Sara Douglass – The Axis Trilogy 3 – StarMan

Perhaps it were best if she collected the girl and left.

DragonStar twisted his head around as far as he could and tried to see what Imibe was doing. She had picked Caelum up, that much was certain, but did she walk-away with him? He seethed with frustration and writhed in Cazna’s arms so that she looked at him in some concern.

Cloaked by his dark magic, Gorgrael rode his Gryphon far above the blue mists that surrounded Sigholt.

Damn his pretty brother for his pretty mists, he cursed. But he could feel the Keep, and he could feel the mind of the…Traitor.

It is I. Is all in place?

DragonStar ceased his twisting, and Cazna smiled in relief. Hurry.

The bridge . . .

Do not concern yourself about the bridge. She is easily fooled.

Gorgrael smiled.

Imibe put Caelum down as she wrapped RiverStar in her blankets. At least the Nors woman was keeping DragonStar well away, and Imibe ceased her hurrying. She might not be possessed of the ability of the Icarii Enchanters or even of the Ravensbund chief, but she could smell badness from a league away, and there was something about that baby that was just not right.

She put RiverStar, strangely tense now, in her basket and turned for Caelum.

His mouth open in a silent shriek, Gorgrael plunged through cloud and mist.

Are you true? cried the bridge, sending her challenge to meet him.

/…/… True to what, curse her?

Bridge, it is I, DragonStar, son of Axis and Azhure. Here comes my friend. He is true, bridge. Trust me.

The bridge mulled over this. The stranger should answer for himself, truly he should.

Trust me, whispered DragonStar’s mind, and the bridge smiled to herself, remembering the truth of Axis and Azhure and the warmth of their companionship.

Trust me …

The bridge thought about sending out her challenge again …

Trust me . . .

…but instead she chose to trust. Besides, how could any-enemy find its way through the enchanted mists?

Gorgrael plunged straight and true, locking in on the beacon of the baby’s mind. That a baby should have this power! he wondered, but soon ceased his wondering, for the mist was thinning and there . . . there! was the magical keep of Sigholt and there! there! there was the BOY!

Caelum screamed even before he saw the plunging Gryphon and the horror that clung to its back. He could feel the evil dropping out of the sky, again, and he could feel his brother’s ecstasy, and he understood.

He understood that he was to be the sacrifice for his brother’s ambitions. He was to be the sacrifice that would bring his father to his knees.

And so he screamed.

Cazna spun about, sickened by the sound of primeval terror that had come from Caelum and then confused by the gurgle of laughter that came from the baby she held.

Imibe did not even think. She lunged for Caelum, kicking the basket containing RiverStar into the shadows of the walls.

And then something indescribable dropped out of the sky.

Of them all, Cazna was the first to see it. Her heart seized in terror, and only after a long moment did she think to back up against the wall, as far from the falling shadow as she could.

She had heard tell enough to know that one of the creatures was a Gryphon, but what was that clinging to its back? What could it be? “Belial!” she whispered, knowing she was dead.

Gorgrael ignored her, dropping straight to the Ravensbund woman who held the son in her arms.

Yes! Yes! That was he!

He leapt from the Gryphon’s back as she swooped low over the roof, and he capered across to Imibe in a half-crouch, wings outstretched, claws extended, eyes and teeth gleaming. Saliva from his protruding tongue splattered across the stone paving. He paused half a pace from her and screeched.

The woman, brave bitch that she was, only held the screaming child closer. She must have known that death was close, but she chose to meet his eyes steadily, and that made Gorgrael uncomfortable.

“Fool!” he hissed, swinging one arm, and raked his talons down her face.

Yet still she held the child close, turning away so that her body protected him, and Gorgrael lashed out in a vicious flurry of fury, shredding her back and flank within instants and, as the dying woman sank to the floor, he seized a mercifully insensible Caelum by one arm and jerked him from the woman’s clutch.

He whipped about, Caelum swinging from his grip like a rag doll, and stared at the other woman and baby across the roof.

Far below the bridge screamed. “Woe! Woe! Treachery!”

Gorgrael jumped and the Gryphon swooped.

“Woe.’ Woe! The roof! The roof!”

But Gorgrael still had a moment to spare, and he was enjoying himself so hugely he thought he might as well make this moment worthwhile. He scampered across the roof, and the woman shrieked in terror and sunk to the floor, trying to curl herself about the baby. Gorgrael grinned. Futile effort. He raised a taloned claw already soaked in blood.

Cease, my friend. She is still useful to me.

Gorgrael paused with his hand suspended ready for the downswing.

And surely it would be best if you had a witness to the kidnap?

“Yes,” Gorgrael whispered. “A witness. Yes. Good.”

“Woe! Woe! Treachery on the roof!”

“Bitch,” Gorgrael snarled, and he turned for the Gryphon. As he swung his leg over the Gryphon’s back and felt her

welcome fur beneath his buttocks, he looked down at the senseless child still swinging by one bloodied and bruised arm from his claw and screamed his triumph and delight over Sigholt.

“Woe! Woe!” cried the bridge.

But it was already far too late. When the first Icarii arrived on the roof Gorgrael and his Gryphon had disappeared into the mists. All that remained was Imibe’s torn body, the hunched and frightened form of Cazna, the screams of the twins, and the memory of Caelum’s terror that would linger for days to come.

Minstrelsea Azhure shivered, her stomach suddenly clenching in vague horror, but the moment passed, and she looked at Faraday.

Faraday knelt in the soft earth some fifty paces from the entrance to the Forbidden Valley, and before her the Nordra leaped and roared from the chasm. Behind her the plain stretched almost half a league to the line of trees; seedlings bobbed hopefully across it in between woman and forest. She stared at the seedling she had just planted, wishing it well.

Azhure knelt by Faraday’s side, worried. The woman was obviously in terrible discomfort, and every so often would press a hand to her side or back as if she were riven with pain. “Faraday,” Azhure asked softly, “are you -”

“I’m fine,” Faraday said brightly – far too brightly and far too quickly, and the concern in Azhure’s eyes deepened. “Look,” she continued, “the Forbidden Valley. I’m almost finished.”

Utter silence greeted her words. Azhure struggled for something to say, and raised her eyes to meet those of the Good-wife. Behind the Goodwife stood Shra, clinging to the woman’s apron, her eyes as anxious as those of the two older women. The other Avar were twenty or so paces behind them; Faraday had only wanted Azhure, the Goodwife and Shra with her.

“One more seedling,” Faraday whispered, and struggled to her feet, swaying alarmingly once she had risen. Azhure caught at her arm but Faraday shook her off. “Please, Azhure. This last I would do on my own.”

She reached out and took the final seedling from the Goodwife’s hands. “Mirbolt,” she said. “The last to die. The last to be planted out.”

Azhure stared at the seedling. She’d known the Bane, for Mirbolt had died in the Skraeling attack on the Earth Tree Grove. Mirbolt had also been the one who had conducted the Avar discussion regarding Azhure’s request to join them. The Avar had refused her, but Azhure harboured no ill will towards Mirbolt. She had been fair and proud and handsome and had not deserved to die as she had.

“It is fitting that she be the one to connect the forest with the Avarinheim,” she said.

Faraday’s mouth curled in a gentle smile. “You understand, Azhure. Yes. This will be her right.”

“Where will you plant her, Faraday?” Azhure looked at the entrance to the Forbidden Valley. The valley was narrow and its rocky walls steep. The only path beside the rushing river was rock and only a pace wide.

Faraday fingered the seedling silently, her eyes misty. “At the entrance to the Valley, Azhure. That is all I need do.” Her face lightened at the expression on Azhure’s face. “You’ll see.”

Then she walked forward, her gait slow and heavy, her pace faltering every seven or eight steps.

“Goodwife,” Azhure said urgently. “She’s -“