‘For that is the Way of Elyon,’ Riv responded automatically, along with all the others.

Israfil sat and gave a nod to Ethlinn.

‘The rumours were true,’ Ethlinn said. ‘We found a Kadoshim lair, though recently deserted. There was evidence of large numbers dwelling there, thirty, forty at least.’

Gasps and murmurs rippled around the crowd. Kadoshim sightings were rare; the last one had been in the Agullas Mountains far to the south, over a year gone. It had been hunted and slain, a half-starved, pathetic thing, by all accounts, only a handful of deluded servants with it, more farmers than warriors.

‘Where?’ Israfil asked.

‘In Forn. Thirty leagues south, between here and Brikan,’ Ethlinn said.

So close. How dare they? Riv thought, her anger flaring.

‘How do you know it was a Kadoshim lair,’ Kol said, ‘if it was deserted?’

‘We found a body, nailed to crossed timber. He’d been sacrificed, runes upon the floor, written in his blood.’ She paused. ‘Terrible things had been done to him.’

Israfil said nothing, but the other Ben-Elim about him whispered to one another.

‘And we found this,’ Garidas called out, at the same time ripping off the hide covering from the wain.

A cage of iron bars lay underneath, within it a figure. Riv stared, straining to see properly. One man, heavily muscled and shaven-haired, clothes ragged and torn. He sat upon his knees, a chain hanging between his wrists. There was something . . . wrong, about him. Then he moved and something shifted on his back. At first Riv thought it was a cloak, but it was moving.

‘It cannot be,’ her mam hissed beside her.

Because the man in the cage had wings.

‘Is that a Kadoshim?’ Riv asked. It was not what she expected, looked nothing like the paintings on the latrine walls she’d just been looking at. It appeared far more human than she had been led to believe, and although he was sitting, he seemed short, definitely shorter than the tall, elegant Ben-Elim.

‘No,’ her mam said.

‘Bring him closer,’ Israfil ordered, a tremor in his voice that spoke of fury.

White-Wings unlocked the cage and dragged the winged man out. He did not put up a fight, just walked towards Israfil, with Garidas and half a dozen White-Wings about him. Riv saw the winged man pause, staring at the dais and the entwined figures of Asroth and Meical. Garidas yanked on his chains and he stumbled forwards.

‘You are a half-breed. Spawn of improper relations between a Kadoshim and a woman, are you not?’ Israfil said, barely able to keep the rage from his voice.

‘I am,’ the man said, standing tall before Israfil, his voice deep and guttural.

‘Kneel before the Lord Protector,’ Garidas said; one of the White-Wing guards slammed a spear shaft across the half-breed’s shoulders. He swayed but remained on his feet, another blow and he dropped to one knee.