Carsten was supposed to be pouring buckets of water over the long stone seating block that Riv had just scrubbed, but he had stopped. The walls behind him were filled with pastel depictions of Ben-Elim casting Kadoshim from the skies, a reminder of the great sacrifice they had made to protect mankind from the evil of the demon horde. Riv was just about to give Carsten a piece of her mind for shirking his duties when he said it again.
‘What’s that?’ he said, and then she heard it, filtering in through the unshuttered window and open doorway. The blowing of horns.
‘That’s the call to the Lore Chamber,’ Riv said, leaping to her feet. Usually the Lore Chamber convened once a ten-night: Israfil and his captains gathering in Drassil’s Great Hall and sitting in judgement upon all manner of issues brought before them, whether they be disputes between residents of Drassil, petty charges of drunkenness or minor disobediences to more serious matters, even murder.
But the next meeting’s not due for another four nights.
The horns blew again.
‘Come on,’ Riv said, making for the open doorway.
‘But, the latrines,’ Carsten said.
‘It’s excrement, it’ll still be here when we’re done.’ Riv strode out into the streets of Drassil, hearing Carsten following her.
The streets were full, all those not on essential duties making their way to the great chamber of Drassil.
‘What’s going on?’ Riv asked a White-Wing in the street.
‘Ethlinn and Garidas are back,’ she said.
The horns blew again and Riv began to run, feeling aches in her joints that hadn’t been there a few days ago.
Can’t sleep, and I’m aching like I have a fever. I’ll visit the healers when I have some time.
Crowds grew thicker as Riv reached the courtyard of the Great Hall, people pouring through the open gates, Riv elbowing through them. Inside everyone was filing along the tiered stone steps, using them as benches, hundreds already sitting there. Riv saw her mam, Dalme, a few rows down and squeezed and shoved her way through the crowd to reach her.
‘Hello, my darling,’ her mam said.
‘I hear it’s Ethlinn and Garidas returned,’ Riv whispered as she sat beside her mam.
‘Aye, it’s true,’ Dalmae said, gesturing to the hall’s floor below them.
The iron-covered statues of Asroth and Meical were where they always were, tall and brooding before the trunk of Drassil’s ancient tree, and ringed about them were Ethlinn’s giants, as always. On the wide space between them and Riv a dozen chairs had been set, for Israfil and his captains sitting either side of him. Blond-haired Kol sat at the far end. Riv found her gaze lingering on the scarred Ben-Elim. He seemed different, somehow, from the Ben-Elim he sat beside, his perfect features altered by the scar that ran down his face, changing the straight line of his mouth. Perhaps he felt her eyes on him, because he looked up, straight at her, as if she were the only person in the room. She held his gaze a few heartbeats, then looked away.
Before the Ben-Elim was a wain, something bulky upon it, covered with a sheet of stitched hides. A score of White-Wings and giants were standing about it. Riv saw Garidas, who was captain of a White-Wing hundred, just as Aphra was. He was standing straight-backed and stern, as always, short-cropped dark hair framing a serious face. Riv liked him: he was a devout man, utterly committed to the Ben-Elim, and a fine warrior. He’d given Riv a fair few bruises on the weapons-field, although recently she usually gave as good as she got. If anything, Riv thought, it wouldn’t harm him to smile more.
Beside Garidas towered Ethlinn, Queen of the Giants. She was pale as milk, long-limbed, even for a giant, slimmer and less muscled than most, though there was an obvious strength in her musculature. Black hair knotted in a thick braid coiled about her shoulder and a thin torc of silver rested about her neck.
‘Where have they been?’ Riv asked her mam. There had been rumours, but no one really seemed to know, even Aphra, which was rare, because Aphra always seemed to know everything that was going on.
‘I think we’re about to find out.’ Dalmae shrugged.
The murmuring of the crowd stilled as Ethlinn strode to stand before Israfil.
When Israfil sat in his chair on the Lore-Giving days, he would start the proceedings with a prayer to Elyon and a reading from the Book of the Faithful, but today was different. He stood, the hall settling into immediate silence.
‘Faith, Strength and Purity,’ Israfil intoned.
‘For that is the Way of Elyon,’ Riv responded automatically, along with all the others.
Israfil sat and gave a nod to Ethlinn.
‘The rumours were true,’ Ethlinn said. ‘We found a Kadoshim lair, though recently deserted. There was evidence of large numbers dwelling there, thirty, forty at least.’
Gasps and murmurs rippled around the crowd. Kadoshim sightings were rare; the last one had been in the Agullas Mountains far to the south, over a year gone. It had been hunted and slain, a half-starved, pathetic thing, by all accounts, only a handful of deluded servants with it, more farmers than warriors.
‘Where?’ Israfil asked.
‘In Forn. Thirty leagues south, between here and Brikan,’ Ethlinn said.
So close. How dare they? Riv thought, her anger flaring.
‘How do you know it was a Kadoshim lair,’ Kol said, ‘if it was deserted?’
‘We found a body, nailed to crossed timber. He’d been sacrificed, runes upon the floor, written in his blood.’ She paused. ‘Terrible things had been done to him.’
Israfil said nothing, but the other Ben-Elim about him whispered to one another.
‘And we found this,’ Garidas called out, at the same time ripping off the hide covering from the wain.
A cage of iron bars lay underneath, within it a figure. Riv stared, straining to see properly. One man, heavily muscled and shaven-haired, clothes ragged and torn. He sat upon his knees, a chain hanging between his wrists. There was something . . . wrong, about him. Then he moved and something shifted on his back. At first Riv thought it was a cloak, but it was moving.
‘It cannot be,’ her mam hissed beside her.
Because the man in the cage had wings.
‘Is that a Kadoshim?’ Riv asked. It was not what she expected, looked nothing like the paintings on the latrine walls she’d just been looking at. It appeared far more human than she had been led to believe, and although he was sitting, he seemed short, definitely shorter than the tall, elegant Ben-Elim.
‘No,’ her mam said.
‘Bring him closer,’ Israfil ordered, a tremor in his voice that spoke of fury.
White-Wings unlocked the cage and dragged the winged man out. He did not put up a fight, just walked towards Israfil, with Garidas and half a dozen White-Wings about him. Riv saw the winged man pause, staring at the dais and the entwined figures of Asroth and Meical. Garidas yanked on his chains and he stumbled forwards.
‘You are a half-breed. Spawn of improper relations between a Kadoshim and a woman, are you not?’ Israfil said, barely able to keep the rage from his voice.
‘I am,’ the man said, standing tall before Israfil, his voice deep and guttural.