Riv swayed on her feet and Drem reached out an arm and steadied her, then pulled her into an embrace. She just stood there, her arms trembling, a sea of emotion churning within her.
Drem stepped back, held her at arm’s length, looking into Riv’s eyes.
“What has happened?” he asked.
Riv just stared at Drem. She did not want to say it, did not want to think it. Her face was throbbing, the taste of blood in her mouth, and she couldn’t breathe through her nose. Asroth had broken it. All she remembered was Asroth’s gauntleted fist filling her vision, and then nothing, until she’d regained consciousness upon Bleda’s horse. For a moment she did not know where she was, could not remember what had happened. And then memory had swept in like a huge wave, destroying everything in its path.
Bleda was standing behind Riv, holding his horse by the reins. He hovered close, worry in his eyes.
“Aphra, Riv’s mother, fell in battle,” Bleda said. “At Asroth’s hand.”
Those words seemed to open a floodgate inside her and Riv swayed, almost dropped to her knees, but Drem and Bleda grasped her, held her up. Riv shook her head, fresh tears flowing from her eyes. She felt… everything. A pounding in her head, as if it was about to explode, pain in her chest as if her heart were being squeezed, waves of nausea in her belly. There was a bottomless grief deep inside her, blended with a flickering, white-hot rage, all of it twisting and turning within her veins, spiralling, sweeping her along in a dizzying torrent of misery and fury.
“There is no greater wound, no greater pain,” Drem breathed, his face full of care and worry.
“Aye,” Bleda whispered behind her, his hand still under one of her arms.
Some distant part of her knew that Drem and Bleda had lost kin in this war, a memory of Bleda’s grief as Riv had carried him away from the scene of his mother’s death, but all was overwhelmed by the fresh rawness of her own pain.
“Come,” Drem said, “let’s find some quiet, a place for you to sit, some food and drink.”
Riv just looked at him numbly, but when he took her hand she followed.
All around her the Order of the Bright Star’s camp was in motion. Torches lit, warriors rushing to help the survivors of Ripa, horses stamping, giants, bears, wolven-hounds, an endless tide of living things. Fia and Ert were standing on the riverbank, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, both of them helping White-Wing warriors climb out of their boats and scramble up the bank. Riv saw fractured moments; Raina reunited with her son, Tain, tears streaming down the crow master’s face, Craf flapping his wings and squawking. Someone handing a bowl of porridge to Jost, who took it and just cupped it. Ruga checking the hooves of her horse. Kill unwrapping the bandage about Meical’s wing and inspecting the wound. Kol arriving, battered and bloody, a few score Ben-Elim with him. He just sat on the riverbank and looked into his hands.
“Welcome home, child,” Byrne said in Riv’s ear, her arm around Riv’s shoulder. “Go, eat something. Rest. I’ll find you soon.”
Riv sipped a spoonful of Cullen’s stew, holding onto it with both hands. She was trying to stop her hands from shaking. She was not sure if she was starvingly hungry or on the verge of vomiting. Both. Something warm in her belly seemed to help.
Cullen spooned out more bowls from his pot. A lot of people had followed Riv to Cullen’s pot. Bleda, Ellac, Ruga and Yul, Ukran, Jost, Ert, Fia and Sorch. All of them were sitting, eating and drinking, all of them lost in their exhaustion and thoughts.
Footsteps and Ethlinn appeared out of the gloom, Balur One-Eye at her shoulder. She looked around the campfire, saw Riv and came to put a hand on Riv’s shoulder, squeezed it, then strode to Ukran and crouched beside him.
“Welcome, Ukran of the Kurgan,” Ethlinn said. Balur stood over them. “You have travelled far to join us. We are grateful, and I am happy to see more giant kin in this world.”
“I haven’t come to bend my knee to you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Ukran said gruffly.
Ethlinn shrugged. “There are more important things than the bending of knees,” she said, though Riv was not so sure that Balur agreed, by the way he was glowering at Ukran. “The end of the Long War. The Battle of the Banished Lands is upon us.”
Ukran looked at Ethlinn a long while. “It is a battle that cannot be avoided,” he said. “I fight now, or when the Kadoshim are knocking on my door in Arcona.” He grimaced. “Better to fight now.”
“Aye, that is wisdom,” Ethlinn said.
“It was the little man’s idea. I just followed him here.” Ukran pointed at Bleda, who lifted his bowl in a greeting to Ethlinn.
Ethlinn smiled. “Just followed.” She laughed. “Over a hundred leagues. You have made your choice, Ukran of the Kurgan, and it is a brave one.”
“Sit, eat with us,” Cullen said, trying to find bowls big enough for Ethlinn and Balur. He’d already given his other pot to Ukran.
“I think we will,” Ethlinn said.
Cullen filled her a bowl and gave it to her, though it looked tiny in her hands.
“Just give me the pot,” Balur rumbled. He sat down next to Ukran.
More figures stepped out of the trees. Byrne, with Kill and Queen Nara at her shoulder, and Meical. Byrne looked at Riv and the other survivors of Ripa.
“Meical has told me of the battle,” Byrne said. “Of Asroth and his black mail. Of his starstone weapons. He also told me that he saw Asroth bleed today. A knife put through his arm by Riv.”
All faces turned to stare at Riv. She had not even told Bleda of her fight with Asroth, her heart so raw and wounded from the loss of Aphra. She was experiencing moments where nothing seemed to matter anymore, but they were swiftly followed by bursts of hot rage, images of vengeance all-consuming.
“Asroth wore a coat of black mail,” Riv said, her voice sounding strange in her own ears, flat, emotionless. “I think it is made from the same substance as the knife. I saw Hadran’s spear explode when he stabbed Asroth. A blow that would have skewered a wild boar. My mother’s sword shattered when she stabbed his coat of mail.” Riv paused, felt a tremor in her voice. Breathed deep, then drew the black knife from her belt. “This is the blade I stabbed him with. It pierced his mail. I think this is a starstone blade,” she said. “I took it from Gulla’s daughter, Morn.”
“You slew her?” Drem and Cullen asked together.
“No. She fell. Might have died in the fall, but I cannot be sure.” Drem and Cullen shared a look.
Byrne took the blade, studied it, turning it in her hands.
“It is starstone metal,” she breathed.
“The point is, Asroth can bleed,” Cullen said.
“Aye,” Balur rumbled, “and what bleeds can die.”
“Yes,” Bleda murmured.
“That is good, but there is much more to this,” Byrne said, looking up at all of them, a new fire in her eyes. “We need this starstone metal. Asroth appears to be wearing or wielding it—a coat of mail, a helm, a gauntlet, black axe, sword and whip. But if this weapon is out there, then perhaps he has gifted starstone weapons to more of his captains. We need it all.”
“What for?” Cullen asked.
“To change our world, end the war, forever, not just for a generation. So, on the morrow, if any of you come against an enemy wielding or wearing this starstone metal, take it from them. At all costs.”
Nods and grunts amongst them all.
“You have fought hard, fought for Ripa and the Ben-Elim, given your all, and lost much,” Byrne said, her eyes resting upon Riv. “But I would ask you to fight once more. One more day, to change our world. To avenge our fallen. Can you do that?”
Riv held Byrne’s gaze and gave one sharp, curt nod. Avenge our fallen. Yes.
“Good,” Byrne said, and gave the black knife back to Riv. “Riv, Ukran, Bleda, I would talk with you, before we move out.”
Riv nodded and climbed to her feet.
Kill stepped forwards, until now a silent shadow at Byrne’s shoulder.
“Who commands the White-Wing survivors?” Kill asked.
Aphra’s name formed on Riv’s lips, a fresh twist of pain in her belly. The other White-Wings were looking at one another—Jost, Ert, Fia and Sorch.
“Ert is the best of us,” Fia said, Jost and Sorch nodding.
“I am an old man, had some luck on the battlefield, that’s all,” Ert said.
“Luck!” Jost snorted a laugh. “I stood next to you, and I’m glad I did. What I saw today wasn’t luck.”
Kill looked him up and down. “I have heard the White-Wings are not bad at the shield wall.” The twitch of a smile at her lips.
Ert smiled back. “I have heard that said,” he answered.
“We will need the shield wall on the morrow, and you would be welcome in our ranks. I have been thinking during the long journey here, how best to face these Revenants.”
“With our runed blades in their hearts,” Cullen snapped.
“Aye, but if my thinking is right we will still be heavily outnumbered. They are like a flood.”
“They are,” Ert agreed.
“Well, I have had an idea, and have been drilling my shield wall in it, but I would be glad if the White-Wings would join us and tell me what you think of it?”
“I am intrigued,” Ert said.
“Good,” Kill said.
Byrne smiled grimly. “Come, join us, Ert, and together maybe we can work out how to defeat our enemies and take Asroth’s head.”
“Best thing I’ve heard all day,” Cullen whispered.
Riv stood with her back to a tree, looking at Byrne, who was sitting upon her mare, before the massed warband. Giants, Ben-Elim, the Sirak, White-Wings, Queen Nara and the warriors of Ardain. And the Order of the Bright Star. Talking crows, bears, wolven-hounds.
So many of us, all with one thing in common. An enemy that would take everything from us. All that we love. She glanced at Bleda, who was close by, surrounded by his Sirak warriors.
Pale moonlight gleamed on the water, reflecting into the forest.
“The day is finally here,” Byrne said. “The Battle of the Banished Lands upon us. Some here have waited two thousand years for it, some a few score. For me, it feels as if I have been waiting all of my life.” She looked at the faces staring back at her. “Our enemy are out there, and they would take everything from us. Take this land, take our homes, our families, our loved ones. Our lives. Make no mistake, Asroth wants it all.”
A silence settled over them.
“I say no. Not this day, not ever.”
Byrne looked up, along the ranks facing her. “Take your weapons and face your fear. There is only one hope today. And that hope is you.” She pointed at a warrior standing before her. “And you.” She pointed at another. “And you.” She gestured at them all. “We are all the Banished Lands has left, we are this world’s last hope. Today there will be a reckoning. Today will be a time of vengeance.” She nodded, looked along the rowed ranks, muscles in her face twitching. “Today will be a time of COURAGE!”
Riv felt her blood stir, her weariness washed away.
“Take your Courage, and let’s go fight the devil with it,” Byrne said.
“COURAGE!” the warband roared back.