He saw his mother first, riding into the courtyard as if she lived in a saddle, which she mostly did. She had been in Drassil for most of a moon, and yet they had barely talked, and never alone, though the Ben-Elim had been mostly responsible for that. Bleda looked at her now and had no understanding of what she thought of him, whether she was proud or filled with shame. The thought of that gave him too much pain to cope with and he pushed it away quickly, a rapid blinking the only sign that he’d felt anything at all. His mother’s eyes touched him, moved to Jin, then on to the great gates and up to the sky, the ever-present shapes of Ben-Elim riding the currents. Close behind her rode Uldin, the Cheren lord and Jin’s father. He did not smile at his daughter, either, but he did dip his head to her for a moment as they approached the pair. Then their retinues were clattering into the courtyard behind them; Ellac was there, looking as balanced as the rest of them in his saddle, despite the lack of one hand.
There was a blast of wind and a rustle of feathers as Israfil and Kol landed gracefully either side of Bleda and Jin, waiting for the riders to reach them. Giants, Queen Ethlinn and her father, Balur One-Eye were also standing nearby, and a host of White-Wings lined the courtyard, a sign of respect or a reminder of strength, Bleda was not sure.
Probably both.
Whatever it was, Bleda sensed a tension in the air. The members of his mother’s retinue might be skilled in the art of the cold-face, but some were not as adept at keeping their emotions entirely hidden. Bleda noticed white knuckles on reins, strung bows on saddle-pegs, horses with ears back or flicking as their rider’s mood was sensed on some level and transferred. And Israfil and Kol either side of him were fidgeting in their tell-tale ways that possibly only Bleda could read, a quiver through their wings, a tightness in their musculature.
Something is wrong.
Erdene and Uldin reined in before Bleda and Jin, Israfil and Kol.
‘We will give you your tithe of flesh,’ Uldin said, no preamble, ‘send you warriors from amongst the Sirak and Cheren.’
A silent sigh seemed to ripple through the courtyard, the change to Israfil and Kol minuscule, but Bleda noticed it: a relaxing in the set of their wings, a slow breath from Kol.
Ah, Mother and Uldin hadn’t told them yet, and Israfil thought they would leave without committing to the terms. He would not have allowed that to happen. My mother and the others were no doubt tense because of the shame of it. Another stain as we bend the knee to our new masters. Why could we just not be left to live free. The Sirak are not made for the Ben-Elim’s rules and regulations; we are a people of the plain, moving with the seasons and the sun, no yoke or master to bind us in one place.
‘When we return to Arcona we shall send a small party, to show our good faith while we select and organize a larger force,’ Erdene said. ‘First you shall have one hundred riders from the Sirak, one hundred from the Cheren. More shall come later.’
‘The Sirak and Cheren are noted for their honour in this,’ Israfil said.
Honour? They are forced to bend the knee, something the Sirak have done to no one for as long as the grass wind has blown.
‘They will be the honour guard of our heirs. Of Bleda and Jin. A wedding-gift to show our commitment to their forthcoming marriage.’
Even the word marriage caused Bleda some significant discomfort and proved difficult to keep from his face.
Our honour guard! Will Israfil allow this? Technically the warriors would not be answerable to any except Jin and me. We would be their lords.
A silence grew, lengthening as Israfil considered this. Just as Bleda thought the time to answer without giving insult had passed, Israfil nodded.
‘Of course,’ he said.
Erdene nodded, and then she looked at Bleda.
‘May your arrow fly true,’ she said to him.
‘And your horse never stumble,’ he gave the response, feeling a joyous warmth spread through him.
She thinks of me as kin.
Uldin said something to Jin, though Bleda did not hear it, his heart still soaring from his mother’s acknowledgement, and then Erdene and Uldin were riding away, towards the open gates of Drassil, their retinue following behind. Only Old Ellac looked at Bleda as they rode past.
Before Erdene and Uldin reached the gates, a dozen giants mounted upon bears lumbered out before them, an honour guard to escort the Arcona lords partway along the eastern road.
Bleda and Jin stood watching their kin, giants before them, a handful of Ben-Elim circling the skies above them as they rode a short way along the road of the dead, amongst the field of cairns, before they turned and headed east, moving swiftly out of sight. Bleda wished he could run up the wide stairwell to the battlements and watch them until they faded into the distance.
She is gone, but I have her parting to me. And also those words she whispered in my ear while on the weapons-field, the day that Jin shamed Riv, the trainee White-Wing.
‘Well, what are you two doing, standing about?’ Kol said to them with an easy smile, glancing up at the sun, which had not long cleared Drassil’s high walls. ‘You’re due at lessons, are you not?’
Bleda and Jin burst into the teaching chamber, a high-vaulted room of stone and wide-arched windows, one long wall filled with shelves full to bursting with scrolls and parchments. It was a room that Bleda was more familiar with than any other part of the fortress, because he had spent such a large portion of his life sitting in there, learning his letters, the histories, the theories of weapon and war, herbs and healing, the ways of earth and sky. And of course, the teachings of Elyon, how to live a life of faith, strength and purity. Of sacrifice, honour and duty.
Though that sounds more like the Ben-Elim than Elyon, to me.
It was fair to say that the Ben-Elim had brought more with them than just rules and an iron-shod foot upon the neck of those who lived and breathed within the Banished Lands. Though no trade that is forced upon you is a fair trade.
‘Where’s Jibril?’ Bleda said, skidding to a halt.
A giant stood before one of the long windows. He was leaning over a table, hands resting upon it like two knotted saplings. It was a giant Bleda knew well, or better than most at Drassil, because it was the giant who had plucked him from Israfil’s grip that day in Arcona when he had been taken from his people. He had ridden with this giant upon the back of a bear all the long way from Arcona to Drassil, and for a giant he was more talkative than most.
‘Alcyon, where is Jibril?’ Bleda asked again.
Jibril was their tutor, a dark-haired Ben-Elim who had taught them their histories ever since they had arrived in Drassil, some five years gone. Different Ben-Elim taught different subjects. Bleda suspected it was not because they specialized in different subjects, with some knowing more or less about certain subjects. Bleda believed that all the Ben-Elim were equally knowledgeable, but that they also had their own likes and dislikes, subjects that brought them pleasure and subjects that they disdained.
‘Jibril is escorting your kin along the eastern road,’ Alcyon said. ‘So Israfil asked me to give you your lesson today.’
‘You?’ Jin said, looking Alcyon up and down.