Riv slowed to a standstill and hovered for a moment, taking in the scene before her. The weapons-field of Drassil was a battleground. Fear snatched her breath away; she had told Aphra to come here, had arranged to meet her here because the eastern gate was only a few hundred paces from the weapons-field. She’d assumed the bulk of the fighting would have been between the main gate to the west and Drassil’s hall, further north. Her eyes frantically scanned the field.
Where is she?
Meical drew up alongside her.
Bodies littered the ground, dead or dying, a mixture of White-Wings, Cheren and acolytes.
The drum of hooves drew Riv’s eyes to the centre of the field, where Cheren riders, hundreds of them, were encircling a block of White-Wings. Riv glimpsed a familiar face behind a rectangular shield and her heart lurched in her chest.
Aphra.
Riv had hoped the Cheren would have held their position at Drassil’s main gate, but somehow a large body of them had made their way here, deep into the fortress.
The Cheren were constant motion, circling in a steady canter around the warriors on foot, losing a hail of arrows at them. Most of those thudded into the rectangular shields of the White-Wings’ shield wall, but Riv heard screams, saw gaps appear in the wall as arrows found cracks in their defence.
Elsewhere, Riv saw other knots of White-Wings, outnumbered and surrounded by shaven-haired acolytes of the Kadoshim.
A glance around her showed the skies were relatively clear; the Ben-Elim and Kadoshim’s aerial battle was happening elsewhere, over the southern and western regions of the fortress. With a pulse of her wings Riv flew higher. She flicked open the leather strap that held her Sirak bow in its case, gifted to her by Bleda. She snatched a handful of arrows from her quiver and began shooting at the Cheren riders.
She took no time to aim, just loosed arrow after arrow at the Cheren. They were riding in tight order, almost a solid wall around the White-Wings, so that it would have been hard for even Riv’s poor marksmanship to miss. She saw a horse jolt and rear, throwing its rider, another Cheren swaying with an arrow sprouting from their shoulder, another fall as blood spurted from their throat.
A beating of wings beside Riv.
“I thought escape was the plan, that we had no time to fight,” Meical said.
“I cannot leave them,” Riv grunted.
“Explain,” Meical snapped, as he gazed around the field.
“My mother leads those White-Wings,” Riv grated, nodding down towards the encircled shield wall.
Meical stared at the fighting warriors. “Tell me who to kill,” he said.
“The riders are our enemy, allied to the Kadoshim, and those with the shaven heads, they are Kadoshim acolytes, fanatics sworn to the Kadoshim’s service.”
Meical dipped his head, and then his wings were beating and he was speeding towards the Cheren riders, his sword held out straight before him.
Warriors amongst the Cheren realized they were under attack, some heads turning in her direction, seeing Meical speeding towards them.
Riv recognized one of the Cheren: a woman, shaven-haired apart from a dark warrior braid, sharp, proud eyes and intelligent features, features that Riv hated. Hot rage swept through her.
Jin.
Once-betrothed to Bleda, and now the new Queen of the Cheren since Bleda had cut her father’s throat. Jin had been due to wed Bleda. She had clearly loved him in her way, but now that love had transformed into a white-hot hatred, for both Bleda and Riv, because Jin had seen them together in a moonlit glade.
Riv saw the Queen of the Cheren shift her weight in her saddle, bow arm turning towards Meical. Riv knew how deadly Jin was with a bow.
Without thinking, Riv loosed her whole handful of arrows at Jin, reached into her quiver to snatch more. The first arrow flew over Jin’s head, the second slammed into her mount’s neck, the third into Jin’s thigh.
As her mount staggered, the arrow Jin had aimed at Meical flew wide. She snarled at the pain, gripping the arrow in her thigh and snapping its shaft. Her eyes searched the sky and met Riv’s.
Jin’s face shifted into a cold smile, a mutual hatred pulsing between them. Riv could see Jin shouting orders to her warriors, and half a dozen Cheren around her shifted in their saddles, their bows snapping towards Riv.
Uh-oh.
Cheren archers could take the eye from a hawk in flight.
I’m dead.
Then Meical slammed into the line of riders.
Cheren flew from their saddles with the impact, horses neighing and stumbling, breaking the Cheren line and flow. Meical’s wings beat, pulling him back, his longsword swinging in wide circles. Blood sprayed. Riv saw a head sail through the air, droplets of blood tracing a bloody arc.
Riv drew her wings in tight and dropped like a stone to the ground, restrapping her bow into its case. The air whistled past her cheek as another arrow flew above her head, then her wings were out and she was rushing to the ground, a pulse and shift of balance sending her skimming above the bodies of the fallen.
Jin was still upon her horse, shouting orders. Some of her warriors were replacing their bows in their cases and drawing swords to fight Meical, others further out moving to take aim at Riv.
She reached out a hand, snatched up a shield from a dead White-Wing and held it in front of her as she hurtled towards the Cheren, felt the drum of arrows thumping into the wood, one arrowhead bursting through, cutting the leather and linen of her glove to pierce flesh.
The pain just made Riv angrier.
More arrows punched into her shield, splinters of wood spraying in her face as she drew closer, the force of the arrows’ impact greater, and then she was amongst them, smashing the shield boss into a face, drawing one of her short-swords and slashing, blood spurting. Horses neighed and reared, the Cheren struggling to control their mounts. There was a glimpse of white feathers as Meical swirled amongst them, leaving death in his wake. Riv hacked her way to him, and together they fought amongst the Cheren, guarding each other’s back.
A battle roar made her look up. The sound of bodies crashing together, and the White-Wings were there, charging in perfect formation, a wall of shields carving into the Cheren.
“RIV!” a voice screamed, Aphra, and Riv veered towards her mother, with Meical following. The weight of the shield on Riv’s arm was like lead, but her rage carried her on, stabbing, spitting and snarling, and Cheren died before her.
And then Aphra was in front of her, dark hair close-cropped in the White-Wing style. Blood sheeted from a cut across her forehead, but her eyes were sharp and focused. They shared a fierce smile, Riv glimpsing her friends Vald and Jost in the shield wall that was reforming around Aphra.
Aphra bellowed a command and the shield wall took a step deeper amongst the Cheren riders, forcing a wedge, pressing their advantage as they stabbed with short-swords, carving bloody ruin. Horses screamed; one close to Riv reared and toppled, pinning its rider beneath it. The shield wall strode over them, swords stabbing down into the trapped warrior under their feet.
The Cheren circle broke apart. Shouted commands filtered through the roar and din of battle, and Riv saw the Cheren attempting to withdraw.
They need space for their bows to tell.
Aphra bellowed orders, trying to keep the Cheren engaged, to keep the shield wall amongst them.
Riv yelled wordlessly, leaping into the gap that was forming, dropping her splintered shield and dragging a Cheren warrior from her saddle, trying to maintain a link with their enemy, to foul their withdrawal and reformation. She punched her sword through a shirt of mail into the woman’s belly, twisted her blade as she ripped it free, throwing the warrior to the ground. But the Cheren were too good to be snared like this and, in heartbeats, a space was opening, widening. The Cheren were cantering away, their line reforming, swords slipping back into scabbards, bows emerging from their saddle-cases.
With a burst of strength, Riv flew after them and grabbed a trailing rider, dragging him from his mount, the warrior twisting, elbowing Riv in the mouth, the two of them falling to the ground as the horse galloped away. Riv spat and cursed, stabbed and punched, but the Cheren warrior avoided her blade and drew a knife. Then the man was being hauled away from her; Vald’s bulk was standing over them. His sword cut the Cheren’s throat and he cast the dying man away.
“You can’t kill them all single-handedly,” Vald said with a grin as he grabbed Riv’s wrist and pulled her to her feet.
A whistle of arrows and Vald turned, raising his shield over them. A drum of impact as arrows punched into wood.
“Fly,” Vald said to Riv.
“I’ll not leave you like a fish in a barrel,” she grunted.
Then more shields were slamming down around them: Aphra and her shield wall forming. Riv grinned at her mother.
“What now?” Jost’s voice called out.
Riv bunched her wings and launched herself skywards, rising above the shield wall, hovering to take in the field.
Below her, seventy or eighty shields were tight around Aphra, elsewhere combat still raged in smaller knots: handfuls of White-Wings trying to stand against a swarm of acolytes.
The shield wall can hold for a while against the Cheren, but it won’t be able to march and reach the East Gate. The Cheren are too accurate, will exploit the gaps in the wall that movement brings. And every moment we are held here we risk the Kadoshim and their dark creatures finding us.
Shadows flitted across the ground and Riv looked up.
Oh no.
Kadoshim and Ben-Elim, a rolling battle in the air that swept their way like wind-blown storm clouds. Some of the Ben-Elim surged down from the sky, spears and swords stabbing at the Cheren, who were turning, aiming their bows skywards.
Another roar rose from the west and Riv saw figures swarming into the field: men and women, even children, rushing into the weapons-field, snatching up the practice weapons that lay in racks and barrels. Riv recognized some of the traders she’d seen in Drassil’s streets, the ones she’d urged to head for the East Gate. There were many more of them now. They charged at the Cheren and Kadoshim acolytes. Riv felt a swell of pride at their bravery, these ordinary people. The Cheren line fractured again as swords were drawn to deal with this new foe.
“Now!” Riv shouted as she turned to Aphra. “To the East Gate, NOW!”
Aphra hesitated a moment, staring at the Cheren line.
Riv felt it, too, the compulsion to stay and fight. To help those brave people that had attacked the Cheren. But if they stayed, the end was inevitable. She had seen the Kadoshim war-host.
“NOW!” she bellowed again at Aphra.
Her mother stood a moment longer, then she was turning, yelling orders, and the White-Wings took off eastwards. Riv saw them smash into the rear of a few score acolytes and scatter them, freeing a beleaguered knot of White-Wings, who joined them in their dash for the East Gate.
Riv hovered a moment, looking back towards the Cheren and those brave souls who had rushed them.
I cannot leave them, she realized, and made towards them.
The Cheren had recovered from the surprise of that first onslaught and were setting about carving the people of Drassil into bloody strips.
Riv reached them, chopped into a Cheren’s neck, wrenched her sword free as she flew past. Meical scattered a handful of Cheren with his sword and wings.
“FLEE FOR THE EAST GATE!” Riv yelled to the people of Drassil around her. Some of them looked, breaking off from their combat, running for the gate.
A Ben-Elim and Kadoshim suddenly crashed to the ground in an explosion of feathers and dust.
In a heartbeat Riv and Meical were there, hovering. Together they stabbed down, piercing the Kadoshim’s torso. He screamed, wings spasming, and then flopped still. Meical dragged the corpse off the Ben-Elim and Riv reached down, gave the survivor her arm.
It was Hadran, the warrior Kol had set as Riv’s guardian during those early days in Drassil when she had been revealed as a half-breed. He staggered to his feet, sweat-stained and bloody.
“I am glad you are still alive,” he said to Riv.
“You almost weren’t,” she said, a flash of her fierce grin.
“My thanks,” he acknowledged, a dip of his head. Then his eyes shifted to Meical. He blinked, took a step back, eyes widening.
“Meical,” he breathed.
Meical stood before him, silent. Then nodded. “Hadran,” he said.
“But, if you’re…”
“Aye. Asroth walks amongst us,” Meical said grimly.
Hadran took another stumbling step backwards.
“Hadran.” Riv shook him. “Look at me. The battle is lost. Where’s Kol?”
The Ben-Elim’s eyes focused on her. “Up there.” Hadran gestured to the skies above them.
“Tell him of Asroth, tell him that we must flee now, live to fight another day.”
Riv saw shame ripple across Hadran’s face. “Flee the Kadoshim?” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “How has this happened?”
“No time to question,” Meical said, glancing at Riv. “Do as she says. This is one battle, not the war.” He stepped close to Hadran, gripped his wrist. “Do not sell your life on the Kadoshim here. Live, and gather as many of our kin as you can. This need not be the end.”
Hadran blinked, then nodded. “What of you?” he asked.
“I’m following her,” Meical said, then looked at Riv.
“The cabin in Forn,” Riv shouted to Hadran, and then she was leaping into the air.
Something drew Riv’s eye further westwards, to the wide entrance to the weapons-field.
A dark cloud appeared, spilling from the street beyond, rolling onto the field like a mist. She glimpsed figures moving within it.
Riv had seen the damage just one of those things could do. Shouting a warning, she watched in horror as it washed over the rear ranks of those who had attacked the Cheren.
The screaming followed quickly.
With a savage growl, Riv rose higher in the air. She knew there was no defeating those things right now. People were screaming, the sound of death and slaughter spreading fear through their ranks. They began to break apart and run, but with the Cheren before them and the mist behind, there was no escape.
Riv dived, seeing a familiar face, blond hair and terror-filled eyes. Tam, the child of a wool-trader. He had never looked at her, a half-breed, with fear or disgust, only awe and excitement—she had let him ride on her shoulders once. She grasped his hand and heaved him into the air.
In Riv’s arms the boy screamed as he watched the people he knew and loved slaughtered beneath them, but Riv knew there was nothing she could do against those creatures.
She turned and flew with all her strength, Tam’s cries filling her world. Tears flowed from her eyes as she beat her wings and sped after Aphra. Meical caught up with her and together they overtook the White-Wings, coming to the smaller East Gate. Riv set Tam upon the ground and moved to the gate. It was barred, but Riv and Meical made short work of it, heaving the iron bar out of its brackets and throwing it to the ground. They put their shoulders to the gates and thrust them open.
A tunnel led beneath Drassil’s thick walls. Light at the end of it revealed the empty plain beyond.
Riv turned and swept Tam back up into her arms. He was still crying.
Aphra reached them and Riv ushered her through, Jost and Fia, behind her, baby Avi strapped across Fia’s chest, then scores more White-Wings, sixty, eighty, a hundred, more. Each one of them nodded to Riv as they passed into the tunnel. She was pleased to see the old weapons-master Ert amongst them, old, white-bearded and limping, but his face set in resolute lines and his sword red to the hilt in his fist. Behind him came Sorch, the White-Wing she had fought with more than once, even carried into the air and threatened to drop him. His eyes fixed on the sobbing Tam and he drew to a halt before her.
“I’ll take him,” Sorch said gently. He reached out a hand to Tam.
“I’ve got him,” Riv said.
“You’re injured,” Sorch said, staring at her wings.
Riv frowned, glancing at herself. She was covered in blood, most of it not her own, although there were countless cuts and scratches on her limbs. She became aware of a dull ache in her back, from her wing. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that her wound from a Cheren arrow on the muscle of a wing-arch had reopened. It pulsed blood in time with her heartbeat.
“Won’t be able to fly far with that and extra baggage,” Sorch said with a small smile.
He bent down to Tam. “Trust me, little man, I’ll take care of you.”
“Go on,” Riv said, giving Tam a pat on the shoulder. “Sorch’ll look after you for now. I’ll catch up with you soon.”
Tam nodded and allowed Sorch to sweep him up, then without another word the big warrior was running into the gate tunnel.
Riv waited until the last of the survivors had passed through and then searched the ground and sky behind them.
Where is Vald?
Riv had not seen her friend pass through the gates.
Without thinking, she beat her wings, began to move back towards the weapons-field.
Combat was still raging in a few knotted clumps, but most of the field was dominated with the enemy.
“Where are you going?” Meical called to her.
“My friend,” she replied, hesitating. “I think he is out there.”
Meical joined her, staring at the field.
Even as they both looked, the last knot of defence collapsed.
“If he is, he is dead,” Meical said. He gripped Riv’s hand. “Live,” he said, “and avenge him.”
I do not fear death, she snarled inside her head. But to die here, now, would be pointless.
“Ach, Vald, you big bull,” Riv murmured.
“Revenge,” she said brusquely at the field. With Meical she retreated, closed the gates, reset the iron bar and took to the air, climbing higher and higher until they reached the top of Drassil’s walls. They hovered there a moment, looking back.
Drassil was in chaos, flames blooming, pillars of smoke curling into the sky.
It was hard, turning her back on her home, the place where she had grown up.
And now the Kadoshim have taken it from us. My home. I will come back here, Riv swore to herself, and when I do, I shall make a mountain from the corpses of my enemies.