directly in the eye. Sheer courtesy on the king’s part should have made him offer Axis food and wine and a place at the royal table at this point; the position of BattleAxe was one of great honour within the realm. But Axis noted with some grim humour that the king’s sense of courtesy was noticeably absent when dealing with his sister’s bastard. Queen Judith fidgeted nervously with a tassel on her velvet sleeve, staring at a distant point across the chamber. Her dead sister-in-law’s fecundity, whether in or out of marriage, was a continual reproach to her own barrenness.
“Your presence is most unexpected,” Priam said, carefully folding his napkin and dabbing delicately at the corner of his mouth.
Axis’ mouth twitched. “Obviously sire, for I see you have begun dinner without me.”
Priam stiffened, slowly lowering the napkin to the table. “And what has brought you home from Coroleas so precipitously, BattleAxe?”
Axis had taken six cohorts of Axe-Wielders south into the neighbouring empire of Coroleas over two months earlier to help the Coroleans with their eternal problem of vicious summer raiders from across the eastern seas. It was a mission with dual purpose, to strengthen the diplomatic ties between Achar and Coroleas and, more importantly to Axis, to continue giving his own Axe-Wielders vital combat experience. Axis had now taken his command south on seven different occasions to help the Coroleans with both sea-raiders and internal rebellions. These successful forays had earned Axis his reputation as a brilliant commander in just five short years.
But eight days before Axis had received an urgent message from Jayme asking him to bring himself and his Axe-Wielders home. The message had not said what was wrong, and Axis had fretted about it for the five days it had taken the ships carrying the Axe-Wielders to sail from Coroleas to the port of Nordmuth in Achar. He had left his Axemen to travel at a more leisurely pace from Nordmuth and ridden virtually nonstop to the Tower of the Seneschal, exhausting himself in the effort. Arriving late this afternoon, only to find that Jayme was attending Priam’s nameday banquet across the Grail Lake in Carlon, Axis had cursed the extra time it took to cross the lake. He sincerely hoped Jayme hadn’t called him home just to add his own good wishes to Priam’s nameday celebrations.
“I but follow the Brother-Leader’s orders, sire.” Bland as it was the remark was designed to irritate Priam. For many hundreds of years the Acharite monarchs had chafed that the Axe-Wielders, as a wing of the Brotherhood of the Seneschal, remained under the supreme control of the Brother-Leader rather than the monarch. Axis risked a glance towards Borneheld. His half-brother was furious to see him here, and was gripping the stem of his golden wine goblet so hard Axis thought it might bend or snap at any instant. There was nothing but bitter enmity between the two brothers.
Axis looked back at Priam, thinking that the man’s curls made him look effeminate and ineffectual. “Sire. May I say that the passing years only add to your elegance and majesty? Permit me to offer my congratulations on your nameday celebrations. I’m sure you must find it a great comfort to be surrounded by your entire family on this joyous occasion.” He paused, his level gaze once more on Priam, calmly ignoring the white faces at his slight stress on the word “entire”. “If I might have your leave to speak with the Brother-Leader, sire.”
Priam stared at Axis, his entire body rigid, then took a deep breath and dismissed him with a curt wave of his hand.
Axis bowed again. “Furrow wide, furrow deep, sire.”
“Wide and deep,” Priam muttered stiffly as Axis bowed again and moved around the table to speak with Jayme privately.
Borneheld let out a furious breath and turned to Priam. “Why in Artor’s name did Jayme have to recall him!”
Priam laid a restraining hand on Borneheld’s arm and spoke quietly, repressing his own temper at the BattleAxe’s remarks. “No matter, nephew. It is as well, perhaps, that he is here. The latest news from the north is not good and we may well have to use both his expertise and that of his Axe-Wielders.”
It was not the most diplomatic thing to say to Borneheld. Although control of Achar’s regular army was theoretically in Priam’s hands, Borneheld was their day-to-day commander. He had dedicated his life to the sword and was a clever military theorist if a somewhat untested combat commander. Priam had recently awarded Borneheld the title of WarLord of Achar; many said more in recognition of his position as heir to the throne than his demonstrated skill as a commander. To suggest that Borneheld might require Axis’ assistance to cope with the threat from the frozen wastes to the north of Gorkenfort was to throw salt into a gaping wound. The Axe-Wielders followed Axis with a loyalty, a devotion and a single-mindedness that Borneheld both coveted and resented. Borneheld wanted nothing more than to see the Axe-Wielders disbanded and incorporated into his own command. But he could do nothing. And meantime he watched the reputation of the Axe-Wielders flower under the leadership of Axis. Because of their time spent fighting in the Corolean Empire, they had accumulated more real combat experience in five years than Borneheld had managed in fourteen years. It did not help that, while Borneheld was not an ill-featured man, it was Axis who had inherited most of his mother’s (and perhaps father’s) style and striking looks.
Yet of all the hatreds Borneheld bore Axis, it was the fact they shared the same mother that he resented the most. Even though Rivkah had betrayed both her husband and her elder son in conceiving and giving birth to a lover’s child, Borneheld still revered her memory. And Axis had killed her. Axis had taken Rivkah away from Borneheld. Borneheld daily cursed Axis for causing his mother’s death. One day, Borneheld thought viciously, he would meet this bastard brother of his in combat, and then the world would see once and for all who was the better man. Artor would judge who had better right to live. The stem of his goblet finally bent and it spun out of Borneheld’s hand and onto the floor.
A servant scurried to replace it with another and mop up the mess, and for an instant Borneheld met Axis’ eyes across the head of Priam and Judith. The hatred between them was naked enough for any to see.
Jayme gently touched Axis’ arm and drew his attention away from Borneheld. He spoke quietly so that no-one else would hear.
“My son, I am pleased and relieved that you managed to travel so quickly from Coroleas. I hardly dared expect you so soon.”
Axis smiled at Jayme, his dislike of Borneheld fading before the gentle face of the Brother-Leader. “We were close to the Corolean Sound when your message reached me, Father.” The title was one of deep respect tinged with some gratitude. Apart from his command, no-one else accepted him the way the Brotherhood did. “It was relatively easy for us to extricate ourselves and put to sea for Achar.” The Coroleans had been angry to see them go when the threat from the sea-raiders had been at its worst but Axis’ charm had smoothed diplomatic relations.
“Axis,” Jayme said quietly, “Nothing can be accomplished tonight. We cannot talk here and you are exhausted. Come to my rooms in the eastern wing of the palace at sunrise tomorrow morning. We can share prayers and then talk. I think we shall both be summoned to Priam’s presence later.”
Axis was silent for a moment. “It is the news from the north, then?”
Jayme smiled at his protégé. Even in Coroleas the BattleAxe had managed to keep his lines of information open. “Yes, my son. But let us not discuss it here in whispers. Better left till the morning.”
“Besides,” Axis whispered loudly in a stage whisper, glancing along the table with amused eyes, “if I stay here any longer I’ll sour the cream in the trifle.”
Jayme pinched Axis’ arm sharply, but his eyes smiled. “Rest well, BattleAxe. Furrow wide, furrow deep.”
“Furrow
