14 Inside the Silent Woman Keep

      “Well? What are you doing here? What are you doing wandering the Silent Woman Woods?” he demanded.

      Axis looked around. They were in a large, dimly lit circular room which seemed to take up the entire ground floor of the Keep. To one side a twisting iron staircase led to the upper levels. Various packing cases lay strewn across almost half of the floor space, while the other half was set up as a rude kitchen and eating area. A large wooden larder, propped up by bricks, leaned precariously against the stone wall, while a crude wooden table sat before a small fire in an iron grate. The fire provided the only light in the room. A small and utterly insufficient iron hood led some of the smoke away through a pipe in the wooden ceiling. The rest of the smoke simply drifted about the room.

      Axis gave the Brother the Axe-Wielder’s salute; he saw no point in insulting the man. “Brother Ogden?”

      The Brother grunted and looked the group over. “That is my name.”

      “Brother Ogden, my name is Axis, BattleAxe of the Axe-Wielders. Wait!” He raised his hand slightly and took a step forward as Ogden started to shake his head. “Brother, it has been thirty-nine years since you had contact with the outside world and many things have changed since you were last at the Tower of the Seneschal. Fingus died many years ago. Now I am BattleAxe. King Karel likewise died many years ago and now Priam sits on the throne of Achar.”

      “He was a snotty-nosed toddler when I last saw him,” Ogden grumbled. Timozel restrained a smile at the image of a snotty-nosed Priam, complete with auburn curls. The Brother looked at Axis sharply. “Who’s the Brother-Leader did you say? Jayme?”

      Axis nodded. Ogden frowned then smiled as if recalling something. “Well, well. Done well for a boy from the farm, hasn’t he? I wonder what friends he made to reach such a high position?” He muttered to himself for another moment, his smile fading, then wandered over to the table. “Well, sit, sit. No use standing about like gawking peasants caught at court.” He kicked out a couple of bare benches from underneath the table. “Courtesy dictates that we offer you some food while you tell us why you are here. Veremund!”

      Ogden’s sudden bellow caught the four men off-guard and Gilbert, who was closest to Ogden and in the act of sitting down on the dusty bench, tripped and would have fallen had not Timozel caught his arm.

      “Veremund!” Ogden bellowed again, staring at the staircase where it disappeared into the darkness. There was a shuffling from above, then a figure hastened into view, lit by a small lamp that he was carrying. He hurried down the staircase, whispering to himself.

      Veremund was as tall and spare as Ogden was short and fat, and unlike Ogden’s pale grey eyes, his eyes were almost black in his pale face. His hair, however, was as white and as wispy as his fellow brother’s. Ink stains ran down his dirty grey habit.

      “Guests!” he exclaimed, as he caught sight of Axis and his companions. “Ogden! We have guests!” He hurried over to the table and enthusiastically shook all four men’s hands. “Charmed,” he beamed. “Absolutely delighted, old chap.” He patted Timozel on the head and clapped Gilbert on the shoulder, then he spied the insignia on the breast of Axis’ coat.

      “BattleAxe! We are indeed honoured … aren’t we, Ogden?” He looked expectantly at Ogden, who grumbled to himself again and shuffled over to the fire and pushed a large kettle closer to the flames. “Well,” Veremund continued, a little deflated. “We are honoured. It’s been a long time. Please excuse Brother Ogden’s poor manners, gentlemen. He does dislike to be disturbed from his contemplations, you see. But I am glad to have company.” He waved at the men to sit down. “Please, sit … sit.”

      Ogden banged some dirty plates on the table, stared at them for a moment, then wiped them perfunctorily with the skirt of his habit, leaving even more smears. “They’ve not yet informed me why they’re here, Veremund.” He passed the plates about the table.

      Veremund smiled broadly at the men. “Well, that doesn’t matter, does it. We have plenty of time to hear their story.” He paused, and a shadow crossed his face. “Gentlemen, forgive me if I ask this. But I can’t help wondering if you had any trouble coming through the Woods?”

      Ogden, who was rummaging in the larder behind their backs, paused and turned back to the table. His eyes briefly met Veremund’s.

      Axis glanced at Timozel and Arne. “We were not inside the trees a hundred paces when …” He paused. “When …”

      “Ah,” said Veremund softly, wringing his hands, a sad expression crossing his face. “The Woods, you see, they would not allow your axes in, would they?”

      “Demons,” said Arne darkly. “No woods or forests should be allowed to stand. It’s an affront to Artor.”

      Ogden banged a cold honeyed ham on the table. He chortled. “Young man, the Seneschal have been trying to cut these woods down for a thousand years. Why – so it is said – one day Axemen five thousand strong surrounded the Woods with their axes and tried to cut their way through” He laughed again. “None survived the experience … Axemen, I mean.”

      Axis looked at the others, startled. “But I thought these Woods were left standing because the Seneschal wanted the Keep left undisturbed.”

      Veremund sighed and sat down. “Unfortunately, the Seneschal is not yet strong enough to conquer these Woods, BattleAxe. The old magic is still too strong.” Gilbert frowned at the casual mention of magic. Veremund looked back to Ogden, returning from the larder with a tray laden with food. The unspoken thought passed between them – why had the Woods taken the axes yet let the men live to reach the Keep? The Woods had let none live for … well, for many years.

      The kettle whistled and Veremund busied himself setting some tea to steep while Ogden unloaded the tray. Their four guests exchanged surprised looks; the food that Ogden laid out was as fine as that of Priam’s table itself. There were four different kinds of bread, an array of cold meats, pickles, mustards, fresh vegetables, various berry tarts and jellies, cream, butter, spiced fruits and a variety of cheeses.

      Gilbert cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Brothers, but, ah, I was wondering how you manage to set such a fine table?”

      Ogden and Veremund, sitting themselves down at the table, looked baffled. “Why, the food comes from the larder, of course,” Ogden said.

      “Yes,” Gilbert pushed, wriggling a little on his bench, “but how does it get in there? I mean, do you butcher and bake all this yourself? There were no livestock outside, and we saw no gardens.”

      Ogden’s eyes snapped. “Young whip-snake, the food comes from the larder. I presume Veremund puts it in there.”

      Veremund’s eyes widened in denial. “Oh, no, no, no, Ogden! You put it in there. I don’t.”

      Ogden turned on Veremund, absolutely furious at being contradicted. “No, I don’t! You do!” His plump cheeks had gone pink with anger.

      “Brothers,” Axis said hastily to avoid further argument. “It really doesn’t matter. I’m sorry if Brother Gilbert’s question offended you. Please, the food is more than we could have expected.”

      “Well,” Veremund huffed. “If you will excuse me, I will attend to your horses. There is a stable