Читать книгу Enchanter: Book Two of the Axis Trilogy - Sara Douglass - Страница 21

Timozel sat wrapped in his own peculiar stillness, as if the others seated at the dining table did not exist.

The visions came more often now, and far, far more vividly.

He rode a great beast – not a horse, something different – that dipped and soared. He fought for a great Lord, and in the name of that Lord he commanded a mighty army which undulated for leagues in every direction. Hundreds of thousands screamed his name and hurried to fulfil his every wish.

Before him another army, his pitiful enemy, lay quavering in terror. They could not counter his brilliance. Their commander lay abed, unable to summon the courage to meet Timozel in just combat.

In the name of his Lord he would clear Achar of the invading filth.

“Yes,” he mumbled, and Borneheld shot him an irritated glance.

A great and glorious battle and the enemy’s positions were overrun – to the man (and others stranger that fought shoulder to shoulder with them) the enemy died. Timozel lost not one soldier.

Another day, another battle. The enemy used foul magic, and Timozel’s forces were grievously hurt … but Timozel still won the field, and the enemy and their commander retreated before him.

Another day. Timozel sat before the leaping fire with his Lord, Faraday at their side. All was well. Timozel had found the light and his destiny.

His name would live in legend forever.

All was well.

The vision dimmed and Timozel heard Borneheld chastise Faraday yet again.

“You are worthless to me!” Borneheld hissed. Faraday stiffened. Her husband’s words were clearly audible to all those seated at the table.

“Worthless!” Borneheld said. “How many months have we been married? Four? Five? Your belly should be swollen with my son by now.”

Faraday focused on a distant point of the room, refusing to let her cheeks stain red. The Mother had answered her prayers and continued to bless her with barrenness, and she was not going to force false promises past her lips. The line of Dukes of Ichtar would end in her empty womb.

Her calm expression intensified Borneheld’s fury. “Your barrenness is not for want of trying on my part, Faraday,” he said, louder now. “Perhaps I should summon a physician to mix you a herbal.”

To his left Gautier grinned, but Duke Roland, sitting on Faraday’s other side, looked extremely embarrassed.

Faraday lowered her eyes to her plate of food, hoping her lack of responsiveness would lead to Borneheld tiring of the topic. Yr sat silently in a shadowy corner of the room and Faraday could feel her silent sympathy and support.

If Faraday had managed previously to tolerate her marriage to Borneheld in Gorkenfort, now she could barely keep her distaste for the man safely hidden. She no longer sought to please or humour him in their bed, nor pretended to love him or desire his company.

Borneheld now realised her feelings for Axis and suspected she had lied to him in Gorkenfort. Yet he could tolerate all of this – if only she provided him with an heir.

And yet Faraday remained barren despite his most strenuous exertions. Borneheld had never been charming or courtly, but in Gorkenfort he’d made an effort to treat Faraday with respect. Now that he had been forced to abandon Gorkenfort and Ichtar, Borneheld slipped into almost perpetual surliness, not hesitating to humiliate Faraday in public. Something dark and sinister had taken root in his mind since the fall of Gorkenfort, and daily Faraday watched it grow.

Borneheld abruptly turned aside and began to discuss with Gautier and Timozel the continuing efforts to construct a viable defence system around Jervois Landing.

Faraday let her breath out in relief and looked about the room. Borneheld and the immediate members of his command had taken over the Tired Seagull, the very same inn that she, Yr and Timozel had stayed at on their way to Gorkenfort. The men who had escaped Gorkenfort with them were either quartered about the town, or camped in the massive tent city that had sprung up about Jervois Landing.

Faraday caught the eye of the Ravensbund chief, Ho’Demi. She almost looked away, sure the man would be as embarrassed and uncomfortable as most others in the room, but Ho’Demi smiled at her warmly. There was nothing but sympathy and respect in his dark eyes. Faraday straightened her back a little, and Ho’Demi inclined his head in approval.

Faraday had never had a chance to speak to the man, as Borneheld did his best to keep her sequestered from anyone save Yr and Timozel. But Ho’Demi had such a natural aristocratic bearing for one whose appearance was so savage and frightening that Faraday found him fascinating. Indeed, she was intrigued by the entire Ravensbund population camped about Jervois Landing. On the few occasions Borneheld had allowed her out of their quarters (with a suitable guard), Faraday had seen their multicoloured tents spreading for what seemed like leagues about the town, the air around them filled with the sound of the soft chimes which they threaded through their hair and the manes of their horses, and which hung from every available space in their tents. All of them were tattooed to some degree, the different designs denoting different tribal groups, but all of them, no matter their tribe, had that peculiarly naked circle in the centre of their foreheads where no line crossed.

Little did Faraday know that Ho’Demi was equally interested in her. All Ravensbund people knew the Prophecy. They lived to serve both it and the StarMan, and Ho’Demi instinctively knew that this woman was one of those named in the Prophecy. But he could get near neither she nor her Sentinel maid, so closely watched were they by Borneheld’s men. One day. One day. Meantime, why did Borneheld humiliate one so obviously Prophecy-born? He did not understand it.

Faraday turned her eyes away from Ho’Demi, lest her attention draw Borneheld’s suspicion on the man’s head, and saw Timozel watching her.

There was no sympathy or support in his eyes at all. Over the past months Timozel had, tragically, become Borneheld’s man. Timozel was still her Champion, supposedly devoted to her welfare and interests, but he seemed to have decided that the best way he could serve Faraday’s interests was by serving her husband. Timozel admired and respected Borneheld, and Faraday found that very hard to understand.

Timozel had not thought to share his visions with her as he had with her husband.

Faraday averted her eyes. If she had known Timozel would turn into this dark, brooding, frightening man, she would have refused his request to be her Champion. Now Timozel stared at her, having sided with Borneheld on the issue of the child.

In her shadowy corner Yr watched Faraday’s shoulders straighten as she recognised the sympathy and support in Ho’Demi’s eyes, watched them slump again as she saw the accusation in Timozel’s. Yr seriously wondered whether she and the other three Sentinels had done the right thing in so forcibly persuading Faraday to deny her love for Axis and marry Borneheld. We thought it might help to keep Axis alive, Yr thought bitterly. So we persuaded the darling girl, so full of sweetness and love, to give herself to Borneheld. Why did we find it so necessary for the Prophecy that we force her into this boorish man’s bed?

I hope she will eventually find love and peace with Axis, Yr prayed. That Axis loved Faraday Yr had no doubt – everyone had seen that at Gorkenfort. And that Axis would fight through Achar to rescue Faraday from Borneheld’s side, Yr also did not doubt. She could not doubt it. She didn’t want to think that Faraday’s heartache would be for nothing.

And, as Faraday had done, Yr also glanced at Timozel. She and he had once been lovers, but Timozel’s tastes had become too dark for Yr’s liking and she’d ended the affair. As far as Yr was concerned, she and Faraday would have to stand together to survive this dreadful situation.

Pray Axis come quickly, she thought, pray that he come and rescue us both from this.

“My man,” Brother Gilbert said, “I represent the Brother-Leader of the Seneschal himself. I demand entrance to Duke Borneheld’s quarters immediately!”

The guard sniffed and looked this pimply, skinny Brother up and down. If I were the Brother-Leader, thought the guard, I would find myself a more imposing representative.

“I have papers! Proof of my identity,” Gilbert shouted, losing patience. Both this dullard’s parents must have been riddled with the pox to have birthed a child so grossly under-witted! It had been a hard, fast and dreadfully cold journey up the Nordra from Carlon to reach Jervois Landing, and the sooner Gilbert saw a fire – preferably with Duke Borneheld standing in front of it – the better. Gilbert was just about to shout at him again when a figure loomed in the darkened corridor behind the guard.

The guard snapped to attention, which puzzled Gilbert when he saw who the newcomer was – one of those savages from the northern wastes, a Ravensbundman, with even more fines scribbled across his face than normal.

“Chief Ho’Demi,” the guard saluted. “This underfed scrawling claims to be on a mission from the Brother-Leader.”

“I have papers,” Gilbert said, indignant. Him? An underfed scrawling? He had always thought himself a rather attractive man.

The savage snapped his fingers at Gilbert. “Well? Show them to me!”

Gilbert pulled a sheaf of papers out of the lining of his cloak and handed them to the savage. So, he was going to pretend he could read, was he?

“You have news for Borneheld regarding Priam, Brother Gilbert?” the savage finally asked, looking up from the papers.

Gilbert stopped himself from gawping only through a supreme effort. So the savage had managed to read Priam’s name. He would have guessed the rest. “Yes,” he finally got out. “Important news regarding Priam and the situation in Carlon. Important news,” Gilbert repeated slowly in case the savage had not understood him the first time.

Ho’Demi folded the papers and slipped them inside his furred waistcoat, ignoring Gilbert’s yelp of disapproval. “I will take him through, Eavan. You have done well.”

Gilbert sneered as he pushed past the guard. Done well, indeed. He hurried after Ho’Demi, almost tripping over a broom that some careless slut had left by a door, then stumbled up a similarly darkened stairwell.

“Little fuel about for lamps,” Ho’Demi explained as he heard Gilbert trip over the hem of his robe.

At the head of the stairs there was a large door, securely closed, with another two guards before it. Both snapped to attention as Ho’Demi brushed past them into the room, beckoning Gilbert after him.

Gilbert blinked as he accustomed himself to the light in the bright room, then stepped out of the way as two women hurried towards the door.

“Wait up, Faraday,” he heard Borneheld call. “Perhaps I will get my son on you tonight.”

Harsh laughter followed as Faraday slipped by Gilbert and out the door. It had been some six months since he had seen Faraday. Then she had been a vibrant girl, now the person who brushed past him looked wearied by the sadnesses of the world.

“Well?” Borneheld’s voice snapped. “Who’s this?”

Ho’Demi turned over the papers he had taken from Gilbert. Borneheld skimmed through them quickly. “Ah,” he said. “It seems Brother Gilbert might have some interesting news indeed. Gilbert?”

Well, thought Gilbert, here at least is a man worthy of my regard. Borneheld stood before the fire, a little scruffier than when Gilbert had last seen him, with his auburn hair shaved so short it appeared he had a badly bruised but utterly bald scalp, yet Gilbert still thought he looked the noblest man in the room. He deserves our protection and support, he thought as he stepped up to Borneheld and bowed.

“My Lord Duke,” he said respectfully. He did not add “of Ichtar,” because that would be insulting in the present circumstances, and Gilbert had strict instructions from Jayme not to offend Borneheld in any way.

“What news?” Borneheld asked, “that the Brother-Leader should send one of his advisers to speak to me personally?”

“My Lord,” Gilbert said ingratiatingly. “Brother-Leader Jayme instructed me that my news should be for your ears only.”

Borneheld’s eyes narrowed. Either the man carried important news or he was an assassin, and these days Borneheld trusted few people. But eventually he turned from Gilbert. “Roland, Ho’Demi, you may leave. Report to me with Jorge at dawn tomorrow. We need to go over the plans for the final flooding of the canals.”

Both men bowed and left silently, Gilbert noticing that Roland had lost much weight recently.

“My Lord?” Gilbert whispered, gesturing towards Gautier and Timozel.

“They stay with me,” Borneheld said sharply. “I trust them with my life, and they will not hesitate to take yours should you threaten mine.”

“I am your servant, Lord,” Gilbert grovelled, “not your murderer.”

“Well, then, sit down at the table and help yourself to some wine. You look as if you need some refreshment.”

Borneheld sat down opposite Gilbert, but Gautier and Timozel remained standing, ready to leap to Borneheld’s defence should he require it. Both men looked equally dangerous, and Gilbert wondered what had turned the boyish Timozel into this frightening man who had, quite obviously, transferred his loyalties from Axis to Borneheld.

“My Lord Duke,” Gilbert began, “Brother-Leader Jayme has read your reports and listened to the news from the north of Achar with growing alarm.”

“I have done my best,” Borneheld said, “but …”

“But you were betrayed, my Lord, we understand that. Axis and Magariz betrayed you, and they have betrayed the Seneschal as well with their damned pact with the Forbidden.”

“Yes!” Borneheld said. “I was betrayed from within! There is no-one I can trust! No-one! Except,” he hastened, “Gautier and Timozel. No-one else.”

To one side both Gautier and Timozel bowed slightly.

“And you are right to fear treachery, my Lord,” Gilbert continued smoothly. This was going far better than he had anticipated. “For I bring grievous news.”

“By the Blessed Artor!” Borneheld said, rising so quickly that the chair he’d been sitting on fell to the floor with a crash. “Who now?”

Gilbert assumed an expression of deep sorrow. “It grieves me to say this, my Lord –”

“Then bloody say it!” Borneheld shouted, and leaned across the table to seize Gilbert by his habit.

“Priam,” Gilbert stammered, frightened by the madness in Borneheld’s eyes. “Priam.”

Borneheld let Gilbert go. “Priam? Priam betrays me? How?”

“Priam is frightened and alone,” Gilbert whispered. “He does not have your resolve or your courage. He listens to the Prophecy of the Destroyer.”

Borneheld swore, and Gilbert hurried on. “He wonders if Axis is still alive and, if so, whether he should consider an alliance with the Forbidden.”

“He what?” Borneheld said. “How can he consider such a thing? Artor himself must be screaming at the thought.”

“Yes,” Gilbert said. “Your reaction mirrors Jayme’s.”

“How many know that Priam thinks this way?” Borneheld asked.

“Jayme, Moryson, the four of us in this room, and one or two others, my informants in the palace at Carlon.”

“This is something that should not be bruted about,” Borneheld said.

“Jayme would entirely agree with that. My Lord, I cannot stress how anxious Jayme is about this development. If Priam were to ally himself with Axis and his ungodly hordes, then the Forbidden could invade Achar and all would be lost.”

He took a careful pause. “My Lord. Jayme has instructed me to tell you that you have his, nay, the Seneschal’s, entire support in whatever course of action you choose to take in this matter.”

Borneheld turned towards the fire so that none could see his face. “And what does ‘Jayme’s entire support’ mean, Gilbert? Has not Axis efficiently destroyed your military power base? Where are your vaunted Axe-Wielders now?”

“We control the hearts and souls of the Acharites, my Lord Duke. We are the mediators between their souls and the rewards of the AfterLife in the care of Artor, or, should they refuse to listen to our message, in the pits of fire where worms will gnaw at their entrails for eternity. My Lord Duke, they listen to us. Should we say, ‘Borneheld is your man’, then they will listen.”

Gilbert took a deep breath, and when he spoke again his voice was heavy with meaning. “If you fight against Axis and the Forbidden, Borneheld, then Jayme and the Seneschal will support you in whatever course of action you decide to take.”

Borneheld’s eyes glinted strangely. “And what does the Brother-Leader advise me to do, Brother Gilbert?”

“Brother-Leader Jayme advises that you return to Carlon, my Lord, should the situation here in Jervois Landing be stable enough. Once back in Carlon you can shore up Priam’s resolve, or –”

“Or?”

“Or perhaps you can decide to take some other course of action.”

“And what ‘course of action’ do you advise me to take, Brother Gilbert?”

“I would advise that you are only one step away from the throne, my Lord Duke Borneheld. Priam is childless, and you are the heir,” Gilbert said very softly, his eyes steady on Borneheld’s. “I would advise that you take that one step closer. We need, Achar needs, a King whose loyalties and resolve are uncompromised, who can lead us to victory against the Forbidden.”

There was complete and utter silence in the room as Borneheld stared at Gilbert.

At dawn Borneheld met with his senior commanders; Duke Roland of Aldeni, Earl Jorge of Avonsdale, and the savage Ho’Demi who, by virtue of commanding eleven thousand men, sat at Borneheld’s table with Gautier and Timozel.

They reviewed the system of canals which the majority of Borneheld’s men were digging. Borneheld knew that a battle fought against the Skraelings on their terms was virtually unwinnable. Now he would fight the Skraelings on his terms.

He and his commanders had planned a massive series of deep canals between the rivers Azle and Nordra that they would flood when finished. The Skraelings hated water and avoided it whenever possible. If they attacked in force Borneheld hoped they would be driven by the twisting system of canals into small pockets and envelopes where Borneheld’s men could pick them off relatively safely.

It was a bold move, but one that all agreed might just work. Especially since the Skraelings had spread themselves so thinly over Ichtar that it would take Gorgrael months to build up a force strong enough to try to push further south. For ten weeks every soldier, plus thousands of ordinary Acharites who were within reasonable distance, had been out digging the canals. Each would be twenty paces wide and more than ten deep, and the entire system of canals would provide a watery barrier almost fifteen leagues wide.

“It is looking good, gentlemen,” Borneheld said cheerfully. “Jorge, you have been in charge of the western series of canals. When will they be ready to flood?”

“In two days, WarLord.”

“Good!” Borneheld slapped Jorge on the back. “And Roland, your canals are already flooded?”

Roland nodded. What could have happened to put Borneheld in such a good mood?

“Ho’Demi.” Borne held turned to the Ravensbundman. “What do your scouts report?”

Ho’Demi shrugged a little and his hair gently chimed with the slight movement. “Very little activity within two leagues north of here, Lord Duke, though above that distance Skraelings scurry about in small bands. But they seem disorganised. I doubt they will have the strength to attack for some time yet.”

“And they will certainly not attack through the warmer months,” Borneheld said. “In a week spring will be upon us. Gentlemen! I feel more positive than I have for months! I think we will not only be able to hold the Skraelings with this watery line of defences, but start our reconquest of Ichtar within only a few months.”

He beamed at the surrounding men, ignoring the bemused expressions on Roland’s, Jorge’s and Ho’Demi’s faces.

“So!” Borneheld rubbed his hands together. “This is the perfect time for me to make a quick journey down the Nordra to confer with Priam. Besides, Faraday seems … ill … not herself. Perhaps it would be best if she could see the physicians at the court of Carlon. We will be leaving this afternoon.”

“Borneheld!” Roland said. “You can’t just leave Jervois Landing like this!”

Jorge concurred. “You are needed more here than in Carlon, WarLord!”

“My dear comrades,” Borneheld replied, “with such competent men already in Jervois Landing you can well afford to lose me for a few weeks. Timozel, you will travel with Faraday and myself. Pick a small contingent of men to travel with us and organise some river transport. I want to leave by dusk. Gautier, my good friend, I leave you in charge of Jervois Landing. Roland, Jorge and Ho’Demi will give you their full support as they would give it to me.”

He looked carefully at the three men, each of whom fought to restrain their shock. Gautier?

Finally all three inclined their heads. “As you wish, WarLord,” Jorge said quietly.

“As I wish,” Borneheld said menacingly. “Always as I wish. I will not countenance treachery. Timozel? You have much work to do before we can leave this evening. Get to it.”

Timozel’s face was pale, and uncharacteristically he stood his ground, ignoring Borneheld’s orders. “Great Lord,” he began. “Surely I would be better left to command the troops here in Jervois Landing?”

“What?” Borneheld glared at him. “Do you think to contradict me, stripling?”

Timozel swallowed, but his eyes were bright, fanatical. “Lord, you know what I have seen –”

“I know what now I see!” Borneheld shouted. “I need you in Carlon, Timozel! Your place is at my side … and Faraday’s, of course,” he added, as an afterthought. His voice regained its strength. “And if you demonstrate that you are incapable of following orders then the only command you will receive is of a blanket in a cell. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Lord,” Timozel mumbled. When would Borneheld pass command over to him? He suppressed a niggling doubt. All would be well. It would.