Bleda was struggling to take his eyes off Riv. She glowed like the sun to him. He glanced towards the newcomers, then looked again.
That’s a very big bear. And it’s white.
He stared at the white bear. It was huge, much bigger than Hammer, who was making the ground shake a dozen paces away from him. The white bear was wrapped in a coat of mail, muscles shimmering as it moved. The mail was buckled and harnessed under its torso, much like a horse’s saddle-girth, though more complex.
I’ve often thought our horses should have those. It would slow them, but would protect them, too. And they would adjust to the weight, as I have adjusted to my coat of plate.
What Bleda was most surprised about, though, was that a man, not a giant, was riding upon the bear’s back. He was dark-haired and broad, a leanness to his musculature. He wore a coat of riveted mail, sword and axe at his belt, and the biggest knife Bleda had ever seen. A grey cloak draped his shoulders, pinned with a brooch fashioned into the shape of a four-pointed star. A helm and round shield with the same four-pointed star hung from hooks on his saddle.
Like Riv’s. The Order of the Bright Star.
A wolven-hound loped at the bear’s side; it, too, wore a coat of mail.
Does everything in the north wear mail?
Behind the white bear a red-haired warrior sat on the bench of a wain, driving a brace of horses. Two crows sat on the bench-back, one white and one black. The black one was Durl. Two more wains rumbled along behind them, warriors driving them, others riding around them, about a score of hard-looking men and women in mail, all with the four-pointed star on their shields and pinned across their chests.
“So, this is the master of horse and bow that you won’t stop telling us about, then,” the red-haired warrior said, grinning broadly, looking from Riv to Bleda.
“That’s Cullen, ignore him,” said Riv, though she was smiling, too.
“Well met, Bleda of the Sirak,” Cullen called out, “and welcome to the we-are-going-to-kill-Asroth clan.”
Bleda liked him already.
“The talkative one up on the giant bear is my friend Drem,” Cullen continued. “He’s pleased to meet you, too.”
Bleda looked up at Drem, who nodded down at him.
“I am glad to see you reunited,” Drem said. “Riv has spoken much of you.”
“Well met, Drem,” Bleda said. “And I’m pleased to see you’re fighting on our side, and not the enemy’s.” He looked from Drem to the bear to the wolven-hound.
Drem smiled. “I’ve had the good fortune of making some excellent friends since I’ve come out of the north.”
“Talking of friends,” Meical said, looking up into the sky, “we have visitors.”
Ben-Elim were flying in their direction, maybe a score of them, their white wings gleaming in the bright sunshine. Even from this distance Bleda could see they all held spears.
Meical looked at Drem and Cullen. “You should go,” he said. “Byrne wants you back, and I gave her my word. Stay and you’re likely to get caught up in Ben-Elim politics, and then you’ll never make it back to the Sarva before Asroth’s vanguard is in sight. You’ll be stuck in Ripa.”
Drem and Cullen looked from Meical to Riv.
“Meical’s right,” Riv said. She passed her reins to Bleda and dismounted, striding to the wain and climbing up onto the driver’s bench, taking the reins from Cullen.
“My thanks,” she said, “you have given my mother and friends a chance at surviving the Revenants. This would not have happened without you.”
Cullen shrugged, gripped Riv’s arm. “I’ll tell Byrne you’ll see her soon,” he said, then leaped from the wain onto the back of a horse.
“Alcyon?” Drem called out.
“I’ll be staying here a while, I’m thinking,” he said. “Tell Tain why.”
“Durl tell Tain, that Durl’s job,” the black crow squawked, ruffling and puffing his feathers out.
“We will all see you soon,” Drem called down from the back of his bear. He looked to Bleda and gave him a nod.
“I’ll look for you on the battlefield,” Bleda said, dipping his head.
“He’s not hard to find,” Cullen laughed. “He rides an avalanche.”
And then the white bear was turning away and breaking into a run, heading towards a green smudge on the western horizon. The warriors driving the other two wains climbed onto spare mounts, and then Cullen and the other riders were following Drem, having to break into a fast canter to keep pace with the bear.
Riv sat in the wain, watching them go. Two of Bleda’s Sirak dismounted and climbed onto the driving benches of the other two wains. Riv flicked her reins and they were moving out. Bleda rode up beside her.
“Interesting friends you have made,” he said.
“Aye, that they are. And good in a scrap.”
“That’s good, because there’s a big one coming.”
Riv looked at him, another grin as bright as the sun.
“Asroth is coming here, to us?” Bleda said.
“It looks that way,” Riv said.
“So this will be our battleground?” Bleda asked, looking about him.
“Between here and Ripa,” Riv said. “Probably the other side of that wall.” She nodded ahead. “But the ground is much the same.”
They were riding across an undulating plain of sun-bleached grass, clusters of trees here and there, to the south-east a ridge of hills leading up to the coast. The tower of Ripa stood upon the westernmost of those hills, a town on the slopes rolling down into a bay. Much of the land between Bleda and Ripa was obscured by the wall they were approaching, but Bleda could see that a huge, sprawling camp lay across the hillside that Ripa’s tower stood upon.
They reached the gates in the wall. Bleda held up a fist and his warband came to a disciplined halt.
The gates were barred, White-Wing warriors peering down at them.
“Open the gates,” Riv called up to them.
“We need permission,” one of the warriors called down, a woman that Bleda did not recognize.
“We are your allies,” Riv called up. “Come to fight with you against Asroth.”
“I need a Ben-Elim’s permission for the gates to open.”
Meical spread his wings. “What am I?” he said. “Open the gates.”
“I wish I could, but I cannot,” the warrior said. “I have had my orders.”
“Orders?” Riv echoed. Bleda could see her muscles starting to twitch in her face. He knew what that meant.
The White-Wing looked up, saw Ben-Elim in the sky above.
“We’ll wait for them,” she said. She looked relieved.
Shadows dappled the ground and Bleda saw the Ben-Elim that had been flying their way were above them now, circling downwards. Fifteen of them.
“Declare yourselves,” one of the Ben-Elim called out, alighting in front of Bleda, the others hovering over them or landing on the palisade’s walkway. The one in front of Bleda was brown-haired, handsome as all Ben-Elim were, a spear in his fist, and he was frowning, eyes moving from Riv to Bleda.
“Erem, you know full well we are friends and allies,” Meical said, stepping out in front of the Ben-Elim.
“We are at war, Meical; I cannot allow just anyone to wander inside our lines. Who are you?” he said, looking at Bleda.
Bleda drew in a deep breath, all of those years at Drassil and the Ben-Elim’s airs of entitled superiority flooding back to him. He could feel the tension in those around him, Ruga and Yul closest. He saw Ruga’s fingers twitching.
She wants to put an arrow in his eye and I don’t blame her.
“I am Bleda ben Erdene, King of the Sirak,” he said.
“And what is your purpose here?”
“Enough,” Meical said furiously. “You are insulting our allies, Erem. These warriors have travelled far, and through great danger, to join us in the fight against Asroth. What are you doing?”
“Kol’s rules are very clear,” Erem began.
“Get out of the way and open the gates before I do it myself,” Riv snarled.
Shadows on the ground again and more Ben-Elim were in the air, a score or so. They swooped down to the wall and gate, one of them landing on the ground close to Erem. It was Hadran.
“Open the gates,” he called up to the White-Wings on the wall.
“Kol’s orders—” Erem began again.
“Are now overruled,” Hadran said sternly. “These are our allies, and our friends. They will be treated with respect.”
There was a creaking of timber and the gates opened.
“My thanks,” Riv said to Hadran, and flicked her reins, the wain rolling on.
Bleda clicked his horse forward, a fast walk, and rode in front of Riv, towards Erem. His warband broke into motion behind him. “Kol is not my master,” he said to Erem as he drew near. “I am here because Asroth is our mutual enemy. Not because the Ben-Elim summoned me, not because I like you, or even respect you.”
The Ben-Elim blinked, a curl of his lips as his spear twitched, but a thousand hands dropped to bows in a heartbeat, and Hammer let out a low rumbling growl.
“I wouldn’t,” Alcyon said, striding past the Ben-Elim.
Erem leaped into the air, his face twitching with anger.
“Kol will hear of this,” he called down.
“Good,” Riv shouted up to him.
Bleda rode close to the wain.
“I think I hate the Ben-Elim almost as much as the Kadoshim,” he said.
“They are not all the same,” Riv said. “Meical is one of us. And Hadran.”
“That is good.” He looked at her. “And I would tolerate all the Ben-Elim in the world to be at your side again.”
“That’s the correct answer,” she said, grinning.
Bleda followed Riv as she drove the wain along a column made by two rows of tents. The sun was sinking, long shadows merging. White-Wing warriors were everywhere, more people than Bleda had ever seen in his life. He was feeling uncomfortable, closed in after riding across the Sea of Grass. Worse, he had left his warband to make camp. It would have been impossible to ride his whole Clan through the camp like this, and Riv had asked him to accompany her, so he’d left Ruga in charge, Hadran escorting Bleda’s warband and assisting them in the organization of their camp. Raina, Alcyon and Ukran were setting up their own settlement close to Bleda’s warband. Ellac and Yul were the only Sirak accompanying him.
Riv pulled on her reins and turned into an open square roped off into two sections. More White-Wings were here, most of them lined along a trestle table, helping themselves to the evening meal laid out in pots and bowls. All stopped and stared as Riv drove in, the other two wains following her.
“Riv,” a voice called out, and Bleda saw Aphra running towards them. She looked older than Bleda remembered, more grey in her short-cropped hair, lines deeper in her face.
The last few moons have taken their toll on all of us.
Riv leaped from the wain and fell into Aphra’s arms, the two of them hugging.
“Well met, Bleda,” a voice said, Bleda looking to see Jost beside him. He didn’t look much changed at all. Tall and slim, a surprising strength in his lean frame.
Bleda slipped from his saddle and gave Jost his arm. Jost slapped it away and wrapped his arms around Bleda, hugging him tight.
“It’s good to see you,” Jost said. “Lots of White-Wings here, but not many friends.”
“It’s good to see you, Jost,” Bleda said.
“White-Wings, gather round,” Aphra called out, and Riv beat her wings and flew up onto the bench of the wain.
“Asroth’s war-host is almost here,” Riv said, as Aphra’s warriors gathered close. Bleda thought there were around two hundred, maybe more.
“On the morrow they will reach Balara. The day after they will be here. You all saw the mist-walkers that attacked Drassil. Revenants, they are called, a dark magic spawned from Gulla and his priestess. These Revenants will be with Asroth. Ten thousand of them, maybe more. Normal weapons do not hurt them. You know these things already, you’ve seen them, know what they can do.” She leaned over the wain, undid a knotted rope and swept back the hemp sheet, revealing bundled weapons.
“These weapons are rune-marked blades. They will hurt the Revenants as any normal wound would hurt us. These weapons will kill them, as a normal blade would kill us. There are short-swords, though few of them, for the front row of the shield wall. More spears and long axes for the deeper rows.” She looked around at them all. “I wish I could have brought more. But at least if you come up against these Revenants in the coming battle, you will have a fighting chance. And give them a reason to fear you.”
Aphra looked into the wain, touched a spear blade.
“We cannot thank you enough for this,” Aphra said. “I have been racking my mind trying to think of a way to stand against those things.”
“Well, now you have it,” Riv said with a grin. “They are a gift from the Order of the Bright Star. Each and every warrior in their warband has a rune-marked blade, close to four thousand warriors, and they are no more than three days away. If we can hold Asroth’s horde for one day, they will be here. So, Aphra, distribute them as you see fit. Apart from the arrows. They are for the Sirak.”
Bleda grinned.
Ruga held open the tent curtain, Bleda and Riv ducking to enter. Bleda looked around, nodding.
It is not a Sirak ger, but it will do.
The night was growing late, much discussion having taken place at Aphra’s camp, and Bleda was abruptly feeling exhausted. Now they were safe, within patrolled pickets and no chance of Jin galloping into his warband, he felt weariness creeping through his limbs. Torches burned in sconces, smoke rising through a hole around the central pole. A bed in one corner, a table and two chairs, jug and cups, a platter of food. Fruits and cold meats, cheese. And a stand for his armour and weapons.
“How did you manage all this?” Bleda said to Ruga.
“I told the Ben-Elim you are a king, so Hadran organized this.”
“It will be strange, not sleeping under the stars,” Bleda said.
“Aye, warmer, and better for the back and bones,” Ruga said.
“For that I am grateful,” Ellac added as he entered behind Bleda and Riv. He and Yul were carrying bundled sheaves of arrows under each arm. They put them upon the table.
“Five hundred arrows there,” Riv said. “These Revenants, you have all seen them?”
Bleda and the others nodded.
“Fire hurts them, but these—these will kill them.” She touched one of the arrow-tips. “Each one has been forged with a rune of power. But there are thousands of the monsters,” Riv said. “Kill their captains, and those they have turned fall with them.”
“Their captains?” Bleda said.
“Gulla was changed, transformed, into a new creature, by their priestess, Fritha. He chose seven captains, who became the first Revenants, and he sent them out to create a legion of monsters, all blood-hungry. Kill one of the Seven, and those they’ve turned will fall. I have seen it happen. Kill Gulla, and we believe all will fall.”
Bleda grunted, thinking that through. “That could change the whole battle; win it.”
“Aye,” Riv said.
“How do we find these Seven?”
“There are only four, now,” Riv said, a brief smile ghosting her lips.
There is a story there.
“From what we’ve seen, they are different from the others. More intelligent, they wield weapons and they have guards about them.” Riv pulled a face. “It will not be easy. But we have one more day to prepare. There will be a council of war on the morrow, and you will be invited,” Riv said. “I will make sure of it.”
“And Raina, Alcyon and Ukran?” Bleda asked.
“Yes,” Riv said. “All those allied against Asroth must be represented.”
“Good,” Bleda said. “Then tonight I will have a cup of wine, and not sleep with my weapons-belt making indentations in my flesh.”
“As long as it stays close,” Ellac said.
“Aye.” Bleda nodded.
He poured them all a cup of wine from the jug on the table, then held his own cup out.
“My friends, we have come a long way, through much,” he said. “And more danger and death is only a night or two away. But this night, sleep well, and be proud of what you have accomplished.”
Nods and murmured approval as they touched cups, and they all drank.
Ellac looked at Bleda and Riv.
“I am for my bed,” he said, “better to face death without yawning.” He walked to the tent entrance and lifted the curtain, then looked back. “That means all of us,” he said, gesturing at Ruga and Yul. They stood slowly and left the tent. Ellac looked at Bleda, and smiled, closing the curtain behind them.
Bleda looked at Riv and she smiled at him over her cup of wine, her eyes shining in the torchlight. A tremor shuddered through her wings.
“Ah, but you look fine to me, Bleda ben Erdene,” she said.
A slow, shy smile touched his own lips. He unbuckled his horsehair helm from his belt and set it upon his weapons-stand.
Riv unfastened her cloak brooch and took her cloak from her back, reverently placed the cloak and brooch upon the table. “Help me,” she said, turning her back on him.
Bleda stepped close to her and began unbuckling her coat of mail, a set of leather buckles down the middle of her back. She sighed as it came loose, her linen tunic beneath damp with oil and sweat.
“It’s been a while since I’ve stepped out of this,” Riv said, laying the mail over the back of a chair.
“Aye,” grunted Bleda. Being close to Riv was blurring his concentration, his blood pounding in his head like a drumbeat.
“Here,” Riv said, gently turning him, “a favour for a favour,” and she unbuckled his lamellar coat. He wriggled and it slipped down from his arms. Riv stepped close. “Battle looms, and none can know the outcome, who will live or die, but I know this. We have now. This moment.” She leaned close and brushed her lips against his, her fingers at his deel, unfastening the ties. They would not open, so she gripped the deel and ripped it open, both of them laughing and kissing as the deel fell to the ground. He stepped away, pulled his linen tunic over his head, and something fell to the floor.
Riv laughed, breathless. “How much do you keep secreted away in your clothing?” she said. Then looked at the floor. There were two things. A dapple-grey feather and a dried flower. She looked in his eyes. “One of my feathers, and the flower I gave you, in Forn.”
“Aye,” Bleda said. He looked away, then raised his gaze to meet her eyes. “You are my heart, my life, Riv. So I have kept them over my heart. The feather is part of you, and the flower…” He smiled at her, shrugged. “I knew then, when you gave it to me.”
“Knew what?” Riv whispered.
“That you felt the same as I.”
A silent moment, and then they were in each other’s arms, kissing, Riv’s wings wrapping about them.