Enchanter: Book Two of the Axis Trilogy. Sara Douglass

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СКАЧАТЬ woman, Gorgrael,” the loved voice said gently behind him, “and it is no wonder you sit there with her silks to comfort you.”

      “Dear Man,” Gorgrael breathed. It had been months since the Dark Man had visited him.

      A heavily shrouded figure brushed past his chair and stood for a moment in front of the fire, his back to Gorgrael. The hood of his black cloak was pulled close about his face.

      “Have you met her?” Gorgrael asked, desperate for closer knowledge of Faraday. “Have you spoken with her?”

      The shrouded figure turned and sat down on the hearth. “I know Faraday, yes. And we have passed the occasional word.”

      Gorgrael gripped the silk in his hands. “Have you desired her?”

      The Dark Man laughed, genuinely amused. “Many desire her, Gorgrael, and perhaps I am one of them. It is of no account. If you want her then I will not stand in your way. You may enjoy her as you wish.”

      For a while they sat there in silence, Gorgrael fingering the silken dress, the Dark Man contemplating the flames. Gorgrael had long given up trying to see the face of the Dear Man. No matter how hard and how craftily he’d peered, always the Dark Man, the Dear Man, appeared as he was now, shrouded so heavily that no-one, not even Gorgrael with his dark talent, could understand or know what lay beneath the folds.

      The Dark Man had been a part of Gorgrael’s life since he was small. The five Skraelings who had midwived Gorgrael’s terrible delivery had brought him back to their burrow in the northern tundra, had somehow managed to feed him until he was able to crawl out of the burrow and forage in the snow, catching first small insects, then the white mice of the northern wastes, then finally the small mammals, hot and juicy, that fed his growing flesh and provided the stiff furs that kept him warm at night. The Skraelings had sheltered him and loved him, but Gorgrael had led a miserable life among the silly wraiths until the day that, scampering across a small ice field, he had seen the cloaked figure striding towards him. At first the tiny Gorgrael had been afraid of this tall and mysterious man, but the Dark Man had picked him up and whispered to him of things which soon had him cooing in delight and squirming in the stranger’s arms. The Dark Man had sung dreams to the child, had offered him hope.

      No-one but Gorgrael knew about the Dark Man – the five Skraelings, later transformed by Gorgrael into SkraeBolds, had never known he existed. The Dark Man, the Dear Man, had come to Gorgrael almost every day when he was little. Singing strange songs of power and enchantment, teaching him about his heritage, teaching him about his path for the future. Gorgrael had learned well from the Dark Man, and had come to love and respect as well as fear this stranger who taught him. He had learned very early that it was not a good thing to cross the Dark Man.

      But through all these years he had never found out who the Dark Man was. Whenever he asked, whenever he tried to pry, the Dark Man would laugh and evade his questions and inquisitive eyes. There were some things he knew about him. The Dark Man knew Axis, for he had told Gorgrael about his hated half-brother very early in life and had taught Gorgrael the Prophecy of the Destroyer. Gorgrael knew also that the Dark Man lived a dark and crafty life, using his disguises to fool many who loved him. He knew that the Dark Man was a manipulator of considerable skill, and sometimes Gorgrael wondered just how much he had been manipulated as well.

      Gorgrael knew that the Dark Man had a purpose, but he did not know exactly what that purpose was.

      “It was her wedding gown,” Gorgrael mumbled. “Timozel’s sleeping mind told me that. Dear Man,” he lifted his gaze to the still figure before him. “I need a trustier lieutenant than these SkraeBolds. I want Timozel, but he is tied to Faraday. What can you tell me?”

      “You will have him eventually,” the Dark Man assured him. “Many bonds that have been forged will tear apart. Many vows that have been spoken will become meaningless.”

      “Will I have Faraday?”

      “You have read the Prophecy. You know it as well as any.” The Dark Man’s voice was a little harder now.

      “Axis’ Lover. The only one whose pain can break his concentration enough for me to kill him. Faraday.”

      “Axis’ Lover. Yes,” the Dark Man agreed. “Only love can provide the means to destroy him. You know the Prophecy well.”

      Faraday, Gorgrael thought, I must have her!

      The Dark Man sat and watched Gorgrael’s thoughts play across his face. Gorgrael would do well – he had proved his worth already – but he would have to learn to curb his impatience.

      “You moved too fast,” the Dark Man said abruptly, his voice harsh.

      “How much longer was I supposed to wait? My forces were massed, my magic was strong, and Axis knew little about his true identity, his true ability. It was a good time to move.”

      “You should have waited another year. Waited until you had more Skraelings, more ice creatures who could work your will for you. Waited until you had more control over your creatures!” The Dark Man’s voice was scathing now, and he leaned forward from the hearth, stabbing his finger at Gorgrael. “Now you have gained Ichtar, true, but you can go no further until next winter. And meantime the forces of opposition are forming against you. Six months ago Axis had no idea of his true nature. But your precipitate action has flushed out all the major actors in this little drama. Now Axis has cast aside the lies of the Seneschal and absorbs his lessons from StarDrifter as a sponge absorbs water. You have woken the StarMan, Gorgrael, but you have weakened yourself so seriously in the process that you cannot yet move against him!”

      Gorgrael twisted his head away from the Dear Man, sulking. “I will win.” Did the Dark Man not believe in him?

      “Oh, yes,” the Dark Man said. “Undoubtedly. Trust me.”

       8

       The Brother-Leader Plans

      The silvery, secretive waters of Grail Lake lapped against the foundations of the white-walled, seven-sided Tower of the Seneschal. Deep within, Jayme, Brother-Leader of the Seneschal and most senior mediator between the one god Artor the Ploughman and the hearts and souls of the Acharites, paced across his chamber.

      “Is there no news?” he asked Gilbert for the fourth time that afternoon.

      The fire blazing in the mottled-green marble fireplace behind the Brother-Leader’s desk was stacked high and the light it threw off shimmered along the edge of the fine crystal and gold that stood atop the mantel. Before the fire lay an exquisite rug of hand-woven emerald and ivory silk from the strange hot lands to the south of Coroleas. The Brother-Leader’s private chambers lacked no comforts.

      “Brother-Leader.” Gilbert, his junior adviser, bowed respectfully, his hands tucked away in the voluminous sleeves of his habit. “The only word from the north comes from Duke Borneheld’s camp at Jervois Landing. And the last Borneheld saw of your BattleAxe, he was whooping and screaming as he led his depleted Axe-Wielders to the north in an attempt to draw the Skraelings away from Gorkenfort.”

      Jayme frowned at the referral to Axis as “your BattleAxe”. Gilbert had never liked Axis, and felt justified in his dislike СКАЧАТЬ