Battleaxe (38 page)

Faraday knew what he was asking. More than anything else she wanted to run to him and ease the pain in his eyes, reassure him that she still wanted him more than life itself. But that she could not do. “I came here because I wanted nothing more than to be Borneheld’s wife as quickly as possible, BattleAxe. I had…I had no thought that you might be worried for me.” And please Mother let him see the lie in my eyes, she pleaded silently. Please Mother make him realise that what I did, I did for him.

Axis stared at her for a long moment, his wretchedness and misery plain for all to see. He watched Faraday, watched her held within the circle of Borneheld’s arms, watched the knowing smirk stretch across Borneheld’s face and the apparently contented smile on Faraday’s own, and finally he could take no more. He turned on his heel and, pushing past Timozel, walked towards the far doorway, every movement of his body stiff with anguish.

Borneheld’s triumphant laughter followed him out the doorway.

A
xis wheeled Belaguez around in a tight circle, his eyes scanning the snowfields about them. They had ridden out into the blessedly clear morning some two hours ago and now they were almost two leagues deep into the flat snow plains that stretched north from Gorkenfort. One league further to the north-west lay the River Andakilsa, now so dangerous it was impassable to shipping; Gorkenfort was cut off from the sea. To the north-east rose the Icescarp Alps, much, much closer now than at Sigholt, most of their black peaks lost in the clouds. Axis stared at them, narrowing his eyes to cut out as much of the glare from the flat snowfields as he could. The Alps rose abruptly from the flat plains, the massive mountains scarred with towering cliffs and deep crevices of black rock and ice.

“It is said that life is so barren within the Icescarp Alps that even the rivers are of ice. When I was first assigned to Gorkenfort an old shepherd told me that once he had driven his flocks so close to the base of the mountains that he could hear the rivers groaning and splintering their way through the passes,” Magariz said quietly from behind Axis.

Axis turned around. Magariz had insisted on riding out with him, saying only when both Borneheld and Axis had tried to stop him that it was foolish to send out a Patrol Leader inexperienced in the ways of
the snowfields and the wraiths without an experienced backup. His injuries did not hinder him on horseback, although Axis noticed that occasionally he raised a gloved hand to the scar on his cheek.

Behind Magariz rode Belial, Arne and the rest of the patrol, some fifteen men composed of Axe-Wielders and regular mounted soldiers. Axis had been coldly angry with Belial, arguing that his second-in-command had no right to be risking himself too. But Belial merely listened passively to Axis’ arguments, then mounted his horse. Belial had seen Axis’ reaction to Faraday the night before, had known that Axis had spent a sleepless night wrapped in his cloak on top of the battlements gazing silently towards the Icescarp Alps. He’d known Axis felt something more for Faraday than simple attraction, but he hadn’t realised that emotions ran so deep. He was not going to stay behind and eat his heart out with worry wondering if his possibly suicidal BattleAxe would return from his patrol.

Arne had similarly ignored Axis’ protests and his usually dour expression was now frozen even more firmly into place by the cold. For many weeks now, ever since they had ridden out of the Silent Woman Woods, Arne had been driven to protect Axis, to watch his back, to scan the faces of those about him for subtle signs of treachery. He was beginning to suspect many people about Axis, and sometimes his face broke out in a sweat of frantic anxiety if he saw Axis surrounded by too many unknown people.

Borneheld had been deeply satisfied when both Belial and Arne mounted their horses despite Axis’ protests; the BattleAxe’s authority seemed to be splintering about him. Borneheld did not realise that both Belial and Arne disregarded Axis’ anger, and even his orders, simply because they would prefer to die for him than see him die before them. Borneheld would have been hardpressed to expect similar devotion from Gautier.

All the patrol were dressed in shades of white and light grey; even Axis had discarded his usual black uniform for the grey and white of the Axe-Wielders. No-one wanted to make themselves any more conspicuous than possible. All were armoured under their cloaks, even though armour was not always effective against the wraiths.
Despite the cold, cloaks were kept well clear of sword hilts and axe hafts. Fingers were constantly flexed within gloves to keep them as warm and as limber as possible. All were tense and alert.

Five of the men carried burning brands. Magariz gave them terse instructions as they rode across the frozen snow, while Axis make sure they were as compact a group as possible. “Fire will sometimes make the wraiths think twice about attacking, but if there are large numbers of them it won’t stop them” said Magariz. “If it comes to a fight, remember this. The wraiths have little flesh and blood, but they are vulnerable through their Artor-cursed silver eyes. Strike them cleanly through those orbs and you will kill them. As pale as they are, when you burst those orbs they bleed red blood as profusely as any man stuck through the gut.”

He paused to let the men absorb this then continued, “And remember, they go for your face and throat, or sometimes your hands and wrists. Those are the parts of you that are most exposed. They smell flesh, and they hunger for it. They have the sharpest teeth, as long and as pointed as the man-eating fish that follow the ships in the Andeis Sea. Once they have fastened themselves into your flesh nothing will save you.”

Magariz watched the unease, particularly among the Axe-Wielders, none of whom had yet experienced attack by these wraiths. “But they also feed on fear, gentlemen. If you can remain calm when under attack then you will have a chance. Do not let yourselves be overwhelmed by panic. Panic, unreasoned fear, will kill you quicker than a spreading fire will consume a swaddled infant left by the hearth.” He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Stay calm? A tall order, comrades, when you are attacked by such nightmarish creatures.”

“They seem to be becoming more substantial,” Magariz continued, “as if, having fed on so much flesh and blood, they are recreating their own bodies from those they have slaughtered.” Axis glanced sharply at the man: his words stirred some dim thought at the back of his mind, but it evaded his attempts to catch it. Magariz’s own gloved hand now fingered the hilt of his sword. “Over the past weeks more and more of our patrols have been attacked.”

Magariz was silent for a moment before he spoke again, reluctantly. “But the wraiths are not the worst you will face, my friends. Increasingly bands of the wraiths are led by the creatures that attacked Gorkenfort and the Retreat in Gorkentown.”

They rode silently for another half an hour, each man wrapped in his own thoughts. Artor help those Ravensbundmen still left alive in these frozen wastes, Axis thought to himself. I would not want to venture more than a half day’s gallop any further north from Gorkenfort. He pulled his cloak a little closer, careful to leave his sword hilt free. A soft mist was drifting down from the north, and the wind was now damp as well as cold.

“BattleAxe! Beware!” Magariz hissed suddenly, and Axis glanced at him sharply. The man was rigid on his horse and had drawn his sword; “Remember, they attack from mists such as this!”

Swords rattled out of scabbards and the five men holding the burning brands hoisted them a little higher. The horses skittered across the snow, their riders’ increased nervousness communicating itself to them. Axis tightened his rein on Belaguez.

Something whispered along the wind and Axis felt the fine hair down the back of his neck stand on end.

“Skraelings!” Magariz hissed.

“Tighten your formation.” Axis called calmly. “Back your horses into a circle.”

But both men and horses were now fighting to keep their panic down and the horses were not easy to control now that each rider had either a sword or flaming brand in one hand.

“Magariz, advise me,” Axis said conversationally, as Belaguez jostled against the lord’s own stallion. “Do we attempt to flee, or is it better to stand and fight?”

“Fight,” Magariz said tersely. “The Skraeling wretches want us to flee. If we flee we give in to panic and fear. And then we are dead.”

Axis nodded briefly. “Then we fight.” He suddenly felt very calm. He badly wanted to strike out at something in order to release his own pent up anger and frustration at Faraday’s betrayal in the thrill of the sword thrust and the kill.

Whispers surrounded them, words distorted by the damp mist so that they lay just outside the boundaries of comprehension. Whispers, running along the edge of the wind and into their very souls.

“BattleAxe!” one of his Axe-Wielders cried, fear drifting through his voice despite his attempts to quell it. “They are everywhere!”

The mist thickened about them, enveloping the men and their horses in a grey fog of despair, and concealing the creatures that wanted to kill them.

Behind Axis Arne hissed in surprise. Shapes were drifting out of the mist in front of them. Tall and vaguely man-shaped, the wraiths were so insubstantial that the men of the patrol could see the shapes of other Skraelings milling behind those in the front ranks. Huge silver orbs floated inside their deep eye sockets. Their clawed hands and their skull-like heads, long pointed fangs hanging down from over-sized jaws, were the most solid parts about them.

Axis hefted the sword in his hand. “Are you ready, my friends?” he called in a clear voice, his tone light. “Will you stand at my back?”

Axis’ voice gave the others heart. The wraiths milled among themselves, unsettled by the aura of assurance surrounding the leader of the patrol. They preferred overt fear to this disturbing sense of boldness and daring. There was something unusual about this man. What was it?

“We stand with you, Axis Rivkahson,” Belial called, his voice strong and confident. Magariz joined his voice to that of Belial’s. “We place our trust in you, BattleAxe.”

“Then let us not wait for attack, let
us
attack! To me!” Axis spurred Belaguez forward, feeling and hearing the others behind him, and then they were among the Skraeling wraiths.

The unsettled wraiths fell back. They preferred sneaking attacks to standing defence. Axis dropped Belaguez’s reins, controlling the stallion with only knees and voice, and struck with his sword at the nearest wraith, feeling the pressure against his blade as it sliced through the creature’s eye, revelling in the bright blood that spattered across his own body and down the neck of the grey stallion. “It
bleeds!” he screamed and lunged down with his free hand to grab the stringy hair on the wraith’s head, twisting his sword deeper and deeper. He felt so powerful, so in control, that he did not even think to sing the Icarii ward of protection.

The wraith wailed and grabbed helplessly at the blade as Axis rammed the sword home, writhing and twisting on the cold steel. The moment the blade drew free the wraith fell apart, disintegrating into a mass of grey slimy muck in the snow underneath Belaguez’s plunging hooves.

Now that he was among them the wraiths knew what he was, knew
who
he was. Even though the man did not use his power, the Skraelings recognised it, and they were afraid. They had not expected
him
here!

“They die!” Axis called, joy strengthening his voice, and reached for the next wraith. About him his men stayed in close formation, Axis’ blood lust communicating itself to them but not tempting them to break rank, flaming brands and swords rising one after the other before plunging deep into the silver orbs of wraith after wraith. Magariz also found himself screaming with excitement, each thrust of his blade one more stroke in revenge. Belial, calmer but equally deadly with his sword, kept his horse close to Axis, one eye on his BattleAxe in case he got too far ahead of the other men and horses and was isolated among the writhing, screeching pack of wraiths.

Borneheld’s soldiers followed, amazed as the BattleAxe of the Axe-Wielders led them into such an all-consuming deadly attack that for the first time it was the wraiths who were experiencing the rout rather than them. Each and every one of them rallied behind the BattleAxe’s back, drawing strength from his incredible courage and daring. All traces of fear fell away; all revelled in the feeling of power that came from a successful attack rather than a desperate retreat. “To Axis Rivkahson!” one of them cried, and his companions took up the cry, using it almost as a mantra of death as they struck deep into the wraiths time after time. The Axe-Wielders grinned at their companions, and soon all shouted Axis’ name as they killed again and again.

And then, almost as suddenly as the wraiths had appeared they were gone and the mist began to clear. Belial reached forward and grabbed Belaguez’s bridle, twisting so hard the horse almost fell; Belial had seen the bloodlust in Axis’ eyes and did not want him spurring after the wraiths as they fled.

“Enough, Axis!” he snapped. “They have gone.”

Axis turned to him, normality gradually returning to his eyes. “By Artor, Belial, that felt good. I needed that.” Belial grinned and then laughed, releasing Belaguez’s bridle. “Remind me not to come along with you the next time you feel like a little emotional release, my friend. I thought you were going to skewer me at one point!” His eyes drifted down to Axis’ hands and he suddenly paled, his laughter dying as quickly as it had begun.

“Axis,” he breathed. “Look what you hold!”

Axis glanced down. In his left hand he held the head of one of the Skraeling wraiths, surprisingly solid but utterly dead. One of its silver eyes was punctured and drained of fluid, the other staring sightlessly into eternity. Its mouth hung flaccidly, teeth still gleaming wickedly in the re-emerging sunlight. Its ashen skin was so thin that the bone of its skull threatened to break through its faint overlay.

Axis hefted it in his hand and held it high for all the men to see. “See!” he cried, his voice drifting triumphantly across the frozen wastes. “They can die too.” He lowered his voice and looked at Magariz. “A gift for Borneheld, methinks,” he said, and Magariz flinched a little at the harshness in Axis’ eyes and voice.

Of all present, Arne was the only one not with his eyes fixed on Axis’ face. He kept his eyes drifting across the frozen wastes about them, ever vigilant for fresh treachery and attack. “BattleAxe,” he hissed. “’Ware behind you!”

Axis swung Belaguez about, his face tightening. Walking fearlessly towards them was a creature conceived in someone’s nightmare. Magariz inhaled convulsively. “Is that one of the creatures that attacked you?” Axis asked softly. Magariz nodded. “Yes, but more so. They have grown, changed, since they attacked Gorkenfort.”

Axis’ hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

About fifteen paces away the creature stopped. It was both massive and graceful at the same time, taller and more heavily muscled than a man, but with a movement so sinuous that it reminded many of those watching of a stalking cat. Its head was a horror—part bird, part man, part beast. It had a hooked beak for a mouth and vicious tusks protruding from its cheekbones. Its eyes and forehead were man-shaped, but its skull was covered by a crazy mixture of fur and feathers, while its naked body was scaled like that of a lizard. Its hands and feet were tipped with massive black claws, and from its back extended two leathery wings that were similarly tipped with lethal black talons.