A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,130

obviously lifted his usual dour mood. He hefted his war-hammer.

Riv stepped back out of the ring, allowing the newcomer to face Balur. He had a wooden practice sword in one hand, a wooden knife in the other.

“Go easy on him, Cullen,” a voice called out, Alcyon the giant, Riv realized. “Poor Balur is getting old.”

“Shall I let him win?” Cullen called back, smiling as he advanced.

“Don’t break Cullen’s bones,” someone else called out, the slim-built huntsman from yesterday with the dark hair and a tangle of black beard. Drem was standing with him and the older huntsman, who had fingers missing from one hand.

“Another with two weapons against my one,” Balur commented, before he had finished his sentence moving in a blur, hammer swinging around his head, sweeping low. Cullen leaped over it and darted forwards, sword slashing, but somehow Balur was swaying out of the blade’s reach, pivoting on his foot and bringing his hammer around again, forcing Cullen to jump away. He stumbled, controlled it and dropped into a roll, Balur striding after him.

As Riv watched, her respect for the red-haired warrior grew. At first, she had thought him a braggart who would end up on his arse quickly enough. Riv had seen Balur teach that lesson a hundred times. But this warrior was skilled, there was no doubt about that, balanced and light on his feet, and adder-fast. But so was Balur. The giant was like a wall, his defence almost impenetrable, his war-hammer seeming light as feathers in his fists, Balur using it as much like a staff as a hammer.

In time they separated, both breathing heavily.

“Are you holding back?” Cullen frowned.

Balur just shrugged.

“Because I have been,” Cullen said gleefully, springing back in at Balur.

They set at each other again, becoming a blur, time marked by the clack of their wooden weapons meeting.

Riv looked away, taking in the weapons-field around her.

The thud of shields coming together drew her eyes. It was a shield wall, sure enough, but not what she had expected. Where the White-Wings used rectangular shields, the warriors of the Order had big round shields on their arms.

There are gaps because of those shields, spaces that can be exploited in the curves, especially the lower legs. Not like the White-Wings’ wall of shields, which is all but impenetrable.

She felt a smug sense of pride at that, a mark for the White-Wings in the tally of who were the greater warriors.

Then she heard a shouted command, saw the wall of shields open up into loose order, the second row stepping past the first, and they all had their hands raised over their heads, spinning something.

What is that?

Then they released, a score of nets rising up into the air, peaking and dropping, weighted balls giving them shape.

Nets. They are throwing weighted nets.

Riv knew immediately what it was for.

A winged foe. They are for the Kadoshim. Why have we never trained with these, when our whole purpose is to fight the Kadoshim? A cynical voice whispered in her ear. Because those nets would be just as effective on Ben-Elim as they would Kadoshim.

A mark for the Order in her tally.

Riv remembered her conversation with Bleda on the weapons-field at Drassil.

He is right. We need ranged weapons to fight the Kadoshim, or any winged enemy. I need a Sirak bow.

Elsewhere Riv saw warriors training on horseback, dark-haired men and women with white stars emblazoned upon dark leather cuirasses. She felt her breath catch in her chest as she watched them stabbing and chopping at targets with spear and sword, as well as practising the running mount, which amazed her. Riv trained with horses, considered herself an excellent rider, but the running mount was a specialized manoeuvre that was rarely practised amongst the White-Wings. Here it seemed to be part of their standard training.

Another mark for the Order in my tally.

Further away there was a pack of wolven-hounds chasing a giant wrapped in thick-padded wool and leather. A huntsman was whistling and shouting commands and the wolven-hounds were circling the giant, nipping at him, herding him, another whistle and then they were all leaping, bringing the giant down, the huntsman running forwards, calling them off.

There is much the same here as Drassil, but there are other things, too, more diverse. I think we would win the war of shields, but these other disciplines…

A grunt and a thud, cheers and shouts around Riv drew her back to Balur and Cullen.

The red-haired warrior was on his back, Balur standing over him,