A Time of Dread (Of Blood and Bone #1) - John Gwynne Page 0,133

uncommon passion. ‘This sin is more widespread than I would have hoped. That Adonai was not the only Ben-Elim, Estel not the only mortal engaged in these … practices.’

Riv felt a heat flush through her, as if she were racked with guilt.

But I have done nothing wrong.

And then she thought of Kol, on that moonlit night beyond Oriens. His smile, the touch of his fingertips against her lips. The shiver it had stirred in her.

‘Do you know of any such conduct?’ Israfil asked her.

She gulped. ‘Me, I, no. No, Lord Protector.’

He regarded her a long moment, then nodded slowly.

‘It may be that I am wrong. But, if it is happening, it must be stamped out, quickly and ruthlessly, before it spreads. It is wrong, and it would destroy us.’

Riv nodded, though again she got the feeling that Israfil was talking to himself more than to her.

‘I am gathering a small group about me,’ Israfil said, definitely talking to Riv now, as he pinned her with his gaze. ‘A few that I trust. You are one of them, Riv, because I see your passion and dedication to the cause, despite your, issues. I am placing my trust in you, even talking to you of this. But I would ask more. I would ask you to be my eyes and ears.’

He is asking me to spy on my own. But he is the Lord Protector, the highest power in my world. How can I refuse him?

‘Of course, Lord Protector,’ she heard herself say.

There was a knock at the door, making Riv jump.

Israfil took a long moment, eyes fixed on Riv. ‘My thanks,’ he said to her. Then. ‘Enter.’

Ethlinn walked in, Balur One-Eye at her shoulder.

‘We’ve had news from our scouts tracking the Kadoshim,’ Ethlinn said. She saw Riv sitting before Israfil, raised an eyebrow, but continued.

‘Has one of my Ben-Elim returned?’ Israfil asked.

‘No,’ a croaking voice came from the unshuttered window, and a big black crow flew into the room, flying around and then landing on the arm of Riv’s chair. It looked up at her with one beady eye.

‘Our friends from Dun Seren have sent help,’ Ethlinn said, a twitch of a smile on her lips.

‘Flick,’ the bird croaked.

Riv had heard of the talking crows of Dun Seren, but never seen one in the flesh. She’d always thought it would be amusing to meet one, but now that it was sitting a handspan from her and regarding her with all too much intelligence, the whole experience felt far more like unnerving, rather than amusing.

‘Is Flick your name?’ Riv said, feeling strangely uncomfortable.

‘Yes. You?’

‘My name is Riv,’ Riv said.

‘Well met,’ the crow rasped.

‘Yes, this is all very polite,’ Israfil interrupted. ‘But do you have news of the Kadoshim force that attacked Drassil?’

‘They scattered, fled in many directions, lost in Forn,’ the crow squawked, its talons clenching alarmingly with each syllable. One group, largest, went to Varan’s Fall. Grinding Sea.’

Israfil looked to Ethlinn. ‘What do you make of that?’

‘There is nothing there, only sea.’

‘Boats,’ Flick croaked.

‘The ground is marked with boats that had been moored on the shore,’ Balur said, his voice a deep growl. ‘They rowed away.’

‘Where to?’ Israfil mused. ‘It is a clever move, making them untrackable. What options are there for their destination?’

‘The coast runs west to east. East is a few hundred leagues of Forn Forest, then mountains, then Arcona.’

‘So, unlikely they would go that way. West?’

‘Is Dun Seren and the Desolation.’

‘Dun Seren is as unlikely a destination as I can think of,’ Balur rumbled. Riv realized that he was laughing.

‘And north?’ Israfil asked.

‘The Grinding Sea,’ Ethlinn said, open handed.

Riv had felt uncomfortable, initially, as if she wasn’t supposed to be involved in this meeting, and not enjoying the way the crow seemed to be sidling its way closer to her arm. But now she was engrossed in the conversation.

‘So,’ Israfil said. ‘Unless there is some hidden location in the Grinding Sea, the logical conclusion is that our enemy have fled to the Desolation.’

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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

DREM

Not the best time of year to decide to go camping in the Desolation, Drem thought, not for the first time, as he woke to find ice in his growing beard. He cracked it free and scraped more ice from his eyebrows, then crawled from his makeshift tent, a bearskin propped up by branches, only to see that it was covered in another layer of fresh-fallen snow. He regarded the sky through a canopy of pines, saw a clear bright blue far above. Breaking camp