Battleaxe: Book One of the Axis Trilogy. Sara Douglass

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Battleaxe: Book One of the Axis Trilogy - Sara  Douglass

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as her fingers brushed its back the cat sprang forward a few more steps.

      “Puss!” Faraday muttered irritably and walked after it, but the cat jumped away from her again. Faraday was now engrossed in catching the cat. Some time later she looked up and fear gripped her heart for an instant, until she spun around and spotted the low campfires in the distance. She wasn’t so far away, after all. The cat purred about her legs and she bent down and picked it up.

      But as Faraday turned back to the camp several dark figures loomed out of the night. She squealed in terror and convulsively gripped the cat to her breast. It squawked with indignation and squirmed out of her arms. She turned to run, but tripped over her long cloak and tumbled down into the grass, skinning the heels of her hands as she fell.

      A tall, dark figure bent down over her.

      “Get away from me!” Faraday hissed, trying to scrabble out of his reach on her hands and buttocks.

      The figure leaned back. “’Tis only me, lady,” a soft burred country voice said. “Jack the pig boy. Won’t do no-one no harm. Jack Simple’s the name.”

      Faraday held her breath ready to scream. The clouds thinned over the moon and she caught a look at his face. He was in early middle-age, sparse blond hair tumbling down over his forehead, his skin weather-lined and tanned, friendly eyes over a wide grin. Faraday stared at him, trying to work out what was wrong with his face, then she realised Jack the pig boy had the face of a friendly and completely harmless simpleton. In one hand he held a heavy wooden staff that topped him by a full handspan; it had a heavy carved knob of some kind of dark metal on its top. The other dark shapes behind him resolved themselves into large but equally harmless pigs, staring at her curiously.

      The white cat, purring loudly enough to attract the attention of every sentry about the camp, was weaving itself ecstatically around Jack’s legs. He bent down and picked the cat up.

      “Pretty puss,” he murmured, “pretty, pretty.” Jack held her in the crook of his arm and stroked her back in long sensual strokes. He had nice hands, long fingers, square fingernails.

      Faraday recovered her composure and scrambled to her feet. She pulled her cloak about her again and carefully tried to brush the dirt out of her grazed hands.

      “What are you doing here?” she asked harshly, still not completely recovered from the shock he had given her.

      Jack looked downcast and shuffled his feet a little. “Didn’t mean you no harm, lady. Taking my friends for a walk, I was. Nice night, yes, for a walk.”

      Faraday looked at the pigs. There was a small herd of about fifteen standing patiently behind Jack. They all looked fat and well-fed. Faraday supposed he came from a distant farmstead, and perhaps spent most of his time minding the pigs as they roamed the plains, fattening themselves for market.

      “You scared me,” she said shortly, and wished as soon as she’d said it that she had not sounded so petty.

      Jack looked contrite, lines of distress creasing his forehead. “M’lady. Please, I meant no harm.”

      “It’s all right, Jack. I know you meant no harm. Why,” she said, to turn Jack’s mind away from his guilt at startling her, “the cat adores you.” To be honest, Faraday was feeling just a little jealous of the cat’s attentions to Jack. Up to now the cat had showed a preference only for her or Axis. It had been a tie to bind them.

      Jack smiled broadly, wiping away all the worry lines from his face. “Yr, her name is, Lady. It’s been a long time since I saw Yr. Many, many years. More years than pigs I have here. Twice as many, surely.”

      Faraday smiled tolerantly at him. The cat had undoubtedly never been out of Carlon before this time, and was certainly not more than fifteen years old, let alone thirty. Poor Jack, he must live in a wonderful fantasy world.

      “What are you doing here?” Faraday repeated, although she kept her voice light this time.

      “We’re come from the Woods, lovely lady.”

      Faraday gaped at Jack. “You’ve come from the Silent Woman Woods? Jack! Those Woods are bad! Don’t you know that?”

      “Woods are good, lady. People tell me the Woods are bad, but the Woods and I get along just fine. Pigs can find lots of nice nuts and cones to eat in the Woods. No, no,” he shook his head emphatically, “people don’t know what the Woods are really like.”

      Faraday glanced over his shoulder, finally realising just how close they were to the Woods. Worry fines etched her face.

      “No, no, pretty lady,” Jack said anxiously as he watched her frown. “No need to be afraid. Let Jack show you.” He took her hand and started to pull her towards the Woods.

      “No! I can’t go in there!” Faraday cried. “Let my hand go!”

      Jack instantly dropped her hand. “Lady, I mean you no harm! The Woods don’t mean no harm, neither. Not unless you mean them harm. No,” Jack dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “trees’ll tell you secrets, lady. They are magic trees. If you ask them nicely, sometimes they will tell you your future.”

      “Really?” asked Faraday doubtfully, her interest piqued nevertheless. What if she could find out her future? Would she see herself surrounded with her and Borneheld’s children? Her husband loving and attentive at her side? Perhaps if she could see that it would still her fears about her marriage. “Really?” she asked Jack again, her tone less doubtful than curious. “How close do we have to get?”

      The two creatures that had assumed the forms of Ogden and Veremund paused briefly at the door to the sleeping chamber. Their eyes glowed the soft gold of the lake outside.

      “They are asleep,” the one who called himself Ogden said quietly.

      “Yes,” said his companion. “They will sleep well.”

      They stepped lightly into the room and stood either side of Timozel, curled tightly in his blankets, only his tousled dark head showing. Veremund leaned down and placed his splayed hand and fingers over the man’s face, covering it from chin to forehead.

      “Ah,” Veremund said softly. “This one has a good heart, though it is shadowed with some unhappiness.” He shook his head slightly. “He will endure yet more unhappiness and uncertainty. He will have troubled choices.”

      They moved on to Gilbert. Both hesitated above him, but finally Ogden leaned down and placed his hand over the man’s sleeping face.

      “Ah,” he hissed almost instantly. “I knew I did not like this one. His heart is full of holes and snakes reside there. His mind is a maze, and waits to trap the innocent. He will not be true; Artor has too strong a hold on this one.” Ogden let go of Gilbert’s face with a grimace and wiped his hand down his habit. He looked at Veremund. “What can we do?”

      Veremund shook his head sadly. “Our task is simply to watch and be heedful. We cannot act, though perhaps we can warn. Come,” he stepped over to Arne, who lay arms akimbo atop his blankets. “I wonder if he will do?”

      He bent down and rested his hand over Arne’s face. “Another good-hearted man. Stolid, and it will take much to change his mind. He will not like what lies around the corner and the secrets that will be revealed. But in the end his loyalty will keep him

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