A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,101
people, the seal upon our new peace with the Cheren.
He thought of Riv, hovering beyond his window, looking so beautiful in the starlight, remembered her lips upon his.
I love her.
He opened his mouth to tell Jin.
Horns blew in the distance, both of them looking out of Bleda’s window.
Ellac opened the door.
“That is a Cheren horn,” he said.
Bleda stood in the courtyard before Drassil’s gates, waiting, much as he had done for his mother’s arrival. This time he was not mounted, but stood alongside Queen Erdene, their honour guards about them both, and close by stood Jin, her guardians arrayed behind her. She wore her face cold and flat, but Bleda could imagine the emotions roiling within her.
A Cheren horn. Her father, King Uldin, is come.
Many Ben-Elim and White-Wings were gathered in the courtyard, too. The White-Wings were in their neat, disciplined lines, a score of Ben-Elim before them, more of the winged warriors circling in the sky above.
Standing at the head of the Ben-Elim in the courtyard was Hadran, the dark-haired warrior who had fought for Riv in the weapons-field. For that reason alone, Bleda found himself liking this Ben-Elim more than most of his kind. The remnant of a bruise was still on his face.
He must be Kol’s captain and representative, for Kol is gone with Riv.
Bleda had stood on Drassil’s battlements, just after dawn, and watched them sweep over the field of cairns and then the endless green of Forn Forest, the rising sun glinting on feathers and mail.
The blaring of horns and thunder of hooves snapped him back to the present, and then riders were racing through the gate tunnel of Drassil, hooves cracking on stone as they spilt into the courtyard.
Something was wrong—that was immediately clear. They were Cheren riders with their shaved heads and long warrior braids, the banners of their stooping hawk snapping, but they did not enter the courtyard with the fluid grace and skill that Bleda expected, nothing like the disciplined horsemanship of Erdene’s entrance.
Many of them were injured, garments bloodstained.
An older man rode at their head, King Uldin, streaks of iron-grey in his braid and beard. He was swaying in his saddle, blood crusted on his head, blood-soaked rents in his felt deel and wolf-skin cloak.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
DREM
Drem stepped into Byrne’s chambers, Keld, Cullen and Stepor with him. He was suddenly exhausted; the realization that he was safe, that the running and fighting and constant checking of the skies was over, at least for the time being, was finally sinking into him. The only thing keeping him upright was the wonder of this place. Dun Seren was staggeringly immense, an abundance of people and giants, horses, bears, wolven-hounds, all manner of trades and disciplines taking place in some kind of organized whirlwind of activity. It was a marvel to him, although it was also profoundly exhausting. He found that his hand reaching to take his pulse was becoming a semi-permanent position.
“Please, Drem, all of you, sit,” Byrne said to them, gesturing to seats.
Byrne’s chambers were sparse, a large desk and chairs scattered around the room, huge windows opening out on views to the north and east. The slim, scruffy-haired giant with a tangle of black beard was leaning against the window. A large black crow was perched upon his shoulder. The crow looked old, many of his feathers missing; the ones he had left were sticking out at odd angles. And he was staring at Drem with far-too-intelligent eyes.
“Who are you?” the crow squawked.
“Craf, this is my sister’s son, Drem ben Olin,” Byrne said. “Drem, allow me to introduce you to Craf, progenitor of the Dun Seren crows.”
“You’re Rab’s sire?” Drem said.
“Rab Craf’s fledgling,” Craf cawed.
“Rab saved us,” Drem said.
“Rab good boy,” Craf agreed.
Drem and the others sat in chairs before Byrne’s desk.
Byrne was not alone. Balur One-Eye was there, sitting in a chair clearly made for giants, and next to him sat the giantess Drem had seen on the steps beside Byrne.
“And Drem, let me introduce you to my other companions. Craf’s perch is Tain Crow Master.”
“Crow slave, more like,” Tain said, dipping his head to Drem.
“Balur One-Eye you know, and this is Ethlinn, Queen of the giants.”
“Well met, Queen Ethlinn,” Drem said, standing and giving an awkward bow, remembering the manners his da had drilled into him.
“Well met, Drem ben Olin,” Ethlinn said with a ghost of a smile, gesturing for him to sit, her gaze uncomfortably penetrating as she regarded him. “So, you are the bairn Olin stole away,”