Enchanter: Book Two of the Axis Trilogy. Sara Douglass
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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.”
“Don’t try to overpower me through such direct means. You leave yourself open. I grab your wrist and elbow, twist, and you’re crippled.”
SpikeFeather gave a gasp of pain and dropped the iron-tipped stave he was carrying, his free hand flying to the arm that Axis held in a vice-like grip. Axis casually kicked one leg out from under the Wing-Leader and SpikeFeather collapsed to the ground in an undignified heap.
Each day for over two weeks Axis had worked with individual Wings of the Strike Force, getting to know the Wing commanders and the individual members of the Force. They were obstinate and thin-skinned, Axis had decided, but they had the makings of a fine force, despite having degenerated over the past thousand or more years into little more than a decorative appendage to Icarii society. Axis had transformed the Strike Force’s exercises and training from displays of graceful acrobatics in the sky and on ground to difficult manoeuvres that would win them battles rather than parades, lives rather than hearts and cheers.
Axis leaned down and offered SpikeFeather his hand. SpikeFeather was one of the more skilful fighters among the Icarii and he had caused Axis a moment’s worry during their demonstration. SpikeFeather hesitated an instant, then took Axis’ hand, standing up in a flowing movement.
“You could have killed me, SpikeFeather,” said Axis, making sure he spoke loudly enough for the other Icarii standing about to hear, “if you had used your most potent weapon.”
“What do you mean, Strike-Leader?” SpikeFeather frowned. “I could not hold the stave while you twisted my arm so.”
“Your wings,” Axis said, exasperated. “You could have knocked me with one or both of your wings, or so distracted me that I would have let you go. Don’t forget your wings. They may save your life one day.”
Axis was intent on making the Icarii realise that even defensive fighting should be aggressive, and that surprise and skill would always win over brawn and superior weaponry. But the Icarii needed experienced practice partners before they could develop the instinct necessary to survive the inevitable battles with Gorgrael’s forces.
“All right, SpikeFeather, that’s enough for today.” Axis looked up to the gallery of the main training chamber where FarSight CutSpur and several of the other Crest-Leaders stood watching. Behind them were ranged some thirty or forty Icarii from other Wings who had asked if they could observe the training session. “Eventually when you join up with Belial’s command you can train one-on-one with his