A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,120

scouting the Desolation. They will be back soon, and I planned on sending word then. Although we have heard nothing from Drassil, even though events that you describe as momentous have happened there. Israfil’s death, three moons ago?”

“About that,” Riv said, nodding.

“And yet you did not think to send us word,” Byrne said quietly.

“I will send word to Drassil of Gulla’s discovery now,” Kol said, ignoring Byrne. “We will march out together, once my White-Wings are here.”

“We will march when I decide,” Byrne said. “It will take over a moon for your White-Wings to march here from Drassil, and that may be too late.” She shrugged. “I would welcome your White-Wings against our common foe, and we are mustering now, waiting for word from my scouts, so by all means send word if you wish, but know this: I will not hold back if the need to ride out before they arrive is necessary.”

“I know that it is new to you, but remember, I am the Lord Protector, now,” Kol said, a dangerous note in his voice.

“I do not answer to you,” Byrne said fiercely. “Lord Protector or no, it means nothing to me. The Order of the Bright Star is your ally, not your subject.”

Kol stood up, leaned his fists on the table, staring at Byrne, white wings rippling behind him.

“You are as stiff-necked as your kin and founder of this Order, Corban,” he said. “I knew your Corban, when the Day of Wrath was finished, saw him as my kin healed his wounds. He contributed little to our victory that day and was ever more a thorn in our flesh than a help against the Kadoshim. And they are my enemy. The Great War is our war. You and your kind are little more than witnesses to that.”

Byrne was on her feet, then, her face pale, lips a thin line.

“Tell that to the names on our Stone of Heroes,” she said bitterly. “The thousands who have fought and bled and died against the Kadoshim. Because you and your kin schemed to bring them here. And if you ever talk about my great-uncle like that again—”

“You did not even know Corban,” Kol said, a wave of his hand. “All you have is your inflated tales and your nostalgic sense of blood-ties.”

“I knew him,” Ethlinn said firmly. She did not stand, but her voice carried an authority that turned Kol’s and Byrne’s heads. “And you lie when you say he did little. He turned the battle. He and his sister. Without them, Asroth would never have been chained, and the portal would still be open.”

“Pfah.” Kol spat.

“But more than that,” Ethlinn said, “I knew him and am proud to say that he called me friend. You would do well not to speak ill of Corban the Bright Star, not in my hearing, and especially not when you are seated here, in these halls.”

“Craf knew Corban, too. Corban good man. Corban best of friends,” the crow squawked. He looked at Kol with a beady eye. “Kol rude.”

I have seen it all. A Ben-Elim admonished by a talking crow, thought Riv.

Kol stared a long moment at Ethlinn and then shifted his gaze to Byrne. He took a deep breath and sat down.

“My apologies, if I have offended you,” he said. “For over a hundred years we Ben-Elim have been allied to your Order, have worked together with you to defeat our mutual enemy. I confess to feeling wounded that you have not told me sooner of your information about Gulla. And now this talk of marching without us.” He waved a hand. “We Ben-Elim have been good to you.”

Byrne did not sit, but some of the tension leaked from her shoulders.

“You have had a long journey and must be tired,” she said. “Rooms have been prepared for you. We shall talk more on the morrow, but for now, eat, rest, sleep.” And she walked away, her boots a soft slap on the flagstoned floor.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

FRITHA

Fritha stood on the lakeshore, Morn and a few score of her Red Right Hand standing beside her, watching as teams of harnessed auroch dragged three huge cages on wains onto the piers that stood above the water of Starstone Lake. Timber posts and boards creaked under the strain as the wains rolled out over the lake, coming to a halt beside three fat-bellied ships moored and bobbing on the swell.

Orders were shouted, acolytes attaching straps and hooks, levers and pulleys, and then teams of men were using