Riv gave Drem a fierce grin, her wings and limbs trembling. Then she punched her sword into the air and the survivors in the chamber were cheering, echoing louder and louder. Drem felt a moment of relief and elation, the realization that he’d looked death in the eye and survived, again. That was followed by a wave of exhaustion.
He looked down. Cullen was lying still on the ground.
Drem dropped to one knee, put his hand to Cullen’s neck, searching for a pulse. For a long, agonizing moment he couldn’t find it, but then, faint but steady, he felt it.
Cullen groaned.
A fist unknotted in Drem’s belly.
I would not be losing you, Cullen.
His own wounds were clamouring for attention, the claw marks on his leg the worst, a pain that throbbed with each beat of his heart. He tore a strip from his linen undershirt and quickly bound the wound, then checked himself over, found a few sets of puncture wounds from Revenant teeth on his arms, and blew out a relieved sigh that Arvid was dead.
The bears will be all right, now, he thought.
Close by, Shar dropped to her knees besides Utul’s body. She lifted him, cradling his head in her lap, and stroked his face. Tears streaked lines through the grime on her cheeks.
There is no coming back for Utul. Drem felt a deep wave of grief for the warrior. He had not known him long, but he’d liked him, had felt that Utul was a man he could trust. And now he’s gone. He could not pull his eyes away from Shar, holding Utul on her lap, her tears falling onto him. Their position dragged Drem back over half a year and sixty leagues north into the Desolation, to him kneeling beside his father, holding Olin as he died.
So much death.
Keld limped over to him, one side of his face covered in blood. A flap of skin was hanging from his temple.
“That’ll need stitching,” Drem said, tearing another strip of linen from his undertunic.
“Aye, soon enough,” Keld said. His hounds were with him. Both were matted with blood. Drem saw puncture wounds on Fen’s chest.
“Cullen?” Keld asked him.
“Unconscious. Cracked his skull when he fell with a Revenant on his back. But he’s breathing.”
“I’m not unconscious,” Cullen croaked. “Help me up.”
The relief in Keld was obvious.
“What did I miss?” Cullen groaned, trying to sit up. “My head hurts. Where’s my sword?”
“You dropped it, again,” Keld said, kneeling beside them both. “And it’s a fine time to be sleeping on the job. The fight’s done now, no need to rush.”
“Done?” Cullen said. “But I haven’t killed Arvid yet.”
“Riv beat you to that,” Drem said, as he wrapped his strip of linen around Keld’s face, holding up the flap of skin.
“Damn it,” Cullen muttered. “That’s not fair, she’s got wings. We had to cut our way through a hundred of these things—” he prodded a dead Revenant next to him—“to even get close to Arvid.”
“Riv did her fair share of Revenant-fighting,” Keld said, “don’t be worrying about that.”
“Still,” Cullen muttered, picking at blood that was scabbing on his head, “I wish I had wings.”
Fen licked Cullen’s face.
“Ach,” Cullen muttered, “your breath smells.”
“He’s been chewing on Revenants, what do you expect?” Keld ruffled Fen’s fur. Ralla pushed in for some attention, too. Drem scratched her neck.
Byrne appeared, looking down on them. She rested a hand on Drem’s shoulder. A long look from her as she assessed their wounds, and then she nodded.
“You’ll live,” she said.
“Aye, though Keld may as well be dead, with his pretty looks all ruined,” Cullen said.
Keld cuffed Cullen across the back of his head.
Byrne shook her head and strode away, threading her way to Riv, who was still standing over Arvid’s corpse.
Byrne put a hand on Riv’s shoulder and smiled at her.
“You saved us tonight,” Byrne said. “Saved more than you know. We are in your debt.”
Riv shuffled her feet, looked at the ground.
“We fought together,” Riv said. “I was just the first to pin Arvid down. I got lucky.”
No, you weren’t, Drem thought, looking at Utul and Shar. Luck had nothing to do with it. And Utul and Shar are blade-masters. He looked at Utul. Was.
Meical and the Ben-Elim landed around Riv and Byrne.
“Thank you,” Byrne said to them.
“We are allies,” Meical said, then paused, looked into Byrne’s eyes. “And friends, I hope.” He offered his arm.
Byrne looked at him, then down to his arm. A hush fell over the chamber.
“Aye, friends,” Byrne said, taking his arm in the warrior grip.
“Good,” Meical said. “I hoped to right a wrong I committed against Corban. I feel now that I have.”
“You fought with me, bled with me. Risked your life.” Byrne shrugged. “That is the most any man or woman can do.”
“So, there are no thanks needed between us,” Meical said. “But there are questions that need answering.” He looked up.
Shadowed figures circled near the ceiling.
Byrne gazed up at them and nodded.
“Faelan,” she called out.
A winged figure flew into the air from the tunnel that led out of the chamber, slow, powerful beats of his dark wings. Others fell in behind him, swooping down from the shadows, thirty, forty, more of them. The one Byrne had called Faelan circled above them and landed before Byrne. He was shorter than the Ben-Elim, though broader, his hair and eyes dark, where the Ben-Elim were fair. Clothed in mail and a hunter’s belt, quiver, knife, axe in loops on the belt, a sword in his fist.
“Who are you?” Meical asked, frowning.
Faelan looked at Meical, dark brows knotting. Slowly he looked away, at Byrne.
“I am no friend to the Ben-Elim, and I do not answer to them,” he said. His voice was strange to Drem, deep and halting, as if he didn’t use it much.
Abruptly there was a tension in the air, a score of Faelan’s kin alighting behind him, all glowering at Meical and the surviving Ben-Elim.
“Peace,” Byrne said, holding a hand up and stepping forwards. “You cannot judge all Ben-Elim the same. These are my allies.” She looked at Meical. “And my friends.”
“They are not my friends,” Faelan said, looking Meical up and down.
“I am no Ben-Elim,” Riv said, stepping forwards. Her wings rippled, dapple grey. “And Meical is my friend.”
Faelan looked at Riv, eyes widening as he took in her wings.
“Then things have changed in the world,” he said.
“Ha, that is a truth.” Meical laughed. “A moon ago I was imprisoned in iron.”
Another blink from Faelan as he stared at Meical. “You are… Meical? Who fought Asroth?”
“Aye, I am Meical. And I still fight Asroth. I’d fight alongside you, if you’d allow it.”
Faelan stared at Meical, his frown returning.
“This is a conversation for another time,” Byrne said. “Faelan, you held these creatures. My thanks. I was worried for you.”
“We would never let you down,” Faelan said. “We owe a great deal. I have something for you.” He sheathed his sword and dropped to one knee before Byrne, hands reaching inside his cloak. He pulled out a leather-bound book and offered it up to Byrne.
“Ha, you are a good friend to have, Faelan,” Byrne said. “And never, ever kneel to me,” she added, putting a hand under his arm and pulling him to his feet.
Faelan rose, Byrne taking the book from him and embracing him.
“Well, I’m glad that’s done,” Cullen whispered to Drem and Keld. “Now can we go and find something to drink? I’ve worked up a thirst.”