Enchanter: Book Two of the Axis Trilogy

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 –”