Riv began the descent to Dun Seren, far below her.
The fortress was a dark smudge upon a green hill, the river Vold curling around its northern walls like the black carcass of a great serpent. Riv could hear horns blowing, see pinpricks moving upon walls. She glanced at Meical, who flew silently beside her, his face set in hard lines.
“They’ve seen us,” Riv shouted over the roar of air as they swept downwards. Meical stared ahead, eyes fixed on the fortress.
“That is Dun Seren?” he called to her, his face shifting, emotions rippling.
“Aye, you know it?”
“By another name. It was Gramm’s Hold then, a hall of timber and thatch, and it was in flames when I left it. Dun Seren,” he said, a smile ghosting his lips. “Fortress of the Star.”
“The Order of the Bright Star,” Riv corrected him.
Meical said nothing.
Riv did not know what to make of Meical. All her life she had seen him as a symbol of the fight against the Kadoshim. A literal image of that battle, locked in combat with Asroth for all to see. Though now, looking back, Riv realized that during all of her history and Lore lessons her Ben-Elim teachers had barely mentioned Meical or Corban. That was strange. And, judging by the words Meical had exchanged with Kol back at the cabin, something had happened to sour Meical’s relationship with his kin.
A flicker of white wings and Hadran overtook them, another dozen Ben-Elim with him. Kol had sent them with Riv and Meical, as protection against Kadoshim and half-breeds, Kol had said, but Riv knew that was no truth. Kol wanted to keep a leash on Meical. He was a threat.
If Kol doesn’t like Meical, or trust him, then that alone is a good reason for me to like Meical.
Riv felt no bond of daughterly love for her Ben-Elim father, who she knew would have slaughtered her as a child, had her mother Aphra not concealed her existence.
She knew Kol would have been here to watch Meical himself, but he had another task to accomplish. The debate at the cottage in the woods had swept back and forth for half a night about the best course of action. The next day they had separated, all going about their own tasks, each one vital. Each one dangerous.
I miss Bleda. Riv felt his absence like a punch in the gut. She had felt such a rush of joy at seeing him upon the wall at the cabin, after so much fear and death, and now they had been separated again. She pictured his face, his beautiful almond eyes, could for a heartbeat feel his fingers upon her bare skin, the sensation of his lips against hers.
I will see him again, she vowed.
Dun Seren was much closer now, the tower and courtyard clear, a crowd forming. Hadran led them down in a slow spiral, making sure that all below could see that they were Ben-Elim, that their wings were white feathers, not leather and gristle, like the Kadoshim.
They circled above the courtyard and touched down between the statue in the centre of the yard and the wide stone steps that led up to the keep. Riv saw Ethlinn and Balur One-Eye emerge from the keep’s shadows and could not keep the smile from her face at seeing the old giant. Byrne, High Captain of the Order, emerged between them. Riv felt nothing but respect for the woman who had bested Kol in this very courtyard, not so long ago, to Riv’s surprise and great satisfaction.
Others were with Byrne. A slender giant Riv remembered as Tain. Craf the old crow was on his shoulder. There were five human warriors as well, a dark-skinned woman and four men. One she recognized: Drem. He had been the reason Kol and Byrne had fought—some old grievance between the Ben-Elim and the Order of the Bright Star.
Byrne saw Riv and dipped her head in a greeting.
Hadran stepped ahead of Riv and the other Ben-Elim, and took a few paces up the steps towards Byrne.
“Drassil has fallen. Asroth is free,” he said, loud enough for all to hear.
Gasps and oaths muttered around the courtyard. Byrne jolted to a stop, her face turning ashen.
“No,” Ethlinn said.
Balur One-Eye made a growling sound.
Riv looked around for Meical and realized he was not standing with her or the other Ben-Elim. He was standing behind her, gazing sadly up at the statue in the courtyard, of a warrior and a wolven.
Corban, the founder of the Order, and his wolven, Storm.
Riv stepped close to Meical, saw that his lips were moving, though she could not hear what he was saying.
A loud squawking filled the courtyard.
“MEICAL, MEICAL, MEICAL,” and Riv saw the old crow on Tain’s shoulder hopping up and down and flapping his scraggly wings.
Meical turned and stepped out from behind the Ben-Elim. He smiled at the exuberant crow.
“I did not expect to see you here, Craf,” Meical said, striding up the steps. He stopped before Byrne and dipped his head.
“You must be Byrne,” he said, “the High Captain of this Order.”
“I am,” Byrne said, no emotion on her face. “And you are Meical. I have seen you before, frozen in starstone metal.” She took a long moment to study his face, holding his gaze.
“I am free, now,” he said. He rolled his shoulders and looked from Byrne to Ethlinn. “It is good to see you, Lady.”
“And not so good to see you,” Ethlinn replied, “for to see you means that a hundred years has been undone. Asroth is free.”
“Aye, he is,” Meical said. “But that means he is also free to die. To be sent back to the Otherworld, once and for all.”
Riv liked the sound of that.
“And you, old One-Eye,” Meical said. “It is good to see you, too.”
Balur stared at Meical with his one eye, a scowl on his face.
“You caused us a lot of trouble,” Balur grunted.
“I did,” Meical said, a pinching of his eyes.
“Corban said Meical redeemed himself, at the end,” Ethlinn reminded him gently, reaching a hand out and resting it on Balur’s arm.
Balur nodded. “And that is why I have not taken this winged man’s head,” he growled. “But still…”
Craf flapped his wings and took off from Tain’s shoulder. The bird rose unsteadily, winged through the air, a few feathers drifting down to the ground, and landed on Meical’s shoulder.
“Meical good friend,” the crow croaked. “Craf saw Meical save Corban, fight Asroth.”
Meical scratched Craf’s head.
“No, Craf, it was Corban who saved me,” Meical said.
“Corban saved us all,” Craf squawked. “And Cywen.”
“The victory was won by many,” Ethlinn said.
Riv looked at Meical. That’s not how most Ben-Elim would have us know it. They told us they were the saviours of humankind. There was little mention of Corban and his followers…
“How is it that there’s still breath in your beak, old friend?” Meical said to Craf.
“Secret,” Craf cawed, with a touch of smugness to his tone.
“There is much to speak on,” Byrne interrupted. “War is upon us. Hadran, Meical, join us in council, there is much we need to discuss.” She paused, eyes shifting to Riv. “And you, too,” she added.
Horns blew loud behind Riv, from the gate tower.
“Riders approaching,” a voice boomed down to them.