A Time of Dread (Of Blood and Bone #1) - John Gwynne Page 0,85

am,’ Olin said, ‘but I mean to end this, now. Asroth is encased within a layer of starstone rock, in the Great Hall of Drassil. Alive or dead, frozen or slain, no one knows, though many suspect he still lives. And that is why they are all here: Kadoshim, Ben-Elim. The Kadoshim have been seeking a way to free Asroth since the day of his entombment; he is their only hope of victory against the Ben-Elim, the only one strong enough to stand against them. And the Ben-Elim, they remain to guard him, to ensure that he never walks the earth again.’

‘Why haven’t they just killed him, then?’

‘Because Asroth is encased in starstone rock, and not just a small lump of it like we have discovered. It is the sum total of the Seven Treasures, all of them destroyed and melted to molten slag. Many words of power were worked into them, and they hold a residue of that power still.’

‘So how can you hope to kill him, then?’

‘Because this is starstone metal,’ Olin said, lifting the new blade. ‘The only thing on this earth that has the power to pierce Asroth’s tomb.’

Olin held Drem’s gaze, watched him as the implications of that settled in his mind.

‘With Asroth slain, the Kadoshim are finished, defeated for all time,’ Olin continued. ‘And the Ben-Elim, they would have no cause left to fight for. No reason to scour the land in search of Kadoshim, no reason to control and enslave the people of the Banished Lands. Their great lie would be cast into the light, revealed for what it is.’

‘And what is it?’ Drem asked.

‘An excuse, a ruse fashioned to take and maintain power. Nothing more.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ Drem asked, frowning.

‘With all that I am I believe it to be the truth,’ Olin answered.

Drem thought about that a while, following the implications and likely consequences of all his da was telling him. It felt like a great responsibility settling upon them, like the branches in the forest, bowed beneath the weight of snow.

‘There’s a lot to do, then,’ he said, as much to himself as to his da.

Olin laughed at that. ‘And you say I understate things.’

‘You’ll need a scabbard for that,’ Drem said, nodding at the starstone blade.

‘Aye. It’s next on my to-do list. You can help me.’ Olin stood, gripping Drem’s wrist and pulling him to his feet. ‘You should try it on,’ he said, pointing at Drem’s new sword.

‘Are you sure, Da? It doesn’t feel right. It’s yours.’

‘No. It’s yours. A gift from father to son. And besides, I’ve got myself a new sword now.’

‘Twenty-one summers, and I have a sword,’ Drem mused as he buckled the scabbard-belt about his waist. It fitted well, though the weight of the sword against his hip felt strange.

‘I wanted you never to need one,’ his da said. ‘But I have a bad feeling of late.’

‘Maybe I should have a ringmail shirt, as well, then.’

‘You probably should,’ Olin smiled, ‘but that one’s likely a little small for you. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to have one of your own, though. Saved my life a hundred times, that shirt.’

‘We’ll have to go see—’

Drem stopped. He’d been about to say Calder the smith. But Calder wouldn’t be making anyone a ringmail shirt. Or anything else, ever again.

There was the sound of hooves outside, growing louder.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

RIV

Riv concentrated, her entire being focused on drawing her bowstring perfectly. She felt the feather tickle her cheek.

Done it.

‘No. You’re doing it all wrong,’ Bleda said in her ear.

‘How?’ Riv grunted, trying to keep any hint of the snarl she was feeling out of her voice.

‘Start with your bow hand, not the draw hand.’ Bleda walked around into her field of vision.

‘Firstly. Your knuckles are white. No, no, no. Don’t grip the bow in a fist. Now, when you release the shaft and string your fist will twist the bow a fraction, and your aim’s thrown. Let the bow rest in your hand, then the string-draw applies the pressure. Understand?’

‘Yes,’ Riv grunted, feeling a tremor beginning deep in the shoulder muscle of her right arm. Her whole body was aching, the pain worse in her joints. She suspected there was more to it than the drawing of a yew bow, though her wrists and elbows were screaming under the increased pressure.

‘Secondly, your arm is straight. This is wrong. I keep telling you, a bend at the elbow of your bow arm, otherwise, when you release, the