“No!”
“Your power shall remain untouched and unused, DragonStar, and you shall never hear the sweet music of the Star Dance again.”
Deprived of the Star Dance? He screamed, a thin wail of stark terror.
“You will live out the lifespan of a human, DragonStar, and your sister and brother shall watch you age and die before they leave their youth. Make the best use of your years that you can, for you will not have many of them.”
She had to raise her voice now, for the sound of his terror threatened to drown her out. “And finally, DragonStar, worst cruelty of all, I condemn you into the life of a human baby. Your mind shall lose its acumen and you shall live the next few years locked in the dim fogginess of human babyhood.”
She stood and stared at him, tears streaming down her face, her hands tight about Caelum, who was also silently crying.
“I strip you of your Icarii name, for you will not need it again.”
“Nooo!”
She tried to collect herself, but tears choked her voice. “I have finished speaking, DragonStar.”
There was instant silence.
One of the Enchanters stepped forward. “There is nothing there, Enchantress, save mild discomfort that he lies so exposed to the breeze.”
Azhure nodded, unable to speak for the moment. She handed Caelum across to Rivkah; the boy this time accepting her actions without complaint.
Then Azhure bent and picked the tiny baby up. “Such a beautiful baby,” she whispered brokenly. “Welcome home, Drago.”
Then, horrifyingly, she tilted her head to one side and stared into the sky. “Hark,” she said, emotionlessly. “The Gryphon hunt.”
57
TALON SPIKE
RavenCrest turned from the alps far below and smiled at his wife in the rosy dawn light. They’d never enjoyed a passionate marriage, BrightFeather was not of SunSoar blood, but they had come to respect and honour each other.
“Are you now regretting your decision?” he said.
BrightFeather smiled and linked her arms with his. The breeze ruffled their hair and lifted their feathers. “I could not leave Talon Spike, nor you. You were right, RavenCrest, when you said that the new world held little for us. But…but…”
“You regret not seeing FreeFall again?”
She nodded, her eyes over-bright. “Yes, very much so. I could hardly credit when I heard…when I heard that Axis had led him back from the River of Death. For two years he has lived in this world, my husband, and for all that time he has not come home to see us.”
“He belongs to the new world, beloved,” RavenCrest said softly, and BrightFeather turned her face to him, loving him for the rare endearment.
“And to EvenSong,” she said.
They stood quietly. “Do you think they will come?” BrightFeather asked, her eyes on the horizon.
RavenCrest considered. “Azhure thought they might, but perhaps she was wrong.”
BrightFeather shivered and RavenCrest wrapped a wing about her. “Talon Spike seems so empty now, my husband. Empty of the joy and exuberance of the Icarii nation. I miss them.”
“Our brethren are undoubtedly spreading their joy and exuberance among the Acharites, BrightFeather. Come. What are we doing here on the flight balcony letting the cold wind whip about us?”
“Enjoying the Alps, RavenCrest,” she replied. “As we have for the past two hundred and fifty years.”
He briefly hugged her, then they turned and walked inside, and both missed by less than a minute the black line that appeared on the eastern horizon.
They were driven almost mad by Gorgrael’s anger and pain. Nothing mattered but that through their actions some of his anger and frustration should be alleviated. His voice roared in their minds and they knew only one thing—destroy.
A cloud seven thousand, two hundred and ninety strong. They had whelped a month earlier and now their young could do without them. They were ready, and they were hungry.
The entrance ways into Talon Spike were many, but they were relatively narrow, and the peak of the mountain was covered in a writhing black mass for almost half an hour as the Gryphon slowly penetrated the ancient Icarii home.
Once in, they slaughtered.
Many died in the Assembly Chamber where they had gathered to reminisce about their lives before the Time of the Prophecy.
Others died in the shafts and corridors of the complex. Still more died in the Chamber of Steaming Water. Many of those trapped there endured a slower and more terrifying death than their comrades in the halls and shafts because they tried to preserve their lives a few minutes longer by diving below water. But they had to surface for air eventually, and when they did they found their faces grasped by talons, and they were hauled, kicking, out of the water and deposited on the granite benches for the predators to feast on.
All died well and, strangely for the circumstances, with peace in their hearts.
RavenCrest SunSoar, Talon of all the Icarii, and his wife BrightFeather died in their apartments. They were among the last to die, for it took the Gryphon some time to reach them, and their deaths were the most terrible because of that. For almost an hour RavenCrest and BrightFeather had to endure the agony of listening to their fellows die, listening to the horror of Gryphon screaming through the complex, before the first of the creatures crawled through the open doorway.
She halted as soon as she saw them, her red, blighted eyes fevered, her breath fouled by those she had already killed. She crouched in the doorway, weaving her head back and forth, wondering which one to attack first.
Then she cried, shrieking with the voice of despair, and her dragon claws scrabbled on the exquisite mosaic floor as she leaped forward.
BrightFeather screamed and fell to the floor, RavenCrest trying, uselessly, to shield her with his body.
BrightFeather felt the comforting weight of his body only an instant, and as she opened her mouth to scream again she paused, horrified, as she saw the Gryphon lift her husband to the ceiling and tear him apart.
Her mouth, still open, collected the blood as it fell in a bright shower from above, and she turned to one side and gagged, numbed with horror.
Thus it was that she felt no pain and even less surprise when the second Gryphon, who had rushed through the door at the smell of blood, seized her and tore off her head with one vicious swipe of her beak.
Gorgrael had expected that his Gryphon would enjoy a massive killing in Talon Spike—unaware that it had largely been evacuated. As the Gryphon clung to the crest of the mountain, screaming their frustration at their inability to get in quickly, Gorgrael had spoken in their heads, whispered of the tens of thousands of Icarii they would find in the corridors and hidden places of Talon Spike.
And so that is what the Gryphon expected to find.
Within an hour of the first Gryphon entering the complex all the Icarii were dead, but the Gryphon did not understand that. They surged through shafts and corridors, howling with hunger and blood-lust and infused with Gorgrael’s frustrated anger.
Before them leaped shadows and fancies, designed generations ago by Enchanters to frustrate invaders and deflect them from the ancient chambers in the bowels of the mountain where it had been conceived thousands of Icarii might hide. These chambers were largely empty now (and what they did hide was neither feathered nor alive), but the enchantments still did their task. The Gryphon collided and, in a few cases, tore each other apart, as they chased the shadows down shafts and through corridors.
Deeper and deeper they went, driven by anger, frustration and hunger.
They did not find the well to the UnderWorld, for the Ferryman, hearing the terror filter down, had hidden its entrance with powerful enchantments. Then he had turned aside, tears in his eyes, and drifted silently away.
Gorgrael, and thus his Gryphon, did not know of the more subtle enchantments of Talon Spike. He did not know that the deeper the Gryphon went into the mountain—and every last one flew and scramble
d as deep as she could go—the more they would be shielded from his thoughts by both the rock itself and the enchantments that surrounded them.
Cut off from their master’s thoughts, the Gryphon received no fresh orders. All they knew was that they had to hunt the tens of thousands of Icarii that must be hiding here somewhere! They knew they had to avenge their master’s anger and frustration by killing, killing and then killing some more.
The anger and frustration with which Gorgrael had filled his Gryphon intensified the deeper they went into the mountain, for they could not find the Icarii, and they screamed and scrambled and shrieked and searched and searched and searched…
…and so they continued, and when Gorgrael, disconcerted by the lack of contact with his lovely pets, tried to send them fresh ideas, new orders, all he received in return were shadows and fancies that bounced through his mind and sent him screaming and shrieking through the corridors of his Ice Fortress.
The Gryphon continued to hunt, rip, destroy and chase the shadows that the mountain itself sent their way, and it would be many days before any of them, exhausted, managed to crawl their way to the surface.
58
DEPARTURE
Azhure left that afternoon, knowing that Axis would need her, and that she would have to ride on wings of power to reach northern Ichtar on time. She took Caelum with her. There was no way the boy would be left behind and, truth to tell, Azhure did not want to leave him.
“Azhure!” Rivkah snapped, as she stood by Venator in the courtyard, “you cannot take the boy! You will be riding into war—what are you thinking of?”
“I am thinking,” Azhure replied, “that when I last left Caelum here in the safety of Sigholt he was snatched by Gorgrael. Where is safety? With either me or Axis. Rivkah,” she said, not wanting to leave Rivkah with anger in her eyes, “I will not ride into battle with him. I will find somewhere safe to leave him.”
“Safe? In northern Ichtar?” Rivkah muttered. “Very well. Azhure?” Rivkah’s entire demeanour changed. “Where will you go once the battle is over? Where from Gorkenfort?”
“I don’t know. Ravensbund, I suppose.”
“Azhure? Will you be back here in time for the birth of my son?”
“Rivkah,” she stumbled, “I don’t know…it all depends.”
Rivkah’s face closed over and Azhure quickly leaned down from the saddle, taking her hand. “Rivkah,” she said softly, “I will do what I can. You have at least six weeks to go.”
“Please, Azhure.” Rivkah was almost crying now. “I want you here for the birth.”
“Do you trust me to be here, Rivkah?”
Rivkah took a deep breath. “Yes, yes, I trust you Azhure. And I want you here. I…I am afraid.”
“I will do my best, Rivkah,” she said. “That is all I can do.”
Rivkah nodded again, jerkily, then stood back. “Then I wish my son and my husband and most of all you, Azhure, the luck and strength of the gods in the battle ahead.”
She smiled, her eyes bright with tears. “And make sure you bring that grandson of mine home again.”
Azhure smiled then sat up. Caelum was strapped securely to her back, the quiver of arrows now fastened to her waist and hanging down her side. The Wolven rested across one shoulder and the Alaunt milled about Venator’s legs.
“Let’s run,” she said.
One minute she was there, the next she was gone. Rivkah had a faint impression of the horse leaping away and of Azhure’s hair flying and obscuring Caelum from sight. She heard a rumble of hooves, a cry from the bridge, and a brief clamour from the hounds, then the courtyard was silent and empty save for herself and the few others who had left their afternoon chores to farewell Azhure.
Again Azhure rode as if her horse had wings at his fetlocks. Through the night, bright moonlight flooded her path and the hounds streamed ahead of her, but even during the daylight hours it seemed as if she were bathed in ivory light.
When she stopped a fire was always blazing and Adamon, and sometimes Pors or Silton, were there to greet her and hand her roast partridge. The horse and the hounds would curl at her back and rest. Even though she woke them as soon as she had eaten and dozed a few minutes herself, they were always as fresh as if they had slept for many hours, and the few handfuls of food that she threw their way sustained them in the dash for Gorkenfort.
Caelum, sweet child, slept virtually the entire way, lulled by the moonlight and the movement of Azhure’s body as she swayed to the beat of Venator’s gait. He woke only to smile at whichever god sat before the fire, and to accept some food, then he slipped back into dreams that healed his mental and emotional scars. At the same time, his physical injuries faded so that by the time Venator raced westwards along the southern line of the Icescarp Alps, Caelum laughed with joy whenever he awoke. And Azhure laughed with him, thanking the Moon that when Axis again saw his son, he would never know the depth of hurt and pain Caelum had suffered.
59
APPROACH TO GORKENFORT
“There!” Axis pointed into the sky. “There they are!”
Not having the vision of an Enchanter, Belial had to believe him. “Are they all there?”
“Yes,” Axis sighed in relief.
Belial shrugged a little closer inside his cloak and waited for the farflight scouts to land. They were half a league south of the ruins of Gorkentown, although the Keep had survived relatively intact. Earlier this morning, Axis had sent eight Icarii scouting well into Gorken Pass to try to espy the battle formations of the Skraeling army all knew waited there.
In the nine days since Xanon had told Axis of Caelum’s capture, Axis had buried his concern for wife and son in activity. He had moved his force hard north for Gorkenfort, although he was careful not to overtire them, nor to outpace their supply column.
The further north they moved the more bitter became the weather. It was cold for mid-Flower-month but when Axis complained about the wind sweeping down from the north, Magariz grinned darkly and said that even in the warmest of summers the snow barely melted in Gorken Pass.
“And many parts of Ravensbund remain dusted with snow through much of the mid-year,” Ho’Demi added.
Axis grumbled, he was tired of fighting through constant winter, but Belial only grinned. “Tencendor lies free, my friend, and even here the sun shines for most of the day. Already Flower-month lives up to its name across Ichtar, and the crops must be close to harvest below the Nordra. If you cannot stand another month or two of snow, driving these wraiths into the sea, well then, perhaps you ought to go home and sit before a fire with a blanket about your knees.”
“If I have to spend my time seated before a fire with a blanket over my knees, Belial, then I shall insist that you sit with me to pass the time of day. Perhaps you could knit.”
Belial smiled, but he did not continue the repartee, thinking of the reports they had received so far. The Skraeling host had apparently abandoned Gorkentown and fort. They could not all have crammed inside the ruins, and Timozel must have decided that he would prefer to battle in the wind-swept wastes of Gorken Pass.
“Here they are,” Belial heard Axis mutter by his side, and he looked up. With a rustle of wings and a rush of air, SpikeFeather TrueSong settled down into the snow before them. He was followed by two more scouts, the other five flying on to their units stationed at the rear of the ground force.
SpikeFeather bowed. He’d insisted on leading the scouting party, and Axis had acquiesced without demur. Over the past weeks and months, SpikeFeather had grown into his command and, although, like all Icarii, his face remained youthfully unlined, experience and confidence hardened his eyes and mouth.
“StarMan.”
“Crest-Leader. What news?”
SpikeFeather drew in a sharp breath between his teeth. “They wait, StarMan, about a league up the pass. They are massed in formation, and they wait patiently…well away from the river, which is free of ice.”
Axis frowned in thought. Could he
use that? “Close to the cliffs of the Alps, SpikeFeather?”
“Not really. They are, oh, at least five or six hundred paces from the cliffs.”
Axis exchanged glances with Belial, then turned back to SpikeFeather. “Did you see Timozel?”
“No. He could be anywhere among that mass.”
“IceWorms?”
“Yes, but at the back of the force. I cannot think how Timozel would use them.”
Axis nodded slowly. IceWorms were useful for breaching defences and little else. “And Gryphon?” he asked softly.
“None,” SpikeFeather replied. “We,” he nodded at the two scouts behind him, “flew the entire length of the Pass, only a hundred paces over the heads of the Skraelings and close to the canyons and traverses of the Alps, but we saw no sign of them. We…” he faltered a moment, recalling, “we constantly expected attack, but none came.”
“You were foolish to risk your lives, SpikeFeather,” Axis snapped.
“You had to know, StarMan.” SpikeFeather’s voice was equally terse. “If we had drawn them out then you would have known where they were.”
“Then where are they?” Axis said. Timozel undoubtedly had them so well hidden that Axis’ force would not discover them until the moment the abominations landed on their backs.
“StarMan!”
Axis, with Belial and the other commanders, wheeled their horses about as they heard the shout.
A horseman galloped towards them from the rear of the encampment. “StarMan,” he panted as he reined his horse to a halt, “the Enchantress!” And he turned and pointed behind him.
Axis dug his heels into Belaguez’s flanks and the stallion leaped forward; within a heartbeat he was gone, galloping across the plain towards the as-yet tiny figure in the distance.
They met in a flurry of snow and wind and joy several hundred paces south of the encampment, their horses colliding, the hounds baying about them. Axis leaned forward and swept Azhure from her horse, his eyes laughing in relief and love.