‘This message is for the eyes of Sig, and for Byrne, of the Order of the Bright Star. If either of you still live. I am Drem, son of Olin, who was once a warrior of your Order. I have only discovered this recently, and also that I am blood-kin to Byrne. I am writing to tell you both that my father, Olin, is dead. I suspect he was murdered, and I don’t know what to do. Strange things.’ Sig paused there, looking up at them. ‘The word strange has been scored through here, replaced with sinister,’ she said, then looked back to the parchment.
‘Sinister things are happening. Men and women abducted, bound and slain, a great bonfire. Newcomers with murder in their hearts. I don’t know what to do. I know that my da was part of your Order, once, though he walked away a long time ago, and he has spoken to me of you, Byrne, and you, Sig, with great affection. If that counts for anything, after so many years have passed, then I would ask for your help. I would ask you to help me bring my da justice. I have thought on leaving Kergard and coming to you in person, but my heart will not let me leave while my da is unavenged.’
Sig looked up, feeling her blood stir, a cold anger, a white flame in her belly. A silence filled the stable.
‘Little Drem,’ Keld whispered, ‘Byrne’s nephew. The Ben-Elim wanted him as a ward, and Byrne said no. You used to sit him on the Stone of Heroes so that he’d stop chopping at your shins while you were teaching sword-skills.’
‘Aye.’ Sig smiled at the memory.
‘What do you want to do?’ Cullen asked.
‘I’m going to do as he asks,’ Sig said, ‘Byrne wants her nephew back – I’ve had to talk her out of coming with me. She’s needed here with all that’s happening. It sounds as if the Kadoshim are moving in the Desolation as well, so I’m going to poke a nose in and see what I can find. And more than that, I’m going to find some justice for my sword-brother and friend, Olin, and I’m going to bring Drem back to Dun Seren. He’s one of us. Was born here. This is his home.’ She looked at them both. ‘I’m asking you both to come with me. You’re my crew.’ She shrugged. ‘You don’t have to. I know what the morrow is, would not think less of either of you for wanting to stay.’
‘Of course I’m coming,’ Keld said, tightening his belt and looking for a cloak, as if he were going to walk out and head north right then and there.
‘But, what about Midwinter’s Day? The Remembrance? The feast. The drinking!’ Cullen said.
‘We’ll leave on the morrow, stay for the Naming, be away right after, long before highsun.’
‘But, the evening feast, the toast to the fallen,’ Cullen said. He knew the weight that Sig put upon honouring their fallen sword-kin, but Sig suspected he also looked forward to the evening feast for his own reasons.
‘It is good and right to honour the dead,’ Sig said. ‘But I’ll not turn my back on a brother that needs us.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
RIV
Crows lurched into the air at Riv’s arrival in the town square, squawking a raucous protest as they abandoned their grisly feast. A choked cry escaped from Riv’s lips as she stared at the mound of heads. It stood twice as tall as her, wide at the base, steam curling up in clouds from the rotting skulls. Most had red holes for eyes, flesh ripped and torn into tatters, the dull gleam of bone beneath. A stench of decay and putrefaction rolled out from the mound clawing into Riv’s nose and mouth like rotting fingers. She retched, turned away and vomited onto the dirt.
There was the sound of marching footsteps, growing louder, and somewhere above and behind her the rush of air, the beating of wings. The scrape of a sword drawn from its scabbard.
‘Turn around, slowly,’ a voice said behind her, calm and cold. ‘Reach for your blade and you’ll die.’
A jolt of fear like bright sunlight burned through the red haze that had been driving her feet and fogging her head. Suddenly cold to her toes, Riv turned slowly, making sure her hands stayed well away from her belt and the hilt of her dagger.
Kol was staring at her, white wings flexed, ready for flight, a bright sword levelled at her chest.
‘Riv!’ he said, a frown marring his scarred face. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
What have I done? Think I’m going to save Aphra all on my own. Think I’m the hero of every story, she berated herself. I’m just an idiot girl who’s ruled by her childish temper. Israfil is never going to allow me to pass my warrior trial.
‘What are you doing here?’ the Ben-Elim asked suspiciously.
‘Being an idiot,’ Riv muttered. ‘I was worried about Aphra,’ she added, fully aware of how stupid she sounded.
‘You were given orders,’ Kol said.
‘Aye,’ Riv said. ‘I broke them.’
A silence, Kol’s gaze intense, boring into her.
‘Rules are not iron, and breaking them not always a sin,’ he said.
Riv blinked at that. It was not the answer she’d been expecting from a Ben-Elim.
The noise of the approaching White-Wings filled the town square, almost upon them now. Kol’s eyes twitched from Riv to the street the White-Wings were advancing from, then back to Riv.
‘Get out of here,’ Kol said, jerking his head towards the street she’d run through to get here. ‘Quickly; if you’re seen, I can’t help you.’
Riv didn’t need any more encouragement. She leaped forwards, sprinting out of sight just as the first row of the White-Wings’ shield wall entered the courtyard. Slamming herself against a wall, she looked back, saw Kol give a beat of his wings and glide twenty paces towards the skulls. The White-Wings spread into the town square, scouts breaking off to search buildings, looking for any potential ambush, and other Ben-Elim dropped down from the skies.
Aphra appeared with her guard; orders were given, smaller units of tens breaking away, marching to the outskirts of the square, setting secure perimeters while Aphra, weapons drawn and prepared for battle, led her warriors past the mound of heads, their booted feet thudding on the timber steps of the feast-hall. Then she was disappearing into the shadowed doors, Riv straining her ears, heart beating heavy as a drum in her head.
Be safe, be safe, Riv pleaded, eyes flitting back to the mound of heads.
Whoever, or whatever, did this might still be here, might be waiting in the shadows of that feast-hall.
Aphra appeared in the doorway, sheathing her sword, and signalled that the building was clear. Riv released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
There was the sound of more feet as the second hundred of White-Wings marched into the courtyard, led by Garidas. They split into smaller units, continuing the search of buildings and alleys around the courtyard, moving on towards the far end, and to where Riv was lurking.
Time to go.
Riv turned and ran back towards where she determined the main gates were. As she drew close she heard familiar voices, saw Jost and the other helpers moving into the town now that perimeters were set. She made her way as close as she could to them, always hugging the shadows, light and silent on her feet. As they passed her by, she stepped out and rejoined them. Jost pulled a relieved face.
‘Thank Elyon you’re back,’ he whispered. ‘There’s only so long I can tell people you’re on a latrine break.’
‘Thanks,’ she said and grinned at him.
Riv sat close to Aphra, who was engaged in deep conversation with Garidas, Lorina and Kol.