gut.”

Magariz exchanged a glance with Belial, and Axis caught it. “Oh,” he said, his mouth quirked lopsidedly. “I am not yet ready to sink into a morass of morbidity, my friends, but I confess confusion and frustration. Where is this army? Who leads it?”

“Can you not use your enchantments, Axis?” Belial asked. “Scry them out, perhaps?”

Axis laid the sword to one side. “No. I have tried, but there is nothing I can do. Gorgrael lends this army the strength of his power, and he commands a power – the Dark Music – that I cannot use. I cannot understand it, nor the enchantments it creates. If he cloaks his army with that power then I will never find them with my own enchantments. We are reliant on strong feet and wings, Belial, and sharp eyes.”

Magariz leaned forward, trying to catch some of the warmth from the brazier. “Any news, Axis?”

“No. You have heard the reports of the Icarii farflight scouts. They see nothing but snow and ice stretching across all of Aldeni.”

“And Ichtar?”

“Your promised land, Magariz? No, I have not sent them there. Ichtar is too risky, too unknown. Gorgrael has controlled that for almost two years now, and I fear the Gryphon too much to over-extend the farflight scouts.”

“And nothing from Sigholt? Or Talon Spike?”

“Nothing, Belial,” Axis said. “They did not even see enough to warn me of the approach of this Skraeling force, let alone inform me where it is now. Come on,” his tone became brisk, “give me your thoughts. If you were in command of this army, where would you go? What would you plan?”

“A trap, Axis,” Magariz said, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the faint scar on his cheek. “A trap.”

Axis’ mouth twisted bitterly. “A trap, he says. What trap, Magariz?”

Magariz shrugged, shame-faced. “Perhaps he wants to draw you north, into Ichtar. Perhaps that’s where he has gone.”

“No,” Belial said slowly. “No. We saw the Skraeling mass moving south past Jervois Landing in RuffleCrest’s memory when Axis recalled it for us.”

“But perhaps that was the trap,” Magariz persisted. “Why was RuffleCrest allowed to escape? We all know that those Gryphon could have torn him apart as easily as they did the rest of his Wing. But they let him go. They let him go with his information.”

Axis glanced at him sharply. “A good point, Magariz. But what if he’s second guessing us? What if he wants us to think that? What if he does want to draw us into Ichtar?” He paused, thinking deeply. When he resumed, his voice was very soft. “What if he wants to draw us into Ichtar and then attack from behind ms?”

“We would be trapped,” Belial said. “Nowhere to run.”

“All right, all right, let’s think this through.” Axis stood and paced back and forth. “We know there is a massive Skraeling army somewhere. We know it is now led by a general schooled in warfare, cool-headed, and . . . and who can use a sword.” He glanced again at Jorge’s blade. “We think – we know – that he seeks to trap us. Belial, if you were he, and you were south of Jervois Landing, where would you hide a large army?”