And, truth be told, it was good to be away from Drassil. After what had happened to Estel and Adonai, the fortress had felt different, dour and cold – something she’d never felt about the place she’d been born and raised before. Every day away from Drassil and Riv had felt her spirits lift, and the spirits of their company, as well, it seemed. Three units of White-Wings were marching down the Arcona road, the first hundred led by Aphra, the second by Garidas, ever earnest and devout, the third by a stern-faced woman named Lorina.

Riv was situated at the rear of the column, part of the retinue that travelled with Aphra’s hundred White-Wings as assistants, most of them fledgling warriors within a year of their warrior trials. In reality they performed the bulk of tasks required for a warband on the move. Making camp, digging trenches and latrines, collecting wood and building fires, securing fresh water and filling hundreds of water skins. And then seeing to the needs of whichever warrior they were assigned to, in Riv’s case her sister, Aphra, which included keeping her weapons and armour maintained, clean and polished.

Behind her rolled two dozen wains pulled by big-boned horses, the wains full of the camp supplies. And behind them two score giants marched rear-guard at the back of the column, Balur One-Eye leading them, the white-haired giant dressed for war in ringmail and leather, his great war-hammer slung across his back.

The iron-shod boots of the Hundred cracked a rhythm on the flagstones of the eastern road. An embankment fell to either side, the land stripped of trees for a good hundred paces, a task that never ended, having to be performed every year, as the forest was ever trying to reclaim what it had lost. Beyond the cleared space Forn reared tall and brooding, a wall of twisted bark and rustling leaves.

They could be in there, right now. Watching us.

It was sections of the forest like this that were dangerous, where Forn Forest had still to be thinned and searched, declared free of Kadoshim and made safe.

The sky was clear and blue up above, like a bright road between the arching canopy. Silhouettes of Ben-Elim flew weightless circles, guarding above, patrolling ahead, searching.

Wish I could fly, she thought. The sense of freedom, seeing so much, so far . . .

Golden-haired Kol led the Ben-Elim, fifty or sixty of the white-winged warriors scattered across the sky.

‘Do you think we’re nearly there yet?’ Jost said beside her.

‘I don’t know,’ Riv muttered.

I swear, if he asks me that one more time . . .

A horn blast drifted down to them from above, and suddenly Ben-Elim were swooping low over the column, shouting orders. Riv almost felt feathers brush her upturned face as a Ben-Elim skimmed above her. It was Kol, grinning and whooping. Riv smiled at his exuberance.

He and Israfil could not be more different.