CHAPTER THREE

FarReach Mountains, and the Northern Reaches of the

Ashdod Dependency

I shbel existed in a fog of exhaustion, fear, and a drugged stupor that left her almost continually nauseated and headachy as her body fought to repel the drugs. She knew only that her kidnappers had dragged her south—the weather was warming considerably with every day’s travel—and that they treated her with a level of contempt that terrified her. They mishandled her, not caring if they caused bruises, although they were careful not to hurt her excessively. Occasionally they remembered to offer her food and water. The food Ishbel did not care for, but whatever fluid they gave her she drank down greedily. She could not get enough to drink, and in times of better than usual clarity she knew it was an effect of the drugs they were giving her.

She had not washed in weeks, and her body and clothes stank of travel grime and sweat. She could not get privacy to attend to even her most basic bodily functions, and generally had to relieve herself under the unwaveringly contemptuous regard of the captors. During the day, when they traveled, she was either forced to stumble along shackled to one of her captors, or, when too exhausted or drugged, to lie on the bare boards of the tray of a small wooden cart pulled by an ill-tempered donkey.

Everything hurt: her muscles, her head (which pounded almost unceasingly), her belly. Ishbel did not know if that was the Coil unwinding within her, or the baby shrinking and dying from lack of nourishment, for she had not felt any movement, and she was sure Garth had said to expect some by this stage. She was now five months pregnant, but her belly had hardly swelled at all, another reason Ishbel thought the baby might have died.

Ishbel did not want her baby to have died. This was not for her sake, but for Maximilian’s. She knew how much he wanted a child, knew how much this baby meant to him, and she did not want to be the one responsible for losing it. Not when he was already so angry at her.

Each day they struggled on, higher and higher into what Ishbel realized must be the FarReach Mountains, traversing icy mountain paths, sheltering at night in rocky canyons so cold that she could not sleep for shaking. Her captors sat around a fire, but she was left on the outer reaches, and received little of its warmth.

Days passed, each in a blur of exhaustion, drugged stupor, and desperation.

Axis was enjoying himself as he had not in…dozens of years before his death, he thought. Isaiah had given him command of a squad of some four dozen armed men, plus several cooks, numerous valets and grooms, two guides, and several spare horses for everyone. It all made Axis wonder how Isaiah traveled with an army, if he gave less than fifty soldiers this much support.

But he was glad of it. During the daylight hours they moved north, following the River Lhyl past the ruins of Setkoth to the west (which Axis would have loved to explore had they the time) and then the city of Azibar on the eastern bank. Because they had so many horses they traveled fast. Even the cooks’ wagon was lightweight and strong, and was able to keep up with the riders. They covered many leagues each day, changing horses at noon and midafternoon stops. At night, when they camped, Axis appreciated the food and assistance of the cooks and valets and grooms. For once, he and the soldiers he commanded could just swing off their horses in the evening and allow others to set up camp, and provide food and beds, and feed and water the horses.

It was not just the freedom and exercise that Axis was enjoying, but the companionship of the soldiers as well. It made him realize, very forcefully, that of all the kinds of man he had once been—BattleAxe, Enchanter, Star-Man, Star God—it was the first he had loved the most. The soldier and commander, man of war and action and of doing.

Isaiah had told Axis that the men under his command were among the best in Isaiah’s army, and were from his own personal guard. Axis was certainly impressed with them. They were quiet, determined, disciplined, almost as good as Isaiah in weapons practice (which meant they were faster and better than Axis, who had still to regain full battle fitness), and yet humorous and friendly and warm in the evening while not losing, even in that warmth and friendliness, their discipline or deference to Axis. Axis had thought they might resent him, but he saw no trace of it. They were good soldiers, better men, and engaging companions, and if they were representative of Isaiah’s larger army, then Axis envied Isaiah that army quite desperately.

It also made him regard Isaiah in a different light. Axis could see Isaiah, or at least a reflection of him, as a battle leader, and it intrigued him. If Isaiah’s army was this good and this disciplined, then how was it Isaiah had failed so badly in the Eastern Independencies?

Axis relaxed into his long-forgotten life as soldier and commander faster than he could ever have imagined. At night, as he had done when he was BattleAxe, he pulled from his kit a small travel harp that he had managed to find in Aqhat and entertained the company of men with songs and ballads from lost Tencendor. Axis may have lost the Star Dance, but he had not lost his musical ability and his fine singing voice, and the evenings were filled with laughter and song and companionship.

So much so that Axis hardly remembered Azhure at all. When he did think of her, it was with warmth and affection, and a strange realization that she was fading further and further into his memory.

Now that he was on the move and fallen back into the companionship of men and weapons, Axis no longer wrote her letters.

When they reached the FarReach Dependency, Axis spent several days with the general, Morfah, checking on behalf of Isaiah how the resettlement was going.

The generals might not have been very happy about it (and Axis himself still could not see the reason why Isaiah was preparing this massive resettlement program to follow hard on the heels of the invasion), but they had done a good job. Village after village had been evacuated and dismantled, people, livestock, and goods moved across the Lhyl in vast numbers to congregate on the eastern plains between the river and Sakkuth. The FarReach Dependency was almost deserted, and Morfah told Axis (somewhat reluctantly, as Morfah clearly neither liked nor trusted Axis, and resented his intrusion) that there were only a few remaining populated towns and villages and that they, within weeks, would be empty.

When Axis asked how the displaced people reacted to the news they were to be resettled in a foreign land, Morfah just shrugged.

“They do as they are told,” he said. “They live resigned lives.”

Axis raised his eyebrows at that, but didn’t comment, and he wasn’t sure who was the more relieved of the two of them when he took his leave of Morfah the next morning.

He was glad to leave the suffocating presence of the general. Back on the road, and back in the comfortable company of soldiers, Axis set thoughts of both Isaiah and Morfah to one side and enjoyed the sunshine and the vast open spaces, and the freedom of commanding his own fate, even if only for a short while.

Thus, happier than he’d been in many years, Axis led his men north, toward the FarReach Mountains and Isaiah’s new, stolen bride.