A Time of Dread (Of Blood and Bone #1) - John Gwynne Page 0,82
see. A ringmail shirt, well tended, glistening with oil. His da laid it across his cot, then turned back to the chest. He lifted out a sword, sheathed in a plain-tooled scabbard of black leather, a belt wrapped around it. The hilt was leather-bound, worn and salt-stained from use and sweat, a tear in the leather showing a bone hilt beneath.
‘What—’ Drem started, but his da held up a hand, then lifted out a folded cloak of black wool, sitting upon it a large silver brooch, fashioned into the shape of a four-pointed star. It was beautifully wrought, the silver tarnished and in need of a polish, but still catching a ray of daylight from the shutters and throwing it back.
‘I know that,’ Drem said, a memory of a banner snapping in a breeze, above a stone keep, above an arched gateway.
‘You should,’ Olin said, holding the brooch up, catching more rays of light. ‘It is the sigil of Dun Seren, Drem, where you were born, where you spent the first five years of your life. Because your mam and me, we belonged to the Order of the Bright Star.’
Drem swayed, felt unsteady for a moment, felt as if the once-solid ground of his life was shifting beneath his feet. He sat on the floor beside his da, blinking.
‘Dun Seren. I’ve heard its name, many times,’ Drem said. ‘But never from you. People talk of it …’ He searched for the right word. ‘Reverently.’
‘Aye,’ Olin nodded, ‘I suppose some do. Dun Seren guards one of the bridges into the Desolation, but is much more than that. It is the centre of a warrior caste, an order dedicated to learning the arts of combat and healing. Dedicated to hunting down and destroying the Kadoshim.’
Olin fell silent, then, his head drooping.
‘That’s how Mam died?’ Drem whispered.
‘Aye. Fighting the Kadoshim. We had received word from the Ben-Elim – never our trusted ally, but we shared a common enemy and so on occasion would share information – your mam and I, many others, rode out. We were ambushed …’
‘Mam?’ Drem asked, though he knew already.
‘Aye,’ his da said, a crack in his voice. ‘She fell. Many fell.’ Olin was silent a long time, staring into nowhere. A tear rolled down his cheek, disappeared into his iron-streaked beard. Eventually he sighed and shifted, lifted the sword, turning it to show Drem the hilt.
‘I killed the Kadoshim that slew your mam. Took me half a year to hunt it down, but –’ he shrugged – ‘I took its head, brought it back to Dun Seren. I imagine it’s there still. Apart from this piece.’ Olin rubbed a finger along the sword hilt, where Drem thought the leather had frayed, revealing the hilt of bone beneath. He looked closer, saw that was not the case. A tooth was set into the hilt, a long, curved fang, the size of a finger.
‘That—’ Drem began.
‘It is the fang of the Kadoshim that slew your mam, aye,’ Olin said. ‘Couldn’t exactly be carrying its head all around the Banished Lands wherever we go, could I? A sword, though.’ Olin shrugged. ‘And it’s yours, now.’ He held the sword out for Drem, offering it.
Slowly, hesitantly, Drem reached out and took it, brushed his fingertips across the leather hilt and long tooth, felt a shiver run down his spine at the history within it, the tale it could tell. The pommel was round, engraved with a four-pointed star. He wrapped one fist around the hilt, the other gripping the scabbard, pulled it free. A rasping hiss of steel and leather. It was a long blade, a weight to it, though well balanced, the steel bright and gleaming, signs of notches in the blade worked on with a whetstone.
‘About time you had your own blade,’ his da said. ‘You’re making fine progress with the sword dance.’
‘Am I?’ Drem asked. It hadn’t been that long since his da had introduced him to their new morning routine of sword dance and sparring, but Drem felt it was going well. It felt like putting on an old cloak, a bit stiff from lack of use, but fitting well and moulding to him in no time. It felt like coming home.
‘Aye,’ Olin said. ‘But that’s no surprise. You were holding a blade at Dun Seren from the age of two, and Sig had to pick you up and sit you on a wall to keep you off the weapons court when we were sparring.’