all been present, forged from the Starstone, and it was by the Treasures’ power that a portal had been opened between the Banished Lands and the Otherworld. Through that gateway the Kadoshim had poured like a dark plague, death and destruction their sole purpose, but fortunately the Ben-Elim had followed close behind them, saviours of humanity.
Somehow the Treasures had been destroyed, reduced to molten metal, and Asroth and Meical had been caught up in their destruction, coated in the cooling ore, frozen for all time. Whether they were dead or alive, no one knew, but the Ben-Elim in a humbling act of self-sacrifice had elected to stay and guard mankind against even the possibility of Asroth’s return, and to hunt down and destroy the Kadoshim that had survived the Battle of Drassil.
That was why she had come to this hall. To remind herself why she had trained so hard, each and every day of her remembered life; to remind herself of what was at the heart of all the blood and sweat, the dark mornings, the muscle straining, the exhaustion, sacrifice and discipline. Something that was bigger than her insignificant life. Something that gave her meaning and purpose.
The great fight. The holy war. And I must be a part of it.
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CHAPTER FOUR
DREM
‘Grab the branch!’ Drem heard his da shout. He splashed about wildly, saw the branch as it loomed close and reached out, the fingers of one hand wrapping around it. He felt the river current still tugging at him, his arm and shoulder muscles stretching and straining – for a moment he was sure the river was going to win – then Olin was pulling him into the shore, a hand under his arm helping him rise. Drem hobbled onto the riverbank, his ankle a throbbing pain.
Olin didn’t look much better, grey hair hanging lank, his face pale and gaunt, dark hollows under his eyes. The sleeve of one arm was torn, a long red wound beneath it pulsing blood.
‘Need to l-l-look at that,’ Drem said, trying to stop his teeth from chattering.
‘Let’s get warm first,’ Olin muttered, eyeing the darkening sky.
The river had carried them out of the foothills and into the plain that surround the Starstone Lake. Drem looked back up at the hills and mountains, his mind filled with the memory of the white bear that had come so close to killing them both. He shivered.
Fire.
Both their kindling pouches were soaked through, but they found dead rushes close to the river and gathered great bundles of them, then used their striking irons to set sparks leaping. Drem groaned in pleasure as the first warmth of the flames lapped against him. They stripped their wet clothes and hung them close for drying. Both of them were covered in cuts and bruises where the river had introduced them to rocks and branches on the turbulent journey from the foothills to the plain. Drem’s bone-handled seax had managed to stay within its sheath; he kept it close, the white bear never far from his mind.
Olin splinted his ankle, which was swollen and bruised purple, but didn’t feel broken, and then Drem set about stitching his da’s arm. A claw from the bear’s parting swipe had gouged a long furrow almost from shoulder to elbow. Drem boiled some water, let it cool awhile and then cleaned the wound out. He took a fish hook and thread from a pouch on his da’s belt and began methodically stitching the wound up.
‘Last time you did this I’d drunk half a skin of mead first,’ his da hissed, grunting each time Drem pierced flesh and popped through skin.
‘Quiet,’ Drem whispered, wiping fresh blood away and concentrating on his stitching. It was a task he enjoyed, found it fascinating, seeing the flesh pull together. There was something appealing about the regimentation of the stitches, and something wonderful in the fact that this act helped the body to heal itself, that it would allow flesh and skin to grow and knit back together.
When he was done Drem sat back, smiling at his handiwork. His da twisted to inspect it and nodded approvingly.
‘Ever decide you’re done with hunting, you’ll make a fine healer,’ he said. ‘Or maybe a seamstress.’ His lips twisted in a smile.
‘So, what now?’ Drem asked.
‘We could limp home to our cabin,’ Olin said, ‘but what would be the point of that, when we’ve got half a year of trapping sitting back in those foothills?’
‘The point?’ Drem said, raising an eyebrow. ‘I’d imagine