Crowds grew thicker as Riv reached the courtyard of the Great Hall, people pouring through the open gates, Riv elbowing through them. Inside everyone was filing along the tiered stone steps, using them as benches, hundreds already sitting there. Riv saw her mam, Dalme, a few rows down and squeezed and shoved her way through the crowd to reach her.

‘Hello, my darling,’ her mam said.

‘I hear it’s Ethlinn and Garidas returned,’ Riv whispered as she sat beside her mam.

‘Aye, it’s true,’ Dalmae said, gesturing to the hall’s floor below them.

The iron-covered statues of Asroth and Meical were where they always were, tall and brooding before the trunk of Drassil’s ancient tree, and ringed about them were Ethlinn’s giants, as always. On the wide space between them and Riv a dozen chairs had been set, for Israfil and his captains sitting either side of him. Blond-haired Kol sat at the far end. Riv found her gaze lingering on the scarred Ben-Elim. He seemed different, somehow, from the Ben-Elim he sat beside, his perfect features altered by the scar that ran down his face, changing the straight line of his mouth. Perhaps he felt her eyes on him, because he looked up, straight at her, as if she were the only person in the room. She held his gaze a few heartbeats, then looked away.

Before the Ben-Elim was a wain, something bulky upon it, covered with a sheet of stitched hides. A score of White-Wings and giants were standing about it. Riv saw Garidas, who was captain of a White-Wing hundred, just as Aphra was. He was standing straight-backed and stern, as always, short-cropped dark hair framing a serious face. Riv liked him: he was a devout man, utterly committed to the Ben-Elim, and a fine warrior. He’d given Riv a fair few bruises on the weapons-field, although recently she usually gave as good as she got. If anything, Riv thought, it wouldn’t harm him to smile more.

Beside Garidas towered Ethlinn, Queen of the Giants. She was pale as milk, long-limbed, even for a giant, slimmer and less muscled than most, though there was an obvious strength in her musculature. Black hair knotted in a thick braid coiled about her shoulder and a thin torc of silver rested about her neck.

‘Where have they been?’ Riv asked her mam. There had been rumours, but no one really seemed to know, even Aphra, which was rare, because Aphra always seemed to know everything that was going on.

‘I think we’re about to find out.’ Dalmae shrugged.

The murmuring of the crowd stilled as Ethlinn strode to stand before Israfil.

When Israfil sat in his chair on the Lore-Giving days, he would start the proceedings with a prayer to Elyon and a reading from the Book of the Faithful, but today was different. He stood, the hall settling into immediate silence.

‘Faith, Strength and Purity,’ Israfil intoned.