to rest them and their horses a few days. I’ll use that time to organise our support and supplies. We can leave within five days, six at the most. From here to the Silent Woman Woods – two weeks at a solid pace. From the Silent Woman Woods to Smyrton,” Axis paused as he calculated the distance, “perhaps a month if we travel through Arcen and across the River Bracken.”
“And from Smyrton to Gorkenfort?”
“That is a harder and longer journey. If the reports of ice above the Urqhart Hills are true then it will be even harder. Especially if the winter closes in early.” Jayme and Moryson, who were in a position to see the window, nervously glanced at the heavy snowclouds. “Perhaps twenty days. If all goes smoothly and I am not detained too long at Smyrton, then I should be at Gorkenfort by early to mid-Snow-month.”
Jayme looked concerned. “That’s very late. Winter may well be there before you.”
Axis’ gaze was steady. “It’s the best I can do given the number of cohorts and the route you suggest.”
“Could he send a cohort or two directly to Gorkenfort via the River Nordra, Brother-Leader? They could be there several weeks ahead of the main force of Axe-Wielders that come via Smyrton,” said Moryson.
“The force stays intact and it stays with me,” said Axis fiercely.
Jayme hesitated, then nodded. “I will grant you that, BattleAxe. Borneheld will have enough troops there soon enough, and he will be ably supported by Jorge and Roland. No, all seven cohorts go with you, Axis.”
Axis relaxed. “Good. Then, if you will excuse me, Brother-Leader, I have an expedition to organise.”
Jayme nodded and waved a sketchy blessing with his right hand. “Furrow wide, furrow deep, BattleAxe.”
“Furrow wide, furrow deep, Brother-Leader,” Axis replied, standing. The cat jumped down and sat before the fire. Axis bowed slightly to Jayme and Moryson, his right fist clenched over the golden axes on his breast, then he strode from the room, his boot heels clicking sharply on the stone floor.
“Well,” said Moryson quietly, after Axis had closed the door behind him.
“Well, indeed,” Jayme replied equally as softly.
“Can we trust him?” Moryson asked.
Jayme took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes. He won’t like passing over command of the Axe-Wielders, but he will do it in the end. It would look peculiar if we didn’t send the Axe-Wielders to help in the defence of Achar, and even more peculiar if we didn’t send their BattleAxe with them.”
“What will he find out?” Moryson asked.
Jayme squirmed in his chair, and the cat paused in her washing to gaze at him. “Hopefully nothing. With luck his rivalry with Borneheld and the threat of the Forbidden will keep him occupied. Moryson –”
“I know, old friend, I know. Priam’s news shocked me as much as it shocked you. What did those creatures want with Rivkah’s body?”
Jayme looked up and caught Moryson’s gaze. His eyes were cold and calculating and his face no longer wore its usual kindly mien. “And what will they do when they discover it wasn’t hers?”
Moryson suddenly looked ten years older, his already hollow cheeks deepening further. “My friend, I think they already know that. I think that’s why they destroyed the scriptorium in a rage.”
Jayme smiled bleakly. “Then in that at least they did us a favour. For years I have wanted those records destroyed. We can only hope that the two brothers who survived were two of the younger brothers – with no memory that stretches back thirty years.”
The cat paused briefly, her head still bent over her tail, but her bright eyes fixed on Jayme. Then she flipped over and began washing her protruding stomach.
“But it doesn’t answer the question,” Moryson said, his voice revealing the strain he was under, “why did they want Rivkah’s body? Why?”
Jayme did not, could not, answer. The cat stretched and sat for a moment, regarding them both with level blue eyes. Then she rose to her feet and stepped languidly over to the door, scratching to be let out. Moryson obliged.
Faraday sat at the lead-paned window in her father’s apartment and gazed down at the activities in the palace courtyard below her. For the past five days the palace, and Carlon itself, had been bustling with activity as soldiers, archers, pikemen and cavalry arrived, formed into their units and then dispersed. Four days ago, six cohorts of Axe-Wielders had finally arrived from Coroleas. One more cohort had come from the Tower of the Seneschal to swell their numbers. Both Axe-Wielders and regular soldiers were billeted out across Carlon as war and transport plans were made, supplies obtained, horses shod and gear cleaned. In the palace itself there was almost no room to move. The cooks complained, the officers shouted, the dogs barked, the serving girls scurried from place to place with red spots in their cheeks, and numerous important-looking palace officials strode along the palace corridors carrying wads of thick documents under their arms. Those nobles resident in the palace for the festivities surrounding Priam’s nameday gathered in small groups and whispered the day away.
Faraday had done little but sit in her window and watch the activities below her. She caught frequent glimpses of the BattleAxe, and on those occasions she leaned a little closer to the frosty panes of glass, watching him as he conferred with his officers or chatted and smiled with his men. Sometimes a broken strap or a slow servant would make him lose his temper momentarily and shout, the sound of his voice just managing to drift to her ears. At his heels trotted a large white cat, as faithful as a dog. Faraday had actually forgotten her own troubles enough to laugh out loud when the cat tripped the BattleAxe up and he fell into a pile of straw the stable lads had just mucked out. Even the BattleAxe had enough of a sense of humour to smile wryly, and the cat had leapt into his lap as he sat in the hay, butting her head against his chin in a feline display of affection.
As the dusk set in she could just make out her father below in the courtyard talking to Axis. Axis was shaking his head firmly and her father was gesturing animatedly with both his hands. They had been standing there for some twenty minutes and Faraday could see that Axis was impatient to get away. But her father was persistent, and after a few more minutes, as Faraday pressed her forehead to the glass in order to see, Axis gave in and reluctantly nodded his head to whatever her father was planning. When Borneheld strode into the courtyard to join her father, Axis turned on his heel and left them to confer quietly in the shadows.
As she watched her father and Borneheld, Faraday’s lovely face lost much of its animation. When she had first arrived in Carlon everything had seemed a grand adventure. She had wanted to visit court all her life, and had been quietly excited when her father and mother had told her she was to come to the King’s nameday feast this year. The weeks of fittings for clothes grand enough to wear at court had entertained her, while the journey to Carlon had exposed her to landscapes and people she had not imagined existed. The clothes, the jewels, the sights and sounds of the court, the noisy crowds thronging the streets of Carlon – it all seemed a dream.
But three days ago the dream had ended and Faraday had come down to earth with a shock. Three days ago her father had come to her, his eyes bright and a great beam of pleasure lighting his face. He had arranged a marriage for her. Faraday had known that one day she would marry, and had realised that one of the reasons her parents had brought her to Carlon was to present her to the court as an eligible daughter, but she had vaguely assumed that marriage still lay a year or two into the future. But whatever had thrown the palace into a fever of activity had apparently also hastened her parents’ plans. And hastened her prospective bridegroom’s fervour.
Borneheld. She was to become the Duchess of Ichtar. It was, by anyone’s reckoning, a splendid marriage for her. Borneheld was the most powerful noble in the realm and the current heir