‘Good.’ The Ben-Elim stooped down and grabbed Bleda by the collar of his tunic, hoisting him into the air. Bleda instinctively snatched for an arrow from his quiver, nocking it to his bow, but with a flick of his wrist the Ben-Elim slapped it from Bleda’s grip, sending his bow falling to the ground. Bleda glared at the Ben-Elim, expecting his mother to intervene, to protect him, as she always had done, but she just sat upon her horse, looking at him with her grey eyes.

‘I am Israfil, Lord Protector of the Land of the Faithful, and you are coming with me,’ the Ben-Elim said. ‘A surety that your mother will keep the peace once we are gone.’

‘What? Where?’ Bleda said, the Ben-Elim’s words seeping through to him slowly, as if through water.

‘You are my ward, Bleda, and Drassil will be your new home,’ the Ben-Elim said.

Ward. Drassil.

The words set Bleda reeling as if they were blows. Drassil was the Ben-Elim’s fortress, far to the west.

I am to be their ward. A prisoner, he means.

‘No,’ Bleda whispered. ‘Mother?’

A long silence, a look between Erdene and Israfil that spoke of pride and shame, of the victor and the defeated. The fear returned then, a chill in Bleda’s heart, seeping into his veins, carrying a tremor to his lips.

The cold-face. Do not shame Mother. Do not shame my people.

‘It is agreed,’ Erdene said, her face a mask, only her eyes speaking her message.

You must be strong.

‘It is the price that must be paid,’ the Ben-Elim intoned. ‘There will be peace in the Land of the Faithful. There is only one enemy, only one foe who shall be fought: the Kadoshim and their followers.’

‘No,’ Bleda said, both denial and refusal. He felt hot tears bloom in his eyes, snatched at them, knowing the shame they brought.

‘Altan and Hexa will not allow you to do this,’ Bleda said, anger and fear twisting his voice, then there was a rushing of air and a beating of wings as more Ben-Elim sped from the sky, alighting around Israfil. The first was fair-haired, a long scar running from forehead to chin. He threw something at Israfil’s feet. They dropped with a thud, rolled in the grass and fell still.

Two heads, eyes bulging, blood still dripping.

Altan and Hexa.