A Time of Dread (Of Blood and Bone #1) - John Gwynne Page 0,86

string will shred your skin. Remember last time?’

Riv did, the throbbing bruise on her arm not letting her forget.

‘So,’ Bleda continued, ‘bow arm bent, not straight, bent.’ He paused. ‘Understand?’

Argh.

‘Yes.’

‘Release your draw, you cannot hold this small tree at that angle for more than a few moments. It is a poor design.’ There was a hint of a smile at the edge of his lips, just for a moment.

Is he enjoying this? Riv clenched her teeth and resisted the urge to throw the bow at Bleda.

‘It’s worked well enough for our huntsmen,’ Riv growled.

‘You saw Jin with a bow,’ Bleda reminded her.

‘Aye,’ Riv sighed, a hint of defeat in her voice.

‘Do not take too long about any of it,’ Bleda said. ‘A fight is constant motion, fluid, you moving, your enemy moving. Who has time to stand still for a dozen heartbeats and aim?’

‘Show me,’ Riv said, holding the bow out to him.

‘I don’t like these bows, but …’ He shrugged and took the longbow of yew from her. Riv took a step back, looked at the target and then back at Bleda. The string of his bow was thrumming.

‘There,’ he said, holding the bow out to her.

‘Huh?’ Riv grunted. She looked back to the target, saw an arrow in the target’s head, just about where an eye socket would be found.

‘The eye is a more certain kill if your foe is wearing a cuirass and chainmail. Depending on the distance,’ Bleda said.

‘That is amazing,’ Riv said.

‘Pah,’ Bleda said. ‘From horseback, against a mounted foe. That is where skill really starts to tell. But you will never shoot from horseback with a bow like this,’ he said, giving Riv back her bow. ‘Too long, too hard to draw. Which is why in Arcona we have bows like this.’ He patted his recurve bow, sitting in a case on his hip. He never seemed to be parted from it these days.

‘Do not be dejected,’ Bleda told her. ‘Before too long I will have you loosing three shafts before the first hits your target.’

You have greater faith in me than I do.

Footsteps, a tap on Riv’s shoulder.

It was Vald, her friend.

My once-friend, she corrected herself. Strangely, since I kicked him in the stones we have not been so close.

‘Can we talk?’ Vald said to her. Riv realized that she was looking him in the eye.

I thought he was taller than me.

He was still broader, covered in a sheen of sweat, muscles bulging after his training session in the weapons-field.

He looks tense.

‘Aye,’ Riv said.

‘Somewhere private,’ Vald said, not able to meet her eyes.

Riv felt her anger stirring, remembering him treating her like a servant, in front of the whole hundred. Warriors she had lived amongst all her life.

‘Whatever it is, you can say it here. And if you’re about to ask me to clean your boots, you’d better bid a final farewell to your stones.’

A moment’s pause, pride warring with something else across his face.

Shame?

Vald sighed, blowing out his cheeks. ‘I just wanted to say …’ Vald looked about, saw Bleda standing nearby, outwardly appearing calm and controlled as always, but nevertheless there was something about the way he was looking at Vald. A threat in his eyes. Vald returned his gaze, then looked back to Riv.

‘I wanted to say, I am sorry. I should not have treated you like that. We have been friends for many years, trained together, guarded each other’s backs.’ He shrugged. ‘What can I say? I’m an idiot when I drink.’

Riv felt her anger melt away, replaced with a pleasant glow. She grinned at him.

‘It’s forgotten,’ she said easily. Vald gave her a huge grin, relief rolling off him in waves, and offered her the warrior grip, which technically was reserved for those who had passed their warrior trial. Riv appreciated the gesture and took his arm.

A noise drew their attention, the blowing of horns.

The three of them looked at one another.

‘Too early for prayers,’ Vald said.

‘It’s the Lore-Giving,’ Bleda said.

‘Aye,’ Riv agreed. People were beginning to leave the weapons-field, heading towards Drassil’s Great Hall.

‘Come on,’ Riv said, and with a shrug of her shoulders she led them off the field.

The last time this happened a half-breed Kadoshim tried to slay Israfil before every eye in Drassil.

She quickened her pace.

As they followed the crowds hurrying through Drassil’s wide streets Riv saw her sister, Aphra. She hurried over to her.

Because the two women she’d seen on the road, that night with Bleda, had been her sister and Fia, and