you, our ally in Ardain. I would save it for a more private meeting, but …’ Kushiel’s eyes flickered back to Sig and those gathered behind him. ‘I do not think it should wait.’
‘And what is this reason?’ Nara asked.
‘Times are dangerous, the Kadoshim treacherous, and as these beacons show, they seem to be stirring.’
‘Aye, all this I know,’ Nara said.
‘We Ben-Elim seek to protect you, the race of men, and giants –’ he looked at Sig again – ‘from the dread hand of the Kadoshim. But the practicalities. We number only so many, can patrol and protect only so much ground before our watch grows thin. There are many of your kind who …’ He paused again, thinking on his words. ‘Who assist with the practicalities of maintaining the peace. The White-Wings, the giant Clan.’
Not all of the giants.
‘But they are not enough. We need more. Those within the borders of our protection give a flesh tithe, as is only right.’
A flesh tithe! Sig frowned at that, felt her hackles rising.
‘Israfil has sent me to request a tithe from our neighbours, our allies,’ Kushiel continued. ‘From you. A tithe of warriors, to fight the good fight. The holy war against the Kadoshim.’
Nara was silent a long moment, quiet settling over the whole courtyard, just the gentle sigh of rain, the pulse of Ben-Elim wings from the two circling overhead.
‘I will not order warriors of Ardain to leave their kin and their homes, to leave Ardain against their will,’ Nara said.
‘Then why do I see two score gathered behind the … representative of Dun Seren and their Order of the Bright Star?’ Kushiel asked, his voice far from polite now. Flat and cold.
‘They have chosen – volunteered – to go,’ Nara replied calmly. ‘And so they have my blessing.’
‘Really?’ Kushiel asked, his eyebrows rising again. ‘Why would they choose them? A tower in the north, when they could join the Ben-Elim, the champions and protectors of your race? The Ben-Elim, who defeated the Kadoshim and their allies on that Day of Days—’
‘You lie,’ a voice said, low, grating, but heard by all in the square. It took Sig a moment to realize that the voice belonged to her.
Kushiel’s head turned slowly to glare up at her.
‘I was there, too,’ Sig said. ‘I rode in the charge that broke Asroth’s allies on the plain before Drassil’s walls. I know what Corban did. Fought Asroth, slew Calidus, helped to destroy the Seven Treasures and your gateway to the Otherworld.’
‘Enough!’ Kushiel snapped.
‘Many sacrifices were made that day,’ Sig said. ‘They will never be forgotten.’
‘We will never forget,’ Cullen and Keld intoned either side of her, the mantra of their Order.
‘And you should take a care,’ Cullen said, ‘that’s my great-grandfather you’re belittling. Might be the quickest way for you to go about getting your wings clipped.’
Sig gave a warning growl, at the same time wishing she’d said the same.
Kushiel’s eyes blazed.
‘Wings clipped?’ he hissed, ‘You arrogant pup.’ He reached for the sword at his hip.
‘Not in my realm,’ Queen Nara said, a sudden tension in the air.
Kushiel drew in a deep breath and took his hand away from his sword hilt. He stared at Sig, Cullen and Keld, only his eyes hinting at the emotion he controlled within.
‘They are free to choose, you say?’ he directed at Nara.
‘Aye. They are. They have. More than that, they requested the privilege of going to Dun Seren,’ Nara said.
‘Privilege!’ Kushiel muttered. With a pulse of his wings, he lifted into the air and hovered gracefully above the group of volunteers.
‘Trainees of Ardain, I speak to you,’ Kushiel said. Sig felt Hammer begin to growl, a tremor deep in the bear’s belly, vibrating into Sig’s boots.
‘You have a choice before you,’ Kushiel called out. ‘Dun Seren or Drassil. The Order of the Bright Star, or the Ben-Elim. Where would you rather complete your training? A crumbling tower filled with a fading order, or the greatest fortress in the world, home to the mightiest warband and warriors the Banished Lands have ever witnessed. What would you rather be part of?’
A silence filled the courtyard, the creak of harness, a horse stamping a hoof.
‘Dun Seren for me,’ a voice said, high, a tremor running through it. Kushiel’s gaze snapped onto the speaker. A girl, dark-haired and gaunt. Despite her trembling voice she held Kushiel’s gaze and returned it.
‘Me too,’ another voice called out. ‘Corban was the greatest warrior that’s ever lived, and he came from here. From the west.’
‘Aye.