Riv lay in a cot, slowly realizing that she was awake. She had been dreaming, strange, unsettling dreams of steel and blood, of Bleda, Aphra and Kol. Of Jin opening her mouth, a snake emerging instead of words, long and sinuous, jaws opening to reveal fangs dripping with poison. Of a mountain of heads with eyes that watched her every move. She was glad to be awake, though her throat felt blistered and raw, and she was still cold. Oh so very cold.
She opened her eyes, only a crack, but it felt as if it took more energy than a morning’s training on the weapons-field. A figure, just an outline, stood with its back to her, before an open window, moonlight pouring through it. Aphra. A torch burned, flame flickering, shadows dancing on a curved stone wall.
This isn’t my room.
The flames hurt Riv’s eyes and she closed them.
A beating of wings, the moonlight veiled, a figure at the window. The soft slither of leather on stone, the rustle of wings furled.
‘My thanks,’ a voice said, deep and warm.
Kol.
‘What is it that you want?’ Aphra’s voice, cold and weary.
‘I need to speak with you. Alone.’
‘Well, I am here,’ Aphra said.
‘I have to ask a question, need to know – must know – the answer—’ An indrawn breath. ‘I said, alone,’ Kol hissed.
‘I’m not leaving her. If you wish to speak to me, it’s here or not at all.’
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Riv. And you have nothing to fear. She cannot hear us.’
‘Why?
‘She is in the grip of a fever. Has been hallucinating for two days. The worst has broken, and now she sleeps like the dead.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, look.’ Footsteps, a hand clapping over Riv’s head. She didn’t have the energy to open her eyelids, let alone anything else.
‘Why are you here?’ Aphra, a coldness in her voice Riv had never heard before.
‘There is a question that I must ask you.’ A deep sigh, a protracted silence.
‘Ask it, then,’ Aphra said.
‘A storm is coming,’ Kol said. ‘I feel it.’
‘No.’ Aphra said, a denial.
‘You must choose a side.’
‘No. It won’t happen.’
‘He is searching, snooping ever deeper,’ Kol said, the hint of things unsaid in his voice. Agitation, laced with anger. ‘You saw what he did to them, and they were only caught kissing! If he only knew the half of it.’ A pause, footsteps pacing. ‘Can you imagine what he would do?’
‘He is the Lord Protector. He will do what he judges to be right,’ Aphra said.
‘Yes, he will. And that’s exactly what I’m worried about,’ Kol said.
‘The almighty Kol, scared?’
‘Yes, I am.’ A silence. ‘And so should you be. Do not think that the passage of time destroys all things, or even softens them. Time is a healer, you mortals say. Not to us Ben-Elim. A crime is a crime, a grudge a grudge, until the end of days. Blood feud will last an eternity. Israfil is immortal, he sees things differently to you. And he takes his job far too seriously. He is dogmatic, as uncompromising and inflexible as the day Elyon created him. He is very . . . rigid, in his ways, and not afraid to pass judgments with violent ends. To him a sin is a sin; the older it is, the deeper the stain. Do you really think he will view the sins of the past any differently to the sins of the present? Do you?’
A sigh, Aphra shifting.
‘No,’ she said.
‘So, I need to know. When the storm breaks—’
‘If it breaks,’ Aphra said.
‘All right. If the storm breaks; are you with me?’
More pacing. This time a softer footfall, coming to rest beside Riv. A hand upon her brow, gently stroking damp hair from Riv’s face.
‘Leave Riv alone,’ Aphra said.
‘What?’
‘I’ve seen you. I know what you’re doing.’
A gentle laugh.
‘I would deny it, but not to you. None could claim to know me better,’ Kol said, a new tone in his voice. Playful. Mocking.
‘Leave her alone,’ Aphra repeated.
‘You never complained.’
‘I was young.’
‘Yes, you were. And beautiful. As is she. And spirited, full of fire. Bursting with it.’
‘Leave her alone.’
‘I need to know. Are you with me?’
‘Swear, on your precious Elyon. You will leave Riv alone.’ Iron in Aphra’s voice now.
Footsteps, Kol stepping close to Aphra, almost touching.
‘I swear it,’ he growled.
A long, indrawn breath.
‘Then I am with you.’
No words, just the rustle and snap of wings unfurled, the rush of air in this confined space, then gone as Kol leaped from the window into the darkness.
CHAPTER FORTY
DREM
Drem woke, his neck throbbing, a burning sensation that was none too pleasant. And his ear hurt; he lifted a hand to feel scabs.
Wispy bit me.
Many pains demanded his attention, but a thought still managed to push past them. He did not feel immediately concerned for his life.
That’s a new sensation, of late, and a pleasant one.
Probably because there is a giant the size of a tree sitting at my hearth. A bear as big as my barn in the yard, two men that seem to be able to kill their enemies at will, while tying their bootlaces, and a hound that looks more like a wolven. And rips my enemies’ throats open.
And a talking crow standing watch.
Things had worked out a lot better than Drem had expected, although as he’d imagined death was his only option, his expectations hadn’t been that high.
Still, alive and safe is good. Or as safe as I can be, with Kadoshim and feral men who want to see me dead less than a day’s ride away.
He rolled out of bed, saw that his boots were still on, all of his clothes, in fact. His weapons-belt was draped over a chair, his sword, axe and seax all back in their various sheaths. He stretched and clicked his neck, buckled the belt on, liking the familiar weight.
When did that start to become comforting?
Then he walked out into the main room of his cabin. It was empty, apart from a pot bubbling over the hearth.
‘Morning,’ a rough voice croaked at him, making him jump.
Drem looked about, saw the white crow perched on a roof-beam, sitting directly above the steam that was rising from the pot. Its head was tucked under one wing, one red eye regarding him.
‘Morning . . .’ he said, remembering his da’s admonishments to always be polite, though he felt a little strange, talking to a crow.
‘Rab,’ the white crow cawed. ‘Name is Rab.’
‘Morning, Rab,’ Drem said. Then he frowned. ‘I thought you were on watch duty?’
‘Rab cold,’ the bird said, giving his best impression of a shiver to reinforce his point, feathers puffing up and sticking out in odd directions.
‘No fears, Fen prowling.’
‘The others?’
‘Outside,’ Rab squawked, poking his beak at the open doorway and yard beyond.
He saw it was only a little past dawn as he stepped out of his doorway, the sun a heatless glow clawing its way up over the edge of the world.