A Time of Dread (Of Blood and Bone #1) - John Gwynne Page 0,81
questions into one.
‘Who are you, Da?’ he breathed.
A pause in Olin’s work. ‘Your father. First, before all other things.’
‘I know that.’ Drem sighed. It’s like getting a horse to walk where it doesn’t want to. Just say it straight.
‘Da, last night, you spoke a spell. In a different language. And it worked! The metal wouldn’t soften, even with the white heat of the forge. But then you spoke, and …’
And you sprinkled your blood on the fire and metal …
But some things he just couldn’t say out loud.
‘And the metal softened. And now you want to go running off and cut Asroth’s head off. I thought Asroth was already dead, and how would you find him, anyway, to get close enough to, you know, chop his head off, and—’
‘Stop!’ Olin said, turning around. He’d finished wrapping the sword’s hilt, was holding it now, blade lowered. There was something about it that drew Drem’s eye, even though it was plain and simply bound, no gold or silver wire, no jewels or intricate scroll-work. Shadowed runes were carved into the dark metal of the blade and cross-guard. Drem noticed something else, at the top of the blade; just before it met the guard a small, four-pointed star was carved.
‘There’s something I need to show you. It will help you understand.’ Olin walked away, still gripping the Starstone Sword, out of their shared room into his own bedchamber. He dropped to his knees beside his cot, pulled a pile of furs out of the way and dragged a chest into view. It wasn’t particularly big, and about as long as Drem’s arm. The wood was plain, old and worn.
‘Tell me, Drem. What do you remember?’
‘Of what?’
‘Of before here. Five years we’ve lived in the Desolation. Before that, what do you remember?’
‘Grass and mountains, Arcona and the mountains to the north.’
‘Aye.’ Olin nodded. ‘I thought we were safe enough there, but then the Horse Clans began to fight and the Ben-Elim came running. Or flying, stamping on any sign of conflict that they hadn’t created, enslaving more free people, and too close to us for my comfort. And before that?’
‘Travelling, many places. Some hot. I remember a tower that overlooked a bay, the sea blue as the sky. The sound of gulls.’
‘Aye, the Tower and Bay of Ripa,’ Olin grunted. ‘In the Land of the Faithful.’
Now Drem had started, the memories began to come quicker, piling one atop another.
‘A black-walled fortress beside a lake, big as a sea.’ He closed his eyes, seeing the fortress with its tall tower, looming over a meadow and lake. Ships bobbing, and something in the distance. ‘Mountains.’
‘Jerolin,’ Olin said.
He thought again, enjoying this exercise, though it was getting harder.
‘Trees high as the sky, a grey tower. A black river.’
‘Brikan, in the fringes of Forn Forest. Before that?’
Drem frowned, screwing his eyes closed. He wasn’t sure how long he was silent, sifting through memories. ‘Grey hair, a man laughing? It’s blurred, like a dream.’
‘Aye, that’d be your grandfather,’ Olin said, a rare smile ghosting his face.
‘Where?’ Drem asked.
‘Close to Dun Taras, in the far west of Ardain.’
Drem remembered a bleak, rain-soaked land. With the memories came a warm, pleasant sensation in his belly. Then a sour note, an image of packing, running in the dark.
‘I liked it there.’
‘Aye, you did. I tried to settle there, but …’
‘But what?’ Drem asked.
‘Too many people knew me, remembered. So we moved on, after your grandfather died.’
I don’t remember him. Or, I do, but only a frozen picture, a sound or two. He felt a flash of anger – at what, he didn’t know, just … anger.
‘You were six summers old when we turned up on your grandfather’s doorstep. Eight when we left. And before that?’
Drem rubbed his temples, eyes closed, straining to drag more memories up from the depths of his mind.
‘Mam,’ he said. ‘Her smile.’ He shrugged, felt a stinging, burning sensation behind his eyes. He pushed it away, straining to remember. ‘Only broken images, really,’ he said. ‘Mostly of Mam, her eyes, her smile. A tower on a hill. Another woman, blonde-haired and tall, lifting me in her arms.’
Olin raised an eyebrow at that.
‘Nothing else,’ Drem finished.
‘All right,’ Olin said. ‘This is all that is left of our past, locked away in this chest.’ He drew in a deep breath, unclipped the chest and opened the lid. Drem leaned to peer in, saw his da pull out a roll of …