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‘—S o these bald brutes come out of nowhere and—’

‘Khan,’ Cyrus called. ‘A word.’

Jai took a moment to realise Cyrus was referring to him, and turned, to find the man still waiting where Jai had left him. He had rather lost track of time in the swift recounting of his story to Hanebal, whose mouth had hung agape for much of it.

‘We’ll speak later,’ Jai said.

With a sigh, Jai trudged back through the powdery snow towards Cyrus, feeling the mantle of duty returning to his shoulders. Cyrus greeted him with a congenial smile, his patting hand a silent invitation to join him upon a natural bench of rock. Its surface was weathered and smooth, bearing the wear of countless others who had looked out over the icy expanse from this spot before him.

‘How do you know these Huddites?’ Cyrus asked.

‘We escaped Porticus together,’ he admitted.

Cyrus nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips that suggested a level of knowledge Jai had not yet shared. His eyes, a steady, icy blue, held a sense of quiet understanding.

‘I want to go see her,’ Jai said. ‘Now.’

Again, Cyrus nodded, but he was acknowledging the sentiment, not the demand.

‘That is not up to me,’ he said. ‘The Caelite decide, and none are here.’

Jai was confused.

‘Aren’t you leader down here?’

Cyrus shook his head.

‘I merely shepherd their flock here, below. We all serve them, and in doing so, find protection.’

Jai threw up his hands, turning to stare up at the peaks above. Now he noticed a steep staircase, one so sheer it could not be climbed by legs alone. It was not far, but not a single soul seemed to be using it. This did not surprise him – the route was treacherous, and a fall from it would unlikely be survived. The people who would go up there had other means, anyway.

‘Then I will seek out the Caelite myself,’ Jai snapped, determination igniting in his voice.

Cyrus held up his hands.

‘Honoured Khan, I would counsel against such haste.’

‘Why?’ Jai said.

Cyrus smiled sympathetically. This perpetual lightheartedness was beginning to rankle Jai, in spite of Cyrus’s generous hospitality.

‘Most get one chance,’ he said, holding up a finger. ‘Take a moment to rest. Fill your belly, warm yourself. Soulbreathe.’

Rubbing his hands over his face, Jai felt the sapping weariness in his very bones. Despite Erica’s safety from immediate ransom, each day that passed here was a day spent away from his tribe. Though he had faith in his tribe’s leaders to maintain peace for a while longer, the luxury of time was not at his disposal. The Sabine legion continued their relentless advance, and the Gryphon Guard carried death on their wings.

‘One chance to do what?’ Jai asked, eager to focus on something other than the nagging worries tugging at his consciousness. A rest sounded so good, even if it were a moment of respite from his own thoughts.

‘Why, to join them of course,’ Cyrus revealed, a grand gesture emphasising his words. ‘Many come here to join the Caelite’s flock, finding contentment in life within the Sanctum here. We save others, purchasing fettered when our means allow. A select few, however, aspire to join the Caelite themselves. These devotees offer their service to the Caelite to prove their worth: they tame the terror birds, hunt meat from the steppe. All in the hopes of being deemed worthy of bonding with a roq of their own.’

He motioned at the men and women below, their cries and squawks colouring the air.

‘What’s so special about the Caelite?’ Jai said. ‘Their sect is scarcely spoken of.’

‘Nor should it be,’ Cyrus uttered. ‘The Caelite do not recruit, nor share knowledge. They allow their flock to grow, certainly, for their mountain homes are vast and the land is bountiful. But only those who are deemed worthy they welcome as their own.’

He spoke as if in rote, giving an answer he had given many before.

‘How long have they been here,’ Jai asked.

‘The Caelite are the oldest sect of the soulbound, predating even the Guild. Many have embarked on this journey only to be deemed unworthy. So I urge you to rest, Esteemed Khan.’

Jai stared up at the mountain.

‘What if I don’t want to join them?’ he asked. ‘What if I want to parlay, or barter?’

‘They do not trade,’ Cyrus said firmly. ‘They do not accept envoys.’

He pointed back the way they had come.

‘Traders meet down there,’ he said. ‘They meet with the flock, and the flock offers what they barter as gifts. There is no trade with the Caelite, only offerings.’

‘Then what if I bring an offering?’ Jai hissed, exasperated.

Cyrus pointed to a great spit, jutting away from the mountainside, beneath which the Huddites were gathered. Upon it, Jai could see the piled remains of a khiro. Of course it was Baal. His Alkhara.

‘We leave our offerings there,’ Cyrus said. ‘They are collected at their convenience.’

Anger welled up in Jai, threatening to spill over. Nevertheless, he held his rage in check, throwing a resentful glance at the devotees below. They continued their training, even under the relentless spring sun. Some had discarded most of their clothing, hoisting hefty rolls of compressed snow, their bodies glistening with perspiration.

‘My father undertook this same journey,’ Jai declared. ‘I am certain of it. How did he establish contact with them?’

Cyrus bowed his head in acknowledgement.

‘Your father once made the same ascent as you plan to do tomorrow. I assumed you were following in his footsteps.’

Mention of his father sent Jai’s heart pounding. Could it be possible that Rohan had been a part of the Caelite’s sect all along?

Jai lowered his face into his chin, and felt his resolve weaken. One more day, then. Surely he could allow himself that?

‘What will I face, up there?’ Jai asked.

As if he had sensed Jai’s mind being made up, Cyrus clicked his fingers, summoning a young boy to his side.

‘That I cannot tell you,’ he said, that maddening smile touching his lips once more. ‘Just know, you must be ready in body and spirit.’

The so-called shepherd turned his head, and muttered instructions in the language Jai had heard earlier.

‘Enough,’ he said, slapping the rock and getting to his feet. ‘You need rest. We will speak more in the morning.’

He hated to wait. He hated more that Cyrus was right.

He hated that Erica was so close...

He hated, most of all, how much he looked forward to resting when there was so much to do and so little time to do it.