A Time of Dread (Of Blood and Bone #1) - John Gwynne Page 0,123
a wet slap, blood steaming. A figure appeared in its place.
Alcyon, covered in blood.
‘Get out of here,’ the giant shouted at him, gesturing for Bleda and Jin to flee. Then he was turning and wading into the fight, other giants appearing, Ethlinn striding into the courtyard wearing a gleaming coat of mail, a long spear in her fists.
The air above was suddenly full of movement, more Kadoshim winging overhead. And other shapes, winged, but their outlines shorter and less reptilian, more human.
Like the half-breed that attacked Israfil.
The pale gleam of white feathers reflected starlight as Ben-Elim appeared, the din of steel clashing, shapes swirling, Ben-Elim and Kadoshim spiralled through the night sky, stabbing and chopping and screaming at each other.
Bleda felt overwhelmed, chaos, confusion and death a whirling maelstrom all about. He felt he couldn’t breathe.
He turned and ran from the courtyard a dozen paces, a score, two score, the tumult receding quickly behind him. He paused, hands on his knees, sucking in deep breaths.
‘What are you doing?’ Jin said behind him. ‘Don’t leave, I want to watch!’
He felt better now, his head clearing, angry with himself. Ashamed of his fear.
The whisper of wings overhead, a swift shadow, and Bleda looked up, glimpsed a Kadoshim flying deeper into Drassil, carrying a figure in its arms, more of them, too dark to count.
Where are they going?
‘Get Alcyon,’ he said to Jin and ran off after the disappearing Kadoshim.
Within moments the streets were silent, the battle seemingly focused and contained within the courtyard. Bleda caught a glimpse of dull metal up above, more Kadoshim and half-breeds flying overhead, all clutching a warrior-passenger in their arms, moving in the same direction as he’d guessed the other ones to be flying. Deeper into the fortress.
Where?
And then he knew, as he ran skidding into another courtyard, this one all but empty, the huge domed walls of Drassil’s great keep rising before him. Bodies lay scattered upon the steps, a Kadoshim or two, some Dark-Cloaks, and White-Wings. Blood steamed, clouds of it in the cold night air.
And from out of the open doors echoed the sounds of battle.
Asroth.
Bleda had visited Drassil’s Great Hall on his very first day with Israfil. The Ben-Elim had shown him the iron-clad Asroth and Meical upon their dais before the trunk of the great tree. He had stood quietly and listened as Israfil told the story of the Seven Treasures, how both Asroth and Meical were encased by some dread spell during the Battle of Drassil, maybe alive, maybe dead, forever imprisoned, and under eternal guard. It had just seemed like a faery tale to him, an excuse for the Ben-Elim to enslave the people of the Banished Lands.
Until now.
Abruptly, terrifyingly, he entertained the thought that it was all true. That Asroth was real.
And the Kadoshim are here to free him.
Bleda ran, then, leaping up the wide stone steps, over the dead. At the open gates he stopped and peered in. The floor of the Great Hall was lit by huge iron braziers, blue flame blazing from giant oil, giving the chamber an eerie, dreamlike quality.
There was a guard of giants about the statues within, a score of them in ringmail, wielding war-hammers and axes, ranged in a half-circle before the dais upon which stood the statues of Asroth and Meical, and they were beset by Kadoshim, half-breeds, Dark-Cloaks, and … other things.
Some were men, shaven-haired warriors, fighting with a frenzied, heedless energy. But there were also human-like creatures, shambling and disjointed, arms too long for their bodies, nails curved and long as claws. Bleda saw three of them attacking a giant, acting like a pack of wolves, darting in and out with tooth and claw, hamstringing the giant and then ripping at his throat with their claws. As the giant fell, one of them raised his head and howled.
In the air of the great dome Ben-Elim flew, a dozen of them at least, though they were falling even as Bleda looked on, outnumbered and locked in swooping, spiralling aerial combat with Kadoshim.
Fear breathed upon his neck once more, a cold fist contracting in his belly.
This is not your fight. Kadoshim, Ben-Elim, they do not belong here. Let them kill each other, as Jin said, and rejoice in it.
It is not your fight.
He looked at the splayed corpse of a Kadoshim close to his feet, dead eyes staring, dark veins mapping its face and arms.