A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,116

whined and snuffled as she walked by, but others threw themselves into the bars, snapping and snarling and grasping with long talons or ruined hands.

They are not so tame.

They walked deeper into the tunnels that bored far beneath the ground, proof of their search for remnants of the starstone. They had found none, and yet fate had seen fit to give Fritha the Starstone Sword, ready-forged! It was a sign that she was following the right path, that if there was any such thing as a power looking down upon them, it was looking after her.

Torches set into the rock walls sent shadows dancing, and as they descended further Fritha saw pockets of people, huddled close together, still as statues.

Revenants.

Some were Gulla’s brood, others were Ulf’s.

Even though Fritha had played a part in creating them, she felt a sense of unease at the sight of them, eyes dark holes, skin stretched too tight across their bodies, revealing every line of muscle and tendon.

And then they were walking into a circular chamber, the path leading both ways, curling around a pit, roughly as deep as two giants.

Fritha leaned over and saw the floor of the pit was seething, a mass of furred limbs, of tooth and claw.

“You are to be commended, Priestess,” Gulla said. “Your breeding programme has worked.”

Fritha smiled, feeling a deep warmth for her creations. Hundreds of Ferals, if not thousands, roamed the pit, an abundance of sizes, from cub-like bairns to full-grown adults. She had hoped that they would breed, had worked words of power into her newest creations, enhancing and accelerating their reproductive and growth systems, but she had never dared to imagine that it would work this well. A stench emanated from the pit, of fur and sweat, of blood and urine and excrement, but Fritha did not care. Here and there on the pit floor there were twisted carcasses, some little more than bones picked clean, but others were fresher, were distinguishable as various manifestations of her Ferals. She shrugged, sad to see some casualties, but it was for the survival of the strongest and the most robust. There was no room for the weak and feeble in her new order.

“There are a lot of them,” Gunil commented.

For once his declaration of the obvious did not annoy Fritha.

She smiled at Gulla and Gunil.

“Give me the Sword,” Gulla said to Fritha.

They were standing in Gulla’s chambers, another cave that burrowed far into the ground, though this one was not so deep or so crowded as the labyrinth Fritha had housed her Ferals within. Gulla’s chamber was luxuriant, furs and silks draping his bed and chairs. There was also a bolthole in this tunnel, a wisp of air filtering down from Gulla’s escape route if the Ben-Elim or Order of the Bright Star discovered this lair.

They are too late now.

Fritha rested a hand protectively on the hilt of the Starstone Sword. She did not want to give it up. It was her right. She had discovered it, schemed to steal it from Olin and Drem. It was she who had taken the risks and earned it.

But more than that, she needed it.

“It is mine,” Fritha said, daring to speak against Gulla, though his eyes bored into her. “I was chosen for the task by the Covens.” She remembered that fateful day, six years ago, standing within the ruins of a giant fortress, the Kadoshim gathered together for the first time since the Battle of Varan’s Fall. More than five hundred Kadoshim had cast their lot.

“They voted for me,” she repeated. “I was given the greatest honour as a symbol of the Kadoshim’s commitment to a new world, and to mankind. A covenant to build this world together, not like the Ben-Elim, as dictators, but you and your kin in harmony with mankind.”

“Nothing has changed,” Gulla said. “You were chosen. You still are. But you have failed in your set task, allowed the Order to discover our existence and whereabouts. That cannot be overlooked. You must prove that our faith in you is warranted. Prove that you are worthy.”

This was what Fritha had feared: the possibility that all that she longed for and had fought so hard for would be taken from her.

I must accept his judgement. He is high captain, greatest amongst the Kadoshim until Asroth is awoken.

Fritha bowed her head, felt Gulla reach out a hand, long-taloned fingers caressing her shaven scalp.

“But this is not a punishment. I am setting you a new task. Accomplish it