‘Huh,’ Bleda grunted, his eyes drifting from the shield wall to the figure of a mounted warrior galloping, spear raised, charging a straw man. The drum of hooves drifted up to Bleda, simply the sound of it stirring his blood, even if the horse was a huge, muscle-bound beast as far from the swift and hardy ponies he had grown up riding as he was different from a giant.
Ah, to ride through the plains of grass with nothing but wind and sky before me. A recollection of doing just such a thing filled his mind. It was a dim, faded memory, more precious to Bleda than gold, silver or jewels. He closed his eyes a moment and concentrated, almost feeling the wind whipping across his face, could almost hear the distant echo of his laughter mixing with his brother’s, who had been riding at his side on that long-ago day.
Altan.
Before he had a chance to control it, another image flashed through his mind. His brother’s severed head in the dirt, eyes bulging, tongue lolling. With an act of will he pushed the memory away, forced it into a shadowed hole in his mind and let out a long breath, as if he had completed some physical exertion.
‘They are cowards, no?’ Jin said, clearly enjoying her rant against the warriors of Drassil, and wanting Bleda’s support on this point. It was not often that they were alone enough to be able to speak like this, always someone was around teaching or watching over them. Even now they were supposed to be with a loremaster and hard at work learning their letters. Instead they had sneaked off and made their way onto Drassil’s walls, finding a rare spot between guards on watch duty.
‘Their ways are strange and without honour,’ Bleda said, and in truth many of the Ben-Elim’s ways still seemed so to him, even after five years of living amongst these people as their ward. But there was much more to the Ben-Elim and their allies than that. Much of what had once seemed strange now made a lot more sense.
And they are not cowards, as much as I would like to agree with Jin on that point. But Bleda kept his opinion to himself, as he often did. I’ll not argue with my only friend, the closest thing I have to my kin in this strange land.
In truth, Jin should have been his enemy. Until Bleda had been snatched away by the Ben-Elim on that dark and distant day, Jin had been his enemy: daughter and heir of the Cheren’s lord, the Clan that Bleda’s people had been fighting the day the Ben-Elim came. Technically there was blood feud between Bleda and Jin, as Bleda’s da had been slain by members of Jin’s Clan, and in return Jin’s older brother and heir to the Cheren Clan had been slain by the Sirak. But now, for five long years, all they had had was each other, each of them acting for the other as some tenuous bridge to home.
The thrum of arrows leaving bows dragged his eyes from the galloping horse, in time to see a score of straw targets shudder as loosed arrows hit their mark. Even Bleda could not stop his lip from curling in a sneer at that.
Great longbows of ash or elm. How could you string or shoot one of those from the back of a horse?
He saw one archer give a congratulatory slap on the shoulder to another.
No doubt thinking they have great skill. I was hitting such targets as that when I was eight summers old. And when is a fight ever like that? Your enemy standing helpfully still while you take careful aim?
He shook his head, disgusted, and Jin grinned to see it.
‘They would be no match for the Cheren,’ she said, following his gaze, ‘or even the Sirak,’ she added with a twitch of a smile.
‘They defeated both our Clans, though,’ Bleda muttered.
Jin scowled at that. ‘They took them by surprise,’ she spat.
‘Aye, they did. But there was more to their victory than surprise. I was there. I saw it.’ It was a fact he never failed to remind her of, giving him a slight advantage in their discussions of home.
‘Still, if our Clans had been ready, and stood together,’ Jin said, jutting her chin out.
‘Aye, maybe,’ Bleda agreed, though he was not so sure.
‘As they will when we return home and rule our Clans.’ She flashed him a grin.
‘Just so,’ he replied, hiding the doubt in his heart.
Bleda turned away from the weapons-field and stared out over the walls of Drassil. High above him the branches of the great tree arched, spreading wide over the plains that surrounded the ancient fortress, dappling the meadow-grass in sunlight and shadow. The plain to the west was covered in cairns, thousands of them, burial mounds of moss-covered stone raised over those who had fallen on the day the Ben-Elim came, the day the Kadoshim were defeated. A road ran through the centre of them to the gates of Drassil.
A road watched over by the dead, Bleda thought.
In the distance a forest ringed Drassil: ancient Forn, though its trees had been cut and thinned for over a hundred years now as the Ben-Elim had rooted Kadoshim from the dark places. Slicing through the forest were roads that radiated out from the fortress, north, south, east and west, like spokes from a wheel hub. They were wide and straight, connecting Drassil, the Ben-Elim’s seat of power, with the rest of the Land of the Faithful, and it was along these roads that their armies marched, whether it was to fight Kadoshim or to enforce peace upon lands within their ever-expanding boundaries.
Bleda found himself looking east, as he often did, imagining that he could see the rolling plains of his homeland beyond the green-leaved bulwark of Forn Forest. This time, though, he saw a column upon the east road, marching steadily towards Drassil, the distant ripple of banners snapping in the breeze.
He slapped Jin’s shoulder. She was still pouring scorn upon those in the weapons-field, but her eyes narrowed as she saw what he was pointing at.
‘Giants and bears at the front,’ she whispered.
‘And Ben-Elim above,’ Bleda said, spying shapes circling in the air above the column.
‘But banners?’ Jin said. ‘Not Ben-Elim troops, then.’
They stood in silence, wondering who these approaching visitors were, important enough to warrant such an escort. A shadow crossed over them and there was a gust of wind, light footsteps and a Ben-Elim landed close by. He was tall, graceful and beautiful as a fine statue, as were all the Ben-Elim, though he was fair-haired where most were dark. Bleda felt a stirring of anger in his blood at the sight of him, for this was Kol, the Ben-Elim who had thrown the heads of his brother and sister at his feet.
‘Many are looking for you two,’ the Ben-Elim said. ‘You are wanted in the keep.’
‘What for?’ Jin answered, haughty as if she were already Queen of the Cheren.
‘You have visitors,’ the Ben-Elim said, looking out onto the plain before Drassil.
The approaching column was still a way off, but close enough now for Bleda to see the swirl and snap of the banners. Jin gasped, her eyes always a little keener than his, but he recognized the images soon enough, and his heart lurched within his chest.
Two banners, one with a stooping hawk upon a blue sky, the other with a rearing stallion in a field of green.
The Cheren and the Sirak Clans.