A Time of Dread (Of Blood and Bone #1) - John Gwynne Page 0,5

and banishing both his own Ben-Elim as well as Asroth and his Kadoshim hordes to the world of spirit, the Otherworld, where they remained trapped for two thousand years as men and giants slowly rebuilt their shattered world.

Until just over a hundred years ago, when the Kadoshim found a sorcerous way to break their bonds in the Otherworld. They returned to the Banished Lands in an explosion of hatred and slaughter, but the Ben-Elim followed them, their eternal war spilling into the world of flesh.

‘Much has changed since the coming of the Ben-Elim,’ Drem said.

‘Aye,’ Olin grunted. ‘And not much of it good.’

Drem’s da was not a supporter of the Ben-Elim. It was rare that he would even mention them, despite Drem’s attempts to lure him into that conversation.

‘Turning the Desolation into this is good, though,’ Drem said, waving a hand at the vista before them.

‘This is good,’ his da agreed, ‘but the Ben-Elim didn’t do this. They’ve done it,’ he said, pointing to the settlement beside the lake, ‘and others like them. People like us.’

‘We’re trappers, hunters.’

‘Aye, well, I mean people that have travelled north and settled here, irrigating, farming, planting, growing. The Desolation has become this because generations of people like us made it a better place. Though I suppose the Ben-Elim are the reason behind that as well, their protection in the south was what drove many here.’

Drem thought about that a while. Stars prickled into life in the crow-black of night as darkness seeped into the world around them.

‘They’ll come here, too, though, won’t they?’ Drem said into the night. ‘The Ben-Elim. Sooner or later, as they have elsewhere, to hunt the Kadoshim.’

He’d said that last word quickly, knowing his da did not like to hear it uttered.

Kadoshim. Dread demons of Asroth who had escaped their bonds in the Otherworld and entered Drem’s world to become creatures of flesh and blood, monsters come to destroy all that lived in these Banished Lands. His da hated them, hated the very sound of their name.

Because they killed my mam.

He didn’t like to upset his da, could hear his breathing was sharper, his frame tense, just from those few words, but if he could get him to talk of the Kadoshim, maybe he would then be able to talk of Drem’s mam, too …

‘Aye,’ Olin growled, spitting on the floor beside him. ‘The Ben-Elim will be here one day. But later rather than sooner, I hope. May they linger in Drassil another hundred years. And every day until then shall be better for their absence. I’ve searched many a year for a place where we can live free.’ He drew in a breath, seemed about to say something more, but only silence followed.

Drem breathed deep, the scent of pine trees and winter heavy in the air.

‘Have you seen Drassil?’ he asked, a new tactic.

Olin gave him a sidelong look.

‘I have, as you well know.’

Drem opened his mouth to ask another question.

‘Enough,’ his da snapped as he stood quickly. ‘A long day on the morrow, I’m for my bed.’ He stamped his feet, stood there hesitantly for a moment, looking down at Drem. Then he walked away and lay close to the fire. Drem heard the rustle of furs and popping of a cork as a skin of mead was unstoppered.

Drem sat and stared into the darkness, listening to the sounds of the night.

Drem woke to a great crashing. Staggering to his feet, furs falling away, wet with dawn’s dew, he looked to his da, who was on his feet, a short-handled axe in one hand, knife in the other. The stillness of dawn was shattered by a roaring that echoed through the foothills, startling birds from branches.

‘The pit,’ Olin said, and then he was off and running. Drem stooped and swept up his spear, his long legs carrying him after his da, who was already disappearing amongst the pine trees that cloaked the hillslope.

The path curved close to the river, which frothed and foamed with icy water fresh from the mountains. Drem closed in on his da as the ground began to level, and then saw him skid to a halt, twenty paces ahead.

Drem caught up, breathing heavily, staring in disbelief at the sight that had caused Olin to stop.

The elk pit was a mass of limbs and fur, a great-antlered bull-elk with head and shoulders scrabbling on the ground as it tried to heave itself out. It was lowing frantically, clouds of cold breath misting and billowing, a