‘Pride, first step to defeat,’ his father had said to him.
‘Emotion, the wild horse that must be tamed,’ his mother had intoned. ‘Be the master, not the mastered . . .’
‘Wear courage as a cloak, live free, never bend the knee,’ he whispered.
‘What?’ Riv said.
‘Nothing,’ Bleda said. ‘Sorch. He does not like me. I think it was just because I am Sirak. Not one of them.’
‘That’s stupid.’ Riv shrugged. ‘What matter if your eyes are a strange shape, or your skin a different colour? We all come from somewhere else when we start our training. Well, I didn’t, but many do. People come from all over the Land of the Faithful to finish their training at Drassil, in the hope of becoming a White-Wing.’
‘The White-Wings are fine warriors. Their discipline is to be admired,’ Bleda said, and he meant it. He had trained in the weapons-field for many years, but had chosen his preferences. It was only recently that he had lifted a shield and attempted to train in the wall. It was a lot harder than it looked. Not just a case of standing around and pointing your shield one way or another, as Jin always mocked. There was unity of cause about it, a bond forged in shielding your brother-in-arms. There was a whispered appeal there.
‘Where were you born, then?’ Bleda asked Riv.
I was born into the White-Wings. My mother was a White-Wing, had me while on a campaign. She got back up and went back to her post right after, or so the story goes. Not sure I believe that one, though I wouldn’t put it past my mam. She’s a tough one.’
‘What of your father? A White-Wing also?’ Bleda could not recall having ever seen Riv around a man.
‘He was. Died on the same campaign where I was born. Fighting Kadoshim in the Agullas Mountains down south, Mam told me. Lasted almost two years, that campaign.’
‘I am sorry,’ Bleda said.
‘I never knew him.’ Riv shrugged.
‘I, too, have no father. He died in a raid. A rival Clan.’
Jin’s Clan.
‘I know. That’s why they were at war, your Clan and Jin’s, when . . . we came to Arcona.’
‘Aye,’ Bleda grunted.
Another silence grew between them. Bleda ran his hands over his bow once more, then put it back into its leather bag.
‘We should be getting back,’ Riv said. ‘Else I’ll miss prayers.’
They turned to walk back to the road, then heard a sound. The pad of footsteps, and instinctively both of them were slipping into the shelter of an oak.
The footsteps grew clearer, more than one person. Two shadows appeared on the road, one tall, one shorter. Starlight silvered them, fractured beams glistening upon the road.
By some mutual consent the two figures stopped and faced one another. Bleda strained to see them, but the starlight was weak and shifting all the time. The taller one was clothed in cloak and furs, seemed dressed for winter travel.
‘This is as far as I can come,’ the shorter one said, a woman’s voice. Bleda heard Riv hiss, her body become tense as a warrior’s under inspection. ‘You must go on alone, now.’
‘I don’t want to,’ the taller one said. Also a woman.
‘I wish I could come further, be with you through—’
‘No. I mean, I don’t want to do this. Any of it.’
A silence.
‘You have to. You have no choice,’ the shorter woman said.
‘There’s always a choice,’ the taller one answered, a whisper.
‘Aye, and you made yours. Now you must see it through. The bad with the good.’
‘What good!’ the tall one spat. ‘I tell you now, the only reason I’m leaving is because I cannot bear one more day around them. If I am I might . . .’ A hand reached to a sword hilt.
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ the shorter one. ‘Go. Now.’
A sniffing sound, the taller one wiping at her eyes.
A silence, even Bleda’s own breath sounding loud in his ears. He could feel the tension leaking from Riv.
‘I don’t think I can do this,’ the tall one said into the quiet. ‘I . . . can’t.’
‘You must, else you’ll kill us all,’ the shorter one said, pushing something into the other’s hand. They embraced, a whispered goodbye, and then the tall one was striding along the road, turning off a dozen paces on, down the embankment on the far side and breaking into a loping run. Within moments she disappeared into the shadows of Forn Forest.
The shorter one stood still as stone, staring after her companion long after she’d disappeared. Just when Bleda thought he couldn’t bear it any longer she turned and marched back down the road, towards Drassil.
‘Wait,’ Riv whispered, her hand gripping Bleda’s wrist. He could feel the strength in her grip, iron-edged.
They stood there a hundred heartbeats. Then another hundred. Finally, Riv breathed out a long sigh and without a word walked back to the road. Bleda followed.
It may have been too dark for me to recognize them, but Riv knew who they were.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SIG
Sig sat at the end of the Queen’s bench in Uthandun’s feast-hall, her legs stretched out to the side of the too-low table. A ten-night had passed since the rescue of Keld and the lighting of the beacons. Six days spent travelling back to Uthandun, four more as Sig prepared to leave. Keld had needed time to heal, as had his hound Fen. And although Sig was eager to be gone, she lingered an extra day or two so as to hear news as it trickled in to Queen Nara. Sig hoped for clues as to what the lighting of the beacons signified.
Nara was reading over a newly arrived parchment now, as servants cleared food from the table where they had all gathered to break their fast.
Nara’s eyes were narrowing the further she read. She screwed the parchment into a ball and looked up with a glare.
‘Attacks on my people, my towns, up and down the long length of Ardain,’ she said. ‘Kadoshim have been sighted, though from these early reports the bulk by far of the perpetrators are these new acolytes.’ She swore in an unqueenly fashion and threw the screwed-up parchment on the floor.
Elgin was sitting beside her, and Madoc, the Queen’s first-sword, stood at her shoulder. His eyes tracked the ball of parchment and he bent and picked it up.
‘Looks like we were a little late in stamping on the hornets’ nest,’ Elgin said.
Maybe all I achieved was to kick and stir it up, Sig thought.
‘The Order will help you fight this,’ Sig growled, feeling a deep anger. The thought of Kadoshim and their servants striking at the people of Ardain like this, a close ally and friend to the Order . . .
She felt her fists bunching.
‘I am loath to leave, when my coming may have begun this,’ Sig said. ‘But I must return to Dun Seren first, tell Byrne of what is happening. There is more to this, I feel it, and I do not like the not knowing. The beacons – I suspect they were not confined to Ardain.’