"Douglass, Sara - Axis Trilogy 1 - Battleaxe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Douglass Sara)

Axis' face hardened at the man's words and he abrupdy stood up, fighting desperately not to think about what they meant. "Azhure," he said, turning and handing the child to her. "Look after her for the night." He glanced back down at the man lying amid the filth of the cell and then turned and walked from the cell. "Belial, get two of our men and get this place cleaned up!" He glared at the Plough-Keeper, who had regained consciousness, ignored Ogden and Veremund, and then strode out of the cellar without saying another word.


The Forbidden Valley

Azhure took the child back to the house she shared with the man she called her father. She was still bewildered, though she felt little sympathy for Hagen; the man was a coward and a fool, and cruel besides. She had hated and feared him ever since she could remember. His cruelty had driven her mother away and he had since made her own life unbearable. The violence the BattleAxe had dealt to Hagen had been only a fraction of the violence Hagen had meted out to her over the past twenty years. Up until this afternoon Azhure had included the Axe-Wielders in the hatred she bore for the entire Seneschal, a sentiment rivalled only by her hatred for Hagen. Now, a little uncomfortably, Azhure had to admit to a small amount of respect for the BattleAxe and his lieutenant. They had treated the man and child with both respect and sympathy.
As she cleaned and dressed the child Azhure continued to think, growing more and more excited. One of her secret dreams, held ever since her mother ran away, was that one day she, too, would find the opportunity to escape. Tonight seemed the perfect time. The village was distracted by the arrival of the Axe-Wielders and the altercation between Hagen and the BattleAxe. Azhure would not only escape but save both man and child in doing so. For the past few years she had been trying to persuade GoldFeather that she could be trusted to help with the Avar children. She wanted to help in whatever way she was able. Now she could.
Azhure had stumbled upon the secret of GoldFeather some twelve years before when she was fifteen. Driven by the need to escape Hagen, she would often slip out of the house in the middle of the night and sit watching the Fortress Ranges and the dark shadows of the forest beyond. One night she had caught the furtive shadows of people moving out of the Forbidden Valley and had followed the Acharite woman she had since come to know as GoldFeather as she and one of the young Avar men took two children stealthily past Smyrton and into the Seagrass Plains. Over the next year or so she tracked and followed the woman again, until finally she made one noise too many and the woman had heard her.
Azhure had been lucky to escape with her life. The Avar man with GoldFeather became frighteningly angry, but GoldFeather had persuaded him against any action and had then reassured a frightened Azhure. They had later formed an intense friendship and, over the following years, they met maybe three times a year, and talked through the night. GoldFeather would tell her a little of the life of the Avar people, but, surprisingly, she never wanted to hear any tales of life in Achar. "My old life is dead and gone, Azhure," she would smile sadly, "and I have started a new life now." Azhure never told anyone in Smyrton of her new friend and, sometimes, when she was feeling very lonely, Azhure would pretend to herself that GoldFeather was her long lost mother.
Now Azhure smiled at the little girl she held in her arms. She was bruised and cut in several places, but she looked much better than she had. She gave the child something to eat, and was relieved when the little girl placidly took the food and water she was given. Azhure cuddled her close as the girl ate. One day she hoped to have a child of her own, but not if it meant one of the village oafs giving it to her! No, Azhure was going to escape this village and lead a life of adventure arid purpose. She would find a hero to father her children. She smiled. She had absolutely no doubts that a hero would turn up precisely when needed.
She heard raised voices outside. It was Hagen, now recovered from the crack across his pate, and the BatdeAxe (so he was the bastard son of the Princess Rivkah!). They were arguing about the Avar man. Finally the arguing ended and Azhure heard Axis stalk off. Hagen entered the house and glared at Azhure but simply went and lay down. Perhaps his head pained him. Azhure breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed her arms about the child. She knew she was lucky not to have received a beating for her earlier remark about her mother. She had only just recovered from the three broken ribs he had given her two months ago.
As Hagen began to snore Azhure sat by the fire, rocking the child to sleep, and planned.
She moved during the dark hours of the night. In the hours before dawn, when the human body and spirit were at their lowest ebb.
First she wrapped the sleeping child in a warm blanket, whispering to her to be quiet, then grabbed a cloak herself. She would have liked to take some food with her, but she dared not take the risk that it would weigh her down.
As Azhure bent down to lace her boots her nervous excitement grew.
Courage, Azhure, she berated herself. Another hour at the latest and you and the Avar man can be racing for the Forbidden Valley. And then you can spend the rest of your years wandering with GoldFeather. Free from Hagen.
Azhure swore silently as one of the boot laces stubbornly refused to tie. She had the child tucked under one arm and, combined with her nervousness, it made her tumble-fingered. Quickly laying the sleeping child on the floor, she began to relace the offending boot.
"Bitch!" Hagen grunted behind her and grabbed the child.
"No!" Azhure cried hoarsely, too frightened to scream. She tried to turn around, but overbalanced and feE to the floor.
Hagen threw the now crying child on the bed. Stepping over to the table he dealt Azhure a vicious kick in the ribs on the way.
"No!" Azhure wheezed, doubling up on her side, trying to draw breath. Hagen had kicked her in the very ribs he broke two months previously; now it felt like fire flickered up and down her ribcage. Her face contorted in agony, Azhure squinted towards Hagen.
He stood at the table, ignoring the wails of the child, riffling through the plates and cutlery that Azhure had washed earlier and had yet to put away.
"No," she whimpered. "No!" She had to move, she had to do something, but the pain in her ribs crippled her and she could hardly draw breath, let alone get to her feet.
Hagen grunted again, his hand clutching at a bone-handled knife.
"The Forbidden child dies now," he said conversationally, lifting the knife to inspect its edge.
He spent hours each week honing that knife.
Azhure knew how sharp it was.
He lifted the knife . . .
Azhure groaned and closed her eyes.
The flames cracked and popped.
She rolled over so that she was lying on her belly and pressed her face into the stone floor, desperate to escape both the scene before her and the memories fighting to break free.
The smell was terrible.
Hagen stepped over Azhure's still body and took another step towards the child on the bed.
The little girl. Frightened. Watching. Unable to escape.
He was not worried about Azhure. He had beaten her into submission enough over the years to know that she would not act now. He had trained her well.
"Wliy not kill me?" she screamed.
Hagen reached the bed and began to pull the little girl's outer clothes apart.
"Because I like to see you suffer," he replied.
Azhure finally managed to rise to her knees, but she was still bent double with pain and fear. Not now. Not again!
"Shall I check the bandages this morning? See what's there?"
Hagen raised the knife.
Hagen raised the knife . . .
Azhure raised her hands to her head, rocking backwards and forwards, keening under her breath. Not again! Not again!
This time she could stop it. This time she could save the child, and in doing so, save herself.
. . . and dug.
Azhure launched herself forward, grabbing frantically for the hem of Hagen's robe.
He heard her movement and half turned, the knife still raised, his face masked in rage.
Her grasping fingers caught at the hem of his robe, but the material slipped through.
Howling in anger now, Hagen raised his foot to stamp on Azhure's fingers, the knife glinting wickedly in his hand.
With the last of her strength Azhure grabbed his foot and twisted, took a desperate breath, and twisted again.