unbuckled his weapon belt to free himself of his axe almost as soon as he hit the ground, and the instant it was free he felt the immense pressure disappear. He jumped to his feet. Timozel and Arne lay struggling on the ground nearby, their horses a little further down the track, milling in confusion. Axis almost lost his footing as the ground swayed underneath his feet.
“Tim … Arne … unbuckle your weapon belts!” Axis shouted, stumbling in his efforts to reach his men still writhing helplessly on the ground. Timozel had been pulled halfway into the ground and Axis bent over him, the ground heaving beneath his feet, desperately trying to help Timozel free himself from his axe. Finally the weapon belt dropped free and Timozel grunted in relief. Axis hauled him to his feet then bent to help Arne, who had also unbuckled his weapon belt. All three turned to look for their axes, but the ground was heaving and buckling even more violently and their axes had completely disappeared underneath the loose covering of leaves and pines needles that littered the surface.
They all stepped back several paces to where the ground was firm, legs shaking. “Artor save us!” Arne gasped, “they would have taken us with them!” For a few heartbeats longer they stood, swords in hand, chests heaving as they fought to recover their breath, watching the ground where their axes had disappeared, hardly able to comprehend what had happened. After a moment the ground settled down until even the leaf litter had ceased to shift. They exchanged frightened glances. What sort of place was this where the forest could eat axes? How could they fight the very earth itself?
“I wonder whether the rider that Jayme sent was wearing an axe,” Timozel said quietly, his youthful face ashen. “And if he was, I wonder if he got his weapon belt off in time.”
“And how many others are buried under the earth in this spot,” Arne whispered.
That thought didn’t bear thinking about, and Axis battled to regain his equilibrium. “Get back on your horses. I for one am going to feel a lot better with Belaguez underneath me again.”
Gilbert rode back as the others remounted. “What happened?” he asked.
Axis swung into Belaguez’s saddle. “We have been deprived of our axes, Brother Gilbert,” he said, a lot more calmly than he felt. “We must hope that the forest does not eat us as well. Ride on.”
Nothing else troubled them for the rest of the long ride, although the forest loomed still and dark around them and they were all tense and jumpy, snarling at each other whenever a twig snapped under hoof or a low-slung bough scraped at a head or a shoulder. Hands lay slippery with sweat on the hilts of swords, but the three Axemen were unwilling to wipe their hands along their cloaks in case the demons, or whatever other dark fiends inhabited these Woods, chose that moment to attack.
After they had been in the saddle almost eight hours, the ground started to drop away underneath them, and they had to rein their horses back on the increasingly steep path in case they slipped and fell. An hour later Gilbert pulled his horse up and turned back to Axis, his face now so weary that deep lines of fatigue scored his pimply cheeks and forehead.
“BattleAxe,” he waved ahead sketchily. “Water.”
Axis peered through the gloom. Although it was difficult to see very far ahead, he could see a glint of water. “Keep going,” he said. “The sooner we find somewhere to rest and eat the better.”
“If we find somewhere to rest and eat,” he heard Timozel mutter. Axis hefted his sword in his right hand, almost dropping it as his fingers cramped, and leaned further back in the saddle as Belaguez slipped a few paces down the slope. Artor, he thought, if we don’t get some rest soon we’ll have to lie down here in the very path.
And if we do that, will the ground swallow us as easily as it swallowed our axes?
Almost as soon as that thought crossed his mind, Gilbert’s horse jumped a small obstacle and landed on level ground, Gilbert only managing to keep to his saddle by the most strenuous effort. Forewarned, Axis gripped the saddle with his knees just as Belaguez leaped across a small stream; he called a warning back to Timozel and Arne. The path broadened and flattened ahead and all four men allowed themselves a deep breath of relief at the increased space, Gilbert taking the first opportunity he’d had to rein his horse back from the lead position. Axis kneed Belaguez forward.
“The trees thin ahead,” he said. “There’s a lake.”
A few moments later they had reined in at the shore of one of the most incredible sights they had ever seen. The entire forest sloped down into a deep circular basin, the mass of grey-green trees ending abruptly at the edge of an almost perfectly round lake. But it was the water itself that caught the party’s attention. It shone a soft, gentle gold in the late afternoon light.
Axis turned to Gilbert. “Did you know this was here?”
Gilbert shook his head slowly from side to side, not taking his eyes from the water.
“It must be enchanted,” Axis said flatly. “Water isn’t gold.”
“Perhaps it isn’t water,” said Timozel softly, making the sign of the Plough to ward off evil.
“Look,” said Arne, pointing with his sword. “It’s the cursed Keep.”
The Keep sat virtually at the lake’s edge, about a quarter of the way around, built of pale yellow stone that reflected the glow from the water. Its smooth cylindrical stone walls rose some thirty paces into the air, the walls only occasionally broken by narrow dark windows. It looked to be completely deserted.
“Well,” Axis spurred Belaguez forward, “let us go find this lost tribe of brothers, shall we?”
The horses slipped and slid their way around the lake’s edge, finally reaching the Keep just as the last rays of sun disappeared behind the tops of the forest trees. The Keep looked even more deserted closer up, and the men began to feel uneasy. No-one wanted to spend the night outside in this damned forest.
Axis kicked his stallion up to the barred door and brought the hilt of his sword crashing down on it three times. “Open up in the name of Artor!” he shouted. “We have need of food and rest.”
Nothing happened. Timozel and Arne exchanged looks, and Gilbert groaned quietly. Axis thundered at the door again, then edged Belaguez backwards a few steps so he could gaze up at the impassive stone walls.
“Damn you, open up,” he whispered.
A small trapdoor at eye level in the barred door suddenly swung open. “Well?” a scratchy voice demanded.
Axis felt relief wash through him. He half fell from his saddle and staggered stiffly up to the door.
“I am Axis, BattleAxe of the Axe-Wielders. These are my two companions, Arne and Timozel, and Brother Gilbert, assistant and adviser to the Brother-Leader, Jayme.” There, he thought, let him think about that.
A pair of suspicious grey eyes darted back and forth across the group. “No, you’re not, and no, he’s not,” he said abruptly, and slammed the trapdoor shut in Axis’ face.
“What!” Axis hammered at the door again in angry frustration. “In the name of the Seneschal, open up!”
The trapdoor popped open again. “You’re not the BattleAxe,” the scratchy voice said belligerently, “Fingus is.” The grey eyes shifted to Gilbert. “And he’s not adviser or whatever to the Brother-Leader.
