11 GhostTree Camp

      Fleat was an old, old woman. She had seen more than seventy Beltides, she had seen her daughter and her husband’s second wife, Pease, torn to pieces by Skraelings, and she had seen this man who sat before her now drive the Destroyer and his minions from Tencendor.

      She had thought to be able to die in peace, but that was not to be. Now another force invaded, far more vile than anything the Destroyer had thrown at them, and this man before her was utterly helpless.

      Her eldest son, Helm, was now the leader of the GhostTree Clan. Grindle had died twelve Beltides ago, and since then Helm had done his father proud. Now Helm was watching his wife, Jemma — eight-months pregnant with a child that would surely be born into darkness — serve Axis and Azhure with malfari bread and the flat-backed fish she’d caught earlier in the day.

      Both accepted the food, bowing their heads in thanks, but refrained from eating until Jemma had served Caelum, a little further about the fire, and sat down herself.

      The twenty men and horses were camped fifteen paces about a bend in the path. Helm had not felt comfortable with them so close, and had wondered how Minstrelsea could tolerate their weapons.

      Maybe, Fleat thought, the forest thought the weapons a lesser evil than the one that currently slithered through her southern skirts. Well, and wasn’t that the case? Even weapons were palatable when compared to the TimeKeeper Demons.

      Helm lifted his fish, slicing it open with a thumbnail, and laid layers of fish on his malfari bread.

      “Where are you going?” he asked.

      Azhure fingered her bread, unable to bear the thought of eating it, but knowing that not only did she need the strength, Jemma would be gravely insulted if she left it.

      So she broke off a piece, looked at Fleat, remembering how the GhostTree Clan had once taken her in when no-one else seemed to want her, and responded to Helm’s question.

      “We travel north,” she said. “To Star Finger. The Maze Gate,” Azhure briefly explained what it was, “has told us that Caelum is the one to defeat Qeteb.”

      She put the piece of bread into her mouth and discovered to her astonishment that she was ravenously hungry. She began to chew enthusiastically.

      “How,” Fleat asked, her voice still strong despite her age, “if the Star Dance is gone?”

      “We will find a way,” Axis said. He looked about the circle of faces, lingering on Caelum’s. “You must all believe that. We will find a way.”

      Some of the tension among the Avar of the GhostTree Clan dissipated. Axis had always found a way previously, and he would again this time.

      Helm swallowed his mouthful of bread and fish. “There has been word from the southern borders of the forest, StarMan.”

      “Yes?”

      “Shra is dead. Slaughtered by the TimeKeepers.”

      Azhure cried out, her hands to her face. She locked eyes with Axis, who was as horrified as she. Both of them remembered the day they had first met, that scene in the cellar of the worship Hall of Smyrton. Raum, half dead; Shra — a tiny child then — almost completely dead. Touched beyond words, Axis had gathered Shra into his arms and had instinctively sung the Song of Recreation over her. Then, he’d been BattleAxe of the Seneschal, committed to fighting against the “Forbidden,” and had no idea he was of Forbidden blood and an Enchanter himself.

      Shra was — had been — very special to both of them.

      “How?” Axis said.

      “Isfrael and Shra confronted the Demons, for they could not bear it that they so boldly walked the paths of Minstrelsea. They threw all the power they could command at them, and it was not enough.”

      Axis and Azhure shared another glance, then one with Caelum. If Isfrael could not touch the Demons … then it would all be left up to Caelum.

      “The Demons tore Shra apart,” Helm finished.

      “And Isfrael?” Azhure asked. A tear trailed down her cheek.

      “He lived. The Stag intervened, and saved him.”

      Azhure nodded. The White Stag. The most magical beast in Minstrelsea. The creature that had once been Raum.

      “Drago killed Shra as surely as if he had plunged a knife into her heart himself,” Axis said savagely, and Azhure laid a hand on his arm. She had little love for Drago, and none for the harm he’d done her family and Tencendor, but she wished Axis could move beyond his all-consuming enmity for their second son. What good would that do them now? She glanced at Caelum.

      “Where is Isfrael now?” Caelum asked. Even if Isfrael had failed in his own attempt against the Demons, he would be a valuable — and powerful — ally later.

      “I am not sure,” Helm said, “although forest whispers have him moving westwards through the trees. Perhaps to the Cauldron Lake.”

      “Surely he wouldn’t think to attack the Demons there!” Azhure said. Isfrael was not of her blood, but she had raised him until he was fourteen, and loved him as much as she did Caelum.

      “Mother, be calm,” Caelum said. “Isfrael is no fool, and I am sure he has a purpose to his movements. Trust him.”

      Later, they lay curled in each other’s arms, not talking, listening to the other’s breath and heartbeat, and to the sounds of the Avar camp settling about them.

      After a while Azhure lifted her hand and ran it softly down Axis’ cheek, letting her fingers brush against his short-cropped blonde beard and then down his neck to his chest. How she loved this man! She leaned down and kissed his neck, and then his chest.

      “Think you to make love here and now?” Axis asked.

      She grinned in the dark. “I was remembering Beltide.”

      He smiled also, his hand stroking her back. “A long time ago, my love.”

      “Perhaps we ought to recreate a little of its magic now. It might comfort us.”

      Axis’ smile died. “There is no magic to recreate, Azhure.”

      She lifted her head to study his face. “We will persevere, Axis.”

      He was quiet a long time, his eyes distant. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet that, even as close as she was, Azhure had to lean yet closer to catch his words.

      “If I had known that day in that rank cellar,” he said, “that Shra’s life would have been so needlessly wasted then I may never have —”

      “Hush.” Azhure laid her fingers across his mouth. “Shra’s life was not needlessly wasted. She lived to a full age, and even if the manner of her death was …”

      “Vile.” Axis’ voice now had a hard and dangerous edge to it.

      “Even if the manner of her death was dreadful, then do not deny her life because of it.”

      Axis was silent again for a few minutes, thinking.

      Azhure thought she knew the trail of his mind, for his body had tensed. “Axis, nothing we did was useless.”

      “Wasn’t it?” Axis’ voice was very bitter. “Wasn’t it? Was all the death, all the pain, all the suffering that I dragged so many men, that I dragged Tencendor, through, ‘worth it’?”

      “Yes!” Azhure said. “Yes!”