A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,114

could have gone,” Tain said quietly. “Should have gone.”

Alcyon stared at his son, a dark look.

Wings flapped from above; Rab was descending to them.

“Any news?” Cullen asked the white crow.

“Too dark,” Rab squawked.

“Flick?” Tain asked.

Rab shook his head mournfully, then tucked his beak under a wing.

Abruptly, Stepor sat up and looked around at them all, then up at the moon. “Time for Keld to have a nap, I’m thinking,” he said. He stood and clicked his tongue, his wolven-hounds’ ears pricking.

“With me,” he said, and Grack and Ralla followed him into the night.

Screams in the distance, growing louder.

“Faster, faster,” Rab squawked at them as he winged low, then rose into the sky again, leading them onwards. Drem was riding up a shallow slope alongside Cullen and Keld, Stepor a little ahead of them. Utul and Shar rode wide on the right wing, and Alcyon and Tain were running at a startling pace on the left.

A riderless horse burst over the ridge of the slope they were climbing, white-eyed and sweat-stained. It galloped down towards them, veering just in time. Drem saw bloodied claw marks staining the animal’s haunch.

Stepor reached the ridge, Grack and Ralla either side of him, and reined in. Within heartbeats Drem, Keld and Cullen were alongside, all of them pausing to take in the scene before them. On either side Utul and Alcyon crested the ridge a heartbeat behind them.

A shallow slope ran away from them, down onto an open plain. Figures moved, Drem instantly recognizing the unnatural gait of thick-muscled, long-limbed Ferals. They were circling and charging a handful of wains that were gathered in a loose half-circle, one of them overturned, one wheel slowly spinning. Figures were amongst the carts, some running, some standing, fighting. Terrible screams rang out, and Drem saw a woman burst from her cover, running hard for a slope.

A Feral appeared on the overturned wain, crouched for a moment, muscles bunching, then it leaped. It hit the ground a dozen paces behind the woman, a heartbeat later was slamming into her, both of them going down, the woman screaming, limbs flailing. The Feral’s jaws opened unnaturally wide and bit down onto her face, more screams, higher in pitch, then a wet gurgling.

“Plan, boss?” Stepor said to Keld.

“Kill the bastards,” Keld growled and kicked his mount into a canter. Drem followed, the three of them hurtling down the slope, the three wolven-hounds ahead, growling and snarling.

Drem was on the plain in a dozen heartbeats, reaching a full gallop in a dozen more.

A flicker of movement in Drem’s peripheral vision—Utul and Shar pulling ahead of them.

A handful of Ferals bounded to meet them, their jaws and claws dripping red. They saw Utul and Shar, howled and threw themselves at the two warriors.

Drem saw Utul draw his curved sword, heard him shout something.

“LASAIR,” and then Utul’s sword burst into flame.

“TRUTH AND COURAGE,” Utul and Shar yelled as they rode at the Ferals. Utul sliced an arm from the first Feral, the stump going up in flames, the stench of burned fur and flesh sharp in the air, and then Drem was too close, dragging on his reins for his mount to turn. He pulled a hand-axe from his belt, hefted it, felt his weight shift in his saddle.

I’m not used to fighting on horseback.

Keld, Cullen and Stepor rode through the line of wains a few moments ahead of him, Fen leaping and snarling.

Drem made a snap decision, leaping from his saddle, hitting the ground in a stumbling run, drawing his seax with his other hand.

Within the wains all was chaos: men, women, children, all screaming, running, Ferals killing indiscriminately, small groups of survivors fighting back.

Glimpses of Keld, Stepor and Cullen working together, the three wolven-hounds throwing themselves at Feral beasts, savage snarling.

Drem ran towards them.

A Feral looked up from feasting, jaws crimson. Drem took half of its face off with his axe, heard it yowling as he skidded to a halt, turning and stabbing with his seax. It slashed long claws at him even as its legs gave way beneath it. The claws raked Drem’s chest, slicing through leather and wool, opening red lines. Drem yelled as his axe rose and fell again and again as the Feral slumped, gnashing its teeth as it died.

He stood there, breathing hard, saw the Feral had torn open a young boy. He looked away.

There was a bellow to his left as Alcyon and Tain burst through the wains, Alcyon swinging his two axes and Tain stabbing with