“Has there been any sign of Bleda?” Riv asked Aphra, who was striding in front of her through the warren of the White-Wings’ camp beyond the walls of Ripa.
“No,” Aphra said, looking over her shoulder. She saw the look that settled over Riv’s face.
“Should be any day now,” she added reassuringly.
Riv just grunted, chewing her lip.
She followed Aphra through the camp, the rising sun already hot, casting the world in red and gold. Tents were set in orderly rows, thousands of them. Despite dawn only just breaking, everywhere was motion, the camp waking into life like a living, breathing machine. Fire-pits burned, meat turning on spits, pots boiling, porridge bubbling, people sitting on benches, eating and drinking. In another section White-Wing warriors sparred, drilled the shield wall, voices and the clack-clack of practice blades.
“Here we are,” Aphra said, as they passed through a long row of tents and stepped into another open space of cook-fires and sparring ground.
Conversation stopped, those sparring stuttering to a halt, as all paused in whatever they were doing to look at Riv.
So many faces.
Familiar faces: Aphra’s garrison of White-Wings, the survivors from Drassil. Riv saw Ert, the old sword master, and Fia scooping water from a barrel with a ladle and washing her baby. Avi, how he had grown, a shock of dark hair on him. Bull-muscled Sorch was there, on his knees with a practice sword in his hand, a young boy attacking him.
Tam.
There was a silence and then a cheer rose up amongst them.
“Why are they cheering me?” Riv said.
“Because none of us would be here if not for you, Riv,” Aphra said. “You saved us.”
“Meical helped,” Riv said, uncomfortable.
“Aye, he did,” Aphra said. “But without you, we would have been food for crows that day, and they all know it.”
People came forward, slapping Riv on the shoulder, offering their arm in the warrior grip, hugging her, welcoming her back. Aphra ushered her through the crowd, Riv nodding and smiling, and then she was being sat upon a bench and given a pot of porridge and a board of sliced meat, fried onions and bread.
“Riv,” a voice called, a figure shoving through the crowd around her.
“Jost!” Riv said, putting her food to one side and standing, embracing her friend. They held each other tight, silent for long moments.
“I’ve missed you,” he said when they parted. “It’s been too quiet. No brawling fights, no having to guard your back. I haven’t had a black eye in at least three moons.”
“I’m sure I can fix that for you,” Riv said, and they both grinned.
“Sit, eat with us,” Aphra said, and Riv did, Jost hurrying off to fetch a jug of water and a handful of cups. Fia joined them, carrying Avi under one arm.
“Wings,” the boy said, pointing at Riv.
“Aye, aren’t they fine?” Fia said. “One day you’ll have your own wings, just like that.” She held her hand out and squeezed Riv’s shoulder.
“So, what’s the news?” Jost asked, as he sat down beside Riv.
“There was a battle at Dun Seren, a host of Revenants chasing the survivors of Ardain.”
“Revenants?” Aphra asked.
“Mist-walkers,” Riv said. “They were created by Fritha, High Priestess of the Kadoshim. She changed Gulla using dark magic and Asroth’s right hand, made him into something new. The first Revenant.”
“Fritha,” Aphra said.
“Aye. It was her at Drassil, who rode upon the winged draig.”
“I know her,” Aphra said, going pale. “Or of her. She was a White-Wing. Just… disappeared. I suspected that Kol or one of his inner circle were the reason.” She looked at Fia, who nodded.
“Well, she hates us and the Ben-Elim, sure enough,” Jost said. “I saw her at Drassil.”
“If she was anything to do with Kol, then she has good reason,” Riv muttered.
“Careful,” Aphra said, looking about. “You are amongst friends now, but Kol is powerful here, and he has many eyes and ears in this camp.”
“What happened, in this battle?” Jost asked Riv.
So Riv told them of the battle upon the meadows where Nara and her people were saved, and then of the assault upon Dun Seren, about the effects of being bitten, about the Revenants’ towers of bodies and limbs, how flame deterred them, about the Order’s rune-marked blades. About the rush for the tunnels beneath the fortress and of Arvid’s fall, though she did not say that it was her who had killed Arvid.
And then she told them of Faelan and the half-breed Ben-Elim.
“Elyon above,” Aphra breathed. “So many years, so many lives damaged by Kol and his hubris.”
“Aye,” Riv grunted. “They will be here soon, with the Order of the Bright Star.” She looked at Fia and Avi. “Your son will not be as alone as you feared. The Order protected them, kept them secret and safe for over sixty years.”
“Sounds as if you like this Order of the Bright Star,” Jost said. “I thought they were supposed to be a poor image of us. Weaker, less skilled.”
“The truth is something altogether different from that,” Riv said. “I like them a great deal. I took their oath. I am one of them.” She showed them her cloak brooch, the bright star gleaming, freshly polished.
“But you are a White-Wing,” Jost breathed, “one of us.”
“No, I failed my warrior trial, remember? I was never deemed good enough by the Ben-Elim. And now, even if I wanted to be a White-Wing, I do not think I would fit so well into a shield wall.” She gave her wings a ripple. “That is where you White-Wings are more skilled than the Order of the Bright Star, the shield wall,” she said.
Jost sat a little straighter at that.
“In all else martial, the Order of the Bright Star excel. But that is not why I took their oath.”
“Why did you swear their oath?” Aphra asked.
Riv had thought on this long and hard in the days since she had alighted on the weapons-field at Dun Seren.
“Because of what they stand for,” Riv said. “Even their battle-cry is Truth and Courage. Truth. Not the lie I have lived at Drassil. That we have all lived. Just speaking to Meical on the journey here has revealed so much more of the Ben-Elim’s deception.” She shook her head. “And Courage. That is something that we all value and believe in. I am a fighter.” She shrugged. “Born and trained to kill. But when I fight with the Order of the Bright Star, I know it is for the right reasons.”
She looked up, saw Aphra, Jost, Fia, all staring at her, and others had joined them, were sitting or standing, listening attentively. Ert, Sorch, many others.
“We share the same enemy, the Kadoshim,” Riv said, “and they are a great evil that must be fought. But when this war is done, if I am still breathing, I want nothing to do with Kol or his Ben-Elim.” She gazed at Aphra, took her hand. “I love you, you should come with me. All of you.” She looked at Jost and the others. “There would be a life for us at Dun Seren, amongst people we can respect. Not pretty, egotistical arselings with wings who use us as pawns.”
A silence settled about her, some nodding, some frowning.
Aphra blew out a long breath. “Much to think on.” She nodded, squeezing Riv’s hand. “But you are right, the Kadoshim are the enemy of all. I will consider what you’ve said, but one battle at a time, eh?”
Riv nodded.
“I would say this, though,” Aphra continued. “The Ben-Elim are no different from you and I. Good, bad and everything in between. Some are honest, honourable, others are… less so.”
“Aye. Hadran is all right, and Meical,” Riv acknowledged.
“All right?” Jost said. “Meical fought Asroth to a standstill. He’s a legend.”
A small figure pushed through the press around Riv, Tam. He threw himself at Riv and hugged her. The huge figure of Sorch loomed behind him.
“You’ve come a long way from Drassil, Tam,” Riv said. “I saw you in the weapons-court, you’re fierce with a blade.”
Tam grinned. “Sorch has been teaching me.”
“Looks as if he’s doing a fine job of it,” Riv said, and nodded at Sorch. She’d never liked him much but the Ben-Elim had a way of making friends out of enemies, and her feuds with Sorch seemed so long ago.
I have fought a host of Revenants since then, people who wanted to tear my throat out with their teeth or fingernails. Sorch doesn’t seem so bad now.
She stood and looked at him.
“So,” she said. “Which am I? Abomination or sword-sister?”
He looked her up and down.
“Sword-sister, I’m thinking,” he said with a grin.
Riv offered her arm in the warrior grip, and Sorch took it.
The beating of wings up above and Meical descended from the sky. He was dressed for war, as always, with the rune-marked sword and spear the Order had fashioned for him in his fist and at his hip.
“A hard-fought journey since I saw you last in Forn,” Aphra said to Meical, as she offered him her arm.
“Aye,” Meical answered as he took it. “That is the way of the Banished Lands. Your daughter brings you much honour. She slew Arvid, one of Gulla’s Seven, and with that blow destroyed the Revenant host.”
Murmurs and gasps of appreciation rippled around them.
“Well, you left that bit of information out.” Aphra’s eyes gleamed with pride as she looked at Riv.
“Forgot,” Riv muttered, shuffling her feet. “So,” she said, changing the subject. “Tell me, how do you plan to face a horde of blood-hungry Revenants?”