Set amongst the cells was a deeper blackness: a massive cave entrance which looked as if it ran deep into the rock face. Drem had a recollection of howls echoing out from that dark hole during the battle here on that nightmare-filled night.
Byrne lifted her eyes and stared at the black hole in the granite wall.
‘Spread out, search every last handspan of this place,’ she called out. ‘I need to know where Gulla is.’
The warband spread out into the surrounding buildings. Ethlinn and Balur remained, alongside a score of warriors, Byrne’s honour guard with Cullen and Utul, Byrne’s captain from the south. He was dark-skinned with a hooked nose, streaks of grey in his otherwise jet hair, and deep lines about his eyes – evidence of his near-constant smile. A curved sword hilt arched over his shoulder, similar to Byrne’s, but with a longer grip. He was one of the deadliest swordsmen Drem had ever seen, and he’d had the privilege of seeing a few, lately.
‘Drem, you’re with us,’ Byrne said to him. Rab gave a croak, spread his wings and flapped into the air.
‘You know this place better than any of us,’ Byrne said. ‘I want to take a look in there.’ She nodded towards the cave entrance and started walking, Ethlinn, Balur and the others following. Keld was already at the opening, striking sparks from flint and stone into a torch he’d taken from a sconce set just inside the cave entrance. Flames sparked and flared, sending shadows dancing. In the new light Drem saw the cave ran deep into the rock, sloping downwards.
Keld strode into the cave, holding the torch high. His two wolven-hounds, Fen and Ralla, followed him, though Drem could see their hackles were up, their noses twitching. Byrne ordered half her honour guard to remain at the cave entrance, the other ten following her as she marched after Keld. Ethlinn, Balur, Cullen and Utul accompanied her.
Drem drew in a deep breath and hurried after them.
CHAPTER TWO
JIN
Jin nocked an arrow, drew and loosed, repeating the action twice more before her first arrow thumped into the linden wood of a White-Wing’s shield. Her second arrow tinged off an iron helm, the third punching into the warrior’s eye. He fell back, causing a ripple in the shield wall as another stepped over his corpse to fill the gap.
A sharp scream somewhere above, a looming shadow, and a Kadoshim crashed to the ground, wings and arms splayed, blood pumping from a tear in its ringmail. Jin’s horse danced sideways, treading on bodies, searching for even ground. Smoke billowed across the courtyard in great clouds, the reek of blood and death, the screams of battle and the dying everywhere.
Jin was holding the gates of Drassil, her oathsworn guards about her, others of her Clan dismounted now and in the gate tower. Arrows whistling down from above told her they had taken the towers and were on the wall. She gave a snarled grin at her success and snatched a moment to look and assess the battle.
She and her Cheren Clan had wreaked havoc with their initial assault, the gate guards thinking she was their ally and opening the gates for her and her warriors. She had swept them away in a tide of blood. But Drassil’s White-Wings were regrouping now: a shield wall formed in the centre of the courtyard, pushing towards her. Fritha’s acolytes were pouring through the open gates, a wave of shaven-haired warriors, grim-faced and resolute. They were men and women who had rebelled against the rule of the Ben-Elim and allied themselves to the Kadoshim, some of them having lived from hand to mouth in the wild for many years, outlawed for their audacity in spurning the Ben-Elim’s iron Lore. Now was time for their revenge.
It had been a long time coming.
I want so much revenge. Against the Ben-Elim and their White-Wing puppets who have kept me a captive in this disgusting, barbaric hole when I could have been riding free upon the Sea of Grass with my kin about me.
With my father.
She still felt his death as if it was a physical blow. His murder was imprinted upon her mind, like when she looked at the fire too long, nothing else to see except the flames. Bleda’s blade stabbing into her father’s throat, sawing through it, a gush of blood.
I will kill you for that, Bleda, if it is the last thing I do.
Even killing Bleda’s mother a few moments later had not softened her need for vengeance. It burned inside her.
He made a fool of me. My betrothed, meeting in secret with that half-breed winged bitch! To think I pleaded with my father to let him live, to allow us to wed. Her shame twisted her mouth into a snarl, too much for her to control.
The acolytes slammed into the shield wall, horses rearing, neighing. Screams rang as short-swords stabbed out from the shields, the White-Wings killing efficiently. But there were so many acolytes, more of them riding into the courtyard with every heartbeat, and behind them Jin glimpsed a rolling tide of mist. She knew what was hidden within that.
Time to move.
Gulla had assured her that his creatures in the mist would not harm her or her Cheren warriors, but she had seen what they had done to the Sirak. It was a risk she’d rather not take.
‘With me!’ she cried, a squeeze of her knees, and her mount responded, carrying her away from the gateway. A clatter of hooves and hundreds of her warriors followed her, in deels of blue and coats of mail, recurved bows in their fists, hawk banners snapping in the wind. First amongst them was faithful Gerel, close by her shoulder as always, her oathsworn man and guardian.
Jin reined in, seeing her new location opened up angles and gaps for her arrows to penetrate the wall of enemy shields. She reached for her quiver and nocked an arrow, cursing as the muscle twinged in her shoulder, not yet fully healed from an arrow wound taken during Bleda’s escape.
That winged bitch put an arrow in me. If her aim was any better . . .
The White-Wings were still standing, holding the tide of acolytes, no matter that they were overwhelmingly outnumbered. They looked like a boulder in a river of shaven-haired warriors. Many acolytes were sweeping around the shield wall’s flanks, ignoring them entirely and rushing towards the goal. Asroth, their frozen king. Jin ignored the protest from the frayed tendons of her shoulder and loosed, once, twice, three times, her Clansmen doing the same, a hail of arrows raining into the shield wall. The clatter-thump of arrows in shields, screams as some found the gaps and sank into flesh.
Mist moved in Jin’s peripheral vision, a cloud of it boiling through the gateway’s tunnel, into the courtyard, and Jin glimpsed figures in the mist, long-limbed arms and taloned hands, heard the slavering snarls and sibilant hissing as her new allies swept into Drassil and over the shield wall, sweeping around it.
A few moments silence and then the screaming began.
The crack of shields breaking, torn from arms, swords stabbing. Jin knew the sound of steel punching into meat, and of blows, the tearing and rending of flesh. Screams rose in pitch, fear-laced, and the shield wall was rippling, fracturing into a hundred pieces.
There is no holding back those . . . things.
The mist swept on, fragmenting, roiling into the street that led to Drassil’s Great Hall.
‘This is done: the courtyard is ours,’ Jin muttered to Gerel. He nodded, eyes fixed on the mist-shrouded carnage, streaks of blood punctuating the air.
Jin clicked and her horse moved on.
‘Where are you going?’ Gerel called after her.
‘Looking for more White-Wings to kill,’ Jin said.