Battleaxe: Book One of the Axis Trilogy. Sara Douglass
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 wide, furrow deep, Father,” Axis replied, and kissed the Brother-Leader’s emerald ring before he straightened and moved to the edge of the dais. He paused and bowed briefly to Priam before making his way out of the room. As he went he glanced again at the young woman who had stared at him earlier. She blushed and turned away. A moment later at a table some three or four removed from the royal dais, his eye caught that of one of the noblewomen, the Lady of Tare, and she inclined her head slightly, a smile hovering around her lips.
Embeth, Lady of Tare, made her way carefully along the darkened corridors of the palace. Most of the revellers were still enjoying themselves in the Chamber of the Moons, but she had finally managed to escape; courtly etiquette had kept everyone in their seats until the king and queen left.
She had not expected to see Axis at the banquet and had felt a jolt of surprise and pleasure when she saw him. He wasn’t due back from Coroleas until Frost-month. She was pleased he was here at the palace instead of the forbidding Tower of the Seneschal. There were few places for them to meet privately at the Tower, and few excuses for her to be there in the first instance.
Embeth was some eight years older than Axis, a good-looking woman in her late thirties. They had been friends since Axis, as an eleven-year-old youth, had been sent by the Seneschal to train in arms at her husbands household in Tare. She had been young then too, and pleased to have the opportunity to make friends with the silent young boy. As her children had come, Axis had been a companion to them as well, and now one of her own sons, Timozel, served under Axis in the Axe-Wielders.
Five years before her husband had died and the friendship between her and Axis had deepened until now they were also occasional lovers. Occasional not only because they rarely had the opportunity to meet, but also because of Axis’ birth; Rivkah’s shame clung close to her son as well. The Lady of Tare had a reputation to protect for she was still young enough to remarry and give another man sons. Those rare nights they spent as lovers were accomplished only with extreme secrecy – and were the sweeter, perhaps, because of it.
Embeth had not brought a candle with her, trusting that the occasional lamp along the corridors would prove sufficient fight. She lifted her skirts clear of the floor to prevent them rustling, glad she had chosen her black silk for the feast. She shivered a little in the cool night air, or perhaps it was because she was drawing closer to Axis’ room.
Thank Artor that as BattleAxe he warranted his own room in the palace and was not sleeping in the barracks with the common soldiers. Embeth smiled to herself a little in the dim light – would she still have tried to sneak into his bed in the barracks? She pictured herself being discovered in a room full of common soldiers in the dead of night with her gown unlaced and her breasts bared, and just managed to repress her laughter.
Suddenly Embeth was caught from behind, a strong arm pinning her around her waist, and a hand planted firmly across her mouth to prevent her crying out. For a moment she stiffened in shock, then she relaxed back against the man who held her. She would know the feel of his hands and the smell of him even in the darkest pit of the AfterLife. Axis.
“You walked right past my room,” he whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her cheek. “I wondered if perhaps you had another assignation further along the corridor.” He felt her lips smile against the palm of his hand.
He pulled her gently back a few steps until they reached a closed door. It opened silently with the pressure of his shoulder, and they stepped through into a plain chamber; Priam’s palace steward had instructions not to allocate his king’s bastard nephew a grander chamber in the main wing of the palace. After the door latched closed behind them, Embeth twisted in his arms and rested against his chest. They stood silently, holding each other, their deep friendship more important for the moment than desire.
Finally Embeth pushed herself back and looked carefully at Axis’ face in the dim candlelight of the room. “You look exhausted, Axis. How far have you ridden?”
Axis grimaced and let her go, turning to pour them some wine. “From Nordmuth. Three days ago.”
Embeth accepted the wine he gave her and took a small sip. From Nordmuth to Carlon was an exceptionally hard ride, and circumstances would have to be extreme to make Axis push himself and his horses like that. Axis’ sudden reappearance when he should have stayed in Coroleas for another six weeks confirmed the rumours that something was gravely wrong. Embeth felt a pang of fear for Timozel. If Axis was involved then the trouble would also involve his command.
She turned away and walked a few steps into the small bedchamber. Axis had dumped his saddlebags and gear in one corner and Embeth resisted the urge to straighten things out. His small travelling harp, never far from his side, was set to one side of the bed. His axe, symbol of the Seneschal and of the Axe-Wielders themselves, was propped up against the far wall. But Axis, like most Axe-Wielders, also carried a sword and considered that his main weapon. It lay close to hand in its scabbard, which was slung over the bedhead. Embeth wondered how many men he had killed with it. How many men the Brother-Leader had ordered him to destroy in the name of Artor and the Plough. She loved and respected Axis, but she was more than a little in awe of his position as BattleAxe within the Seneschal, and more than a little scared of the power of the Seneschal and its Brother-Leader.
“Then the news is not good,” she said softly, “if you had to ride back that far and that fast.”
Axis walked up behind her and gently rubbed the back of her neck with his hand, marvelling at how soft her skin was and how silky-slippery her glossy brown hair. “I know little, Embeth. I’m sure court rumour is about as accurate as me at this stage.”
Embeth doubted that very much, but understood his reticence. Axis rarely talked about his position as BattleAxe and never talked about where and to what his duties led him. She let her head relax back against his gently massaging fingers. “Did Timozel do well in Coroleas, Axis?”
“Timozel continues to do well, my Lady of Tare, and you should be proud of him. If Ganelon,” Embeth’s dead husband, “were alive he would be proud of him also. Timozel grows tall,” he kissed the back of Embeth’s neck, “and strong,” another kiss, “and wiser with each passing week.” Axis slowly turned Embeth around and softly kissed her mouth. “He should be arriving back in Carlon with the other Axe-Wielders in two or three days time. But right now, my Lady of Tare, I fear I am far too exhausted to talk any more.”
Axis always found it hard talking of Timozel to Embeth. What would he tell her if Timozel ever found himself skewered on the wrong end of five handspans of sharpened steel? How would he tell her? He forced his mind away from the terrible image.
He was caught, unable to move, trapped by the thick hatred that seethed across the blackness and distance between them. He writhed desperately, trying to free his pinned arms and legs, frantic to run from the horror that drew closer