Uldin said something to Jin, though Bleda did not hear it, his heart still soaring from his mother’s acknowledgement, and then Erdene and Uldin were riding away, towards the open gates of Drassil, their retinue following behind. Only Old Ellac looked at Bleda as they rode past.

Before Erdene and Uldin reached the gates, a dozen giants mounted upon bears lumbered out before them, an honour guard to escort the Arcona lords partway along the eastern road.

Bleda and Jin stood watching their kin, giants before them, a handful of Ben-Elim circling the skies above them as they rode a short way along the road of the dead, amongst the field of cairns, before they turned and headed east, moving swiftly out of sight. Bleda wished he could run up the wide stairwell to the battlements and watch them until they faded into the distance.

She is gone, but I have her parting to me. And also those words she whispered in my ear while on the weapons-field, the day that Jin shamed Riv, the trainee White-Wing.

‘Well, what are you two doing, standing about?’ Kol said to them with an easy smile, glancing up at the sun, which had not long cleared Drassil’s high walls. ‘You’re due at lessons, are you not?’

Bleda and Jin burst into the teaching chamber, a high-vaulted room of stone and wide-arched windows, one long wall filled with shelves full to bursting with scrolls and parchments. It was a room that Bleda was more familiar with than any other part of the fortress, because he had spent such a large portion of his life sitting in there, learning his letters, the histories, the theories of weapon and war, herbs and healing, the ways of earth and sky. And of course, the teachings of Elyon, how to live a life of faith, strength and purity. Of sacrifice, honour and duty.

Though that sounds more like the Ben-Elim than Elyon, to me.

It was fair to say that the Ben-Elim had brought more with them than just rules and an iron-shod foot upon the neck of those who lived and breathed within the Banished Lands. Though no trade that is forced upon you is a fair trade.

‘Where’s Jibril?’ Bleda said, skidding to a halt.

A giant stood before one of the long windows. He was leaning over a table, hands resting upon it like two knotted saplings. It was a giant Bleda knew well, or better than most at Drassil, because it was the giant who had plucked him from Israfil’s grip that day in Arcona when he had been taken from his people. He had ridden with this giant upon the back of a bear all the long way from Arcona to Drassil, and for a giant he was more talkative than most.

‘Alcyon, where is Jibril?’ Bleda asked again.