A Time of Dread (Of Blood and Bone #1) - John Gwynne Page 0,124

in the courtyard, sword raised high, malice radiating from its every pore like mist. The thought of them setting Asroth free, of what they would do if they won against the Ben-Elim, sent shivers down his spine.

He looked over his shoulder, hoping to see Alcyon leading a host of giants and White-Wings into the courtyard. But there was only stillness and silence.

He reached into his quiver, pulled out three arrows and stepped into Drassil’s Great Hall.

On the floor below, many of the giants were down, the survivors drawing tighter about the iron-black statues of Asroth and Meical, Dark-Cloaks and the things with them throwing themselves at the giants, Kadoshim swooping down from above.

Bleda raised his bow, nocked and loosed without thinking; a Kadoshim shrieked, arching in mid-air, then tumbling, limbs loose, crashing to the stone floor. He paused, realizing it was the first time he had shot at a living foe, the first enemy life he had taken. The weight of that shivered through him.

Screams drew him back to himself. He shook his head and focused. Nocked an arrow and loosed again, a Dark-Cloak stumbling and falling, another arrow, another Dark-Cloak down.

More arrows from his quiver as he padded down the wide steps that led to the chamber’s floor. Another Dark-Cloak falling with an arrow in his back. Then a Kadoshim saw him, shrieking a warning, and some of the Dark-Cloaks on the ground looked up at him.

Half a dozen of them, more, turned and ran at him, the Dark-Cloaks screeching battle-cries, the beasts with them disturbingly silent.

Breathe. Don’t panic. It’s like shooting rats in the salt gorge.

Nock, draw, release. Nock, draw, release.

A Dark-Cloak down in a spray of blood. Another doubling over, an arrow in the gut.

Easier when they’re running straight at me.

Nock, draw, release.

Sparks as an arrowhead crunched into stone, his first miss.

Though the fact they’re coming to kill me isn’t helpful for my concentration.

An arrow thumping into a shoulder, spinning a Dark-Cloak.

Nock, draw, release. Nock, draw, release.

One of the shambling creatures dropped to one knee, Bleda’s arrow lodged in the meat between neck and shoulder. Another arrow skittering on stone, his second miss.

Jin would laugh to see those shots.

There was a slap of wind in his face and he instinctively ducked, a Kadoshim’s sword from above just missing where his head had been. He fell, rolling, dropping arrows, desperately clutching his bow. Gasping, he regained his feet and leaped away, running a dozen paces down the tiered steps as the Kadoshim came after him. He tugged an arrow from his belt-quiver, loosing wildly, the Kadoshim veering away, the arrow piercing its leathery wing. Bleda was dimly aware of the surviving Dark-Cloaks and their companions still charging at him. Much closer now. Grabbing at the remaining arrows in his quiver, only a few left, he backed away, pausing to nock and aim, loosing, one shot slamming into a Dark-Cloak’s chest, hurling him to the ground.

Two figures were still running at him, only twenty paces away, the shambling, loping things the Kadoshim had flown across Drassil’s walls. Bleda starred into the face of the wild-eyed man, if you could call him that. There was a feral, soulless cast to him, teeth bared in a snarl, canines worryingly sharp, nails grown long and black, thicker than they should be, limbs having a stretched appearance, running in a loping, shambling gait, as if its bones had grown overnight.

Bleda readied himself, nocked and aimed, put an arrow into the man’s chest, at less than twenty paces, the force of it hurling him backwards, head over feet, down the wide steps. Bleda had another arrow nocked and was aiming at the last Feral when he saw the first one rise, stagger to his feet, shake himself like a wounded hound, and then the eyes were fixing onto him. It sent a jolt of fear lancing through Bleda.

That should have killed him. What are they?

He adjusted his aim, away from the closer attacker, back to this difficult-to-kill creature, loosed, his arrow leaping from the bow. Bleda knew it was good without needing to see it land, shuffling back to make time for the last Feral.

His arrow punched into the first creature’s eye, sending it tumbling, limbs boneless. This time, to his relief, it didn’t get back up.

He nocked another arrow quickly, shifting to aim at the last Feral, but too late. It was upon him, a crunching impact, launching him through the air with a moment’s weightlessness, then a bone-jarring impact as his shoulder