Battleaxe by Sara Douglass

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 with each breath he took.
    “No,” he whispered, “no…go away…no…I don’t want you. You are not my father. Go away.”
    But the evil, disgusting presence only drew closer. In a few moments he knew that he would be able to smell its putrid breath. He gave up fighting to free himself and instead lay panting heavily, knowing he should garner his strength for the fight ahead.
    “Go away!” he whispered again hoarsely.
    It approached. He could feel it circling in the dark, could feel its loathsome presence.
    “Axis, my son.” Axis shuddered violently as the voice slithered through the dark spaces between them.
    “No!” Axis whispered again. All he could feel from the other presence was hatred.
    “My son,” the voice repeated. “You should never have beenallowed to reach birth. You are an abomination. You should have been aborted. You killed your mother…your beautiful mother.”
    The voice drooled over the word “beautiful” and Axis almost vomited with fear and loathing.
    “Your beautiful mother. She died because of you, my son. You tore her apart. She cursed you in the end, you know, as you tore her apart. She swore she would drown you when she could finally get her hands on you. But you killed her first. She died with her life blood draining all over you. What a fiery baptism!” The voice rasped at its own joke in a ghastly parody of laughter, and its mad chuckles