Guards patrolled the line between meadow and forest, and above her Riv occasionally heard the whisper of wings, hoped that it was Ben-Elim, and not one of the huge blood-sucking bats that dwelt within the gloom of Forn.

Or Kadoshim.

Riv glanced at the walled town, silent and still. There was plenty of room in there for the warriors, and the walls and roofs would have offered protection against the predators of the forest. But no one wanted to sleep within the walls of Oriens. The mound of heads had made an impression upon all of them. It was clearly the townsfolk, not just warriors or men who had taken up arms against a raider. Men, women, bairns, all were amongst the macabre, blood-soaked mound.

Kol had ordered the mound dismantled, in itself a grisly act, as a search for the bodies had been made, but none had been found before light had begun to fade. So a deep pit had been dug, Riv’s hands blistered by the hard shovel work, and the heads were buried. Kol had spoken words from the Book of the Faithful over them.

‘The unjust will laugh and mock the righteous, they may outlive their dark deeds by a day or a year, but the righteous will find them, and when they do, the unjust will tremble.’

Voices had called out agreement, oaths made to avenge the slain.

‘Who would do such a thing?’ Jost whispered to Riv.

‘Kadoshim,’ Riv breathed back to him.

Must be. Who else would murder innocents, mutilate children and babies?

The smell came back to Riv unbidden, a vision of a tiny skull, red holes for eyes. She breathed deep and slow, controlling the lurching of her stomach.

‘Ask Aphra,’ Jost urged her.

She looked at her sister, who was staring into the flames of the fire-pit, not involved in the conversation between Kol and Lorina. Garidas was silent, too, though his eyes were on Aphra, not the flames. Riv had long thought that he had more than a warrior’s respect for her sister.

‘Go on.’ Jost nudged Riv with his elbow.

‘Is it Kadoshim?’ Riv leaned close and whispered in Aphra’s ear.

Her sister jumped as if stabbed, staring at Riv.

‘I don’t know, Riv. We found only the dead in Oriens,’ Aphra said, her voice clipped, as if she were straining to hold the rest in.

Kol glanced between Aphra and Riv.

‘It’s a dark, grievous thing that has been done here,’ Kol said, standing; others turned to listen. He looked at the faces about the fire-pit, all staring at him, washed in a blood-red flicker.

‘Was it the Kadoshim?’ a voice asked. Jost.

Kol looked at Jost, the fledgling White-Wing standing still as stone, all sinew, stretched muscle and tendon. He looked ten shades of uncomfortable under the scrutiny of so many eyes.