In two bounding steps, Quasim crossed from the hunters to stand in front of him. ‘Greetings, Vasin, lone hunter of the Sapphire Everlasting. Greetings, Vasin, Bane of the Scuttling Corpseman. And thrice greetings.’

Quasim offered an arm and they clasped wrists. Lone hunter was a not very subtle barb but he didn’t dare rise to it. ‘Greetings to you Quasim, child of the Peridot Everlasting, your stout heart and strong arm are always welcome in my company.’

They raised their hands together and the crowd cheered, though not as loudly as they might. They feel Anuja’s absence keenly, as do we all.

He took a moment to appraise the three groups of hunters that would fly with them. Quasim’s were a seasoned block, hard of face and muscular, while Lakshin’s were a mix of old and new, some barely more than apprentices, others veterans of the sky. The ones that Anuja had provided for him to lead were all young, their faces flitting from pride to terror. He could see the training written in their bodies however, and was heartened to see that despite being rushed, their wings appeared sturdy. He wouldn’t know their worth for sure until they were in the sky.

When it will be too late.

‘Aha!’ boomed Quasim. ‘Here is our beloved Opal.’

Lakshin came out to greet them more stiffly, speaking quietly rather than to the crowd. The warmth he and Quasim shared made the cold regard Vasin received even more pointed. Like them, Lakshin was fully armoured. His Gardener-smiths had carved feathers onto the chest, back and legs, giving Lakshin the appearance of some giant bird. The work was exquisite but made the armour and its wearer seem more vulnerable somehow. Lakshin’s spear was shorter and lighter than Vasin’s, designed more for throwing than thrusting. A short crystal blade was fastened at his belt, curved like the wings they wore. Vasin found himself wishing for one of his own.

It was time to begin his speech but as he was taking breath, Quasim cut across him, almost as if he believed himself to be in charge.

‘Are you ready?’ he asked the hunters.

‘Aye!’ they replied together.

‘And are you ready?’ he asked the crowd.

‘Aye!’ they shouted.

Quasim clicked his gauntleted fingers and a servant struggled over under the weight of a giant sword cut from a single chunk of peridot. It was almost as big as her, and at one point obscured her entirely, giving Vasin the impression it was floating across the courtyard in accordance with Quasim’s will. He took it from her as if it weighed nothing and pointed it towards the sky. ‘I too am ready!’

Clearly, the blade was lighter than it appeared, but it still looked unwieldy, as unwelcome an addition as Quasim’s impromptu address, which had further ruined the rhythm of his preparations.