This is the unedited first chapter.

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1.

The Day of Power

 

It was a long day, the day that Axis first tried to kill Azhure, then married her. It was a day filled with power, and thus power found it easy to wrap and manipulate people's lives. The power of the Enchantress, untested and, for the moment, uncontrolled had dominated the dawn and the morning. Now, as the Enchantress smiled and kissed her new husband, it lay quiescent, waiting. But as the gate that had imprisoned Azhure's power and identity had shattered that day, so had other gates shattered, and so other powers moved - and not all of them were welcomed by the Prophecy.

As the Enchantress leaned back from her husband, accepting the warmth and love of her friends and family about her, so power walked the land of Tencendor.

It would be a long day.

***

Axis let Azhure's hand go and pulled the Enchantress' ring from the small secret pocket in his breeches. He held the ring up so that all in the room could see it, then he slid the ring onto the heart finger of Azhure's left hand. It fit perfectly, made only for this woman, only for this finger.

Welcome into the House of the Stars to stand by my side, Enchantress. May we walk together forever."

"Forever?" the GateKeeper said. "You and the Enchantress? Forever? As you wish, StarMan, as you wish."

She barked in laughter. From one of the bowls on the table before her the GateKeeper lifted out two balls and studied them a moment.

"Forever," she muttered, and placed them with the small group of seven sparkling balls at the very front of her table. The Greater.

"Nine. Complete." She breathed deeply. "The Circle is complete! At last ... at last!"

She fell silent, deep in thought.

Her fingers trembled. Already he had one child, and more to follow. And then ... the other.

"More," she said. She lifted a hand over one of the bowls again, then it dipped sharply, and when she lifted it again she held four more balls in her claw.

She dropped them into the pile of softly glowing golden balls that represented those who did not have to go through her Gate. The Lesser.

"Yet one more!" she said again, and a spasm of pain crossed her face. Her hand lifted slowly, shaking, then she snarled and snatched a dull black ball from the pile of those who refused to go through her Gate.

"Ssss!" she hissed, for the GateKeeper loathed releasing a soul without exacting fair price. "Does that satisfy your promise, WolfStar? Does it?" She dropped it with the other four on the pile of the Lesser. Five in all had joined the pile of the Lesser.

"Enough," she breathed in relief. "It is done. Enough."

Then she sat back and surveyed her table.

***

Her face set into an expressionless mask as she fought to keep her emotions under control, Faraday tightened the girth on the second donkey and checked the saddlebags and panniers one last time. She did not carry much with her. The bowl of enchanted wood that the silver pelt had given her so long ago, safely wrapped in a blanket and stowed deep in the panniers of the first donkey. The green gown that the Mother had presented to her. Some extra blankets, a pair of sturdy boots should the weather break and the ground become muddy, and a few spare clothes.

It was not much for a widowed Queen, Faraday thought, close to tears despite her determination to keep a tight rein on her emotions. Where the retainers? The gilded carriage and the caparisoned horses and attendants? The gloriana of trumpets and the acclamations of the crowd? The company of two white donkeys was not much, Faraday thought for what she had done for Axis and for Tencendor and for what she would yet do.

Abruptly she leaned against the white donkey and grinned weakly. Trumpets and brightly caparisoned horses? What did she need with those? All she needed, all she wanted, was the love of a man who did not love her.

She thought briefly on Azhure and Caelum, envying the woman yet sharing her joy in her son.

"Well," she said softly to herself. "No matter. I am mother to forty-two thousand souls. Surely their birthing will give me pain and joy enough."

The stables, as the rest of the palace of Carlon, were still and quiet. When she had left the Sentinels earlier Faraday had heard that the princes and commanders closest to Axis and Azhure had been called to the apartment where Faraday had left them.

"A wedding, I hope," Faraday murmured, and did not know whether to smile for Azhure's sake, or cry for her own.

Abruptly she took a deep breath and shook herself slightly. She had her own role to play in the Prophecy and it would take her far from Carlon.

Faraday could not wait to leave the palace and the city. There were no happy memories here, not even those recent eight days she had spent at Axis' side. Those eight days and their nights had turned out to be nothing but a lie and a betrayal, and it was their memory Faraday wanted to escape more than anything else.

Why had no-one told her about Azhure? Faraday still could not understand it. Everyone close to Axis-and, indeed, many distant from him-had known of his relationship with and love for Azhure, yet none had thought to tell Faraday. Not even the Sentinels.

Of all the silences that had surrounded her during those eight days their silence had hurt Faraday most bitterly of all. When Faraday had left Axis and Azhure to their love she had gone to speak with the Sentinels, berating them even as she cried at their betrayal.

"You let me think that once Borneheld was dead then Axis would be mine," she had accused harshly, and the Sentinels had hung their heads.

Then she'd turned the knife as hard as she could. "All I had to comfort me during that frightful marriage to Borneheld was the thought that one day my efforts for the Prophecy would be rewarded with Axis' love, and yet that comfort was a lie."

Ogden and Veremund had begun to cry then, and Yr had stepped forward to comfort Faraday, but Faraday had jerked away from Yr's hand.

"Did you know?" Faraday had shouted at Jack. "Did you know from the very beginning that I would lose Axis?"

Jack's face was unreadable. "None of us know all of the twists and turns of the Prophecy, sweet girl. None of it could have been foreseen."

Faraday had stared flatly at him, almost tasting the lie he'd mouthed.

No, she sighed to herself as she completed checking the donkey's gear, her meeting with the Sentinels had not gone well. Faraday had needed to lash out at someone and the Sentinels were convenient and logical targets for her hurt and rage.

Faraday had spoken more harsh words to them - words she now regretted - before she had turned and stalked out the door. Ogden and Veremund had scurried after her, their cheeks streaked with tears, asking her where she was going. "Into Prophecy - where you have thrust me," Faraday had snapped, and Ogden and Veremund had winced.

As she walked away they caught at her sleeve. "Then take our donkeys and their bags and panniers," they begged.

Faraday nodded curtly. "If you wish."

And then she had left them standing forlornly in the corridor, as much victims of the Prophecy as she was.

 

Now here she stood in the stable of the grand palace of Carlon, and all she knew was that she had to go east and that, sooner or later, she would have to start the transfer of the seedlings from Ur's nursery in the Enchanted Woods beyond the Sacred Grove to this world.

Forcing herself into movement Faraday gathered the lead ropes of the placid donkeys and turned to the stable entrance.

A heavily cloaked figure stood there, shrouded with shadows, and Faraday jumped, her heart pounding.

"Faraday?" a soft voice asked, and Faraday let out a breath in sheer relief. She'd thought that this dark figure might have been the mysterious and eminently dangerous WolfStar come to do yet another murder.

"Embeth," Faraday said, her voice sharp from the scare the woman had given her. "What are you doing down here? What do you want? Why are you cloaked so heavily?"

Embeth quickly tugged the hood back from her head. Her face was pale and drawn, her dark blue eyes showing the strain of sleepless nights. "You're leaving, Faraday?"

Faraday stared at the woman, remembering how Embeth, like the Sentinels, had urged Faraday into her marriage with Borneheld. She also remembered that Embeth and Axis had been lovers for many years. Well could you dissuade me from Axis and urge me to Borneheld's bed, she thought sourly, when you had enjoyed Axis for so long.

But this time Faraday did not let her bitterness overwhelm her and she bit back the harsh words that threatened to lash out at Embeth. She forced herself to remember that Embeth had been doing only what she thought best for a young girl untutored in the complexities of court intrigue; Embeth had no knowledge of prophecies or of the maelstrom that had, even then, caught so many of its victims into its swirling dark outer edges.

"Yes. There is no place for me here, Embeth. I travel east." She was deliberately vague, letting Embeth think she was travelling back to her family home in Skarabost.

Embeth's hands twisted in front of her. "Axis? What of you and Axis?"

Faraday stared unbelievingly at Embeth for a full minute before she realised that Embeth probably had no knowledge of the day's events. She dropped her eyes and fiddled with the donkeys' ropes.

"I leave Axis to his Lover, Embeth. I leave him to Azhure." Her voice was so soft that Embeth had to strain to hear it.

"Oh, Faraday," she said, hesitating only an instant before she stepped forward and hugged the woman tightly to her. "Faraday, I am sorry I did not tell you ... about ... well, about Azhure and her son. But I could not find the words, and after a few days I had convinced myself that you must have known. That Axis must have told you. But I saw your face yesterday when Axis acknowledged Azhure and named her son as his heir and I realised then that Axis kept his silence. That everyone had. Faraday, please forgive me."

Faraday finally broke down into the tears she had not allowed herself since that appalling moment at the ceremony when she had realised the depth of Axis' betrayal of her love and trust. She sobbed, her voice cracked and harsh, and Embeth hugged her fiercely, rocking her and murmuring useless words of comfort.

For a few minutes the two women stood there in the dim stable, the donkeys staring at them curiously, then Faraday leaned back and wiped her eyes, an unforced smile on her face.

"Thank you, Embeth. I needed that."

"If you are going east then you must be going past Tare," Embeth said, the strain returning to her eyes. "Please, Faraday, let me come with you as far as Tare. There is no place here in Carlon for me any more. Timozel has gone, only the gods know where, my other two children are far distant-both married now-and I do not think either Axis or Azhure would feel comfortable at my continuing presence."

As mine, Faraday thought. Discarded lovers are always a source of some embarrassment.

"Judith still waits in Tare, and needs my company. And there are ... other ... reasons I should return home."

Faraday noted the older woman's hesitancy. "StarDrifter?"

Embeth stared at the wall over Faraday's shoulder, then finally nodded, turning her eyes back to her hands. "Yes. I was a fool to succumb to his well-practiced enticements, but the old comfortable world I knew had broken apart into so many pieces that I felt lost, lonely, unsure. He was an escape and I ... I, as his son's former lover, was an irresistible challenge."

A wry grin crossed her face. "I fear I may have made a fool of myself, Faraday, and that thought hurts more than any other pain I have endured over the past months. StarDrifter only used me to sate his curiosity, he did not care for me. We did not even share the friendship that Axis and I did."

"Well," Faraday said, "as far as Tare you say? We will not be travelling in quite the same style as the last time we both rode for Tare."

Embeth looked at her. The last time they had ridden for Tare had been with the Axe-Wielders led by Axis as their BattleAxe-it seemed a lifetime ago.

Faraday watched Embeth remember. "Axis did not want his beloved Axe-Wielders encumbered with such a bevy of women, as I remember."

Embeth smiled despite herself. "And those were not quite his words, as I remember. Well," she cast her eye about the stable, "as you seem ready to depart at any moment I shall select myself a suitable horse without further ado. Faraday, surely you aren't going to travel with those donkeys? Axis will not begrudge either of us a horse."

"These donkeys are all I need, Embeth. I do not have much to carry. How long will it take you to pack?" Faraday hoped Embeth would not hold her up for long.

To her surprise Embeth actually laughed. "How long to pack? As long as it takes me to saddle a horse. I have no wish to go back inside that palace, Faraday. I already wear a serviceable dress and have good boots on my feet, and should I require anything else then I have gold pieces in the purse at my waist. We shall not want for food along the way."

Faraday smiled secretively. "We would not have wanted for food in any case, Embeth," and she patted one of the saddlebags.

Embeth frowned in puzzlement at the flat and empty saddlebag.

After a moment Faraday took pity on her and reached out a hand. "Come, let us both walk away from these SunSoar men. Let us both rebuild and find meaning for our lives elsewhere."

 

As Faraday led the two donkeys and Embeth and her horse out of the stable block in the palace of Carlon, far to the north Timozel sat brooding on the dreary shores of Murkle Bay. This was a barren and depressing part of Achar. To his right rose the cheerless Murkle Mountains that spread north for some fifty leagues along the western border of Aldeni. Almost all year round cold dry winds blew off the Andeis Sea, making life all but impossible within the mountain range. At most hardy lizards scampered over the bare rocks and the occasional stand of withered grass struggled across the rocky slopes. Few people ever came to the mountains or to this long and desolate beach that separated mountain from water.

The darkness of the waters Timozel stared at only reflected the darkness of his visage. If, far to the south, Embeth worried about her lost son, Timozel spared no thought for his mother - Gorgrael dominated his mind awake and asleep.

Over the past nine days Timozel had ridden as hard as he dared for the north. With each league further away from Carlon and Faraday he could feel Gorgrael's grip clench tighter about his soul - Gorgrael left him in no doubt that Timozel was now his man.

The terror and the horror Timozel had felt when Faraday had dropped the pot and shattered the ties that bound him to her had dimmed, but had not completely left him. In those odd hours when Timozel snatched some sleep nightmares invariably claimed him and woke him screaming. He tried very hard not to sleep, but had been riding so hard that he was close to exhaustion - three times during this past day he had dropped off in the saddle, only to wake with a hoarse cry a few minutes later.

Every time he fell asleep he dreamed that Gorgrael held him in his vice-like grip, his claws digging into Timozel's neck, his repulsive face bending close to Timozel's own. "Mine," the dream-Gorgrael would hiss, "Mine! You are mine!"

And with every step further north that he pushed himself the more potent became the nightmares - if only he could turn his back on Gorgrael and ride for Carlon! Beg forgiveness from Faraday, find some way to reconstitute his vows of Championship. But Gorgrael's claws had sunk too deep now for Timozel to even look over his shoulder at the world he had lost, let alone turn his back to the north.

Timozel dropped his head and rubbed his eyes, trying to ease the headache that had plagued him for days, trying to keep sleep at bay. His despair overwhelmed him, and he wept, grieving for the boy he had once been, grieving for the pact he had been forced to make with Gorgrael, grieving for the loss of Faraday's friendship.

Beside Timozel lay the cooling carcass of the sixth horse he'd killed. The animal had staggered to a halt two hours previously, stood a moment, and had then sunk wearily and resignedly to the sandy beach and into death. Timozel had not been caught unawares - this was, after all the sixth horse he had literally ridden into the ground in recent days and he was no longer surprised by the fragility of horse flesh - and he had slid his feet quickly from the stirrup irons and swung his leg over the horse's wither as it slumped to the ground, standing himself in one graceful movement.

Now Timozel sat on the gritty beach, watching the grey waves roll relentlessly in, trails of tears marking his exhausted face, wondering what he would do next. Deep, angry frustration was building by the minute. How was he going to keep moving north now the damned horse had died on him?

And what had driven him to the shores of Murkle Bay in the first instance? It was many leagues to the west of where he should have been headed - Jervois Landing, then north into the Skraeling-controlled Ichtar through the Gorken Pass and then north, north, north to Gorgrael's Ice Fortress. It would be a hard and long journey, perhaps months long, and only Timozel's determination and his bond to Gorgrael would see him through.

As each horse fell Timozel had stolen another one - not a difficult proposition in the well-populated regions of Avonsdale. But he was not likely to find another horse in the desolate regions surrounding Murkle Bay or in the mountains themselves.

He shrugged. No matter. He would walk and Gorgrael - if he truly wanted Timozel - would no doubt provide.

But not today. He would not start to walk until tomorrow morning. Even his fear of Gorgrael-sent nightmares would not keep Timozel from sleep tonight. Timozel shivered and pulled his cloak closer, shifting uncomfortably on the cold and damp sand. Somehow he would have to find enough fuel for a fire to keep him warm through the night. A rumble in his belly reminded him that he had not eaten in over two days, and he wondered if he could snatch a fish from Murkle Bay's depths.

The silted waters were choppy, capped with dirty yellow foam. As the waves broke on the shore they spread a thin film of filth along the sand. The large tanneries along the River Azle spilled corrupted chemicals and animal waste into the river that carried them to the bay. The water smells disgusting, Timozel thought, wrinkling his nose. I'll not eat anything that comes from this polluted bay. And how would I catch it, anyway? Stand thigh-deep in the waves and snatch at whatever deformed creatures live in these thick waters?

His dark blue eyes narrowed as he gazed across the bay. What was that out to sea? Perhaps a hundred paces distant from the beach Timozel could see a small, dark hump bobbing in the waves. He'd heard stories of the whales that lived in the Andeis Sea and wondered if perhaps this dark shape was the back of one of the mammoth ocean fish that had strayed into Murkle Bay.

Timozel stared, his eyes blinking in the salty breeze. As the dark shape bobbed closer Timozel leapt to his feet.

"What?" he hissed.

The dark hump had resolved itself into the shape of a heavily cloaked man rowing a tiny boat. He was making directly for Timozel.

His dull headache abruptly flared into white heat and Timozel cried out, grabbing at his head and doubling over in agony. But the pain died as quickly as it had flared and after catching his breath Timozel slowly straightened out. When he thought to look out to sea again he saw that the man and his boat were almost to shore.

He shivered. The man was so tightly cloaked and hooded Timozel could not see his face. Yet Timozel knew that this was no ordinary fisherman returning from a day's trawling in the bay. No man fished in a boat this small, and surely no man fished so heavily cloaked. But what disturbed Timozel the most was that although the man made every appearance of rowing vigorously, the oars that dipped into the water never made a splash and the boat itself sailed as smoothly and as calmly as if it were pushed by some unseen but gigantically powerful underwater hand.

Magic! Timozel breathed, and took a step back as the boat slipped smoothly ashore.

The cloaked man shipped his oars and stood up, wrapping his cloak tightly about him. Timozel could feel but not see a smile on the man's face.

"Ah, Timozel," he said in a deeply musical voice, stepping smoothly out of the boat and striding across the sand that separated them. "Such a fortunate coincidence to find you here."

Sweat beaded in the palms of Timozel's hands and he had to force himself not to wipe them along his cloak. For the first time in eight days Gorgrael slipped completely from his mind. He stared at the dark man who had halted some three or four paces in front of him.

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Timozel again had the sensation that the man smiled, although he could see no glint of teeth or eyes beneath the black hood.

"Timozel," the man said, and despite his fears Timozel relaxed slightly. How could a man with such a gentle voice harbour foul intent?

"Timozel. It is late and night begins to fall. I would appreciate a place beside the warmth of your campfire for the night."

Startled, Timozel looked over his shoulder at where the man pointed. A bright fire leaped cheerfully into the night; a large rabbit sizzled on a spit just above the reach of the flames and a pot steamed gently to one side of the coals.

"How ...?" Timozel began, doubt and fear resurfacing in his mind. "How did the fire ...?"

"Timozel," the man said, his voice slipping into an even deeper timbre. "You must have lit the fire earlier and, in your exhaustion, forgot the deed."

"Yes," Timozel's shoulders slumped in relief. "Yes, that must be it. Yes, my mind is so hazy from exhaustion that I had forgotten the deed."

Beneath his hood the Dark Man's smile broadened. Poor, troubled Timozel. His mind had been shadowed for so long that it was now an easy task to manipulate it.

"The rabbit smells good," he said, taking Timozel's arm. Surprisingly, all traces of Timozel's headache faded completely at the man's touch. "Shall we eat?"

 

An hour later Timozel sat before the fire, feeling more relaxed and at peace with himself that he had in months. He no longer minded that his companion chose not to reveal his features. In these past months Timozel had seen stranger creatures. Like those feathered abominations that now crawled over the fouled palace of Carlon. His lip curled.

The Dark Man saw and smiled. Timozel would prove so malleable.

"You do not like what you have seen in Carlon, Timozel."

"Disgusting," Timozel said.

"Oh, absolutely," the Dark Man agreed.

Timozel shifted, his loathing of the Icarii rippling through his body.

"Borneheld tried to stop them, but he failed."

The Dark Man shrugged. "Unfortunate."

"Treachery undid him."

"Of course."

"He should have won!" Timozel clenched his fists by his side and stared across the fire at the cloaked man. "He should have. I had a vision."

He stopped. Why had he mentioned that vision? Would this strange man laugh at him?

"Really?" The Dark Man's voice held no trace of derision; indeed, it held traces of awe. "You must be beloved of the immortals, Timozel, if you have been granted visions."

"Yes, But I fear the vision mislead me."

"Well," the cloaked man said slowly, as if reluctant to speak, "I have travelled widely, Timozel, and I have seen many bizarre sights and heard even stranger stories. One of the things I have learned is that visions can sometimes be misunderstood, misinterpreted. Would you," he asked hesitantly, his hands twisting nervously before him, "would you share your vision with me?"

Timozel considered the man through narrowed eyes. He had never shared the details of the vision with anyone - not even Borneheld, although Borneheld knew Artor had enabled Timozel to foresee his victory over Axis.

But Borneheld hadn't succeeded, had he? And Artor seemed powerless in the face of the Forbidden invasion; even the Brother-Leader had gibbered impotent before Axis. Timozel dropped his gaze and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps the vision was worthless. A phantasm, nothing more.

"Tell me of the vision," the Dark Man whispered. Share.

Timozel hesitated.

"I want to hear of it." Share.

"Perhaps I will tell you," Timozel said. "They came time and time again. Always the same. I rode a great and noble beast - it cried with such a voice that all before it quailed." As Timozel spoke he fell under the spell of the vision again, and his voice sped up, the words tumbling from his mouth. "I fought for a great Lord, and in the name of that Lord I commanded an army that undulated for leagues in every direction."

"Goodness," said the Dark Man. "A truly great vision."

"Hundreds of thousands screamed my name." Now Timozel leaned forward, his voice earnest. "They hurried to fulfil my every wish. The opposing army quivered in terror; they could do nothing. Remarkable victories were mine for the taking ... in the name of my Lord I was going to clear the filth that invaded Achar!"

"If you did that then your name would live in legend forever," the Dark Man said, and Timozel could hear the admiration in his voice.

"Yes! Yes, it would. Millions would thank me. I saw more ..."

"Tell me!"

"I saw myself seated before a fire with my Lord, Faraday at our side. The battles were over. All was well. I ... I had found my destiny. I had found my light."

He dropped his face into his hands momentarily, and when he raised his eyes again the Dark Man could see that they were reddened and lost. "But it was all a lie. A lie."

"How so?" The man's voice sounded genuinely puzzled.

"Borneheld lies dead, I saw Axis tear his heart out myself. His armies are dead or betrayed his name and fled to Axis. In any case, Borneheld would never give me command."

"He did not trust your vision. Perhaps that is why he lost," the stranger said, and Timozel nodded.

"Now Faraday lies with Axis and becomes his wife, and we are all lost. Lost. And now ... now ..." He could not continue.

"Now?" the Dark Man asked. "Do you experience other visions? Dreams, perhaps?"

Timozel's eyes flared, his suspicions aroused. "How did you know?"

"Oh," the Dark Man soothed, spreading his hands before him. "You have the look about you. The look of vision."

"It is not visions that wrap my thoughts now, but dark nightmares that ensorcel my soul!"

"Perhaps you have misinterpreted-"

"How can I misinterpret the fact that now Gorgrael has his talons locked into my soul! It is over! Finished!"

He stopped, appalled. He had never, never, mentioned Gorgrael to another person before.

But the stranger did not seem overly perturbed. "Ah yes, Gorgrael is a good and dear friend of mine."

Timozel recoiled in horror, almost falling backwards in his haste to put more distance between himself and the dark cloaked figure.

"Your friend?"

"Ah," the cloaked man said. "I fear you have fallen under the spell of the evil rumours about Gorgrael that sweep this beauteous land."

Timozel just stared at him.

"Timozel, my friend, how can Gorgrael be evil and dark when he fights the very things that you do?"

"What do you mean?" How could that appalling creature not be evil and dark.

"Consider this, Timozel. Gorgrael and Borneheld fight-fought-for the same thing."

"What?" Timozel leaned forward unbelievingly. Perhaps he should slice this stranger's head off and be done with it.

"Listen to me," the Dark Man said hastily, using his powers to warp Timozel's mind so that the man would the more easily believe him. "Gorgrael hates the Forbidden, the Icarii and the Avar, as Borneheld did. Gorgrael wants to see them destroyed as much as Borneheld did. Both shared the same purpose."

Timozel struggled with the stranger's words. Yes, it was true that Borneheld hated the Forbidden and ached for their destruction. And Gorgrael wants the same thing?

"He surely does," the Dark Man said. "He surely does."

"But the Prophecy says ..." Timozel's voice dwindled off as he struggled to remember exactly what it was that the Prophecy said.

"Bah!" the Dark Man said dismissively, but grinning to himself under his hood. "The Prophecy is nothing but a tool of the Forbidden to cloud men's minds and blind them to their true saviour-Gorgrael."

"Yes, yes," Timozel's voice was soft as he thought it through. "That makes sense." Isn't that what Borneheld had once thought?

"And Gorgrael aches to kill Axis as much as Borneheld did."

"Axis." Now Timozel's voice was edged with unreasoning hatred.

"Who is it that has brought the Forbidden back to crawl over Achar's lands, Timozel?"

"Axis!" Timozel hissed.

Now the Dark Man spoke very slowly, but emphasising every word. "Gorgrael is committed to killing Axis and ridding this fair land of the Forbidden. Is that not what you want?"

"Yes." Timozel's voice was firm. "Yes, that is what I want!"

"Gorgrael will help rescue Faraday from the foul clutches of Axis and the Forbidden."

"Faraday! He will help rescue Faraday?" Timozel did not know that the vows that had bound Faraday and Axis were now as shattered as those that had once bound him to Faraday. He did not know of Azhure, or of the fact that she had married Axis that very day.

Now Timozel shuffled eagerly around the fire to sit close to the Dark Man. "He will help rescue Faraday from Axis' foul corruption?" Was there hope for Faraday yet?

"With your help, Timozel. With your help."

"With my help?"

"Ah, Timozel," the Dark Man said dejectedly. "Gorgrael is truly misunderstood and he fights for a true cause, but he is not a good war leader." He sighed, and Timozel leaned even closer, eager. "Timozel, he needs a good war leader. He needs you and you need him. Together you can rid Achar of its foul corruption."

A small doubting voice deep in Timozel's soul told him not to listen to this man, not to believe his smooth words. Had not Borneheld fought Gorgrael as well? Were not the Skraelings as evil as the Forbidden? But, caught as he was by the weight of the enchantments that the Dark Man wove about him and by the blackness that was eating into his soul, Timozel pushed those thoughts out of existence. Gorgrael would be the one to restore sanity and good health to Achar. And Gorgrael needed a good war leader?

"He would give me command of his army?" Timozel asked.

"Oh, surely. It is the reason that Gorgrael has sent me to fetch you. He knows that you are a great warrior and he will give you control of his army."

Timozel sat back, enthralled. A command of his own, at last! Even Borneheld had not done that for him.

"Don't you see, Timozel?" the Dark Man asked, drawing the net of his lies closed. "Don't you understand? Gorgrael is the Great Lord of your visions. He has sent me south to fetch you, to bring you north so that your Lord can give you control of his armies.

"Truly?" Timozel desperately wanted to believe that there was still a chance the visions would be fulfilled. That there was still a chance he could do some good.

"Very truly, Timozel."

Timozel thought about it, a final doubt gnawing at him. "But why has Gorgrael been disturbing my sleep with such dark dreams?"

The Dark Man reached out a hand and rested it on Timozel's shoulder reassuringly. "The Forbidden are desperate to turn you from Gorgrael, Timozel. They have been the instigators of those dreams, not Gorgrael. You will have no more bad dreams from now on."

Certainly not once I have a word with Gorgrael, the Dark Man thought. There had never been any need to disturb the boy's mind with dark dreams - but Gorgrael was ever inclined to the melodramatic.

All doubts had gone from Timozel's mind now. He felt reassured and content. At last he had found the right path. The visions had been true.

"Gorgrael will free Faraday from Axis' foul clutches?" he asked one more time, just to be sure.

"Oh, assuredly," the Dark Man said. "Assuredly. He will be a master that you will be proud and grateful to serve. You will sit by the fire with your Great Lord, Timozel, with Faraday by your side, sipping fine wine."

"Oh," Timozel breathed, and a beatific expression settled over his face. He let the vision engulf him.

"Now," the Dark Man rose with the Icarii grace that he could not completely repress, "I have a boat, and in only a few short hours we shall reach your Lord's fortress. Your saviour's fortress. Will you come?"

"Friend," Timozel stood by the Dark Man's side, shaking sand from his cloak. "You have not told me your name."

The Dark Man pulled his hood closer. "I have many names," he said quietly, "but you may call me Friend."

 

As Timozel climbed into the boat with his new-found friend he realised that he found Friend's voice familiar. Why? Who was he? Confused, Timozel paused, half in, half out of the boat. That voice was so familiar, and Timozel realised that he must know the man. But where had he heard the voice before? Where? Who was the cloaked stranger?

"Timozel?" the Dark Man inquired. "Is anything the matter?"

Timozel stared at the man, already seated on one of the boat's two tiny rowing benches, then he shook himself and climbed in.

"No, Friend," he said. "Nothing's the matter."

 

Brother-Leader Jayme abased himself before the icon of his beloved Artor the Ploughman, the one true god of all Acharites - or at least, who had been the one true god of all Acharites until the setbacks of recent weeks.

Once the powerful Brother-Leader of the Seneschal, most senior mediator between Artor the Ploughman and the hearts and souls of the Acharites, now Jayme mediated only between his broken soul and the ghosts of his dreams and ambitions. He had once manipulated kings and peasants alike; now he manipulated little more than the buckles on his sandals. He had once resided in the great Tower of the Seneschal; now the Forbidden had reclaimed the Tower and burned the accumulated learning of over a thousand years. He had once sat easy with power, protected by the might of the military wing of the Seneschal, the Axe-Wielders and their BattleAxe. But now the remaining Axe-Wielders had cast aside their axes to serve the ghastly Forbidden, and their BattleAxe now claimed to be a Prince of the Forbidden, and it had been his work that had led the Forbidden seething back over the Fortress Ranges into Achar.

He had once enjoyed the friendship and support of his senior adviser, Moryson. But now Moryson had deserted him.

He had done his best, and this is where his best had brought him. Lying on the dusty floor of an all but bare chamber in the palace of Carlon before an icon of the god he had failed so miserably.

Slowly Jayme rose to his knees and stared about the chamber where he had been incarcerated for the past nine days. They had not left him much. A single wooden chair and a plain table. A bed roll and blanket, now pushed against the far wall. Nothing else. Axis believed Jayme might try to kill himself, and so guards had emptied the room of everything save what Jayme needed for basic comfort. Curtains, cutlery, feather pillows, clothes (save the loose robe he now wore), tapestries, everything had gone. What did Axis think I would do with the tapestries and feather pillows, Jayme thought despairingly. Smother myself?

Twice a day guards came to bring him food and to attend his needs, but otherwise Jayme had been left alone with his conscience.

Apart from his two visitors. Jayme's eyes clouded as he remembered.

Two days after the death of Achar's hopes in the Chamber of the Moons, the Princess Rivkah had come to see him ...

 

She entered the room silently and Jayme did not know she was there until he stood from his devotions before the sacred icon of Artor.

The moment Jayme turned and saw her his mouth went dry. Only through a supreme effort did he manage to keep his hands from trembling; he had never thought to be confronted by the woman he thought he and Moryson had successfully murdered so many years previously.

For long minutes Rivkah stood and stared at him. Jayme could not but help contrast her proud bearing with his own hunched and subservient posture. How is it, he thought querulously, that the woman who did Achar and Artor so much wrong can stand there as if justice was on her side? How is it that she can stand there so beautiful and queenly when all Moryson and I deposited at the foot of the Icescarp Alps was a broken woman near death? Artor, why did you let her survive? Artor? Artor? Are you there, Artor?

"Why?" she eventually asked.

Surprising even himself, Jayme actually managed to reply in a moderately strong voice. "For the wrong that you did your husband and your country and your god, Rivkah. You did not deserve to live."

"I was the one wronged, Jayme," she finally said. "Yet you would that I had died a horrible death. You did not have the courage, as I remember, to put a knife through my throat."

"It was Moryson's idea," Jayme said. "He thought it best that you die in a place far enough removed from civilization so that your bones would not corrupt Artor-fearing souls."

The muscles in Rivkah's jaw worked. "Yet you let my son live."

"He was innocent of your evil-at least, that's what I thought at the time. I did not know then what it was that had put him in your belly. Knowing what I know now I would have put a knife to your throat, Rivkah. Well before you had a chance to give that abomination birth."

Rivkah's hands jerked slightly, the only sign she had been disturbed by Jayme's words. At that moment she longed flee, so great was her loathing for Jayme, but she had one more thing to ask.

"Why did you name my son Axis?"

Jayme blinked at her, surprised by the question, and fought to remember. He shrugged slightly.

"Moryson named him."

"But why Axis?"

"Why Axis? I do not know, Rivkah. It seemed a good enough name at the time. I could not have known then that he would prove to be the axis about which our entire world would turn and die."

Rivkah took a deep breath. She had endured enough of the man. "You denied me my son and warped his soul for almost thirty years, Jayme, while you left me die a slow lingering death." She stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and spat in Jayme's face. "They say that forgiveness is the beginning of healing, Jayme, but I find it impossible to forgive the wrong you have done myself, my son and his father."

She turned and strode to the door.

Just as she reached it Jayme spoke. Where the words came from he did not know, for the knowledge behind the words and the sudden strength in his voice was not his.

"It is my understanding that the birdman you betrayed Searlas for has now betrayed and rejected you, Rivkah. You have been discarded, thrown aside for your aging lines. Betrayal always returns to those who betray."

Rivkah turned and stared at him, appalled. His words were not strictly correct, but they were close enough to the truth to hurt. Had the price for her betrayal of Searlas been the eventual death of StarDrifter's love for her? And what price would she pay for the hurt she had caused Magariz so many years ago? She licked her lips and silently cursed her voice as it quavered.

"Then if betrayal always returns to the betrayer, Jayme, then I am confident you will die a ghastly death."

Despite her brave words, Rivkah's entire body shuddered, and she turned and flung the door open, running past the startled guard and down the corridor.

 

Now Jayme smiled, remembering Rivkah's agitation. But then the smile died as he recalled his second visitor-Axis himself.

 

Unlike Rivkah, Jayme heard Axis well before he had entered the room. Axis stood outside the closed door for several minutes, talking with the guard posted there, and during those minutes the sweat trickled in rivulets down Jayme's body. He knew Axis was toying with him, knowing the sound of his casual conversation outside would increase Jayme's trepidation.

And his tactic worked. Jayme's stomach heaved as he heard the key in the lock.

"Jayme," Axis said flatly as he stepped inside the room.

Jayme swallowed and gripped his hands to keep them from trembling. Axis had always carried an aura of power as BattleAxe-now it was magnified ten times and carried with it infinite threat.

Jayme opened his mouth to speak, but there was nothing to say.

Axis stared at him, then walked to the far side of the room, pausing to gaze out the window at the throngs of people in the streets far below.

"I have decided to put you on trial, Jayme. Rivkah has told me of your conversation," he turned back into the room, "and of your wretched effort to lay the blame for her attempted murder at Moryson's feet. But it is not only the wrongs that you have done me and my mother that you should answer for, Jayme, but the wrongs that you have done the innocent people of Tencendor."

Jayme finally found his voice and his courage. "Yet how many innocent people have you murdered for your depraved purposes, Axis? Justice always seems to rest with the victor, does it not?"

Axis stabbed an accusing finger at his former Brother-Leader. "How many innocent people did I murder in the name of the Seneschal, Jayme? How many people, guilty of nothing save innocent questions, did you send your BattleAxe out to ride down into the earth? How many innocent people have I murdered? Why don't you tell me, Jayme. After all, you were the one who sent me out to murder them in the name of Artor!"

"I only did what Artor told me, Axis. I only did what was right for the Way of the Plough."

The anger faded from Axis' face and he stared incredulously at Jayme. "Have you never thought to question the world about you, Jayme? Have you never thought to question the narrow and brutal Way of the Plough? Have you never stopped to think what beauty the Seneschal destroyed when it drove the Icarii and the Avar beyond the Fortress Ranges a thousand years ago? Have you never stopped to question Artor?"

"Axis," Jayme said, stepping forward. "What has happened to you? I thought I knew you, I thought I could trust you."

"You thought you could use me."

Axis stared at Jayme a moment longer, then brushed past him and strode to the door.

"I only used you for Artor's sake," Jayme said so softly that Axis barely heard him.

His hand on the door handle, Axis faced his once-beloved Brother-Leader. "I shall spare no effort in dismantling the Seneschal, Jayme. I shall grind it and the cursed Way of the Plough into the dust where it belongs. I shall bury your hatreds and your bigotry and your unreasoning fears and I shall never, never, allow it or any like it to raise its deformed head in Tencendor again. Congratulations, Jayme. You will yet live to witness the complete destruction of the Seneschal."

Jayme's face was now completely white and his mouth trembled. He held out a hand pleadingly. "Axis!"

But Axis was gone.

 

The memory of that visit disturbed Jayme so much that he abased himself before Artor's icon again, seeking what comfort the crude figure could give him.

Along with the pillows and forks and comfortable chairs the guards had also carried away the beautiful gold and enamel icon of Artor that had held pride of place in the centre of the main wall. During the first two days of his captivity Jayme, desperately needing an icon to pray to, had laboriously carved out a life-sized outline of the great god into the soft plaster of the wall. Even though Jayme had bent and torn his nails with the effort, at least he had an icon to pray to.

He pressed his forehead to the floor in prayer.

 

The sound of noisy celebrations in the streets below finally roused him in the early evening. Curious despite his despondency, Jayme wandered over to the window.

Cheerful crowds thronged the streets and Jayme huddled close to the glass, trying to make out what it was they shouted. Most held beakers of beer or ale, a few had goblets of wine. All wore wide smiles.

"A toast to our lord and lady!" Jayme heard one stout fellow shout, and the crowd happily obliged.

"A marriage made in the stars, they say!" shouted another, and Jayme was horrified to see that it came from one of several winged creatures in the crowd.

He frowned. Had Axis married Faraday already? The crowd were now almost completely shrouded in the shadows of twilight, and Jayme pressed his face closer to the glass.

A tiny piece of plaster fell to the floor behind him. Then another. "To Axis!" cried one.

"And to Azhure!" came the faint echo.

Large cracks spread across the wall, and a piece of plaster the size of a man's fist bulged into the room.

"Azhure?" Jayme said. "Azhure?"

More plaster crumbled to the floor as further cracks and bulges raced across the surface of the wall, but Jayme was so engrossed in the crowd's celebrations he did not hear it.

"Who is this Azhure?" Now Jayme had both hands and face pressed to the window pane in an effort to catch the shouts of the crowd.

She is one of the many reasons for your death, fool.

Jayme whimpered softly in terror and his eyes refocused away from the street below him and onto the reflection in the glass.

Plaster fell to the floor in a torrent as the wall came alive behind him.

Jayme whimpered softly again, so horrified he could not move. So frightened he could not even tear his eyes away from the terror in the reflection.

Nothing in his life could have prepared him for this, and yet he knew exactly what it was. Exactly.

Artor, come to exact revenge for the failings of the Brother-Leader of his Seneschal.

"Beloved Lord," Jayme croaked.

In the reflection Jayme saw the wall ripple and a form bulge through, taking the shape of the icon Jayme had scratched in the plaster days ago.

It was too much, and Jayme screwed shut his eyes in terror.

Have you not the courage to face Me, Brother-Leader? Have you not the courage to face your Lord?

Jayme's whole body jerked and he could feel a powerful force seize control of his muscles. Suddenly he was spun around and slammed back against the window; he retained only enough power over his muscles to keep his eyelids tightly closed. Some part of his mind not yet completely numbed with terror hoped that Artor would use too much force and the window panes would crack behind him and he could fall to a grateful death on the cobbles below.

But Artor knew His own power, and Jayme did not hit the glass with enough force to break it.

He was held, pinned there, his feet a handspan off the floor, and none of the crowd celebrating Axis and Azhure's marriage spared so much as one glance above to see Jayme pinned against the window as effectively as a cruel boy will pin an ant to a piece of paper.

The great god Artor the Ploughman completed His transformation from the ethereal to the physical and stepped into the room. He was stunningly, furiously angry, and His wrath was a terrible thing to behold.

Jayme had failed Him. The Seneschal was crumbling, and soon even those crumbs that were left would be swept away in the evil wind that blew over the land of Achar and through the souls of the Acharites. Day by day Artor could feel the loss of those souls who turned from the worship of Artor and the Way of the Plough to the worship of other gods. Now those gods drew power at Artor's expense. He was the one true god, He demanded it, and Artor liked it not that those gods He had banished so long ago might soon walk this land again.

Jayme had failed Artor so badly and so completely that the god Himself had been forced from His heavenly kingdom to stem the tide of destruction. He had come to exact retribution from Brother-Leader Jayme for his pitiful failure to led the Seneschal against the challenge of the StarMan.

What have you done, Jayme?

Jayme shuddered, and found that Artor had freed those muscles he needed to speak with. "I have done my best, Lord," he whispered.

Meet My eyes, Jayme, and know the god that you promised to serve.

Jayme shuddered and tried to keep his eyes tightly shut, but the god's power tore them open-and Jayme screamed.

Standing before him was a man-figure, yet taller and more heavily muscle-bound than any man Jayme had ever seen before. Artor had chosen to reveal Himself in the symbolic attire of the ploughman: the rough linen loincloth, the short leather cape thrown carelessly over the shoulders, its hood drawn close about Artor's face, and the thick rope sandals. In one hand Artor held the traditional goad used to urge the plough team onwards; the other hand He had clenched in the fist of righteous anger.

Underneath the leather hood of his cape Artor had assumed the heavy and pitted features of a man roughened by years of tilling the soil, while His body was roped with the thick muscles needed to control the team and the cumbersome wheeled plough.

And underlying this immensely powerful and angry physical presence was the roiling fury of a god scorned and rejected by many of those who had once served Him.

Tears streamed from Jayme's eyes, but he could not close them. His mouth worked, but he could speak no words.

The eyes in Artor's face glittered with black rage. Daily My power diminishes as the Seneschal crumbles into dust. Daily the souls of the Acharites are claimed by other, less-deserving gods. For this I hold you responsible.

"I could not have foreseen-" Jayme began, but Artor raised the goad menacingly above His head and took a powerful step forwards, and Jayme whimpered into silence.

The power of the Mother threatens to spill over into this land as the bitch you failed to stop prepares to sow the seeds of the evil forest across Achar. The Star Gods now threaten to spread their cold light through this land again.

"I had not the knowledge or the power to stop these gods of whom you speak-"

Yet you incubated the egg that would hatch the traitorous viper. You nursed the viper to your-to My-bosom! You raised him, you taught him, you gave him the power and the means, and then you turned him loose to destroy all that I have worked to build.

"Axis! I could not have known that he ..."

As the Brotherhood of the Seneschal falls to its knees so the worship of the Plough fades and I grow weak. Long forgotten gods seek to take My place and banish Me from this fair land.

"Give me another chance and I will try to-"

But Artor had finished with Jayme. He did not want to hear empty excuses. He did not want to hear useless promises. He had judged and that judgment was final.

I shall seek out among those remaining to find one who will work My will for me. One who is still loyal. One who can steer the Plough that you have left to wheel out of control. Die, Jayme, and prepare to live your eternity within My eternal retribution. Feel My justice, Jayme! Feel it! As Artor stepped forward, Jayme found breath enough for a last, pitiful shriek.

***

The guard standing outside the door to Jayme's room thought he heard a cry, and he started to his feet. But the next moment a burst of fireworks lit the night sky and the guard relaxed, smiling. No doubt the noise had been the echo of the street celebrations below.

The guard's smile died. It was unfair that he should be detailed to guard the pitiful man inside while others marked the StarMan and Enchantress' marriage with revelry below.

Another burst of fireworks exploded above, drowning out the screams of what was left of Jayme as Artor exacted his divine retribution.

***

Faraday and Embeth, almost a league into the Plains of Tare, paused and turned back as the faint bursts of the fireworks reached them.

"He has married her," Faraday said tonelessly, "and now the people celebrate." Then she turned the head of the donkey and urged it eastwards.

***

Later that night, when the guard checked his prisoner, all he discovered was a pile of plaster by the far wall and a bloody body lying huddled underneath the locked window.

It looked suspiciously like ... well, like it had been ploughed.