Battleaxe: Book One of the Axis Trilogy. Sara Douglass
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face among the three or four noblemen at the royal table she still could not identify. Which one was he?
Devera savoured Faraday’s embarrassed confusion for a moment, then inclined her head towards the man sitting immediately at Priam’s right hand.
“Ah,” Faraday breathed, for now that Devera had pointed him out she could see some resemblance. Borneheld had Priam’s grey eyes and his hair was precisely the same shade of auburn, although dressed in a soldier’s close crop rather than Priam’s court curls. He was a man in the prime of his life, about thirty, and as solid as he might be, it was clear that his bulk was all muscle. If Priam was a courtier, then it was obvious that Borneheld was a warrior, his body honed by years in the saddle and wielding the sword. He looked a formidable man. Her mother had been remarkably silent on Priam’s immediate family.
“Borneheld is the child of Priam’s only sister, Rivkah, who married Borneheld’s father Searlas, the previous Duke,” Devera explained.
Faraday paused in her contemplation of Borneheld to glance back at Devera. For a moment she thought that there was some hesitation, or some darker shadow, behind Devera’s words, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “So, if Priam has no children, Borneheld will become king.”
Devera shrugged and took another sip of wine. “Probably, unless the other Earls and Barons decided to fight him for the privilege.”
“But that would mean civil war! Are you suggesting that our fathers would be so disloyal?” Faraday valued loyalty above most other virtues.
“Well, the prize would be worth it, wouldn’t it,” Devera snapped, the wine she had drunk making her tongue dangerously loose.
Faraday turned her head away and concentrated on the food before her. Perhaps it were best if she let Devera chat to the youth on her right for a time.
Some twenty silent minutes later, Faraday became aware of a man moving quietly through the shadows behind the great columns, then weaving sinuously between the crowded tables and the darting, anxious serving men and women. Occasionally he bent to speak to a person or two seated at the tables.
She watched him, fascinated by his unusual grace and the suppleness of his movement. He was moving towards the dais where the royal table stood, and she wondered if he were one of the nobles. Faraday was enthralled.
Finally he stepped into the main body of the chamber and Faraday had her first clear look at him; she took a quick, sharp breath of surprise. Not even Priam commanded the same presence that this man did.
He was still a relatively young man, perhaps some ten or eleven years older than herself, striking rather than handsome. This was due partly to his lithe grace, but also to the unusual alien cast of his features. His shoulder-length hair, drawn back into a short tail in the nape of his neck, and his close-shaven beard were the colour of sun-faded harvest wheat, his eyes an equally faded blue – but as penetrating as a bird of prey’s. He was tall and lean, and wore a uniform unlike any that Faraday had seen before, either in her home of Skarabost or here in Carlon. Over slim-fitting black leather trousers and riding boots, he wore a black, close-fitting hip-length tunic coat of cleverly woven wool. Even the trimmings and the raised embroideries down the sleeves of his tunic were black. The only relief was a pair of crossed golden axes embroidered across his left breast. As he stepped into the brilliance of the central chamber the entire effect was as if a panther had suddenly strolled out of a dark jungle into the sunlight of a glade.
“Devera!” she whispered.
Devera turned and looked in the same direction. “Ah,” she said, in understanding. Faraday’s reaction was the same as every woman’s the first time they laid eyes on the BattleAxe. It was a reaction the BattleAxe was fully aware he created and, if in the mood, capitalised on.
She sighed and tapped Faraday’s hand to get her attention as the BattleAxe weaved through the last few tables towards the royal dais. “That is Axis, BattleAxe of the Axe-Wielders.”
The Axe-Wielders! The legendary military wing of the Seneschal! And this was their commander! No wonder he had caught her attention. Faraday hadn’t even hoped to lay eyes on one of the Axe-Wielders while she was in Carlon, since they generally stayed close to the Tower of the Seneschal across Grail Lake.
Devera’s lips twitched. It was a shame to disillusion Faraday about this man, but if she didn’t do it, then someone else soon would.
“Faraday. Look at Priam for a moment, and tell me if you see a resemblance.”
Faraday did as Devera asked. “Oh! They’re related – they must be. They have the same distinctive hairline and forehead.”
“Yes. They are related. Axis is also Priam’s nephew and Borneheld’s half-brother, and Borneheld is just as unlikely to acknowledge that fact as Priam is to acknowledge Axis as his nephew. For the royal family, Axis is the ultimate embarrassment.”
Faraday frowned, wondering why her mother had not told her of this man, but she did not take her eyes from the BattleAxe. He had stopped to laugh for a moment with a lady of minor nobility sitting at one of the tables close to theirs, and she did not want to take her eyes from him while he was so close. “I don’t understand,” she said.
Devera settled back in her chair and smiled. The story of Axis’ birth was well known in Carlon – although it was not widespread elsewhere – and it was not often that she had the opportunity to tell the deliriously scandalous tale of Rivkah’s shame to someone who knew nothing about the affair.
“Axis is the illegitimate son of Rivkah, Priam’s sister,” she said bluntly, and her words were finally enough for Faraday to tear her gaze from Axis and look at Devera.
“Really!” she breathed.
“Yes,” Devera nodded sagely. “Rivkah was married at an early age, younger than you are now, to the ageing Searlas, Duke of Ichtar. Within a year she had produced a son, Borneheld. Searlas was pleased. While Rivkah had the young babe to occupy her, he left her at the fort of Sigholt in the Urqhart Hills, safe enough one would think, while he went on an extensive tour of the northern fortifications at Gorkenfort and the River Andakilsa. He was gone a year. When he returned to Sigholt it was to find that Borneheld had grown into a strong, one-year-old boy, and the Princess Rivkah was holding court at Sigholt with a bulging eight-month belly. Can you imagine the scandal? Even the stableboys knew of the pregnancy before Searlas did.”
Faraday’s curiosity would not let the next question lie. “Who was the father?”
Deveras blue eyes twinkled and her mouth curved mischievously. She tossed her curls and her breasts jiggled in their too-tight bodice. “No one knows, Faraday. Rivkah flatly refused to tell. She had not wanted to marry Searlas in the first place, and most people assumed that this was her way of ending the marriage. Well, Searlas was furious – as he had a right to be. He had believed that Rivkah would be safe at Sigholt – there is no garrison bolted tighter in Achar – and his suspicions immediately fell upon the garrison guard and servants. It is said that he had half of them tortured before he came out of his black rage. He had Rivkah sent to the Retreat in Gorkentown far to the north in a futile effort to keep the birth secret. Futile, because news of the pregnancy had already reached Carlon and the entire court knew that Searlas was not the father. The old king Karel, Priam and Rivkah’s father, was equally livid. He told Searlas that he could do with Rivkah what he wanted. But in the end Searlas didn’t have to do anything. Rivkah died in childbirth.”
Faraday’s eyes misted and she twisted her napkin in her lap. “Oh, how tragic!”
“Tragic my foot,” Devera snorted. “It was the best thing that could have happened. Well, the best thing that could have happened was that the bastard child had died at birth as well, but that was not to be. Searlas flatly refused to acknowledge him. King Karel, and then Priam after him, refused to even mention Rivkah’s name, much less acknowledge that her bastard son is of their blood.”
“But who took care of the baby? What became of him?”
“Brother-Leader