Bleda turned away from the weapons-field and stared out over the walls of Drassil. High above him the branches of the great tree arched, spreading wide over the plains that surrounded the ancient fortress, dappling the meadow-grass in sunlight and shadow. The plain to the west was covered in cairns, thousands of them, burial mounds of moss-covered stone raised over those who had fallen on the day the Ben-Elim came, the day the Kadoshim were defeated. A road ran through the centre of them to the gates of Drassil.

A road watched over by the dead, Bleda thought.

In the distance a forest ringed Drassil: ancient Forn, though its trees had been cut and thinned for over a hundred years now as the Ben-Elim had rooted Kadoshim from the dark places. Slicing through the forest were roads that radiated out from the fortress, north, south, east and west, like spokes from a wheel hub. They were wide and straight, connecting Drassil, the Ben-Elim’s seat of power, with the rest of the Land of the Faithful, and it was along these roads that their armies marched, whether it was to fight Kadoshim or to enforce peace upon lands within their ever-expanding boundaries.

Bleda found himself looking east, as he often did, imagining that he could see the rolling plains of his homeland beyond the green-leaved bulwark of Forn Forest. This time, though, he saw a column upon the east road, marching steadily towards Drassil, the distant ripple of banners snapping in the breeze.

He slapped Jin’s shoulder. She was still pouring scorn upon those in the weapons-field, but her eyes narrowed as she saw what he was pointing at.

‘Giants and bears at the front,’ she whispered.

‘And Ben-Elim above,’ Bleda said, spying shapes circling in the air above the column.

‘But banners?’ Jin said. ‘Not Ben-Elim troops, then.’

They stood in silence, wondering who these approaching visitors were, important enough to warrant such an escort. A shadow crossed over them and there was a gust of wind, light footsteps and a Ben-Elim landed close by. He was tall, graceful and beautiful as a fine statue, as were all the Ben-Elim, though he was fair-haired where most were dark. Bleda felt a stirring of anger in his blood at the sight of him, for this was Kol, the Ben-Elim who had thrown the heads of his brother and sister at his feet.

‘Many are looking for you two,’ the Ben-Elim said. ‘You are wanted in the keep.’

‘What for?’ Jin answered, haughty as if she were already Queen of the Cheren.

‘You have visitors,’ the Ben-Elim said, looking out onto the plain before Drassil.

The approaching column was still a way off, but close enough now for Bleda to see the swirl and snap of the banners. Jin gasped, her eyes always a little keener than his, but he recognized the images soon enough, and his heart lurched within his chest.