A Time of Blood, page 17
The white bear lifted its head and roared, spittle flying, the ground quaking. It took a staggering step after its fleeing attacker, then a shudder rippled through its body and its front legs collapsed. It toppled onto its side, its chest rising and falling in short, shallow gasps.
“Help… me,” a muffled voice called.
Cullen!
Drem and Keld ran to the pile of dead wyrm, heaved its lifeless bulk away to reveal Cullen buried in a heap of offal, slime and putrescence.
Cullen sat up, looked at Drem, wiped wyrm slime from his face. Spat more of it up. Retched. There was no grin from him now.
“Drem, a question.” Cullen spat out more slime. “Why the hell would you choose to live out here?”
Drem stared at Cullen, started to chuckle, looked at Keld, who laughed, too, and then Drem was throwing his head back and laughing from the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t laughed in a long while, and especially not like this, a deep, uncontrolled laughter that shook his core, rattled his bones and made his jaw ache.
“Well,” he said, cuffing tears away when he could finally draw breath. “At least things can’t get any worse.”
“Can they not?” Cullen said, eyes drifting up.
Drem followed his gaze, and saw a black silhouette high above them, framed against the luminous glow of snow clouds.
A black silhouette with wide, bat-like wings.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RIV
Kol poured Riv a cup of wine.
I hate it here.
They were sitting in Kol’s chambers, situated in a tower high above Drassil’s Great Hall. Not too long ago it had been Israfil’s chambers, and Riv could still see the bloodstains upon the flagstoned floor.
It is a constant reminder of why I hate Kol. My mo–, no, my grandmother Dalmae died in these chambers. And Kol insists that I stay here, still, when all I want is to return to my siste–, no, my mother’s barracks.
Her head was still spinning with the changes in her life. Kol and his deeds were ever-present in her head and heart, a constant test of her self-control. Because her anger was still there, a swirling tornado in the pit of her belly that threatened to drag her into its violent grip.
She knew where that always ended.
Blood and violence.
And she could not allow that to happen, for Vald and Jost’s sake.
For Bleda’s sake.
And Kol is my father. She stared at him, a mixture of revulsion and fascination shifting through her.
A tall, high-arched window let in gusts of cold air, though a Ben-Elim stood before it, jet-black hair braided and tied at the neck.
Ben-Elim do not only guard doors. An attack is just as likely to come through a window as through a door.
“I think that went quite well,” Kol said, pouring wine for Aphra and Lorina as well. He was talking about the meeting yesterday in the Great Hall, as this was the first time they had all met since then.
“Before we drink,” Kol said, “we need something to toast.”
Other than me being still alive, Riv thought.
“I remember my friends and reward loyalty,” Kol said. “And as I’m in the mood for making changes, you two are now promoted.” He raised his cup to Aphra and Lorina. “You are now my two high captains of the White-Wings. Five hundred swords for each of you.”
Riv blinked at that. The White-Wings numbered in total around ten thousand strong. They had never had high captains, had always been divided into hundreds. Riv had never thought twice of it before, but now she found herself questioning everything, and in hindsight considered the demarcation of the White-Wings into comparatively small groups of a hundred as another way that the Ben-Elim had maintained their control. Drassil’s garrison was traditionally a thousand White-Wings, and now Kol was giving them all over to Aphra and Lorina, the two captains who had supported his coup.
Aphra frowned, but said nothing, and Lorina smiled, the act not much changing her dark, severe features.
“So, to my new high captains, and to a new order. Cheers,” Kol said, raising his own cup. Aphra and Lorina also raised theirs and drank. Kol stared at Riv, arching an eyebrow.
Riv did not feel much like celebrating, still remembering Sariel’s look of revulsion as he had called her an abomination.
But I am still alive, and it looks as if I will not be put to death in the immediate future. That’s something, I suppose.
She sipped red wine from her cup, discovered that she liked the taste.
“That’s the spirit,” Kol said.
Riv found his endless joviality irritating.
A day had passed since Kol’s revelation in the Great Hall, during which Riv had kept herself hidden away in these chambers. She was greatly encouraged by the response of Drassil’s residents to her, after Kol had worked a little of his oratory magic, and a large dose of manipulation.
But alive is alive.
“So, now the Ben-Elim and Drassil’s residents are reconciled to… you—” Kol looked at Riv—“thus paving the way to a more relaxed, intimate relationship between Ben-Elim and mankind.” He drank from his cup, smiled.
“It just leaves Ethlinn and her giants to win over,” Aphra said.
“They will be far easier to pacify than Sariel and his Ben-Elim,” Lorina murmured.
“I should hope so.” Kol sighed. “Though I doubt we have heard the last of Sariel.” He shrugged. “The first and hardest step has been made. As for the giants, I think once the situation is on firm ground here, that I should take my new… figurehead to go and see Ethlinn and her giants.”
Figurehead! Riv didn’t like that.
“Where is Ethlinn?” Riv asked.
“Dun Seren.” Kol sighed again. “I suppose I may as well deal with them as well as the giants and get this all over and done with.”
“The Order of the Bright Star?” Riv said.
“Aye. A den of stiff-necked fools, but stiff-necked fools that we need, at least until the Kadoshim are annihilated.” He smiled.
Kol’s going to take me to the Order of the Bright Star! Riv felt a thrill run through her at that thought. As she grew up with the White-Wings, the warriors of the Bright Star were always considered allies, but also competition. The issue of who was better was an oft-asked question.
We are.
She had seen a small group of the Order before. A scouting party sent to give information to Aphra on a suspected Kadoshim nest. There had been a giant upon one of their great bears—Riv was used to giants and bears, so that hadn’t overly impressed her—as well as a huntsman with a brace of wolven-hounds and two more warriors. They had seemed to lack the discipline and uniformity that the White-Wings prided themselves upon, but they had all displayed a certain grace, an air of self-assurance and fluidity around them. And even when they were just standing, they exuded a confidence, a deep-seated knowledge and security in their abilities that set them apart as masters of their art.
Because war is an art. Just a deadly one.
It will be interesting to finally see them train. Maybe spar with a few of them.
“The Order of the Bright Star are none too fond of me,” Kol said. “I have had… disagreements with them in the past.”
Sound like sensible people. She felt a smile twitch her mouth at the thought.
He shrugged and poured himself some more wine. “The joys of ruling.”
There was a surge of wind through the high-arched window, a turbulence as a Ben-Elim hovered in the air beyond. The guard standing there shifted to block entry, hefting his spear.
“I bear a message from Sariel,” the Ben-Elim beyond the window called out.
“Let him in, Hadran,” Kol said with a gesture, and the Ben-Elim in the window stepped back, raising his spear-point, though Riv noted that Hadran still held it ready.
A Ben-Elim flew into the room, great white wings furling as he touched down gently and approached Kol. He was tall, his hair so fair it was almost white, and classically handsome in the Ben-Elim way, with chiselled features and sharp, intelligent eyes.
He held out a rolled parchment, proffering it to Kol.
“What does it say, Kamael?”
“That you are summoned to the Moot, to answer for your deviation from the Way. It meets two days from now.”
“I see.” Kol sighed.
He seems to be doing a lot of that, lately.
“Anything else?” Kol asked.
“Aye. We will decide on who will become the new Lord Protector,” Kamael said.
In a heartbeat Kol was on his feet, face a handspan from Kamael. To his credit, Kamael stood his ground, did not recoil or flinch.
“That is already decided,” Kol said. “The people have spoken.”
“Sariel says differently,” Kamael said. “We Ben-Elim have not decided, and we both know that is all that matters.”
He dismisses us like we are worthless insects. Riv realized she still considered herself human, not Ben-Elim, despite the obvious reminder of her mixed heritage that was sprouting from her back.
“We shall see,” Kol said.
“Yes,” Kamael agreed. “Will you attend the Moot?”
“Of course,” Kol said, and waved his hand in dismissal, turning away and returning to his seat.
Kamael stood and stared at him, then disdainfully threw the rolled-up parchment onto the table and walked away. He did not glance at the Ben-Elim guard as he stepped from the high tower window. A beat of his wings and he was gone.
Hadran looked out of the window, watching Kamael’s departure.
Kol took the parchment and broke the seal, unrolled and read it. Sneered and tossed it over his shoulder.
“Sariel is determined to be a thorn in my flesh,” he snarled.
“You have the people’s vote,” Lorina said. “Most of Drassil is behind you.”
“It is the Ben-Elim I must contend with,” Kol said. “They have to support my claim if my rule is to last.”
“You have over a thousand Ben-Elim who have pledged their allegiance to you,” Aphra said.
“Aye. But there are more than three thousand of my brothers in these Banished Lands. I need a majority.”
“Who else could rule, if not you?” Lorina said.
Kol pulled a face, which Riv thought meant no one.
He has always been arrogant, but that is a Ben-Elim trait, not confined to Kol.
“Sariel is my only real threat. He has governed the south of the Lands of the Faithful for half a hundred years, has fought campaigns there, exterminating the Vin Thalun pirates, stamping on all opposition to the yoke of the Ben-Elim. He has many supporters from that region, both Ben-Elim and White-Wings.”
“We have come this far, are so close,” Lorina said. “Sariel will not stop us now.”
“I hope you are right,” Kol muttered, tapping his teeth with a thumbnail. He sipped his wine, brooding darkly.
“I want to go back to Aphra’s barracks,” Riv said into the growing silence.
Kol looked at her and frowned. Riv saw a gentle smile touch Aphra’s face.
“I am sick of being hidden away,” Riv said.
Sick of being around you every waking breath, Kol.
“I am concerned for your safety,” Kol said.
“My safety?” Riv snorted, glancing at the scar on her shoulder.
“That was before I knew you were my daughter,” Kol said.
Riv stared at him.
“I have much resting upon you, Riven ap Kol,” Kol said, humour in his eyes.
“But you would not call me your daughter in public,” she snapped.
Not that I want you to.
“Of course not. It’s better that your parentage remains nameless. You are a symbol of past crimes, a symbol of forgiveness, and of hope for the future. Best to leave it at that.”
Because you would not be so popular if everyone knew you were the father who committed the sin.
“I still want to go back to Aphra’s barracks,” Riv said.
“Perhaps it would help your cause against Sariel?” Aphra said.
Kol raised an eyebrow.
“What you said in the hall,” Aphra said, “stirred people’s blood, won their sympathy, but they were just words. If people saw those words in action—Riv bridging that gap between Ben-Elim and us… then it would only cement the step you have made.”
“Yes, your point is well made,” Kol said. “But what if harm were to come to her?”
“Guards?” Lorina said.
“A few, in the shadows. Not so many that she looks like a prisoner,” Aphra said.
They are talking about me as if I am not a person.
Riv ground her teeth.
“Very well,” Kol said. “You may go back to Aphra’s barracks and be free to roam Drassil, within reason. Train in the weapons-field, if you will. With guards. I’ll set some of my Ben-Elim to watch over you. And Aphra, some White-Wings, please.”
“Of course,” Aphra said.
Kol looked at Riv’s wings, furled behind her. “You may even train with us Ben-Elim, soon. I’ll teach you how better to use those.” He nodded to Riv’s wings.
I know how to use them.
“My thanks,” Riv grunted. She rose to leave.
“One thing,” Kol said as she walked to the door.
“What?” Riv said, looking back.
“Don’t lose your temper.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DREM
Drem looked up at the sky again, searching for any sign of the Kadoshim half-breed. She had wheeled above them as the fight with the wyrms had ended, but now she was nowhere to be seen.
And that worries me more. I’d rather know where she is. We need to move, and move fast.
Cullen had found a stream to wash the wyrm slime and muck from his body, while Drem and Keld checked Hammer and Fen over for wounds.
The white bear still lay upon its side. Its breathing was steadier, though, but it appeared to be unconscious. Hammer rumbled over to the fallen beast, sniffed a wound and licked it with her rasping tongue. The white bear didn’t so much as stir.
Without thinking, Drem approached the prone bear, carefully, with one hand on his seax.
Its fur was stained pink, a tapestry of long red lacerations and puncture wounds covering its body. Tentatively, Drem reached out and put his hand upon the bear’s chest, felt its ribs flex as it breathed. Hammer nudged the bear with her muzzle, pushed into it none too gently, rumbled a sound deep in her belly, not quite a growl. The white bear rocked back a little, then rolled back.
Most of the wounds Drem checked were superficial, but then he found an injury high on the shoulder of its left foreleg that was leaking a lot of blood. He bent down and lifted its paw, grunting with the weight. He looked at the point where its claw had been severed, a hand reaching to his throat and touching the claw tied around his neck. A flash of memory, his da throwing himself upon Drem, the two of them rolling out of the bear’s way, Drem lashing out with his seax and slicing the claw. And then followed by another memory, the bear standing over him, sniffing him as he set it free from its cage of iron bars before the walls of Kergard.
It let me live.
He looked at Keld, who was standing back, staring at the bear.
“We need to leave,” Keld said. “Cullen,” he called out.
“Be with you soon,” Cullen called back, “but I can still taste and smell wyrm.”
“I’ve met this bear before,” Drem said, raising the bear claw around his neck and pointing to the bear’s front paw, with its missing claw.
Keld and Cullen shared a look, Keld nodded. “Just until Cullen is ready,” the huntsman said, and Drem hurried to his pack, unbuckled it and pulled out a smaller kit bag. He threw a wad of linen bandages to Keld and the two of them set to patching up the white bear as best they could, cleaning and packing the wounds with honey, comfrey and yarrow, and then binding them with strips of linen.
Footsteps behind them and Cullen ran into the clearing. His red hair had grown back about a knuckle’s length, and it glistened with icy water.
“Think my stones have frozen and fallen off in that stream.” Cullen shivered. He looked at them both, then at the white bear and its bandages. “Are you both moon-mad?” he asked them. “That thing will eat you for its supper.”
“Best be gone before it wakes up, then,” Keld said, hefting his pack onto his back.
Drem threw Cullen his pack.
Cullen slipped it onto his back. He was standing beside one of the dead wyrms. He looked down at it, his mouth twisting in disgust. Drawing his hand-axe, he crouched and chopped at one of its long fangs, hacking it free. He tossed it to Drem.
“Something to add to that bear claw around your neck,” he said with a grin. He chopped the other fang free and threw it to Keld, then strode to another wyrm and took a fang for himself.
“Keepsakes.” Cullen grinned. “To remind us never, ever to come to the Bonefells again.”
“It’s not so bad,” Drem said, feeling protective of this place that had been home to him and his da. As dangerous as it was, it felt like his home, and there was something safe and reassuring about that.
Cullen snorted a laugh and just shook his head.
A rumble issued from the white bear, and its legs jerked.
They all took an involuntary step away from the beast.
The white bear raised its huge head and looked at them. It took a few great sniffs, let out a growl, though to Drem it seemed more confused than aggressive.
Fen padded in front of Keld and bared his fangs at the bear.
The white bear rumbled another growl at Fen.
Now, that one was aggressive.
The white bear rolled onto its belly, managed to get its legs beneath it and heave itself upright, swaying, head lowered with the effort. Spittle drooled from its open mouth as it breathed heavily with the exertion.
Fen growled again, hackles a ridge on his back.
“Easy,” Keld said, resting a palm on the wolven-hound’s side.
The bear took a step towards them, lips curling in a snarl at Fen.
