After what seemed like an eternity of treading carefully, her clothes soaked through to the skin by the spray and mist that rose from the turbulent water, Azhure saw the Avar man pause.
“Look!” he shouted, trying to make himself heard above the roar of the river, “ahead lies the Avarinheim. We are almost home!”
Azhure peered ahead. The valley started to broaden some fifty or so paces ahead, and she thought she could see the darkness of close trees. They were almost safe! She turned her eyes back to the Avar man, relieved, but his eyes were now focused on something behind her and his expression was one of horror. Azhure turned around, almost losing her balance. The BattleAxe was close behind them, a bare twenty paces, his face set in determined anger.
Raum grabbed Azhure’s shoulder and pushed Shra into her arms. “Get ahead of me,” he said urgently. “Walk as fast as you dare. The path is wider and less wet just ahead. When you can run, run. Get the child into the Avarinheim. I can hold him back here.”
Azhure started to protest, but Raum pushed her roughly past him. “Go!” he said fiercely, and Azhure tore her eyes away from the BattleAxe and moved as quickly as she could along the slippery path. She could feel the Avar man following her. Her breath came in terrified gasps. The BattleAxe, no matter what he might have thought of Hagen personally, would never let his murderer walk free. And Belial…? He would be even less likely to forgive the murder of Belial than that of Hagen.
Azhure berated herself as she strode out. The footing was firmer now, the river bending away to her left, and the Avarinheim was no more than twenty paces ahead. They were going to make it after all! The Avar would protect them as soon as they were behind the tree-line. The figure of a woman stepped a pace or two out of the trees, holding out her arms for the child. Azhure’s heart leaped inside her chest—it was GoldFeather! The woman’s silver hair burned brightly in the first rays of the sun as it rose above the walls of the chasm. They were safe!
And then everything went wrong. Azhure suddenly heard a shocked intake of breath and a sickening thud and crack some ten paces behind her. She whipped around, almost falling herself. The Avar man had hung back, trying to give her and the child time to reach the Avarinheim before the BattleAxe reached them. But, just as the BattleAxe had closed in on him, the Avar man had twisted his foot and slipped on what had to be the last remaining wet patch of path. He had fallen awkwardly, and Azhure saw by the white and pinched line of his mouth that he had hurt himself badly.
Without thinking Azhure started to scramble back towards him, forgetting even the child in her arms. Perhaps all it would take was to get the man on his feet again and they could still outrun the BattleAxe.
But it was too late, far too late. His sword drawn, the BattleAxe had reached the downed Avar man in two strides, and Azhure was now close enough to see that his left ankle lay bent and broken, the wicked gleam of white bone breaking the surface of his dark skin. “Ah, no,” Azhure moaned, and she would have run to him had GoldFeather not stepped up behind her and grabbed her shoulders.
“Azhure! No!” she cried sharply, her own eyes riveted by the scene before them.
Raum lay on the ground, Axis’ booted foot on his chest, his sword pressed so hard against the Avar man’s windpipe that the tip had broken the skin and a little trickle of blood had trailed down his neck. Both men heaved to catch their breath.
“Well,” Axis panted between breaths, his eyes derisive as he stared at Azhure, “you’ve managed to surpass your mother’s efforts quite nicely, haven’t you, Azhure? Murdering your father and running off with one of the Forbidden far outclasses a simple midnight flit with a pedlar. And Belial…”
“Let him go,” Azhure said urgently, her voice strained, her eyes intent on Raum as he lay fixed by the point of Axis’ sword. “I truly didn’t mean to kill Belial.”
“You killed your father,” Axis said shortly, “Belial still breathes.”
“Ah,” Azhure’s voice regained some of its strength. She straightened her shoulders, lifting her eyes to meet Axis’ hostile stare. “I’m glad that Belial lives, BattleAxe. Will you apologise to him for me?”
“Azhure,” Raum whispered, twisting his head as far as he dared with Axis’ sword to his throat. “Take the child and run. You can get her to safety. Leave me.” His chest heaved for a few more breaths as he fought to conquer the agony that flared up his leg, and then he spoke to Axis. “You will let them go, BattleAxe. You did not recreate Shra’s life to kill her now.”
“He’s right,” the tall woman standing behind Azhure said, her voice calm and level. “Go now. Go on,” as Azhure hesitated, her eyes still fixed on Raum as he lay under Axis’ sword. “Go now. Take little Shra and go. Quickly! Her father waits. Run, Azhure!”
Azhure jumped at the command in GoldFeather’s voice. Without another word or glance she turned and walked quickly into the forest, disappearing from sight within a stride or two of reaching the densely packed trees.
GoldFeather walked closer slowly, very, very slowly. She did not want to startle the BattleAxe into sliding the point of that sword through Raum’s throat the moment he felt threatened. She stopped a few paces away. The man stared at her and his black uniform, the twin crossed axes, brought memories flooding back into GoldFeather’s mind. It had been so long since she had seen one of the Axe-Wielders, and now here stood the BattleAxe himself, his foot and sword dishonouring one of the most powerful Banes the Avar people had trained for many generations. The man was young; what was the Brother-Leader thinking of appointing one so young to such an important position? Her eyes flickered over his face for a moment. But she was too concerned about Raum to look too closely.
GoldFeather bowed as graciously as her mother had taught her as a child. “BattleAxe, may Artor hold you in the palm of his hand and guide your steps always.”
Axis frowned at the woman. She was a handsome woman of middle-age, and had a striking golden streak through her silver hair. Her manner was courtly and her voice gracious, her grey eyes calm and her demeanour composed even as she faced a man who could kill her with a single twist of his sword. What was such a woman doing running with the Forbidden?
“I would return the blessing,” he said flatly, “except that Artor would surely have deserted any woman who runs with the Forbidden many years ago.”
The woman’s eyes hardened at his tone. The Axe-Wielders always thought they knew everything, and this BattleAxe seemed more arrogant than the one she had known in her youth. Why hadn’t he killed Raum? Why was he hesitating?
“Does Artor demand Raum’s life?” she asked softly, deliberately giving the BattleAxe the Avar man’s name. It was always harder to kill a man whose name you knew than a complete stranger. “What has Raum done to deserve to die at the point of your sword?” Axis’ face tightened, and GoldFeather could see that doubts did indeed beset him. “I do not know all of what has passed this night, but Azhure’s words make me think that any violence was done at her hands. Do not murder this man to atone for her wrongs.”
“I am the BattleAxe of the Brotherhood of the Seneschal. I have a duty to serve the Seneschal,” Axis said, but his tone suggested that he needed to convince himself more than he needed to convince either GoldFeather or Raum.
“No,” GoldFeather said very softly. “You need do only what your heart tells you is right. Not what the Seneschal has taught you must be done. Your duty should always be to do what you feel is right.” She paused. “Does it feel right to hold that blade to Raum’s neck, an honoured and honourable man among his own people, when he has done you and yours no wrong?”
Her words provoked a strange reaction in the BattleAxe. He winced at her last phrase.
“But who are mine? Who are my people?” Axis whispered, his eyes swivelling back to Raum.
GoldFeather frowned. What was he whispering? The BattleAxe raised his head and looked back at her. His eyes were tormented. “Lady, do you know of the Icarii?”
She nodded slowly, surprised by the
question, troubled by the expression on the BattleAxe’s face. “I know them well.”
“Then answer me this. Do they sing?”
GoldFeather’s eyes deepened with memory and she smiled. “Yes,” she said. “They sing magically. It is their gift to this land and to the stars. All Icarii sing, music courses through their blood, but their Enchanters sing with the power and the grace of the stars themselves.”
The BattleAxe’s face twisted with emotion. GoldFeather stepped forward to place a hand on his arm. But he flinched and tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword and she paused instantly, her hand left hanging in the air.
“Who am I?” he whispered in a tormented voice. “What am I?”
GoldFeather opened her mouth, but did not know what to say to comfort him. Axis stared at her a moment longer, then abruptly he stepped back from Raum and, lifting the sword from Raum’s neck, jabbed the point of the blade into the dirt, leaning on it heavily.
“Go, Raum,” he said, his voice now tired and colourless. “I have no right to hold you. Go now.”
Raum rose slowly from the ground, his neck bloody and his face ashen from the pain of his shattered ankle. GoldFeather bent down and helped him rise to his feet, taking most of his weight on her shoulder. They turned and started to hobble for the Avarinheim, but at the tree line Raum paused and turned back to the BattleAxe.
Axis was still standing, sword resting on the ground as he watched him, his face tired and drained of emotion, his eyes unreadable. Jack and Yr had told Raum of Faraday’s love for this BattleAxe, and at the time Raum had been deeply troubled by it. He had questioned Jack and Yr closely about the BattleAxe, but they were reluctant to say anything about the man beyond that Faraday loved him. Since he had seen this man sing, seen him recreate Shra’s life, Raum could understand why Faraday felt as she did. Raum was also deeply aware that he was twice indebted to this man for his and Shra’s lives.
“For the gift of two lives I give you one life back,” Raum called, his voice clear above the roar of the river, “and I will hold one to give you later.” He paused. “Faraday lives.” Then he turned and he and the woman disappeared into the trees of the Avarinheim.
34
GHOSTTREE CLAN
Within ten paces of stepping into the Avarinheim Azhure felt as though she had entered another world. All her life she had been taught that forests were places of fear, dark and impenetrable shadows that harboured wraiths who would suck you dry of your blood. Yet Azhure’s first impression of the Avarinheim as she walked more slowly down the path before her, was of space, light and music. On either side of her, ancient evergreen trees reared towards the sky, the trunks straight and smooth for the first fifteen or twenty paces of their height before their limbs branched out. The entire effect was to draw the eye upward towards the canopy above, towards the light filtering down through the interlacing green leaves and vines. The shrubs and bushes that spread across the forest floor were low and colourful. With the lack of low branches or high undergrowth the Avarinheim was filled with space and fragrance, cool light and soothing music rather than the unnatural and evil atmosphere that the Seneschal preached pervaded the Shadowsward. Azhure’s arms relaxed about Shra as she walked a few more steps into the forest, drawn by its beauty. It took her some minutes before she realised what the music was. In the background she could hear the crystal sounds of the Nordra as it tumbled over rocks nearby, with a dozen different birdsongs overlaying its sounds. Azhure smiled, her eyes filled with wonder. Acharites barely knew the beauty of birdsong as most species of birds had retreated before the axe. The songs of the sparrows and ravens of everyday life in Achar could not compare with the sounds that now filled Azhure’s ears.
Azhure shook herself. The Avar man still fought for his life beyond the trees, and she had to get Shra to her father. Perhaps then she could return to help the man and GoldFeather.
She walked briskly down the path, and within a few steps a man, as muscular and swarthy as Shra’s companion but with grey streaked through his dark brown hair, suddenly leaped out of some purple flowering winterberry bushes to Azhure’s right where he had been crouching and tore Shra from Azhure’s arms.
Azhure gasped in shock and stepped back. The man had stopped some four or five paces from her, clutching Shra protectively to his chest, his dark eyes fierce, his entire body tense and ready to fight if need be. He was dressed in a similar tunic woven from wool and dyed a dark red with patterns of interlaced tree branches at its hem. Underneath he wore serviceable brown leggings, bound with leather thongs, and ankle-high leather boots. Shra cried out with delight when she saw the man, and then snuggled as close to his chest as she could.
Azhure spread her hands to try and look as non-threatening as possible. The man had no idea what was going on, and as far as he was concerned she was one of the hated Acharites who had strayed into the Avarinheim, carrying his daughter. No wonder he looked tense.
“I mean no harm,” Azhure said as reassuringly as she could, although she was scared by the man. What if he decided that she posed a threat?
The man’s eyes narrowed still further and he took a step backwards. Azhure’s head swivelled to her right as her eyes caught a new movement. A slim, dark-haired woman stepped out from behind a tree. She was much shorter than Azhure, and dressed in a long pale yellow robe, again subtly patterned at the hem, but this time with leaping deer like Raum’s robe. While she was obviously wary of Azhure’s presence, she still exuded power and confidence and stepped up to the man’s shoulder.
“Grindle,” she said softly, laying a small and delicate hand on his shoulder, “I think it is all right. Shra seems well and unafraid of this woman.” She turned her eyes to Azhure. “I am Barsarbe, Bane of the Avar people.” She inclined her head gracefully, but her eyes demanded an explanation from Azhure regarding her presence in the Avarinheim with the child Shra in her arms.
If anything, Azhure was more afraid of this small woman than she was of the man, Grindle, but she tilted her chin and tried to sound as confident and relaxed as this woman before her. “Greetings, Bane Barsarbe. My name is Azhure, and I have come from the village of Smyrton.”
The woman nodded slightly. “GoldFeather has mentioned you.”
Azhure breathed a little easier. “Yes. I have talked many times with GoldFeather over the years. Bane Barsarbe, please listen to me.” Her voice became urgent—what were they doing standing here, passing pleasantries? “Shra and the Avar man she was with were caught by the villagers of Smyrton some days past. I could not free them until a few hours ago, but the BattleAxe of the Axe-Wielders, who arrived in Smyrton yesterday with his force, caught us just short of the tree-line. The Avar man—”
“Raum,” Barsarbe said quietly, her eyes worried as she listened to what Azhure had to say.
“Raum told me to take Shra and escape into the trees. He turned to fight the BattleAxe.”
“Raum must be dead by now,” said Grindle, preparing to run and help.
“Wait,” Barsarbe counselled, “let her finish.”
Azhure looked worriedly at the two of them. Would they be able to help Raum? “Raum fell and broke his ankle. He could not escape the BattleAxe. But GoldFeather was there, and is talking to the BattleAxe.”
“Raum and GoldFeather are both dead,” Grindle growled.
“He treated Raum and Shra well,” Azhure pleaded, not sure why she was defending Axis. “And I think he would have liked to save them. He had Shra freed from the prison where she had been thrown. Perhaps he can be persuaded by argument.”
“Maybe she is right,” Barsarbe said. “And GoldFeather will know how to treat the BattleAxe. We can do nothing for the moment.”
“We can do our best to save Raum!” the man cried. “How can we lose another Bane? He is my brother!”
Barsarbe’s hand tightened on Grindle’s shoulder. “I will not condone violence, Grindle, even to save Raum. It is not the Avar way. And if you run out there and add your anger to the scene th
en Raum will probably die. Your presence will not serve to save him, Grindle. We must trust in GoldFeather.”
Suddenly Barsarbe turned and stared down the path leading to the Forbidden Valley. Azhure strained her ears, but could hear nothing.
“It’s GoldFeather and Raum,” Grindle said shortly, thrusting Shra into Barsarbe’s arms and running down the path. Barsarbe passed Shra to Azhure and ran after Grindle, her hands lifting her robe to her knees to enable her to run more freely.
Azhure found the four of them around the first bend. Grindle had lifted Raum into his arms and was striding towards her. Raum’s face was a mask of agony, his neck dark with blood, his hands slipping from Grindle’s shoulders where he tried to hang on. His foot swung limply at the end of his leg, bone glistening through the bloodied skin of his ankle. Azhure stepped to one side as Grindle hurried past and her throat constricted as she realised the extent of the break to Raum’s ankle. She knew the injury was close to being fatal because of the undoubted infection that would set in.
Barsarbe, supporting GoldFeather who looked exhausted, brushed past Azhure. “Follow us,” she grunted, and Azhure hurried forward and put her free arm about GoldFeather’s waist, relieving Barsarbe of some of the taller woman’s weight.
They walked through the forest for about an hour, moving deeper and deeper into the Avarinheim. Grindle disappeared out of sight within a few minutes; Azhure was amazed that he could move so fast while carrying Raum’s weight. After a while GoldFeather recovered sufficiently to wave Barsarbe and Azhure back, and although she still walked a little unsteadily she refused any further support. As the older woman’s colour improved Azhure ventured to ask her how she had managed to persuade the BattleAxe to let them both go.
GoldFeather shrugged. “I do not know completely, Azhure.” She shivered in memory. “His hand tightened on the hilt of the sword and I was sure that Raum was dead. But…then he asked me if the Icarii sang.” She frowned. “When I told him that they did, he seemed, well, he seemed almost frightened and then he let me take Raum. He was a very strange BattleAxe. I must speak with Raum more when he is able. Perhaps he can tell me more.”