Like the half-breed that attacked Israfil.
The pale gleam of white feathers reflected starlight as Ben-Elim appeared, the din of steel clashing, shapes swirling, Ben-Elim and Kadoshim spiralled through the night sky, stabbing and chopping and screaming at each other.
Bleda felt overwhelmed, chaos, confusion and death a whirling maelstrom all about. He felt he couldn’t breathe.
He turned and ran from the courtyard a dozen paces, a score, two score, the tumult receding quickly behind him. He paused, hands on his knees, sucking in deep breaths.
‘What are you doing?’ Jin said behind him. ‘Don’t leave, I want to watch!’
He felt better now, his head clearing, angry with himself. Ashamed of his fear.
The whisper of wings overhead, a swift shadow, and Bleda looked up, glimpsed a Kadoshim flying deeper into Drassil, carrying a figure in its arms, more of them, too dark to count.
Where are they going?
‘Get Alcyon,’ he said to Jin and ran off after the disappearing Kadoshim.
Within moments the streets were silent, the battle seemingly focused and contained within the courtyard. Bleda caught a glimpse of dull metal up above, more Kadoshim and half-breeds flying overhead, all clutching a warrior-passenger in their arms, moving in the same direction as he’d guessed the other ones to be flying. Deeper into the fortress.
Where?
And then he knew, as he ran skidding into another courtyard, this one all but empty, the huge domed walls of Drassil’s great keep rising before him. Bodies lay scattered upon the steps, a Kadoshim or two, some Dark-Cloaks, and White-Wings. Blood steamed, clouds of it in the cold night air.
And from out of the open doors echoed the sounds of battle.
Asroth.
Bleda had visited Drassil’s Great Hall on his very first day with Israfil. The Ben-Elim had shown him the iron-clad Asroth and Meical upon their dais before the trunk of the great tree. He had stood quietly and listened as Israfil told the story of the Seven Treasures, how both Asroth and Meical were encased by some dread spell during the Battle of Drassil, maybe alive, maybe dead, forever imprisoned, and under eternal guard. It had just seemed like a faery tale to him, an excuse for the Ben-Elim to enslave the people of the Banished Lands.
Until now.
Abruptly, terrifyingly, he entertained the thought that it was all true. That Asroth was real.
And the Kadoshim are here to free him.
Bleda ran, then, leaping up the wide stone steps, over the dead. At the open gates he stopped and peered in. The floor of the Great Hall was lit by huge iron braziers, blue flame blazing from giant oil, giving the chamber an eerie, dreamlike quality.
There was a guard of giants about the statues within, a score of them in ringmail, wielding war-hammers and axes, ranged in a half-circle before the dais upon which stood the statues of Asroth and Meical, and they were beset by Kadoshim, half-breeds, Dark-Cloaks, and . . . other things.
Some were men, shaven-haired warriors, fighting with a frenzied, heedless energy. But there were also human-like creatures, shambling and disjointed, arms too long for their bodies, nails curved and long as claws. Bleda saw three of them attacking a giant, acting like a pack of wolves, darting in and out with tooth and claw, hamstringing the giant and then ripping at his throat with their claws. As the giant fell, one of them raised his head and howled.
In the air of the great dome Ben-Elim flew, a dozen of them at least, though they were falling even as Bleda looked on, outnumbered and locked in swooping, spiralling aerial combat with Kadoshim.
Fear breathed upon his neck once more, a cold fist contracting in his belly.
This is not your fight. Kadoshim, Ben-Elim, they do not belong here. Let them kill each other, as Jin said, and rejoice in it.
It is not your fight.
He looked at the splayed corpse of a Kadoshim close to his feet, dead eyes staring, dark veins mapping its face and arms.
The Ben-Elim are bad, but these Kadoshim . . .
They are worse!
In his mind’s eye he saw the one in the courtyard, sword raised high, malice radiating from its every pore like mist. The thought of them setting Asroth free, of what they would do if they won against the Ben-Elim, sent shivers down his spine.
He looked over his shoulder, hoping to see Alcyon leading a host of giants and White-Wings into the courtyard. But there was only stillness and silence.
He reached into his quiver, pulled out three arrows and stepped into Drassil’s Great Hall.
On the floor below, many of the giants were down, the survivors drawing tighter about the iron-black statues of Asroth and Meical, Dark-Cloaks and the things with them throwing themselves at the giants, Kadoshim swooping down from above.
Bleda raised his bow, nocked and loosed without thinking; a Kadoshim shrieked, arching in mid-air, then tumbling, limbs loose, crashing to the stone floor. He paused, realizing it was the first time he had shot at a living foe, the first enemy life he had taken. The weight of that shivered through him.
Screams drew him back to himself. He shook his head and focused. Nocked an arrow and loosed again, a Dark-Cloak stumbling and falling, another arrow, another Dark-Cloak down.
More arrows from his quiver as he padded down the wide steps that led to the chamber’s floor. Another Dark-Cloak falling with an arrow in his back. Then a Kadoshim saw him, shrieking a warning, and some of the Dark-Cloaks on the ground looked up at him.
Half a dozen of them, more, turned and ran at him, the Dark-Cloaks screeching battle-cries, the beasts with them disturbingly silent.
Breathe. Don’t panic. It’s like shooting rats in the salt gorge.
Nock, draw, release. Nock, draw, release.
A Dark-Cloak down in a spray of blood. Another doubling over, an arrow in the gut.
Easier when they’re running straight at me.
Nock, draw, release.
Sparks as an arrowhead crunched into stone, his first miss.
Though the fact they’re coming to kill me isn’t helpful for my concentration.
An arrow thumping into a shoulder, spinning a Dark-Cloak.
Nock, draw, release. Nock, draw, release.
One of the shambling creatures dropped to one knee, Bleda’s arrow lodged in the meat between neck and shoulder. Another arrow skittering on stone, his second miss.
Jin would laugh to see those shots.