Читать книгу Enchanter: Book Two of the Axis Trilogy - Sara Douglass - Страница 16

The silvery, secretive waters of Grail Lake lapped against the foundations of the white-walled, seven-sided Tower of the Seneschal. Deep within, Jayme, Brother-Leader of the Seneschal and most senior mediator between the one god Artor the Ploughman and the hearts and souls of the Acharites, paced across his chamber.

“Is there no news?” he asked Gilbert for the fourth time that afternoon.

The fire blazing in the mottled-green marble fireplace behind the Brother-Leader’s desk was stacked high and the light it threw off shimmered along the edge of the fine crystal and gold that stood atop the mantel. Before the fire lay an exquisite rug of hand-woven emerald and ivory silk from the strange hot lands to the south of Coroleas. The Brother-Leader’s private chambers lacked no comforts.

“Brother-Leader.” Gilbert, his junior adviser, bowed respectfully, his hands tucked away in the voluminous sleeves of his habit. “The only word from the north comes from Duke Borneheld’s camp at Jervois Landing. And the last Borneheld saw of your BattleAxe, he was whooping and screaming as he led his depleted Axe-Wielders to the north in an attempt to draw the Skraelings away from Gorkenfort.”

Jayme frowned at the referral to Axis as “your BattleAxe”. Gilbert had never liked Axis, and felt justified in his dislike when news of Axis’ appalling betrayal of the Seneschal’s cause reached the Brotherhood. Yet Jayme was so sick at heart he said nothing to reprove Gilbert.

“An attempt that nevertheless succeeded, Brother Gilbert,” murmured Moryson, Jayme’s senior adviser and closest friend for over forty-five years. He sat close by the fire to warm his creaking joints. “Axis’ self-sacrifice saved many lives, Borneheld’s the most important.”

Gilbert continued. “Since the forces of this Gorgrael have moved through Ichtar I have received no word from north of Jervois Landing. Who knows if Axis lives or moulders?” As Borneheld had, so too had Jayme and his advisers reluctantly accepted that the foe they faced, Gorgrael, was something even more terrible than the Forbidden.

Jayme paced about the centre of the chamber. “Artor curse it, I did not love Axis and raise him from a baby to lose him like this! How many hours did I nurse that parentless child, sing him cradle-songs to comfort him to sleep?”

“Better to have lost him in the service of Artor than to lose him to the service of the Forbidden,” Gilbert intoned.

“How could Axis betray the Seneschal – and me – like this!” shouted Jayme.

“Blame it on Rivkah for bedding with one of those damn lizards!” spat Gilbert. Borneheld’s report had been very detailed. “Women ever were the weaker vessel!”

“Gilbert! Enough!” Moryson stood up from his chair, wavered for a moment, then walked over to put a comforting arm about Jayme. “Recriminations will not help us at this point, Brother Gilbert. We need to plan for the future.”

Gilbert’s lip curled at the two old men. What the Seneschal needed was an infusion of blood strong enough to save the Brotherhood from the possibility that the Forbidden would one day re-enter Achar. Artor needs young men to save the Seneschal, Gilbert thought, his eyes expressionless, not old men afraid of fighting words and deeds.

“Thank you, my friend,” Jayme muttered, patting Morysons arm. “I am all right now. Just for a moment …”

Moryson nodded in understanding and let Jayme go. When word of Axis’ defection to the Forbidden had reached the Tower of the Seneschal it had almost caused Jayme a fatal apoplexy. That a man entrusted with such a position of responsibility within the Seneschal could defect to the Forbidden of all things – the races he was committed to destroy – was almost beyond belief. But what cut even deeper was that Jayme had raised Axis from a new-born infant. Cared for him, loved him, taught him, indulged him. And for that care and love Axis had not only led the military wing of the Seneschal, the Axe-Wielders, to the service of the Forbidden, but he had betrayed both his god and everything Jayme believed in. Jayme’s hurt was the pain of a father betrayed as much as that of a Brother-Leader deceived.

“I must assume he is still alive,” Jayme said. “I must prepare for the worst scenario – that Axis survived, the command he led survived, and all are now in the employ of those,” he paused, “flying lizards.” His voice strengthened as he spoke, and by the time he was finished Jayme’s back was straight and his eyes gleamed with renewed strength. The Seneschal needed him and he would serve. If Axis had abandoned Jayme and the Seneschal, then Jayme and the Seneschal would abandon Axis.

“I am told that news of this cursed Prophecy spreads within Achar,” he said with new resolve.

Gilbert nodded. “Yes. Those of Borneheld’s soldiers who brought his report from the north, also – Artor damn them – brought this evil Prophecy. Once they had delivered Borneheld’s report to King Priam they took their worthless and pox-infected bodies off to a tavern where they recited the Prophecy for the edification of the tavern patrons.”

“Is it too late to stop word of the Prophecy spreading?” asked Jayme.

“Unfortunately so, Brother-Leader. Gossip will spread – and the Prophecy is so damnably ensorcelled that all who hear it remember it instantly.”

“And curse those two Brothers Ogden and Veremund for finding and showing the Prophecy to Axis!” Jayme rasped. He still found it hard to believe that the Brotherhood’s small outpost in the Silent Woman Keep had been so corrupted by the isolation and the records of the Forbidden they had found there.

Of course, none of the three in the room had yet heard news of the true identity of the two beings who wore the shapes of the long-dead Ogden and Veremund.

“Axis hardly needed those two fools to read him the Prophecy,” Gilbert said. “He could read the depraved script in the Forbidden’s books as easily as you would read the word of Artor himself. I, for one, do not find it hard to believe that Axis is of such tainted and ungodly breeding. None else could have read those ghastly lines. He was betrayer-bred, Brother-Leader, and his blood would always lead him to forsake you and the one true god Artor.”

Gilbert paused, watching the older men carefully. “Axis’ capitulation to the forces of evil may not be our worst threat. There may be traitors closer to home.”

Jayme narrowed his eyes. What did Gilbert know now? Over the past months Jayme had learned to respect Gilbert’s sources of information. “Well?” he barked finally, his entire frame tense and wary.

“I have heard word of Priam’s private deliberations,” Gilbert said casually.

Artor, but the little turd-faced bastard must have spies at the keyhole to Priam’s privy chamber, thought Jayme. No doubt he has word on how many times Priam mounts his wife at night. Jayme rarely let the language and imagery of his peasant youth intrude into his conscious mind. It was a measure of his unease that he did so now.

“Priam has become obsessed with the Prophecy,” Gilbert observed. “He believes its advice more than he believes the advice of the Brother-Leader. It is rumoured that Priam wavers towards supporting Axis and his cause. That he begins to think that alliance with the Forbidden might be a way to defeat Gorgrael.”

Jayme cursed under his breath, staring into the fire in order to hide the expression on his face. Even Moryson looked mildly surprised at Gilbert’s news.

“It is rumoured,” Gilbert continued, staring at Jayme’s back, “that Priam is … disappointed … with Borneheld. That he now wonders if Borneheld was such a good choice for WarLord. Priam believes Ichtar’s loss underscores the need to pay close attention to the advice of the Prophecy.”

The Brother-Leader’s clenched fist slammed into the mantel above the fire, sending chills of music rattling around the room.

“I would rather see Priam dead!” Jayme seethed, staring first at Gilbert and then at Moryson. “Has he lost his mind to consider an alliance with the Forbidden?”

Moryson and Gilbert were stunned by Jayme’s violent outburst. Moryson’s eyes flickered to Gilbert then back to Jayme. He laid a soothing hand on Jayme’s shoulder.

“Priam ever was a waverer,” he said gently. “’Tis perhaps not unexpected that he should vacillate in this present crisis.”

Jayme shook Moryson’s hand off his shoulder and stalked into the centre of the chamber. “Priam leads the nation!” he snapped. “Should we let him lead it back into subjection under the yoke of the Forbidden?”

Gilbert’s bright eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, Brother-Leader?’

“I mean that perhaps we – Achar – would be better off if we had a King whose loyalties were uncompromised.”

There was utter silence for several heartbeats; even Jayme was a little surprised by what he had just said.

“Brother-Leader,” Moryson said calmly. “It may be best if Borneheld knows of the situation. It might be best if Borneheld himself were here. To stop Priam from wavering, of course.”

“Borneheld is an experienced leader and battle commander,” Jayme said thoughtfully. “His hatred of the Forbidden and devotion to Artor is well known. He is also heir to the throne. I’m sure that he, too, would be appalled to learn of Priam’s treasonous thoughts.”

“Treasonous to Achar,” Moryson said.

Jayme gave him a hard look. “Treasonous to everything the Seneschal stands for. We cannot let the Forbidden back into Achar. Gilbert!”

Gilbert jumped to his feet.

“I think it were best that you left for the north on the next river transport.”

Gilbert smiled and bowed. He could see nothing but advantages for himself in these developments.

“Borneheld needs to be advised of where Priam’s mind is turning,” Jayme continued. “We are vulnerable now that the majority of the Axe-Wielders either lie dead or run with the traitor Axis. Only one cohort of Axe-Wielders remain to guard the interests and the persons of the Seneschal.”

Not in a thousand years had the Seneschal been as vulnerable as it was now. That thought was uppermost in Jayme’s mind. He would do whatever he had to do to ensure the Seneschal’s survival. “What we do we must do for the good of the Seneschal.”

“For the good of Artor and for the good of Achar,” Moryson added mildly.

“Of course,” Jayme said blandly, “that’s what I meant. Furrow wide, Moryson, furrow deep.”