so much they would willingly have fought this duel over the rights to a blade of grass.
After hours of fighting Axis could barely stand, and knew he’d have to finish this soon. He’d managed to drive Borneheld back toward the dais, where Inardle sat on its lower step, dispirited and uninterested in the battle waged before her.
Then, just before they reached the dais, the eagle, far above and still intent in its preening, discovered a particularly disarranged bundle of feathers on its chest and it attacked them in a bout of irritated housekeeping. It tore out a small, downy feather, spitting it from its beak, then bent back to the task at hand.
The feather fell softly through the air. It floated this way and that, now rising, now falling, now wafting this way, now that. But always it drifted lower and lower until it began to jerk and sway as it was caught by the laboured breathing of the combatants just below it.
It almost lodged in Axis’ hair and Axis flicked his head, irritated by the feathery touch along his forehead, distracted enough that he only just managed to parry a blow close to his chest.
The feather, dislodged from Axis’ hair, spiralled upward a hand’s-breadth or two, then, caught in a downward movement of air, sank toward the floor. Borneheld had not noticed it and Axis had forgotten it as the brothers began a particularly bitter exchange, fighting so close that they traded blows virtually on the hilts of their swords, taking the strain on their wrists, both their faces reddened and damp from effort and weariness and determination and hate.
The feather settled on the marble floor.
Axis suddenly lunged forward. Momentarily surprised, and caught slightly off-guard, Borneheld took a single step backward and . . . lost his balance as his boot heel slipped on the feather.
It was all Axis needed. As Borneheld swayed, a look of almost comical surprise on his face, Axis hooked his own foot about the inside of Borneheld’s knee and pulled his leg out from under him.
Borneheld crashed to the floor, the sword slipping from his grasp and Axis kicked it across the Chamber. Fear twisting his face, Borneheld scrabbled backward, seeking space in which to rise. He risked a glance behind him —
There Faraday had once struggled, held firm in the grip of Jorge.
Now Inardle sat, not two paces away, staring at Axis as if with a horrid fascination.
They always looked at Axis before they looked at him.
Borneheld tried to shuffle away as Axis placed his booted foot squarely in the centre of Borneheld’s empty chest, raising his sword. But, instead of bringing the blade down to sever the arteries of Borneheld’s neck, Axis twisted the sword in his hand and struck Borneheld a stunning blow to his skull with its haft, leaving the man writhing weakly, semi-conscious. Then Axis threw the sword away.
Inardle looked at Axis, bewildered. Why did he not finish Borneheld off with a quick, clean blow?
Axis raised his face and stared at her, and it was the most devastating look Inardle could ever remember seeing in anyone’s face.
“I’m so sorry, Inardle,” Axis whispered, then he stepped forward, taking the knife from where it had rested all this time in his boot, and dealt her a sharp blow to the side of her head.
Inardle slumped to the floor, semi-conscious and writhing very slightly as Borneheld did a few paces away.
Axis felt sick, but he knew he had to do this, as quickly as possible, before his courage failed him. He sank to his knees, straddling Inardle, and hauling her roughly so she lay on her back under him.
She raised one hand weakly in protest but, still struggling for consciousness, let it drop back to the marble floor.
I’m sorry, Axis said to her, over and over. I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry ,,,
He ripped open her robe, exposing her breasts, then, crying out in horror, he plunged the knife into the skin and flesh atop Inardle’s sternum and hauled it downward, opening up her chest.
Blood spurted everywhere.
Oh stars, oh stars ,..
Then Axis took the haft of the knife in both hands and, before he could even think about what he was doing, slammed the blade into Inardle’s sternum, twisting it so the bone cracked in two.
Axis tossed away the knife and then, before going any further, made the mistake of looking into Inardle’s face.
It would haunt him the rest of his life. She stared at him in pain and horror, which