The Captain of the Kadoshim walked through the crowd and it parted for him, his procession following behind: twelve, fourteen figures, Sig counted, all cloaked and hooded. They stopped in the space between the table and boulder, forming a half-circle behind Gulla. Two of them came to stand at his shoulder, casting their hoods back. Like Gulla they were pale-skinned and dark-veined, wings furled, clothed in rusted, iron-grey ringmail and tattered cloaks. But they were different, their heads shaved like the acolytes, and they were shorter and stockier.

What are they? Kadoshim? But they look like no Kadoshim that I have ever seen.

‘The tide of the great war turns this night,’ Gulla cried out, voice sinuous and alien. Cheers and growls and hissing approval rang out.

‘My children,’ Gulla called, and the two at his shoulder stepped forwards, striding towards the great boulder.

Gulla’s children! What foul deed have these Kadoshim committed? The darkness they have brought upon mankind. A fresh anger bubbled in Sig’s gut, a desire to rid the world of the Kadoshim’s corruption.

The two half-breeds reached a gate in the rock, the clank of chains and creak of iron hinges, then an animal screech. They reappeared with a giant bat held between them, the huge creature writhing and bucking in their grip, its head twisting and snapping at them, but it could not reach them.

Gulla’s children slammed the bat down onto the table, held it pinned and stretched out by its great wings.

Gulla walked to the table, as he did so chanting rose up from the crowd in a tongue few would understand, but Sig knew it all too well.

A hush fell over the crowd.

‘Fuil agus cnámh, uirlisí an cruthaitheoir,’ Gulla cried out.

‘Blood and bone, tools of the creator,’ Sig whispered. Drem was as tense as a drawn bow beside her.

With a long black nail, Gulla slit the bat’s throat, its terrified screeching descending into a frothed rattle, the creature’s life-blood pouring onto the table, pooling and bubbling as the creature convulsed.

‘Step forward,’ Gulla said to one of the hooded figures that had followed him through the crowd, tall and slim. The figure threw back its hood, head shaved to fair stubble that glistened in the firelight.

A woman? Sig thought, though she was not wholly sure; there was something androgynous about this person. Male or female, it drew a sword from its cloak. A black sword.

The Starstone Sword!

Beside her Drem hissed, his body jerking and he almost leaped from the roof, only Sig’s hand darting out holding him down. He took a deep breath, one hand reaching for his neck, fingers probing.

Is he taking his pulse?

Drem looked at Sig then, and tears were in his eyes.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: RIV

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

RIV