A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,124

Sirak prince.”

Ellac opened the box, revealing a surcoat of lamellar armour, soft leather with a thousand iron plates painstakingly stitched into overlapping lines. Bleda hissed out a breath.

“It was your brother Altan’s,” Erdene said, “and your father’s before that.” She looked him up and down. “You are bigger than them, I think, but it should still fit.”

Tuld lifted out the surcoat, each iron plate gleaming and rippling in the light from the window like the scales of a fish.

“And there is something else,” Erdene said, looking into the box. A curved sword, the leather hilt wound with silver, horse-heads carved into the cross-guard. A laminated scabbard, again dressed in silver.

“My father’s sword,” Bleda whispered.

“I will leave you to dress,” Erdene said. “We leave before the second bell.” And then she was striding away.

Bleda stood there in something of a daze, and his guards moved around him, helping him dress in woollen breeches and deer-hide boots, under-tunics of linen and wool, then his grey deel, and over it all his surcoat of lamellar plate. It was heavy, an unfamiliar weight on his shoulders, but the sleeves ended above his elbows, leaving his arms unhindered for bow work. Once a belt was cinched tight about his waist, the weight upon his shoulders lessened, and then his new sword was strapped across his back. He tested the draw, Tuld adjusting the scabbard strap so that it did not snag the blade. A vambrace was slid onto his left forearm and tied tight, a rearing horse carved into the leather, and then his weapons-belt was buckled around his waist, with his bow-case and quiver upon it.

Bleda stood there when they were finished.

I feel like a god of war.

Ellac stood back, arms folded across his chest, and grunted his approval.

“Two more things you should know about your coat,” Ellac said. He tapped a plate on the bottom row of iron plates on the right leg. “One plate, here, has been sharpened.”

Bleda looked at him, raised an eyebrow.

“In case you’re in a tight spot and need it.” Ellac shrugged, then reached forwards, fumbled at the left half-sleeve with his stump and hand, muttered a curse.

“Help me,” he said. “See, here,” he pointed to a row of the small, scale-like iron plates.

“What?” Bleda said, then realized that the stitching on them was different. They had been sewn as a row, rather than each one individually attached to the leather coat beneath, forming a flap over the sleeve that could be lifted.

“Look beneath it,” Ellac said.

Bleda lifted the iron plates and saw a hidden pocket, something protruding from it. He gripped it and pulled, revealing a needle-thin knife, the blade long and razor sharp.

“Just in case,” Ellac said, not managing to keep the twitch of a smile from his lips.

Bleda slid the knife back into its hidden pocket.

“Lead us out,” Ellac said.

Bleda strode from the room, feeling the extra weight in each step, along a corridor and down the spiral stairwell to the common room. He came to an abrupt halt on the last step. Gathered before him were his honour guard. Ninety Sirak warriors, men and women, clothed for battle. They let out a shout of acclaim as he appeared, and Bleda felt a swell of emotion.

“You men and women are pledged to me, to fight for me, protect me, to give your lives for me,” he said. “But I am pledged to you, too. Oath-bound to respect your duty, to honour your faithfulness. I swear to you all, I will not let you down.”

He saw them straighten at his words, and as one they dropped to one knee before him.

“Come,” Bleda said, trying to hide the tremor of emotion in his voice. “Let us make our Clan proud.”

Another shout and then they were parting before him and he was striding out into the street. Their mounts were all there, tethered and waiting at wooden rails. With practised ease Bleda vaulted onto the back of his horse, the new weight making no difference. It was something he had done for as long as he could remember. His honour guard mounted and then with a clatter of hooves they were trotting along the flagstoned streets of Drassil.

The courtyard was heaving with activity. Erdene, Queen of the Sirak, already there with five hundred riders about her. She saw Bleda and nodded to him, a glint of pride in her eyes making Bleda’s chest swell.

And then more riders were cantering into the courtyard, Uldin in his war gear at the