by John Gwynne
‘There has long been a White-Wing garrison at Haldis,’ Fritha said. ‘It has always been around a thousand strong.’
‘Aye,’ grunted Aenor. He had served at Haldis, long ago.
The sound of wings beating outside the tent and Morn alighted beyond the entrance. She didn’t block out as much light as Gulla as she swept inside, her frame shorter and broader than her father’s.
‘My King,’ she said to Asroth, dipping her head.
‘Sit,’ he said, nodding at a chair, and then Morn was sitting at the table, beside Fritha.
‘Continue,’ Asroth said to Fritha.
‘We found evidence of a large force heading south. The tracks were old.’
‘How old?’ Asroth asked.
‘Hard to tell,’ Fritha said, looking at Arn.
‘Maybe a moon, could be longer,’ Arn said.
Asroth nodded. ‘And where are they going, these White-Wings?’
Fritha took a sip of her wine. ‘They travelled south. We have long thought that our Ben-Elim enemy would have fled south to Ripa, where the White-Wings have their largest fortifications outside of Drassil. It would make sense that these White-Wings were going there, too. Perhaps they heard news of Drassil’s fall. Ripa is the obvious place for them to regroup.’
Asroth leaned back in his chair, sipping thoughtfully from his cup of wine. He turned his heavy-lidded gaze onto Morn.
‘And what news do you bring me, child of the Kadoshim?’
‘There is life in Brikan,’ Morn said, colouring at Asroth’s words.
Asroth cocked his head, inviting more.
‘There are warriors on the walls, though I did not see many. I would guess there is a skeleton garrison left at Brikan,’ Morn said.
‘You would guess,’ Asroth said. ‘You flew a long way to guess.’
Morn’s face flushed even redder. She looked at the ground.
‘I was ordered not to set foot on the ground,’ Morn said sullenly.
‘By whom?’ Asroth said, his voice cold.
‘By me,’ Gulla answered, his voice a rasp. ‘For her safety.’
Asroth stared from Morn to Gulla.
‘My eyes are good,’ Morn said. ‘I saw much. Warriors of the Order of the Bright Star, curse them.’ She spat. ‘I counted fifty, on the walls, the bridge, the courtyard, a patrol along the riverbank.’
‘The Order of the Bright Star fielded a sizeable warband in the north,’ Fritha said. ‘I should know, I fought them.’
‘And lost to them,’ Gulla said quietly.
‘So, it is likely the numbers at Brikan are low,’ Fritha continued, ignoring Gulla.
Asroth sighed.
‘It would be foolish to march beyond Brikan with our eyes fixed on the south,’ he said, carefully putting his cup of wine on the table. He sat up straight, slipping his leg off the arm. ‘That would leave enemies at my back. And I am no fool,’ he said, his smile and relaxed demeanour vanished. He looked from Fritha to Aenor, to Gulla.
‘But, it would be a shame to halt our march south, as well,’ he said after a moment’s silence. ‘I will send a force west. Strong enough to overcome any resistance.’ He drank more of his wine.
‘Gulla, take as many of your Revenants as you need and ensure that Brikan is filled only with corpses.’
‘Yes, my King,’ Gulla said.
‘That will be good, it might leave some food in the forest for the rest of us to hunt,’ Fritha said, sharing a look with Aenor.
Feeding a warband on the march was not easy, especially when there were ten thousand Revenants lurking in the darkness of Forn, eating their way through the forest’s population; whatever manner of beast or bird, the Revenants were sucking the animal population of Forn dry.
Better than turning on us, I suppose, Fritha thought. She was acutely aware that Gulla and his Revenants outnumbered the rest of Asroth’s warband two to one.
Gulla turned his one eye upon Fritha.
‘There is food enough in the forest for all of us,’ he said in his grating hiss of a voice.
Asroth waved his hand, dismissing the subject as if he found it boring. ‘Gulla, be quick with this task. I am eager to be out of this forest. Does it go on forever? How much longer until we reach our destination?’ He waved his hand again. ‘Ripa? I am eager to catch Meical, Kol and the rest of the Ben-Elim maggots and make them pay for their crimes.’
‘At this pace we will not see the Bay of Ripa before Hunter’s Moon,’ Aenor said.
‘Three moons.’ Asroth frowned, then he shrugged.
‘If we had horses, my King,’ Aenor said.
Another sore subject, Fritha thought, but she said nothing, thinking she had goaded Gulla enough.
‘It will take as long as it takes,’ Asroth said. He looked at Gulla. ‘And Sulak is in the south?’
‘Yes, my King,’ Gulla said. ‘With our allies.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Asroth smiled. ‘I am looking forward to meeting them.’
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
RIV
Riv dropped through cloud, moisture coating her wings, glistening on her mail, and then she was through it, the land spread like a tapestry below her. Forn Forest lay to the east, an endless ocean of green, while below her lay multi-hued meadows dissected by glistening streams. They wound their way to the river Rhenus, which the warband had recently crossed.
Close to three and a half thousand warriors of the Order of the Bright Star.
At first they had headed east from Dun Seren, taking the road to Drassil, but little more than a ten-night into their journey crows had returned, bringing the news that Drassil was empty, Asroth and his warband marching south.
Riv had wanted to fly to Drassil, to scout it out and see for herself what the Kadoshim had made of her home. But Byrne had forbidden it.
‘The skies are dangerous,’ Byrne had said. ‘No longer are they the sole domain of the Ben-Elim. Best to send Craf’s crows. I imagine a murder of crows already fills the sky wherever the Kadoshim go.’
Riv knew that Byrne’s logic was sound, although she was not so keen on being ordered.
Still, I am a warrior of the Bright Star, now, she thought, one hand brushing the cloak brooch at her shoulder. I have to take the bad with the good.
The warband below her was heading south, skirting the edges of Forn Forest, their destination Ripa, far in the south.
Ripa. Where Aphra waits for me.
Riv felt a flush of happiness at the thought of her mother. She had never gone so long without seeing her.
And Kol, my father.
That was not a reunion she was looking forward to.
Though I am looking forward to telling him that I’ve joined the Order of the Bright Star.
A figure swept into her peripheral vision, dark-winged Faelan. He flew closer to her, nodded a greeting, then pointed at the ground.
‘Time for the next shift,’ he shouted to her.
Byrne had put the warriors with wings into teams, three units to scout the skies immediately about the warband. The crows travelled further afield. The winged warrior units were to rotate in shifts, to prevent exhaustion.
‘Battle could fall upon us at any time,’ Byrne had said. ‘We must be ready, and not exhausted from flying every hour of the day.’
Riv had shrugged at that. She loved to fly, but the logic made sense to her.
She raised a hand to Faelan and he grinned at her, then he was turning a wing and veering left, banking to round up the rest of his unit. Riv dipped her head and began a spiralling descent to the ground. Queen Nara was at the head of the warband, her warriors taking the vanguard today. Beyond them small specks dotted the ground, Riv’s sharp eyes picking out solitary riders and wolven-hounds loping through meadows and groves, the hunters of Dun Seren scouting the land. Branches shook in the eaves of Forn and she saw Drem upon his white bear. Then she was turning and looping down towards Byrne and Ethlinn, ready to make her report.
Riv dipped a chunk of dark bread in
to her bowl of pottage stew. She was about to put it into her mouth when she stopped, turning to look at Cullen.
He had his own bowl of stew, and just like Riv he had dipped his bread into it. Now he was sucking on that bread, slurping, pottage dribbling down his chin.
Riv felt her face twist in disgust.
Cullen must have felt her eyes on him, for he looked at her.
‘What?’ he said.
‘You eat like a pig,’ Riv snarled.
‘Aye.’ Cullen shrugged. ‘But I kiss like an angel.’ He gave her his broad smile, stewed barley stuck between his teeth.
Riv stared at him, unblinking.
‘That’s not funny,’ she said.
Cullen’s eyes dropped, downcast. ‘Wasn’t trying to be funny,’ he muttered.
‘Ignore him, he’s an idiot,’ Keld said. The old huntsman was standing with his two wolven-hounds.
‘Eat your stew,’ Cullen said, waving a bowl at Keld.
‘When I’m done,’ Keld said.
Riv looked at Keld, and the two wolven-hounds standing next to him. They were huge, of a height with Keld’s chest, and broadly muscled as well, their muzzles shorter than a wolven, jaws broader. Riv remembered seeing them tearing chunks out of Revenants.
‘I’m glad they’re on our side,’ she said.
‘Ah, these two, they’re the best of friends to their pack, the worst of enemies to any that try to harm their pack.’ He smiled. ‘They’re my babies.’ Keld grunted as he unbuckled coats of mail from them.
‘That’s quite the job, each morning and night,’ Riv said.
‘Aye, it is,’ Keld said. ‘But it’s worth it. Once upon a time I would only pull their ringmail out if we were going into battle, but these days . . .’ He looked up at the trees of Forn looming in the east, a darker wall of shadow as twilight settled about them. ‘With Revenants and who knows what lurking in the dark places, it’s safer this way,’ he muttered.
‘Aye,’ Drem said as he strode into their small camp. It was one of a hundred fires burning within the picket-line of the warband, spread over half a league of land. Drem had a bag slung across his back stuffed full with his white bear’s coat of mail. ‘Friend has a coat of mail, too. We all saw what the Revenants did to them. Mail is worth its weight in gold; it stopped a Revenant making a meal of me. Alcyon helped me make this. Most of it we patched together from other bears’ coats. Bears that fell, that night.’
Riv knew exactly what night he was speaking of, could still remember all too vividly the dead bears littering the courtyard, Revenants swarming over them like flies.
Drem dropped the sack of mail onto the ground. ‘Wish it wasn’t so heavy, though,’ he grunted.
Keld took the bowl Cullen was waving at him, and Drem ladled himself a bowl from the pot hanging over their fire. They both came and sat down.
Riv was not sure why she found herself at their fire each night, when Hadran and Meical were always inviting her to eat with them. She had spent time with Faelan as well; the two of them had so many questions for each other. But when evening and tiredness began to set in, Riv always found herself searching out the company of these three men. Perhaps it was their easy way with each other that she found settling, reminding her of her own kin and friends.
Keld threw a crust of bread to his wolven-hounds. The red-furred one, Ralla, jumped and snapped it out of the air before Fen had opened his jaws.
‘Ach, you’re getting slow, my lad,’ Keld said, waving a crust at the slate-grey wolven-hound. The hound padded over to Keld, took the bread and rubbed his head against Keld’s shoulder, nearly knocking the huntsman over.
The pad of footsteps, and figures walked into their camp. Byrne, with Meical and Hadran.
‘I thought you’d be here,’ Byrne said with a nod to Riv.
‘We’ve been looking for you,’ Meical said.
Keld stood and offered them bowls of stew. Byrne took one, and the ladle, too, filling her own bowl and offering some to Meical and Hadran.
‘Meical wishes to leave us,’ Byrne said. ‘He thinks word needs to be taken to Ripa; of us. Of Asroth’s war-host.’
‘There is news of that?’ Cullen asked.
‘Aye. Our crows have returned. Asroth moves down Lothar’s Road. He is almost at the southern fringes of Forn.’
Riv was silent, she knew what was coming.
‘Meical wishes for you to fly with him.’
‘Riv’s one of us, now,’ Cullen said. ‘She doesn’t need to go flying off half a thousand leagues.’
‘You’re right, Cullen,’ Byrne said. ‘You are one of us,’ she said, looking at Riv over the fire. ‘Meical suggested that you might want to go, as you have kin in Ripa. Rather than discuss this behind your back, I thought it best to find you and ask. If you wished to go, I wanted you to know that there is no problem with that; I would give you leave.’
Riv nodded, thinking over Byrne’s words.
‘Aphra I do long to see,’ Riv said. ‘Kol, not at all.’
‘I can understand that,’ Byrne said with a grimace.
‘I would like you to fly with us,’ Meical said. ‘I feel that you have been at the heart of this, since I have been awakened. And –’ he smiled – ‘you could be the representative of this Order. The thought of Kol’s face . . .’
Hadran coughed into his bowl of stew.
Riv grinned at that.
He won’t be too happy that I’ve swapped the white wings for the star.
‘It’s true, a representative of the Order of the Bright Star in Ripa would be good,’ Byrne said, a half-smile on her face. ‘I could not send Faelan. I fear he would kill Kol within half a sentence of their first conversation.’
‘Not the best way to begin an alliance,’ Meical observed.
Riv smiled. ‘I will go,’ she said, then dipped her head to Byrne. ‘My thanks.’
‘You are welcome,’ Byrne said, a warm smile, rare from her, softening her hardness. ‘But come back to us.’
‘Of that there is no doubt,’ Riv said, already a sadness in her gut at the thought of leaving these people.
‘Good,’ Meical said, ‘then we will fly with the sun.’
‘One thing I would ask of you,’ Byrne said, standing. ‘Stop at Brikan, our outpost in Forn. There are a hundred and fifty of our Order there. Tell them of what is happening. Have them prepared to leave. Tell them we will be there in a ten-night, at most.’
‘I will,’ Meical grunted. He looked to Riv. ‘We fly at dawn,’ he said, as he and Hadran followed Byrne out of the firelight.
Riv sat and stared into the flames a while, her thoughts filled with Aphra and Kol, of Jost and Fia and her White-Wing friends. And of Bleda.
Ah, Bleda, where are you? she thought. Will I find you in Ripa? That thought sent moths fluttering inside her belly.
‘Don’t know why Meical thinks he can drag you halfway across the Banished Lands,’ Cullen muttered as he poured himself another bowlful of stew. ‘Feels safer with you in the sky above us.’
‘Faelan and his kin are here,’ Riv said. ‘They guard the skies.’
‘Well, it’s not the same,’ Cullen said. ‘They’re not . . . you.’
Riv looked at Cullen, slightly confused.
‘What Cullen is trying to say, lass,’ Keld said, ‘is that we shall all miss you.’
‘Aye, that is what I said.’
‘No, it isn’t.’ Drem pulled a face.
Riv looked at them, realized she had come to care for these three.
‘I shall miss you, too,’ she said.
‘Ach, it’s all right, lass,’ Keld said, patting her knee. ‘We are brothers and sisters in arms, we four.’ He looked at Drem and Cullen. ‘I’ve had something on my mind to say, but have been thinking on it a while. Your departure makes this a good time to speak of it, I suppose.’
‘What?’ Riv and Cullen said together. Drem sat silent, intently focused as always.
‘At the Order of the Bright Star we often form a cre
w,’ Keld said to Riv. ‘We recently lost someone, someone dear to us. She was a good lass—’
‘Lass!’ Drem exclaimed. ‘She was two hundred and forty years old.’
‘Aye, well. She was the best of us, brave and fierce, like you, Riv. Maybe not quite so . . .’ he paused, looked like he was trying to think of the right word. ‘Spontaneous,’ he said.
Drem cracked a smile at that.
‘Ha.’ Riv laughed. ‘You mean angry.’
Keld shrugged. ‘We’ve one hot-head already, why not two? What I’m saying, lass, is that you’d be welcome in our crew.’ He looked at Drem and Cullen. ‘I haven’t asked these lads, yet, but I’m certain of their answer.’
Drem and Cullen nodded.
‘You’d be welcome,’ Cullen said.
‘Aye,’ Drem agreed.
Riv looked at all three of them, felt a swell of emotion in her chest, and her eyes blurred with tears. For so long now, she had felt alone. The Ben-Elim had taught her that she was an abomination. Her temper had lost her friends, caused her to fail her warrior trial, and yet these three saw past all of that.
‘I would be honoured,’ she said.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
BLEDA
Bleda reined in his mount, staring at the river that cut across their path. It was wide and slow.
‘A big river,’ Ellac observed.
‘Aye,’ Bleda agreed. He twisted in his saddle and looked back, over the heads of his warband to the dust cloud that hovered in the distance, marking Jin’s pursuit behind him.
‘They are still following,’ Ellac said. ‘And getting closer.’
Bleda looked at Ellac.
‘I know,’ he said.
They had ridden south-west for a ten-night, a fast pace, though not as fast as Bleda would have liked. They had around a hundred and eighty spare mounts, and between nine hundred and eighty-three riders that was not particularly helpful. Even less, when a dozen of those spare mounts were carrying provisions and bundles of arrows gathered from the Cheren they had slain. The initial gap that Bleda had opened between him and Jin’s following warband had closed steadily over the last seven days.
