The Seneschal protected and nurtured
Axis during his infant and early boyhood, providing his only
family. Jayme was the closest thing Axis had to a father,
and Jayme's friend within the Seneschal, Moryson, became Axis'
tutor and confidante. These two men formed the core of Axis'
world, and shaped his entire perception and understanding
of life. In a world where he was constantly reviled for his
bastard origins, Axis found succour only among the Seneschal
and in his prayers to the great god Artor.
When Axis was seven, Jayme — who by now was among the
very senior members of the Seneschal — suggested to
the boy that he enter one of the Seneschal's Retreats to take
minor orders with a view to becoming a member of the Brotherhood
himself. What else could the bastard of a shamed princess
hope for than secure anonymity within the Order? Besides,
Axis had a remarkable facility for music and a fine singing
voice, and Jayme envisioned him growing into a man who could
write majestic anthems and hymns to Artor and the Seneschal'
glory.
Until now Jayme had only to say the word for Axis to obey,
but, for the first time in his young life, Axis refused Jayme's
suggestion.
"I
want to become a hero!" he exclaimed, standing stiff
and proud before Brother Jayme, who had to repress a grin
at the boy's proud defiance.
"I
want to defend the Seneschal," Axis continued, his pale
blue eyes blazing. "I will do better for the Seneschal
with a sword in my hands than a hymn in my mouth."
Jayme's eyes filled with tears, moved by the boy's devotion.
Moryson stood at Jayme's side, and he nodded to himself as
Axis spoke, as if the boy had just passed some kind of test.
"He
will become an Axe-Wielder," said Moryson matter-of-factly,
speaking of the elite military wing of the Seneschal. He put
a hand on Jayme's shoulder. "And when you become Brother-Leader,
Jayme, Axis shall lead the Axe-Wielders as your BattleAxe.
Warriors can sing, too."
Jayme laughed at that, but Moryson and Axis locked eyes, and
Moryson nodded very slightly at the young boy.
"You
shall become BattleAxe," Moryson said softly. "Believe
it. A BattleAxe such as this land has never seen before."
Accordingly, Axis learned the arts of the warrior. To begin,
Jayme sent him to the court of Jorge, earl of Avonsdale. Here
Axis trained first as a page and then as a squire. When he
reached the age of eleven, Axis transferred to the court of
Ganelon, the Lord of Tare. Ganelon had been an Axe-Wielder
until the death of his elder brother necessitated his return
into secular life to succeed to the inheritance of Tare. It
was Ganelon who introduced Axis to the weapons of the Axe-Wielder,
the axe and the sword, and who taught him to ride as a warrior.
It was Ganelon's wife, Embeth, who introduced the young boy
to the possibilities of love. Possibilities only, for neither
Axis nor Embeth took that fatal step into dishonour, but it
was enough to mark both their lives.
When Axis turned seventeen, and reached the height and strength
of a man, he travelled back to Jayme, who, now the First Advisor
to the Brother-Leader, resided at the Tower of the Seneschal
on the shores of Grail Lake.
"Father!"
Axis said, first bowing, then moving forward to embrace Jayme.
Jayme hugged him tightly, then stepped back and looked the
youth up and down. The boy had grown into a fine young man,
very tall and as finely muscled as a dancer. He had a strange
look about his face, an alien cast of feature, and as he had
so often before, Jayme wondered again who had got this boy
on Princess Rivkah. "You know," he said, "when
you were born Searlas told me to drown you. I am glad I didn't."
It was an affectionate statement, but also a calculated one,
meant to remind Axis that he owed Jayme a great deal.
It had the desired effect. Axis dropped to one knee and kissed
Jayme's hand. "I am yours," he said. "All I
want is to serve you and the Seneschal."
Jayme looked over Axis' fair bowed head to where Moryson stood
behind him. Many years ago Moryson had said that Jayme would
be Brother-Leader of the Seneschal, and Axis his BattleAxe,
leader of the legendary Axe-Wielders. Then Jayme had laughed.
Now, with the current Brother-Leader, Hoare, growing older
and weaker, and himself as the man's deputy, Jayme knew he
was in a strong enough position to take control once Hoare
died.
And if he then had a BattleAxe who not only controlled the
military wing of the Seneschal, but was so devoted to Jayme
that he would obey without question … well then …
what could he not accomplish? But first Axis must undertake
the ordeal of joining the Axe-Wielders … and survive
that ordeal.
"I
think," Jayme said gently to Axis, "it is time for
you to join the Axe-Wielders."
"Yes!"
said Axis, now gazing up. "Yes!"
Jayme smiled. "Then perhaps I should introduce you to
BattleAxe Grejore."
And if ever I become Brother-Leader, thought Jayme, then Grejore
shall definitely need to be replaced. He's far too independent.
"When?"
said Axis.
The interview with Grejore went well. Axis, always sensitive
about his scandalous bastardry, had been concerned that the
BattleAxe might refuse him on that count alone, but Grejore
had not once alluded to it. He questioned Axis at length about
his training, and appeared impressed that Axis had studied
so many years with Ganelon, whose skill Grejore respected
greatly. Then, the interview concluded, Grejore took Axis
onto the practice field where, together with eight or nine
other Axe-Wielders, he watched Axis demonstrate his skill
with weapons.
Axis' partner on the practice field was an Axe-Wielder of
about twenty-three or four, tall and fair with friendly hazel
eyes, well advanced within the ranks of the Axe-Wielders,
and sturdy and skilful with both axe and sword. His name was
Belial, and as he took Axis through his paces with first the
sword and then the axe, he occasionally nodded, giving Axis
a word or two of encouragement, even of praise.
When they had finally stopped, both men sweating, Belial slid
his axe back into his weapons' belt and looked over to Grejore.
"He
is good, BattleAxe," Belial said, and Axis visibly relaxed,
to the point of almost smiling. He is good. Belial had been
the toughest opponent Axis had ever faced, better even than
Ganelon, and Axis felt enormous relief at Belial's brusque
approval.
Grejore walked slowly out onto the practice field, his sharp
eyes never once leaving Axis. "But does he have the feel
for the axe?" he said, very soft.
For a moment there was silence, then the BattleAxe shifted
his glance to Belial. "Well," said Grejore, "there
is but one way to find out, isn't there?"
Axis tensed.
Grejore looked back to Axis. "I am willing that you try
for the Axe-Wielders, boy, but it is not my decision. You
understand that, yes?"
Axis nodded. "The Axe-Wielders serve the Seneschal, and
the Seneschal serve Artor. Ultimately the Axe-Wielders serve
Artor. Whether or not I join will be His decision."
"And
yet you do not look afraid," said Grejore. "Fascinating.
Well," he looked back to Belial, "Axis will need
an axe-brother. Will you serve?"
Axis almost stopped breathing. He knew a little of the ordeal
that all prospective Axe-Wielders endured before they could
be admitted into the ranks of the elite force, and one of
the things he did know was that the candidate needed an axe-brother
to guide him through the test. An axe-brother took personal
and total responsibility for a new recruit, and Axis understood
that if he failed, then so also would Belial. Their futures
in the Axe-Wielders would be entwined. They would rise and
fall on each other's strengths and weaknesses.
But more importantly and far more immediately, if Axis failed
this ordeal, then Belial would be cast out from the Axe-Wielders
(assuming, of course, that both Axis and Belial survived the
ordeal). Axis' failure would be Belial's failure. Belial had
every right to refuse to act as axe-brother — if he
did refuse it would never be held against him — and
Axis had heard tales of candidates who spent years trying
to find an Axe-Wielder willing to act as axe-brother. What
would Belial say? Would he —
"Yes,"
said Belial. "I will act as axe-brother."
Grejore raised an eyebrow. "Such a quick response, Belial,
and so positive. No hesitation. Yet you have refused on the
three other occasions I have asked it of you. What is different
about this youth?"
Belial looked steadily at Axis as he replied. "When I
was a very small boy," he said, "my father took
me to court at Carlon. I was scared, for all seemed very frightening,
but a lovely woman took me into her care, and spent time with
me, and showed me about the palace as if I were her honoured
guest." Belial paused, and gave a strange, funny little
smile. "I swore her total allegiance. I swore that if
ever I could serve her I would." Again he paused. "I
never had the chance to serve her as I vowed, but I will not
hesitate before her son. It would be my honour to serve as
the axe-brother of Princess Rivkah's son."
Axis was dumb-founded. His mother's name was never mentioned
before him, let alone spoken with such honour. He wanted to
thank Belial, but the words stuck in his throat, and all he
could do was stare at the man.
"Very
well then," said Grejore. "Tomorrow morning. Savour
what hours you have left."
And with that he was gone.
Three hours after sunrise the following morning, Axis stood
with Belial before the Tower of the Seneschal.
The entire corps of grey-uniformed Axe-Wielders encircled
them, their axes hanging from their weapons'-belts and glinting
in the morning sun.
Axis wondered at the trials each and every one of them had
gone through.
He must succeed, he must!
What other life could there be for him, save among the Axe-Wielders
in service to the Seneschal and the great god Artor?
Hoare, the Brother-Leader of the Seneschal, was present as
well, together with Jayme and Moryson and most of the brothers
resident within the Tower of the Seneschal. The ordeal of
the axe was a significant event, and one witnessed by all
those who served, or were served by, the axe.
"There
is a new man stands among us," said Hoare, and Axis swallowed,
knowing the ordeal had begun. "Who might he be?"
"He
is a stranger who seeks admission to our ranks," said
Grejore, and Axis felt a further shiver of apprehension as
he heard the flatness in the BattleAxe's voice. "We are
here to witness whether or not he has the courage and the
ability to serve to protect the Seneschal. Our comrade Belial
has agreed to stand with him as axe-brother.
Grejore's gaze now shifted to Axis. "Are you willing,
boy? Are you willing to meet your axe?"
Are you willing to die?
Axis clenched his fist and tapped it over his heart, bowing
first to Hoare and then to Grejore. "I am willing to
offer myself to the service of Artor and of the Seneschal
who serve Him. I am willing to die, if that is what Artor
and my Brother-Leader require."
To one side, unnoticed, Moryson's mouth quirked.
"And
if Artor graces me enough that I live through this day,"
Axis continued, now standing straight and looking Grejore
directly in the eye, "then I shall be your axe, to wield
as you wish."
"Well,
whatever his skill with the axe, at least he's mastered the
finer arts of pretty speaking," Hoare muttered. He stepped
back to what he thought was a safe distance and waved a hand
at Grejore. "Carry on."
Grejore moved close to Belial and Axis, speaking to them quietly
but intensely. "You know what this ordeal entails. Are
you sure? Both of you?"
"Aye,"
said the two younger men, as one. Axis gave Belial a grateful
look. Belial was trusting Axis with his life, and Axis would
give his not to let him down.
Grejore turned to Axis. "Remember," he said, "listen
to the song of the axe. Listen to it hum. The axe never lies."
Axis gave a terse nod to acknowledge Grejore's advice, but
his eyes had never left Belial's.
Trust the axe, or trust Belial? Which? Intuitively, Axis knew
he faced a decision in the next few minutes. Making the wrong
one would cost both him and Belial their lives.
Grejore stepped away, leaving Axis and Belial alone within
the circle of watches. Belial took a deep breath, and Axis
suddenly realised the man was nervous.
"I
will not fail you," Axis said, low but fierce.
Belial reached out a hand, resting it on Axis' shoulder. "I
know," he said. "Axis, listen to me. In a few short
moments Artor will grant you your axe. It is your ordeal whether
you allow it to kill you —" and me "—
or if you best the axe and take it as your own. Axis, I must
blindfold you for this test. You will not be able to see from
which direction Artor sends the axe. But I can see, and you
must listen to me, and trust me. Both our lives depend on
it. Listen to my voice, let it guide you. Trust me, and the
axe will be yours."
And both of us will live.
Axis frowned. Belial told him to trust
him and to listen to him. That made sense. Belial was his
axe-brother, and they needed to bond so that, when it came
to desperate battle, they each knew they could rely completely
on the other.
But what Grejore had said also made sense. Listen to the song
of the axe. Listen to it hum. The axe never lies. He needed
to be able to trust the axe, for during his life as an Axe-Wielder,
then his axe often would be the only thing to stand between
life and death.
What should he do? Listen to Belial, or to the axe?
Belial's hand tightening fractionally on Axis' shoulder. "Axis?
Are you ready … or do you wish to walk away?"
"I
am ready to face Artor's axe," Axis said, and felt rightness
sweep through him with that statement.
But which would be righter? Belial's voice, or the song of
the axe as it swept towards him?
Belial drew a band of black cloth from a pocket, and bound
it about Axis' eyes.
"Trust
me," Belial whispered, then he took a step back, visibly
steeled himself, and said, "We are ready, Brother-Leader."
Hoare cleared his throat, and raised his hand before him.
"Artor! A young man stands before you who begs admission
into your service among the Axe-Wielders. I beg you, try him
with the power of your axe, that we might know the manner
of your will. Is he worthy, or is he not?"
Everyone tensed, brothers of the Seneschal and Axe-Wielders
alike. Eyes shifted nervously, muscles jerked as the wind
shifted first this way and then that, hands clenched and then
unclenched at the sound of the lake lapping against the shore.
No one knew how Artor would deliver the axe.
Belial and Axis stood facing each other, alone in the cleared
space before the Tower of the Seneschal. Axis, blindfolded,
stood tense and ready, arms slightly bent at his side, ready
for that single move only Belial could direct.
Belial, like everyone else, was looking about.
From where would the axe come?
High above, riding his wild plough across the sky, Artor looked
down, and beheld the supplicant who wished to join His Axe-Wielders.
Artor looked down, and did not like what He saw.
Belial jerked his eyes upward. High in the sky, glinting out
of the sun, a silver axe tumbled slowly out of the sky.
"I
see it," he said.
I hear it sing, Axis thought, I hear it sing! Then, directly
on the back of that thought, came another: I hear it sing,
and it sings wrong.
He felt suddenly very, very afraid. It sings wrong.
"Listen
to me, Axis," said Belial, his voice tight, "the
axe tumbles down from on high, as if it were an attacking
black-winged eagle. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Yes, Axis understood. Belial was giving him the weight and
angle of the axe's fall. It fell as a black-winged eagle attacked
– it flies through the air twisting in an unpredictable
spiral, as the eagle confuses and disorientates its prey.
"Have
you seen how the black-winged eagle concludes its hunt, Axis?"
"Yes."
Although the spiral of the eagle's attack appeared unpredictable,
it always concluded its attack in the same manner: abruptly
swerving out of its spiral to sweep up behind its prey, slamming
into the nape of its neck. Belial was telling him that was
where the axe was falling … towards the nape of his
neck. Belial could have told Axis that in words, but he was
doing the better thing, giving Axis both visual and instinctive
understanding of the nature of the axe's approach.
Yet that was not what the axe sung to Axis. It sung that it
fell straight and true as an arrow, and that all he would
need do was extend his right hand, and the handle of the axe
would slap into it.
"Trust
me, Axis," Belial whispered.
Trust me, whispered the axe.
Axis was now so tense, so confused, he could barely keep still.
He could feel the weight of the regard of all who stood and
witnessed.
He could feel the axe hurtling towards him!
Who to trust, Belial … or the axe?
Artor, if he chose wrong then he would murder any chance that
he had of escaping the stain of his birth! He would murder
any chance he had of living …
He could feel the axe hurtling …
All Axis wanted to do was to sink into a defensive crouch
and tear the blindfold away from his eyes. And if he could
not do that, then all he wanted to do was listen to the song
of the axe … oh, how he wanted to listen to the song
of the axe as it danced through the air!
He could feel the axe …
"Trust
me," Belial whispered again.
Artor! He could feel the axe whisper through the air, feel
the cold edge of its wicked blade as it hurtled towards him.
All he needed to do was to put out his right hand …
now … NOW! … and the axe would be his, if only
he put out his right hand and —
"Now!"
Belial shouted, and although Axis had been visualising thrusting
out his right hand to feel the axe smack home true —
he had seen it, he had felt it, he knew it was the right thing
to do! — instead he ducked and twisted to his left,
throwing his hands up, then gasping in shock as he felt the
weight and coldness of the axe's handle slam into his palms.
The force of the axe's impact almost pushed him over, but
Axis managed to regain his balance. He stood, hefting the
god-gifted axe easily in his right hand as with his left he
tore the blindfold from his eyes.
The Axe-Wielders were roaring, hands pumping into the sky,
but for the moment Axis had eyes for no one but Belial.
The axe had sung wrong, but Belial had spoken truly.
"The
allegiance I once swore to your mother is now yours, Axis,"
Belial said softly. "Welcome to the Axe-Wielders."
Axis saw the relief in the man's eyes. If Axis had not ducked
and twisted and caught the axe as it flew towards the nape
of his neck, then the blade would have taken off Axis' head
the instant before it would have taken Belial's.
It was a lesson Axis never forgot, through all the trials
of his life.
Trust Belial before the axe.
Far above, Artor raged as he drove His plough across the sky.
That axe had been meant to murder.
