Enchanter: Book Two of the Axis Trilogy. Sara Douglass

      That any of them were alive at all was due principally to Magariz – and the foresight of Borneheld, of all people. Beside him Lord Magariz sat a fidgeting Belaguez. The two men took turns to exercise Axis’ war horse. Belaguez had already thrown Magariz twice today, and Belial had his own fair share of bruises from the cursed grey stallion. We should just let the horse run wild, Belial thought, before he kills one of us. I can ill afford to lose Magariz.

      Lord Magariz had been Duke Borneheld’s most senior and trusted commander, responsible during the past twelve years for commanding the garrison at Gorkenfort. Yet Magariz had deserted Borneheld to follow Axis, even though his disloyalty would almost certainly result in his death should the Duke ever catch him. Magariz’s choice had undoubtedly saved the lives of Belial and those of the three thousand men he led. After they’d watched the Icarii claim Axis at the foot of the Icescarp Alps, they had ridden into the dreadful territories of the Icescarp Barren and the northern WildDog Plains. Only Magariz’s familiarity with the area, and his knowledge of the reserves of food, fuel and hay that lay secreted across northern Ichtar, had saved them from starvation during the five weeks it took them to reach the southern Plains.

      In the months leading up to the siege of Gorkenfort, Borneheld and Magariz had planned for every eventuality. Among the less palatable had been a retreat from Gorkenfort. But neither had been sure of which direction they’d be able to retreat in – south through central Ichtar to Jervois Landing or east across the Icescarp Barren and through the WildDog Plains to Skarabost? In the end, Borneheld had ordered that supplies be secreted across both lines of retreat. And while Borneheld and his command had undoubtedly made effective use of the reserves in central Ichtar, so Belial and his command had benefited from the supply route across the Icescarp Barren and the WildDog Plains.

      Borneheld would be horrified to realise that his planning had saved the lives of men openly allied with the Forbidden.

      Surprisingly, the Skraelings had hardly bothered Belial’s force as they moved east and then south. Belial wished he knew what the Skraelings were up to. Had they hurt them so badly in the ice fields above Gorkenfort they’d gone to ground to lick their wounds? Or were they even now massing for a devastating assault on Achar through Ichtar? Belial irritably brushed his sandy hair off his forehead, the green thread Faraday had given him to tie about his biceps catching his eye. Perhaps the Mother’s magic still protects us, he thought. Whatever the reason, there had been a few halfhearted attacks on stragglers and nothing else.

      While they were still close to the Icescarp Alps the Icarii farflight scouts had kept in contact, occasionally sweeping down to share a meal in the evenings. Only Belial and Magariz had ever seen the Icarii at close range previously – during the tragic meeting atop Gorkenfort’s Keep – and the first evening two of the farflight scouts had alighted in the camp had caused a sensation. Scores of men suddenly found pressing need to consult with either Belial or Magariz.

      The Icarii had taken the curiosity of the men in good humour – indeed, they had been almost as curious themselves. They were fascinated with the type and composition of the armour the Acharite soldiers wore, and Belial had to restrain them from stroking the soldiers in much the same fashion as they had the strange and wondrous horses.

      Whenever they’d visited, the Icarii gave Belial what news of Axis they had, although he spent so much time with his father that few of the Icarii had yet seen him. They did have news of Azhure, however, and Belial fully intended to wring an apology from her for clubbing him unconscious in her bid to free an Avar man and child from their cell in Smyrton.

      The Icarii had disappeared as Belial led his force into the central WildDog Plains some two and a half weeks ago. They were as yet reluctant to fly too far from the relative safety of the Alps, and Belial missed their company as much as he missed their mobility.

      Belial was looking for a suitable site to base Axis’ rebel army. On farewelling Axis at the Icescarp Alps he had thought to move down to Smyrton with its extensive grain fields. But Sigholt was far more defensible and had better facilities for training and barracking troops. And the daily company of the stolid villagers of Smyrton held little appeal for Belial – not to mention that his army now supported a cause which their beloved Seneschal found heretical.

      Had Sigholt been destroyed by the advancing Skraelings who even now lurked in its cellars? Was there a contingent of Borneheld’s command there who would resist their arrival? Too many unknowns – and Belial did not like unknowns. He chewed his cold-chapped lip and cursed when it cracked and split in the bitter wind.

      So now here he sat, anxiously awaiting the return of Arne and his men, the bulk of his army lying half a league behind, as anxious as Belial was. All wanted to find somewhere to dig in for the inevitable attack from the Skraelings and to shelter from this cursed weather that roiled down from the north. If nothing else, the worsening weather conditions – not as bad as they had endured in Gorkenfort, but still abnormal for this part of Ichtar – told Belial that Gorgrael’s influence was finally spreading south after the fall of Gorkenfort.

      And with the wind and ice would come the Skraelings.

      Belial shifted in his saddle. Five days was plenty of time for Arne to ride to Sigholt, scout the garrison from a safe distance, and return. If they weren’t back by this evening then Belial would be forced to admit that something was wrong. He hunkered down a little further in his saddle, pulling the hood of his cloak far over his face in an effort to keep the freezing wind out.

      They waited.

      At dusk Belial finally stirred and turned to Magariz, the man only a dark shape in the deepening twilight.

      “My friend,” he croaked, his voice hoarse from the cold. “We have waited long enough. Tomorrow we will break camp, turn for Smyrton, and take our chances with homespun village life.”

      Magariz kneed Belaguez closer. “Yes. Only adversity could have kept Arne from returning by now.”

      “Only adversity or a good meal,” a dour voice interrupted from behind them. Belial and Magariz both swore in surprise and swung their horses about. Only a few paces behind them stood Arne, his face no more cheerful or less austere than it normally was. He was alone, but looked fit and uninjured.

      “Arne, how did you –” Belial began.

      “Your men?” Magariz barked. “Where are they?”

      Arne chewed on a piece of dry grass, then abruptly spat it out. “At Sigholt, my Lord.”

      “Prisoners?”

      Arne actually laughed. “In a manner of speaking. They are trapped before a roaring fire, hearing tales of adventure from an arthritic old cook and a genial pig-herder as they sip good dark ale. They were too comfortable to move, so I returned on my own.”

      As Magariz took a deep breath and fought to keep from swearing at the man’s misplaced sense of humour, Belial slid from his horse and stepped closer to Arne. “What did you find, Arne? What?”

      “Sigholt is ours once we overcome the resident force,” Arne said. “An old retired cook and a pig-herder. There is no-one else. None of Borneheld’s men. Not even a Skraeling. They reached Hsingard and destroyed it, but according to the pig-herder, they have not approached Sigholt.”

      “Why?” Belial asked Arne. “Why has Sigholt been left untouched? Surely it is too important for Gorgrael to leave it alone?” After the events of the past few months, Belial no longer believed much in good news or good luck.

      “The pig-herder said the Skraelings did not like Sigholt.” Arne paused, debating whether to continue.

      “Speak up, man!” Belial snapped.

      “I have seen this pig-herder before,” Arne said finally. “Outside the Silent Woman Woods. He had his pigs there.”

      Belial frowned. This pig-herder had been outside the Silent Woman Woods – two hundred leagues to the south? It seemed a lifetime ago since they’d camped at the Silent Woman Woods. Then Axis had simply been the BattleAxe of the Seneschal and Belial his second-in-command.