Crusader (58 page)

And she laughed again, harsh and yet beautiful. “Who knows what reacquaintances you will make at my Gate!”

Azhure stared at the GateKeeper, then bent her head into her hand in unconscious imitation of the stone statues on either side of the waterway, and wept.

“Oh, Faraday! I am so sorry!”

F
rom Fernbrake, Axis swung east, driving his war band, the trees and the column of Tencendor’s survivors as fast as he could.

Every day he rose from his bedroll before sunrise—easily, as he rarely slept more than an hour or two at a time—and badgered his war band into action. Grabbing what food they could, they were mounted and riding into the corrupted landscape as the sun topped the desolate ridges of the Rhaetian Hills and the Minaret Peaks. Both lines of ridges were now well behind them.

Fanning out from the war band were some thirty thousand trees. The column was relatively safe from both rear and flanks now, and Axis could afford to send the majority of trees out hunting through the landscape for every piece of breathing corruption they could find. Although Axis and the war band tended to stay in one group, searching out herds of demented livestock, the trees ranged far and wide, sometimes in groups of half a dozen, occasionally in groups of about fifty, but mostly individually, each intent on assuaging her need for revenge against the Demonic hordes creeping across, or under, what was left of Tencendor.

While Axis and his war band attacked the herds, the trees attacked and destroyed the individual creatures, or those who wandered in twos and threes.

Their branches waved impossible heights into the sky, and snatched anything from gnats to birds. On one occasion, Zared swore he had seen one disembodied branch literally detach itself from its tree, lunge into the sky, grab a screeching raven, then drop down to reattach itself to the trunk of the tree.

Twisting, seeking branches had other uses as well. Many was the time Axis and his companions saw a tree stop, study what appeared to be a bare patch of ground, then burrow its branches deep into the earth, hauling wailing weasels, foxes, rabbits and whatever other prey sought to hide itself within the soil.

Everything the trees found, they killed. Quickly, mercilessly and completely. Bodies were torn apart so that
nothing
was left to reconstitute itself under whatever demonic power inhabited it. Flesh was trodden into the earth, blood was cast into the wind.

The wasteland was splattered with the remains of the possessed.

Each day they moved east, sliding faster and faster as Axis urged Pretty Brown Sal forward, sliding closer and closer to the Maze.

Leagh travelled comfortably in a well-rugged and cushioned cart in the convoy, Gwendylyr by her side. She nursed her Child, marvelling at the Girl’s beauty and, even at this extremely young age, Her extraordinary self-possession and awareness. The Girl suckled at Leagh’s breast, regarding Her mother with deep blue eyes that Leagh swore reflected stars deep within their depths.

And flowers. Sometimes when her Child breathed softly in sleep, Leagh could smell the scent of lilies on Her breath.

Her Child was extraordinary, beautiful, gracious, loving beyond compare…and vulnerable.

Ur and Urbeth spent a great deal of the time with Leagh as well. Ur clucked and chuckled in her old-womanish way over
the Child, but when the babe slept, Ur’s face creased with worry and the cares of every nursery-keeper, and she would look at Leagh and say:

“Keep Her safe. She is still so vulnerable. If Faraday…if Faraday falls then the Girl will fall also.”

Whenever Ur said this, Leagh came close to panic. “Why? Why is Her fate so tied to Faraday? What is it about Faraday? What can we do to help? What—”

And then either Ur, or Urbeth, or both, would lay a soft hand against Leagh’s cheek and stop her flow of words.

“We can do nothing, sweet mother,” one of the ancient women would say. “Nothing. We have now done our task, both of us, as you have. Faraday holds the key, and we must wait to see which way she wields it.”

And thus Leagh was left with her worry, and her love, and nothing to do but nurture the infant she had birthed, and marvel at Her wonder and power, and let the dark wing of her hair fall against her cheek as she leaned down and whispered words of comfort and love to the Child.

It took them only a few days to draw close to the Maze, and when Axis rode within sight of it, he had to halt Sal and stare wordlessly, horrified at the abomination that had claimed the Grail Lake and Carlon.

A great, black heart beat in the wasteland. It was Maze and flesh both, its corridors and passages twisting and winding about its own core, the Dark Tower. Within its veins pulsed billions of malformed and psychotic creatures, humanoid, animal, and half-bred horrors that had sprung from the bodies of both: man-bulls, child-foxes, womancows.

Every so often creatures spilled out of the Maze Gate, expelled like gouts of blood from a bleeding heart. Sometimes the hundreds of creatures set loose with each expulsion scrambled mindlessly about the immediate wasteland, falling victim to the cravings and appetites of other creatures about
them, and sometimes they set off in groups of several score, as if purposed by Qeteb for his own dark design. Most of these hordes swarmed up and down the dusty-dry bed of the Nordra—now a great artery of corruption—but several of these dark-minded crowds set off for Axis and his column. Most were destroyed by the ethereal trees before they could cause any harm, and the few that did reach Axis and his war band were quickly dispatched.

As Axis sat Sal on the eastern bank of the Nordra on a small hillock overlooking the black Maze, surveying the frightful scene before him, Axis wondered what he should do now, but before he could make up his mind, Ur rode up on the bear-back of Urbeth.

“Wait,” Ur said. “There is not much else to do.”

“Look,” said Zared, who had ridden to join Axis, and he pointed to the north-west.

There a series of small hills rolled towards the distant Western Ranges. On one of the hills was a tumble of stones, surrounded by a massive crowd of beasts.

A chestnut-haired woman in a white robe stood before the stones, facing the beasts.

“Faraday!” Axis whispered.

“And more,” Zared said softly, wondering how any of them could possibly survive this day. Again he pointed.

On a hill some eighty paces away from the one on which Faraday awaited her fate stood DragonStar and Qeteb, their respective mounts four or five paces apart, waiting on them.

Qeteb was all-consuming darkness: his armour, his wings, the lance he held in his right hand. Even the dawn light seemed drawn into him, as if he were that source in the universe which ate all light, and sent it to its death.

Beside him, DragonStar stood clean and bright, dressed in nothing save his white loincloth, and jewelled belt and purse.

The lily sword was sheathed.

As Qeteb appeared to eat light, so DragonStar appeared to radiate it…but the light he put out could not compete with
the amount Qeteb absorbed, and even as Axis stared, DragonStar seemed to fade slightly, as if whatever energy source he relied upon was being consumed particle by particle by the Midday Demon.

“He is weak,” Urbeth said softly.

“Maybe,” said Ur. “Maybe.”

There was a stir amongst the creatures milling before Faraday, and all eyes turned in her direction.

F
araday turned, and she saw Axis in the distance. He sat atop a small brown horse, his war band about him, and Faraday smiled, remembering the adventures and the love they’d once shared.

Or, the love she’d
thought
they once shared.

Tears filled her eyes, and she bowed her head, and turned away.

As she turned, Faraday raised her head anew, and she saw Qeteb and DragonStar on a hill not far from hers.

DragonStar…Faraday sobbed, a shaking hand to her mouth. She didn’t think she had the strength for what lay ahead. She well knew what had happened to Goldman and DareWing, and the triumph that suffused Qeteb. Now it all rested on her. The chance for complete success, or utter failure.

And utter failure would inevitably lead to obliteration. Oh gods! How she prayed for it! To escape all pain and betrayal, to be at peace even if it was the peace of oblivion.

Still sobbing, both hands and shoulders shaking, Faraday stared at DragonStar. Did he love her? Did he love her enough to place her before Tencendor?

Could he save her from what lay ahead?

Faraday shut her eyes, desperate to escape from the nightmarish thoughts chasing about her head.

Desperate, whatever else, to escape from the pain that was her destiny.

Something dug slightly into her belly, and Faraday’s free hand gripped the rainbow belt that the Mother had given her. She could feel the outline of the arrow and the sapling that wound about it.

And from that faint touch, Faraday drew strength.

She took a deep breath, and opened her eyes for a last look at DragonStar. “For God’s sake,” she whispered, not even pausing to wonder why she put the deity in the singular now, when before she, as everyone else in Tencendor, had always used the plural, “save me, DragonStar. Save me.”

And Faraday turned, and she faced the test.

Sheol now stood before the undulating dark mass of beasts that spread out from Faraday’s hill.

“Greetings, Faraday,” Sheol said pleasantly, and Faraday felt despair flood her. “What choice do you have planned for
me
, then?”

And Sheol laughed, a dreadful, burbling chortle that rang with utter confidence.

Sheol was going to win, and she
knew
it.

Faraday sighed, utterly despairing, and she held out her hand to the Demon. “Come,” she said.

They walked a frozen landscape. A frigid northerly wind blew hard-edged snow about them, forcing both to walk with heads bowed and hands grasping their cloaks about them.

Neither talked.

As they walked, Sheol very gradually turned eastwards until she was lost in the driving wind and snow, and Faraday was left alone in the frozen land.

This was a land, and an existence, Faraday knew very well.

She had been here before, on the evening she had risen from the campfire she’d shared with Axis and the two Avar men, Brode and Loman, as they’d journeyed northwards to Gorgrael’s ice fortress. Faraday had risen and left that fire
and not seen Axis again until he’d come to claim his inheritance in Gorgrael’s frightful chamber.

Now Faraday lived it all over again.

She caught sight of a flickering campfire ahead, and thought she saw DragonStar’s form rise and move about it, throwing on more wood as if awaiting her company.

“DragonStar!” Faraday breathed, and hurried forward. Maybe all would be well, after all.

A strange whisper, barely discernible in the night, ran along the edge of the wind.

Faraday paused, the cloak wrapping itself about her body in the wind. Nothing. She hurried on.

There, again, a soft whisper along the wind and, this time, a hint of movement to her right.

She stopped again, every nerve afire. Her fingers pushed fine strands of hair from her eyes, and she concentrated hard, peering through the gloom, listening for any unusual sounds.

“Faraday.” A soft whisper, so soft she almost did not hear it.

A whisper…and a soft giggle.

“Faraday.” And another movement, more discernible this time, among the eddying snow.

She stared, hoping it was her imagination, hoping she was wrong.

The flickering campfire caught her eye again, and she looked back. DragonStar had raised his head and was staring into the snow in her direction, but just as she was about to call out, something distracted DragonStar, and he bent back to the fire.

“Faraday.”

No mistaking it this time, and Faraday closed her eyes and moaned.

“Faraday? It is I, Timozel.”

She mustered all her courage and looked to her right. A shape was half-crouched in the snow some four or five paces away, its hand extended, its eyes gleaming.

It was not Timozel, but Sheol…but a Sheol who had assumed the form of Timozel: the boyishly lean body; the hair plastered to the skull with ice; eyes which, once so deep blue, were now only rimmed with the palest blue, the rest of the irises being stark white.

Timozel’s form, but with Sheol’s intelligence and strength shining from behind those frightful eyes.

“Help me…please,” Sheol whispered in Timozel’s voice.

“No,” Faraday whispered. “Go away.”

“Qeteb trapped me!” Sheol whispered. “I never wanted to be a Demon! No! Never! Qeteb forced me into a life of darkness, and I’ve had no choice.”

And now?
thought Faraday, but for the moment she made no comment.

“He has trapped me, Faraday! Trapped me! Forced me into his service.”

“No,” Faraday said, but she was unable to look away, unable to call for help. Once again the force of the Prophecy lay like a dead weight about her shoulders. Nothing she could do now could alter its abominable course.

“I’m as much a victim as you are, Faraday. Please help me. I want to escape. Trust me.”

“Go away,” Faraday muttered hoarsely, and the wind caught at her cloak so that it tore back from her body.

Now Sheol was almost at her feet, and her fingers fluttered at the hem of her gown. “Please, Faraday. I want to revel in the Light.
Please
, Faraday! Help me. You could be my friend.
Help me!
”

No!
she screamed in her mind, but she could not voice it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw DragonStar rising from the fire, a hand to his eyes. Then her hair whipped free and, caught by the wind, obscured her vision.

No!
But the resurgent Prophecy had her in its grip now, and it would not let her go.

“Trust me,” Sheol whispered at her feet.
Trust me
.