The Infinity Gate: Darkglass Mountain: Book Three - By Sara Douglass Page 0,131

slouching comfortably. “Likeness? Not at all, brother. It is I in truth and actuality and flesh. Borneheld. You thought you’d killed me, but here I am again. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

Axis just stared.

“You could come back from the Otherworld, brother,” Borneheld said. “Why not I?”

He stood, then, a hulking muscular man, dark to Axis’ fairness, bulky to Axis’ leanness. They had shared a mother, but it had been their different fathers who had contributed most to each man’s being.

There was a flutter at the door and both men looked.

The eagle sat atop one of the doors and as they watched it flew high into the dome, settling on a rafter close to one wall.

There it began to preen at its feathers, disinterested in the reunion below.

“Ah,” said Borneheld, “the eagle. How I remember that.” He took a step forward, all menace and triumph. “But what use shall it be for you tonight, Axis? I have no heart left!”

Borneheld took hold of his gem-laden jerkin, ripping it apart, and Axis took a half step back in horror.

Borneheld had no chest — only an empty cavity that showed his spine and ribs.

And no heart.

Borneheld began to laugh. “I have no heart left, Axis. How do you think to murder me this time?”

Axis went cold. This was Eleanon’s trap.

Borneheld, unintentionally giving Axis time to think, had turned to Inardle. “Oh,” he said, “she’s so beautiful. Far more so than Faraday, don’t you think, Axis? Special. Magical. I am going to enjoy her . . . although I’ll need to beat the magical out of her.”

He looked back at Axis, sly and vicious. “I used to try and beat the magical out of Faraday. Did you know that Axis? It didn’t work, of course, but it kept her quiet, and that was all I needed from her. Silence. And compliance.”

Axis knew Borneheld was trying to goad him, so he ignored his brother and instead walked a little closer to Inardle, holding out his hand. “Inardle, come away with me. Don’t stay here with —”

“Don’t touch her,” Borneheld said, stepping between Inardle and Axis. “If you want her, you’ll have to fight for her.” Again that sly, vicious smile. “Just as we did half a century ago. Old times, eh?”

He laughed, and Axis gazed at Inardle.

She avoided his eyes, looking miserable and trapped.

Just as Faraday had so often looked.

“Prophecy binds her, Axis,” Borneheld said, “just as it did Faraday. Prophecy is a terrible thing to try and break.”

Now Axis stared at Borneheld, aghast. For some unknown reason what Borneheld had said struck a chord deep inside Axis, and in a blinding moment of revelation he knew how he could break the hex, what Eleanon’s trickery demanded he do, but . . . oh stars . . . oh stars . . . no wonder Eleanon thought he had Axis trapped.

And thank each and every last one of the gods he’d brought the eagle.

“Then let Prophecy work itself out once more,” Axis said, and he drew his sword with a harsh rasp of steel.

Time passed, and its passage was marked only by the ringing of steel through the Chamber of the Moons. Axis and Borneheld fought as they had fifty years earlier, evenly matched with skill and strength. Occasionally one would misstep and slip, and the other would lunge for the kill, only to have the one who had misstepped rebalance at the last moment and counter the assault. They moved about the central floor space of the Chamber of the Moons in a slow, measured dance of steel and hatred, boots sliding across the green marble, swords arcing and flashing in the light of the ice lamps, the shadowy watchers swaying to and fro as the combatants swayed to and fro, the murmur of their voices rising and falling as a distant surf in the background.

Every so often Borneheld’s jerkin would gape open, and his empty chest cavity yawned mockingly before Axis.

Hours passed, and the lamps burned low. Both men fought with weariness now. They dripped with sweat, their movements, once so lithe, now leaden and fatigued. Both had been nicked numerous times, and blood glistened jewel-like among their clothes and the droplets of sweat glistening on their faces and arms.

At no point did either man drop his eyes from the other. They had waited through death for this chance to yet again work out their resentments and hatreds. The woman and the hex were mere excuses. In reality, each hated the other