How did they get in here? Get the gates open, take Drassil by surprise? And where are the Ben-Elim?

As if answering his thoughts, he felt the air shift above him, saw shadows flitting across the sky.

But they weren’t Ben-Elim.

Bleda knew it in a moment. The shape of them was different, their outline – silvered by starlight above, red-flamed glow from below – looked wrong, somehow. Their wings were ragged and thin, like wind-torn clouds after a storm, and they were edged in sharp-curved talons.

Kadoshim!

Even as he thought it, one of the winged figures was descending to the ground, only fifteen, twenty paces from Bleda and Jin. And it was carrying something in its long arms, another figure that it as good as hurled into a knot of White-Wings who were forming a small shield wall of a dozen men, calling others to them.

The figure thrown into their midst scattered them like kindling, roaring a battle-cry as the White-Wings scrambled to their feet. Its arms swung, some kind of sickle-like blade in its hand, and a head was spinning through the air. Then it leaped at two more White-Wings, the three of them crashing to the ground in a roaring tangle of limbs.

The Kadoshim alighted between them and Bleda, its wings furling behind it with a snap, a rush of air that tasted of the grave, of rot and decay. Bleda and Jin just stood and stared at the creature. All his life Bleda had heard of the Kadoshim, dread foes of the Ben-Elim, their opposite in every way. But no tale had prepared him for the sight of one in the flesh, living, breathing, stinking, just ten paces away. It was taller than a man, black eyes set in a reptilian face, fixing upon him, dark veins cobwebbing its pallid flesh. Its face shifted, smile or snarl, Bleda was unsure, revealing white, pointed teeth, and it strode towards them, drawing a sword from its scabbard, dark wings framing it like a cloak.

‘Kill it!’ Jin hissed beside him, but Bleda was frozen, those black eyes burning into him. He felt the closeness of death, a cold breath down the back of his neck. He fumbled desperately with the arrows in his grip, dropped them clattering about his feet, beside him Jin moved into a fighting stance, knees bent, her knife gleaming in her fist.

The Kadoshim raised its sword.

Bleda nocked an arrow to his bow, fingers feeling numb, swollen, like when he’d been stung by a bee. He tried to draw his arrow, aim, knew he was too slow, too late, the Kadoshim’s shadow falling across him, the stench of its breath filling his senses, and all Bleda could do was stare into its pale-as-death face.

Jin stepped forwards, crouched, knife levelled. She hissed a challenge.