“I will count the days until I see you again, Borneheld,” Faraday muttered, embarrassed by his attention in case Axis reappeared. She wriggled her leg slightly, hoping that Borneheld would drop his hand.
Although he ceased his patting, Borneheld kept his hand firmly in place as he peered about the courtyard. “Where is …? Ah!”
The final cohort had formed up, and Axis appeared at one corner of the courtyard, mounted on his dappled-grey stallion, Belaguez. The horse was skittish in the early-morning cold, and his steel-clad hooves slipped and skidded over the slick cobbles of the courtyard as Axis rode across to Borneheld.
Faraday was now so mortified she wished that somehow Artor could find enough pity in his heart to reach down and snatch her from this life. She averted her eyes, her colour rising, unable to look at the BattleAxe. Axis shot her a quick glance, recognising her from the banquet. He knew who she was now, since Earl Isend had spent the best part of an hour persuading him to accompany her and her mother to Arcness.
“Borneheld,” he said flatly, his eyes flickering over his half-brother’s hand resting on the young woman’s knee. He felt a moment’s sympathy for her.
Borneheld was unable to resist a sneer. “Don’t lose too many of my Axe-Wielders before you arrive in Gorkenfort, BattleAxe.”
Axis’ mouth compressed and his hands tightened on Belaguez’s reins, causing the stallion to half rear. “If you can’t manage to drag your mind away from your forthcoming marriage, Borneheld, then I doubt that you’ll survive long enough to lead even your horse to water.”
Borneheld finally lifted his hand from Faraday’s knee to pat her patronisingly on the arm. Seizing on the equine metaphor, he spoke without thinking, wanting only to irritate Axis. “Isend has handed me the reins of the finest mare in the stable, BattleAxe. You could never hope to own anything this well-bred.” He laughed at his own wit and, dropping his hand, fondled Faraday’s leg again.
Underneath her choking blanket of embarrassment, Faraday’s temper flared into white-hot anger. She was no mare to be passed between men for the highest price! She dug her booted heel into her horse and viciously swiped it with the long whip that hung down the far side from Borneheld. The horse snorted and leaped sideways in surprise and indignation, and Borneheld lost his footing. He waved his arms and stumbled alarmingly, almost falling to his knees on the slippery cobbles.
“Borneheld!” Faraday cried, hoping her voice held a suitable degree of surprised anxiety. Her green eyes flickered momentarily to Axis before she hooded their triumphant gleam. Her mother gasped out in concern behind her, but Borneheld regained his balance and glanced at Faraday, assuming she had momentarily lost control when the horse had shied at some imagined shadow.
Faraday splayed her hands in a display of helplessness and Borneheld smiled to reassure her. “My dear, it doesn’t matter. When we are married I’ll teach you to ride properly.”
Axis had noticed Faraday’s actions and glance and restrained a wry grin. The girl had spirit, it seemed. “And in return perhaps the Lady Faraday can teach you your dance steps, Borneheld. Your exhibition just now was hardly impressive.”
Borneheld stiffened, wishing a biting retort would spring to his lips. “Do not tarry on your way to Gorkenfort, BattleAxe,” he snapped finally, his colour rising. He gave Faraday a final pat on the arm, then turned and strode back into the palace.
Although cheered by the BattleAxe’s remark, Faraday nevertheless shook her head imperceptibly. Why had she acted so foolishly? She squared her shoulders, wondering at the antagonism between the two brothers.
“Axis.” Jayme walked out from the shadows where he had been standing. Axis bowed from the saddle and gave his Brother-Leader the clenched fist salute of the Axe-Wielders. “Axis. Ride well and fast, my son. Find the answers that we so desperately need. And remember your promise.”
Axis nodded, his eyes cold. The tension between the two had not dissipated completely over the past five days since their furious argument in the Brother-Leader’s apartment. Axis edged his horse away from the Brother-Leader. “Furrow wide, furrow deep, Father.”
“Wide and deep,” Jayme replied. “May Artor hold you in His care now and for always, my son.”
For a long moment their eyes caught above Belaguez’s tossing head, then, as Jayme raised his hand in blessing, Axis wheeled his stallion around in a tight circle, sparks rising as the horse’s hooves struck the cobbles.
“Axe-Wielders, are you ready?” he cried in a clear and penetrating voice.
From the courtyard and the streets beyond rose a single shout. “We follow your voice and are ready, BattleAxe!”
“Then let us ride!” Axis cried, and a shout rose from his men as the thunder of twenty thousand hooves filled Carlon, sending the eagles and hawks roosting on the city walls fluttering into the sky in feathered confusion.
Embeth had heard stories all her life about the almost legendary ability of the Axe-Wielders to move fast and far, no matter the size of their column. She had never really believed them, thinking them soldiers’ stories from the bottom of a jug of ale. But after riding five days from sun-up to sundown she realised the stories were all true.
The column of Axe-Wielders contained over three and a half thousand mounted men, at least three hundred packhorses, several hundred riderless horses who were rotated among the riders each day, and, Embeth grimaced as they slowed down to make camp on the fifth night, seven very sore women (none of whom had fallen off at the first overflowing gutter). There was also one equally sore Brother Gilbert and, unbelievably, a fat white cat which must have stowed away on one of the packhorses. Every evening it strolled out of the dark and wound around the BattleAxe’s legs, purring loudly and contentedly despite his curses. Every morning it strolled off into the dawn and no-one saw it again until the evening.
Embeth twisted around in her saddle. Gilbert was riding morosely along about twenty paces behind them. Still sulking at being sent to the Silent Woman Keep with the Axe-Wielders, Gilbert preferred not to spend his days in conversation if he could help it. Lady Merlion clutched grimly to the pommel of her saddle, no doubt cursing (well, perhaps not that) her husband for sending them along with the Axe-Wielders to Arcness. Faraday, younger and more flexible both in mind and body, was coping rather better. After the first day’s ride she had abandoned the long trailing skirts of her riding habit and dressed herself in a more sensible divided skirt to ride astride. Her hair hung in a girlish fashion down her back in a thick plait. Lady Merlion had remonstrated with Faraday over both skirt and hair, but Faraday had managed to hold her ground. Embeth shifted in the saddle a little.
“We appear to be slowing down,” she called, reining in her horse slightly so that Merlion and Faraday could draw level. “There’s a hollow about five hundred paces ahead; perhaps the BattleAxe will be kind to us and decide to make camp there.” She had seen several Axe-Wielders ride out ahead of the main body of the column, inspect the site, and report back to Axis, plainly visible on his grey stallion at the head of the leading unit.
“One can only hope so,” Merlion grumbled, her wispy pale hair starting to drift loose from underneath her head-dress. She looked tired and dishevelled and fifteen years older than when she had set out. “The man obviously has no idea that women should
