A Time of Dread (Of Blood and Bone #1) - John Gwynne Page 0,160

the scene before them.

‘Traitors,’ Dalmae yelled at the top of her voice, ‘Garidas is in league with the Kadoshim.’ There was a moment’s silence, even the few shouting at one another paused, and then chaos exploded. The sound of steel clashing, screams, blood on the barrack’s stone floor.

Riv pushed herself away from the chair and ran through the hall, weaving through a chaotic melee of battle, tripping over fallen bodies, on towards the doorway to the street.

The doors burst open before she reached them, more of Garidas’ men were rushing on, drawing blades. A gust of cold air hit Riv like a slap in the face, rain hitting her as if flung by an angry hand, stinging and refreshing. It helped her to focus for a moment and she ran out into the storm-drenched night, gasping in deep lungfuls of air, feeling as if she were suffocating.

A harnessed wain and half a dozen horses were tethered in the street.

The ones Garidas brought here to help Aphra escape. He was a good man, well intentioned, and Mam just murdered him!

She turned and ran through the empty street, rain sheeting down, the stone dark and slippery. Her back itched and burned, like a scab ready to peel, the sensation of new muscle rippling and bunching disturbing her, and the fog in her mind ebbed and flowed, like the tide rising and falling.

What is wrong with me?

Time enough for that later. First, I must do what is right.

As she turned a corner she heard the sounds of battle spill out from her barrack into the open behind her. Turning down another street, she saw figures, more White-Wings. They were setting oak bars across another barrack’s door. Riv recognized Lorina, captain of the other hundred that had marched to Oriens. More of her White-Wings were standing in the shadows, waiting. As Riv ran past, muffled voices cried out, thuds hammering on the far side of the barrack doors.

This is all Kol. Charming, handsome, fascinating Kol. A storm is coming, he said to Aphra. What side will you choose?

Kol has been arrested, accused of improper relations, Garidas said. She suddenly remembered Kol’s hand upon her cheek, fingers brushing her lips, and she shivered.

He has made the storm, has planned for this. Sent the giants away, has Lorina with him, and my sister. But Garidas said he had Kol in custody, that he is being taken to Israfil.

It was all there, in her mind, what was happening, but like a jigsaw the pieces were separate, were not connecting to make the whole picture clear.

On she ran, towards Israfil’s chambers.

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CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

DREM

It’s Fritha! Tears burned his eyes, the sense of betrayal hot as bile in his throat.

Not abducted by them, or experimented upon and mutilated by them. She is one of them! Has been one of them all along.

I am the world’s greatest fool.

‘It is Fritha,’ he whispered, more in control, now, at least enough to not hurl himself from the roof in an attempt to kill the deceitful, lying witch.

What part did she play in my da’s death? Was it her that hit me? Took the sword? She certainly has it now.

He felt his body tense again, but controlled himself. He was not about to commit suicide when the chance of justice or vengeance was so slim.

Wait, bide my time. Be the hunter Da taught me to be. But know this, Fritha – for what you’ve done, I will kill you.

She raised the black sword.

‘Fuil agus cnámh, rud éigin nua a dhéanamh,’ Gulla cried, voice filling the clearing.

‘Blood and bone, to make something new,’ Sig whispered beside him.

A silence in the clearing.

‘Do it,’ Gulla snarled.

And Fritha cut Gulla’s throat, his two half-breed children stepping forwards and helping her catch the slumping body, heaving it limp onto the table, on top of the still-twitching bat. Fritha sheathed her black sword and reached into some kind of bag at her feet.

‘This cannot be?’ Sig muttered besides Drem. ‘What are they doing?’

Fritha held something aloft, what looked like a severed hand, fingers bunched into a fist, although it was dark and gleaming, and clearly heavy. She brandished it for all to see, a ripple of muttered awe escaping those gathered before her.

‘Fola agus cnámh an Asroth,’ Fritha cried out, and cast whatever it was onto the entwined corpses of Gulla and the bat.

‘Dear Elyon above, no,’ Sig whispered.

‘What?’ Drem hissed.

‘Blood and bone of Asroth,’ she breathed. ‘It’s Asroth’s hand.’

‘Bheith ar cheann, a bheith rud éigin nua,’ Fritha cried out, the