“Nothing of the kind,” Azhure said, and opened the door. “Come,” and she stepped inside.
Rivkah glanced at the others, annoyed at having her thoughts so clearly read, then followed Azhure into Spiredore.
She stopped almost immediately, her eyes rising upwards, awed by the incredible interior of the tower. Azhure smiled and pulled her gently to one side. “Step over here, Rivkah. There is still a crowd to come.”
And a crowd it seemed, once Cazna and the nurses had stepped inside. The Alaunt rushed about the central atrium, and Venator, at Azhure’s whistle, trotted through the doorway, trembling slightly at the closeness of both humans and hounds.
Azhure patted him on the neck, quietening him down, and hoped that Spiredore would adjust its risers to his needs.
Behind them the door closed of its own accord, and Azhure wondered if Ysgryff and the servants and even Carlon were still there at all, or if, once the door had closed, there was only one world, and that world was Spiredore.
She grinned at the faces watching her, lifted Caelum more comfortably in her arms, then walked over to the first rise of the stairs. “Spiredore,” she said clearly, “I…we…wish to go to the bridge before Sigholt.”
And without another word or explanation, she started to climb.
The horse snorted, then stepped after her, his hooves slipping and rattling on the wooden risers.
“Rivkah?” Cazna said in a small voice, and Rivkah grasped the young woman’s hand.
“It will be an adventure, Cazna, and you will love Sigholt. Come on,” and she led her forward. The hounds bounded past them up the stairs, and Rivkah looked over her shoulder to make sure the nurses followed.
They climbed for almost an hour until Rivkah could bear no more. Her legs were aching, and she had to shift her small satchel from arm to arm to relieve some of the strain on her shoulder. She touched her belly briefly, worried for the baby. What if she was too old to carry this child to term?
“Azhure?” she called. “What are we doing? Why are we climbing into this tower?” She stared upwards until the madly
tilted balconies made her dizzy. She swayed on the stairs, and as she did so all her fears rushed to the surface and she cried out, frantically grabbing the railing for support.
Instantly Azhure was by her side, her arm about Rivkah’s waist. “Shush, Rivkah. All is well, we are almost there. Trust in Spiredore. Come. You too, Cazna, walk with me up the front, and then you will see.”
She pulled them up the stairs, brushing past the horse who had his head up and his ears pricked curiously.
“See?” They had reached the head of the stairs and before them stretched a long corridor, a soft blue mist hanging about its walls and ceiling so that the corridor seemed almost circular.
“What?” Rivkah stopped dead. “How can that be in this tower? It stretches farther than . . .” She stopped, stunned by what she saw at its end. Cazna, at her shoulder, likewise stood unbelieving.
“Sigholt,” Azhure said proudly, and Sicarius gave a great cry and bounded down the corridor, disappearing into the sunshine at its end.
Rivkah’s eyes filled with tears. What kind of magic did this tower, and Azhure, command? There at the end of the corridor, bathed in sunshine, was the bridge that led into Sigholt, behind it rose soft grey walls and, from the darkness of the fortified gate, strode a man, grey and gaunt, but still alive.
“Roland,” she whispered, and stepped out of Azhure’s arms and ran down the corridor, laughing. “Roland!”
Cazna watched with wide eyes.
“Take the reins of my horse and enter Sigholt, Cazna,” Azhure said gently, “and when the bridge asks if you are true, answer with your heart.”
Roland was stunned, but enormously pleased to see them.
“Rivkah!”
She hugged him breathlessly. “See who else comes, Roland,” and the next moment Azhure’s great hounds were
baying about his legs, then a young woman who Roland at first thought was Azhure was crossing the bridge leading a horse, stunned amazement on her face as she found herself talking to a bridge. Then Azhure, more beautiful than Roland had remembered her, with three women and three babies, one of whom opened his arms and cried for joy when he saw the old man.
“Roland!”
Roland kissed Azhure on the cheek and took Caelum into his arms. “Azhure! Caelum! What? How? Ah, dammit. . . what news?”
“Oh Roland,” Azhure laughed. “What news? Have you heard nothing since we left to reunite Tencendor?”
Roland was almost quivering with impatience. “News? Here? We are so isolated that we think we live in a world of our own. How many months have passed since Axis led his army from here? How this lad has grown! And these babies? Yours?” Azhure grinned at him. “Roland, where are your manners? Here we are, having travelled unknown leagues in but an hour, and you want to keep us gossiping in the courtyard?”
Roland waved them towards the Keep. “Food and a fire, and then you talk. Tell me, how’s my good friend Jorge? Still campaigning as if there’s no tomorrow?”
Azhure glanced at Rivkah, then she smiled sadly and took Roland’s arm. “Roland, there is so much to tell.”
Much later, as twilight embraced the Keep and Lake, Azhure stood alone on Sigholt’s roof, wearing nothing but a loose white linen shift, her black hair blowing in the warm breeze that swept off the Lake. She leaned her hands on the ancient stone and closed her eyes, drinking in the warmth and the life and the scent that surrounded her.
When she opened them she turned, half expecting to see Axis standing there, smiling at her, his hand extended, his fingers flaring towards her in love and desire.
But Axis was not there, only the night and the first stars above, and Azhure blinked back tears. Axis was far to the west, perhaps struggling through snow, perhaps lying forgotten amid the ice, and he needed her as he had never needed her before. She could feel that here, could feel his need and his longing reaching out to her, calling, calling, calling, and it was all she could do not to dash down the stairs and rush westwards clad only in her shift.
“Axis,” she whispered, and turned her face back to the view below her.
Behind its protecting blue mist the hills and town surrounding the Lake of Life had continued to grow apace in the months since she had left. Ferns, wildflowers and deep-swaying trees covered most of the hills, and dividing the thick growth were open glades and mown walks. The scent of the grass and the flowers wafted gently down, and before the sun set Azhure had caught the sound of birds and the cries of children as they played on the slopes closest to Lakesview.
The Lake glinted ruby-like with the lingering memory of the sun. Its colour had deepened, Azhure saw, in past months. It was beautiful and mysterious and stately, and it throbbed with life. During the day, wrapped as it was about its edges by the blue mist, the Lake looked almost as if a giantess had laid her gown of red silk and blue gauze in the sun to brush it and then, distracted by some great matter, had left it for eternity to enjoy.
At the Lake’s edge the town of Lakesview had grown, if not in size, then in maturity, for now all the buildings were faced with stone, and doors, shutters and windowsills had been painted in pleasant greens, dusky pinks and rich creams, complementing the grey slate roofs. Gaily painted signs swung over doorways, and most windows were lead-paned and gleaming. The residents strolled the streets, lighting lamps now, and exchanging news and gossip with their neighbours.
No-one had left, Roland told her, for who would want to? The Lake and the hills provided all the food they could require,
and the days were long and pleasant, despite the storms they knew howled beyond the mist.
Roland had been devastated by news of Jorge’s death. They had been friends for many decades, had fought and wived together, and had somehow both thought they would die shoulder by shoulder in some desperate battle. Jorge had indeed died in a desperate battle, but Roland had been far away, concerned with his own gentle dying here in the mystical realm of Sigholt.
Death was closer now, Azhure had seen that instantly. Where before it had lingered like some half-forgotten shadow in the corners of his eyes, now it stared full from his face. Roland assured her there was no pain, but his hands had trembled at dinner, and he had set his wine glass aside after only a sip or two. A month or so, but Roland would certainly never see his beloved Aldeni again.