best if Borneheld knows of the situation. It might be best if Borneheld himself were here. To stop Priam from wavering, of course.”
“Borneheld is an experienced leader and battle commander,” Jayme said thoughtfully. “His hatred of the Forbidden and devotion to Artor is well known. He is also heir to the throne. I’m sure that he, too, would be appalled to learn of Priam’s treasonous thoughts.”
“Treasonous to Achar,” Moryson said.
Jayme gave him a hard look. “Treasonous to everything the Seneschal stands for. We cannot let the Forbidden back into Achar. Gilbert!”
Gilbert jumped to his feet.
“I think it were best that you left for the north on the next river transport.”
Gilbert smiled and bowed. He could see nothing but advantages for himself in these developments.
“Borneheld needs to be advised of where Priam’s mind is turning,” Jayme continued. “We are vulnerable now that the majority of the Axe-Wielders either lie dead or run with the traitor Axis. Only one cohort of Axe-Wielders remain to guard the interests and the persons of the Seneschal.”
Not in a thousand years had the Seneschal been as vulnerable as it was now. That thought was uppermost in Jayme’s mind. He would do whatever he had to do to ensure the Seneschal’s survival. “What we do we must do for the good of the Seneschal.”
“For the good of Artor and for the good of Achar,” Moryson added mildly.
“Of course,” Jayme said blandly, “that’s what I meant. Furrow wide, Moryson, furrow deep.”
“Don’t try to overpower me through such direct means. You leave yourself open. I grab your wrist and elbow, twist, and you’re crippled.”
SpikeFeather gave a gasp of pain and dropped the iron-tipped stave he was carrying, his free hand flying to the arm that Axis held in a vice-like grip. Axis casually kicked one leg out from under the Wing-Leader and SpikeFeather collapsed to the ground in an undignified heap.
Each day for over two weeks Axis had worked with individual Wings of the Strike Force, getting to know the Wing commanders and the individual members of the Force. They were obstinate and thin-skinned, Axis had decided, but they had the makings of a fine force, despite having degenerated over the past thousand or more years into little more than a decorative appendage to Icarii society. Axis had transformed the Strike Force’s exercises and training from displays of graceful acrobatics in the sky and on ground to difficult manoeuvres that would win them battles rather than parades, lives rather than hearts and cheers.
Axis leaned down and offered SpikeFeather his hand. SpikeFeather was one of the more skilful fighters among the Icarii and he had caused Axis a moment’s worry during their demonstration. SpikeFeather hesitated an instant, then took Axis’ hand, standing up in a flowing movement.
“You could have killed me, SpikeFeather,” said Axis, making sure he spoke loudly enough for the other Icarii standing about to hear, “if you had used your most potent weapon.”
“What do you mean, Strike-Leader?” SpikeFeather frowned. “I could not hold the stave while you twisted my arm so.”
“Your wings,” Axis said, exasperated. “You could have knocked me with one or both of your wings, or so distracted me that I would have let you go. Don’t forget your wings. They may save your life one day.”
Axis was intent on making the Icarii realise that even defensive fighting should be aggressive, and that surprise and skill would always win over brawn and superior weaponry. But the Icarii needed experienced practice partners before they could develop the instinct necessary to survive the inevitable battles with Gorgrael’s forces.
“All right, SpikeFeather, that’s enough for today.” Axis looked up to the gallery of the main training chamber where FarSight CutSpur and several of the other Crest-Leaders stood watching. Behind them were ranged some thirty or forty Icarii from other Wings who had asked if they could observe the training session. “Eventually when you join up with Belial’s command you can train one-on-one with his soldiers. That will sharpen your combat skills.”
“I don’t see why you push us so, Axis,” EvenSong remarked a little resentfully. “We are an archer force. What can possibly attack us in the air?” EvenSong made a point of not calling her brother Strike-Leader. Axis suspected she wanted to provoke him into disciplining her in front of the other members of her Wing, but he ignored her jibes.
FarSight CutSpur leaned over the railing of the observation gallery. “She may be right, Strike-Leader. We are vulnerable only to arrows, yet with the tactics we have been working out over the past two weeks soon arrows from below will become only a minor consideration. What will grappling with Belial’s Groundwalkers teach us?”
Axis smiled, but his eyes were cold. “Already Gorgrael’s SkraeBolds can fly. Once he knows I command your Strike Force he will plan counter-measures. FarSight CutSpur, fellow Strike Force members, you will almost certainly have to fight for your lives at some point with creatures that will attack you in the air. The battle for Tencendor will be a bloody affair on land and in the air. It will not always be fought at the safe distance of an arrow flight but hand to hand, wing to wing. Training with Belial’s battle-hardened men will teach you instinctive aggression. Learn it … or die.”
A number of the Icarii looked visibly shocked. Although their training under Axis had been hard, they had comforted themselves with the thought that they were almost impossible to attack while in the air. Now they had to think again.
Axis’ eyes circled the assembled Icarii. “Each of you should arm yourself with a good blade. Knives can be carried easily, concealed even more easily, and will save you when another grapples you and restricts your movement, whether in the air or on the ground. Learn how to kill at close quarters. Azhure.”
Azhure, who had been standing unobtrusively against the side wall of the chamber, narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
“Come.” Axis beckoned impatiently, his eyes on the Icarii fighters.
Azhure walked over to Axis, doubt about his motives making her hesitant.
“Pick up that stave on the floor,” he said as she stopped before him, “and see if you can find a way to knock me off my feet.”
Her every movement wary, Azhure leaned down to the stave.
At precisely the moment her eyes left him Axis moved as swiftly as a striking cat, his booted foot catching Azhure squarely in the small of her back. She grunted as she fell on top of the stave. Axis leaned down, wound his fingers into the thick twist of hair at the crown of Azhure’s head, hauled her to her feet, and manoeuvred her head into the classic handhold needed to twist an enemy’s head until the spine snapped.
But in the instant before his hands could fatally tighten on her head and jaw, Axis felt the blade of a knife lightly pierce the skin of his belly.
Azhure’s eyes were furious
