The Serpent Bride. Sara Douglass
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One of the first things Axis noticed was that, in the weeks following Ba’al’uz’ departure, he was allowed far more liberty to move about the palace and its surrounds. Guards were either unobtrusive or utterly absent. Axis still could not ride out into the countryside by himself, but in all other respects he was given the freedom of Aqhat.
Axis did not abuse the privilege. There was nowhere he wished to “escape” to, anyway. His family, everyone he loved, existed in a world other than this, and Axis did not fret for them. They were safe, and he believed that Azhure would know something of where he was. She would not fret, either, although Axis was sure she missed him.
He most certainly missed her companionship and love. Not desperately, but it was a constant ache in his otherwise peaceful existence at Aqhat. To counter it, Axis spent hours each night writing Azhure long letters about what he’d done during the day, and his observations of Isaiah and of Isembaardian life in general. Axis had never been a great wordsmith. As BattleAxe and then StarMan the pen had always been Axis’ least favourite weapon of choice. Indeed, he’d hardly written anything save the occasional battle order, and he and Azhure had always been able to communicate by more magical means than letters during their occasional absences from each other. But now Axis found a great serenity in writing, and found himself enjoying playing with words, and expanding his literary skills.
Most of all, though, Axis found it beneficial to order his experiences and thoughts. The mere process of revising his day onto paper deepened his experiences: he remembered odd comments or sights that he might otherwise have forgotten, and was able to glean new insights in relating individual experiences to each other.
Once Axis had finished a letter, he carefully folded it, wondering what Azhure might think of what he’d written: how her interpretation of his experiences might differ from his, how she’d laugh over some amusing incident … or his cumbersome prose. The closing of the letter, and his imagining of Azhure’s reaction to its contents, was the sweetest moment of the entire process, and one he looked forward to greatly.
Then, once it was folded and sealed, Axis left the letter on the table in his chamber and went to bed accompanied by the agreeable chorus of the frogs coming in the window.
In the morning, every morning, the previous night’s letter would be gone.
Axis didn’t know where the letters went. Perhaps, by some magic, they were actually transported to Azhure’s hand. More prosaically (and far more likely), Isaiah had a servant creep in during the night and remove the letter to Isaiah’s hand. Axis often had a quiet laugh to himself, imagining Isaiah secreting himself away in a corner somewhere to read what Axis had written, and he wondered if Isaiah kept the letters, or burned each one once he’d read it.
Whatever the reason — Ba’al’uz’ absence, or Axis’ letters — he and Isaiah were becoming closer. They spent many evenings together, and days were spent riding out across the plains to the east. More importantly, Isaiah began to include Axis into his public persona as tyrant.
One day Isaiah asked Axis to attend him in his privy chamber in the third hour after dawn. Axis was curious. Isaiah had kept Axis very much in his personal sphere to this point, but Axis knew that the privy chamber was where Isaiah met with his generals and governors, as well as other high-ranking officials, and where he conducted the day-to-day business of the Tyranny.
From his time spent with Isaiah, as well as occasional discussions with other household officials, Axis had gleaned that Isaiah, as all tyrants before him, governed his vast empire via the twin mechanisms of military generals and civil governors. Each dependency of the Tyranny was administered by a governor who reported directly to Isaiah, either in person three or four times a year, or via one of the governor’s most senior and trusted aides.The entire tyranny was also co-administered by Isaiah’s vast military. There was a similar number of generals to governors, and the generals played as important a role in the daily administration of each dependency as the governors.
Axis thought it an unwieldy system, and one designed to create frustrations between the governors and the generals, but he understood its necessity as far as Isaiah was concerned. In-fighting between governors and generals meant that Isaiah could the more easily maintain control over men otherwise more than likely to challenge him.
The generals were there to keep the governors in order, the governors there to inform on the generals and their troop movements.
From what Isaiah had said to him — or, rather, from what Axis had inferred from what Isaiah had not said — a tyrant spent most of his reign trying to outmanoeuvre his generals. They were the main threat to his throne. Any perceived weakness on the part of the tyrant, and the generals might think themselves strong enough to move against him. Isaiah was already in a vulnerable position, having lost his initial campaign of conquest against the Eastern Independencies, thus his generals watched him with constantly speculative eyes.
Axis could only imagine how desperately Isaiah was needing to succeed in his invasion of the kingdoms north of the FarReach Mountains. Fail there, and he would lose both throne and life.
A soldier escorted him to Isaiah’s chamber. It was set high in the palace, with airy views over the Lhyl and the plains beyond.
The one window that would have given view directly on to DarkGlass Mountain was kept shuttered.
Isaiah was already there, as were his five senior generals, and Isaiah introduced Axis.
“Axis SunSoar,” said Isaiah, “of Tencendor. Its StarMan. I know you have heard his tale.”
Axis repressed a grin as he nodded at each of the five men in turn. That single pronouncement of Isaiah’s had rendered them speechless. Axis had no idea why the generals had been called to a conference with Isaiah, but he wagered they had not thought to meet a redundant legend. As he made eye contact with each one, he tried to evaluate them.
The eldest and most experienced general was a white-haired, but tall and fit man called Ezekiel, who had commanded for Isaiah’s father as well. He had tight, watchful eyes, but Axis thought Ezekiel was possibly too old now to try for power himself. Nonetheless, he might prove an invaluable ally for someone else’s attempt.
Axis thought that attempt was most likely to come from the three generals in mid-age: Morfah, Kezial and Lamiah. They looked tough and experienced, but were young enough to hunger for power.
Axis wondered if they spent more time watching each other than eyeing Isaiah for any possible weakness.
He distrusted the youngest of the generals, Armat, the most. Axis had heard from Isaiah earlier that Armat had only recently joined the ranks of the generals, and had the least experience of the five men. He was also, judging by the calculation in his dark eyes, the most ambitious. That ambition was combined with inexperience meant Armat was potentially the most dangerous. Where the others might hold back, Armat might well leap forward.
It was Armat who stated what every one of the generals was thinking.
“I thought you were dead,” he said.
“As I was,” Axis said, knowing what Isaiah needed him to say, “until Isaiah pulled me out of my afterlife and back into this world. Your tyrant is a powerful man, gentlemen, with many hidden abilities.”
As one, the generals all shifted their gaze to Isaiah, who shrugged as if the matter was not even worth the discussion.
“A small trick,” Isaiah said, “taught to me by an old and wise man, many years ago.”
Now the generals all exchanged glances between themselves, and Axis almost smiled.
Isaiah was a good manipulator.
“Why resurrect a dead man?” said Ezekiel. “One who has lived his life.”
Axis repressed a grin. That last sentence of Ezekiel’s translated directly to “an old and useless legend”.
“I felt