A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,118

Seren’s outer wall, a field opening up beneath them, filled with figures. Riv saw many giants scattered amongst them.

Is this their weapons-field? Riv was surprised to see it was close to the same size as the field at Drassil, even though Drassil as a whole dwarfed Dun Seren. And the numbers upon the field were a surprise to her, too—easily in the thousands.

Rarely will there be this many upon the weapons-field of Drassil at one time. They take their training seriously here.

They passed over the weapons-field, flying over sod and grey-tiled rooftops, a stream of figures hurrying along a wide road towards the keep and tower that dominated the hill of Dun Seren.

With a flurry of shifting wings they were above a courtyard and angling down, circling around a great statue of a warrior and wolven.

Is that Corban and his wolven, Storm?

Riv had heard tales of the founder of the Order of the Bright Star, that Corban had played some small part in the Day of Wrath, when the Ben-Elim had saved the Banished Lands from the hordes of Kadoshim that had broken out of the Otherworld.

Riv followed Kol and his Ben-Elim warriors as they swirled around the statue, wings adjusting, feet dropping, and then Riv was alighting in the courtyard, her wings folding into her back, Kol and his Ben-Elim around her, masking her from view.

A crowd was gathering in the courtyard, figures ranging upon the walls, more pouring in from the surrounding streets, but Riv’s eyes were fixed on the stone keep before her, wide stone steps leading up to its open doors. Four figures stood at the top of the steps, three giants and a woman. Two of the giants Riv recognized: Balur One-Eye and Queen Ethlinn. The last giant was slimmer than most of his kin, a scraggly black crow perched upon his shoulder.

Is that one of Dun Seren’s talking crows? Riv thought. She had met one once before, whilst in council with Israfil.

Flick, I think his name was.

Kol strode up the steps, Riv and his Ben-Elim following.

The woman with the giants stepped forwards. She was plain and stern-faced, dressed in simple training leathers. She moved with an economical grace, a certain way about her that Riv associated with the weapons-masters at Drassil like Ert. A confidence and control of their every movement. Riv saw streaks of grey in her black hair. A curved sword jutted over one shoulder.

Similar to the Sirak’s, Riv thought, although the hilt of this one is longer. A two-handed blade.

“Welcome to Dun Seren, Kol,” the woman said.

“Greetings, Byrne,” Kol said, a dip of his head, a shifting of his shoulders, not quite a bow. He looked to Ethlinn and Balur One-Eye, nodded a greeting to them both.

“My apologies for arriving unannounced,” Kol said. “But I bring momentous news from Drassil. The Lord Protector Israfil is dead.”

There were gasps around the courtyard, but Riv kept her eyes and attention focused on Byrne, Ethlinn and Balur. Of the three of them, Balur’s expression changed the most, a deep frown creasing the slabbed bones of his face.

“How?” Ethlinn said.

“He was murdered. A conspiracy between Kadoshim and traitors. It went as deep as our own White-Wings. Garidas was chief amongst the traitors.”

Balur’s frown deepened.

Riv had known how loyal Garidas was to Israfil, and if she had known, then Balur likely did, as well.

“This is shocking news,” Byrne said, no emotion showing on her face. “I was concerned that all was not well at Drassil.”

“Aye, it is, which is why I have taken it upon myself to bring you the news myself. There is more you should know.”

“Go on,” Byrne said.

“I have been named the new Lord Protector.”

“My congratulations,” Byrne said.

“And one of my first acts has been to revoke the Lore against inter-relations between Ben-Elim and humankind. Riv, step forth,” Kol called.

The Ben-Elim about Riv parted and Riv stepped forwards. She felt the courtyard go silent, thousands of eyes upon her. She hated it, hated being this focal point of ideology and belief. But she was not one to bow her head and walk meekly, so she stood straight and tall and strode to stand beside Kol. Her eyes she kept fixed on Byrne, and when Riv reached Kol’s side she snapped her wings open, made them beat, once, slowly, then furled them back in again.

The silence lengthened.

“Clearly, we need to talk,” Byrne said.

Riv followed Kol into a high-vaulted room, a fire-pit roaring, a table beyond it surrounded with high-backed chairs. Byrne led them to