A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,138

or seeping up from the river.”

Drem grunted and walked on. As he did so something floated down from above, landing just in front of his feet.

A feather.

He knelt and picked it up.

It was a dark brown, speckled with white.

Not a crow, then, and besides, it is far too big.

He looked up again.

An eagle, or hawk? One of the guardians that Byrne spoke of?

He tucked the feather in his belt and hurried after Byrne.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

BLEDA

Bleda heard the call to halt trickling down from the front of their column and reined in. He was riding rearguard today, the fifth day since they had set out from Drassil.

Where are they? he thought.

The sun was dipping into the west, a red glow above the trees of Forn. They were upon a wide road, broad enough for twenty riders abreast, and still more besides on the cleared fringe to each side. Not that the Sirak and Cheren were proceeding in that kind formation. They rode in neat, orderly columns, four ranks wide, spread out along the road over half a league or so.

After he was attacked, Uldin said he rode hard for five days to reach Drassil. Granted, we have been riding much slower than Uldin’s galloping dash for safety, but still. If the Kadoshim were moving on Drassil, we should have met them by now.

His eyes drifted to the skies, a dazzle of blue through the lattice of branches that arched over the road, as he remembered that night in Drassil, Kadoshim flying over the walls, carrying warriors and Ferals in their arms.

He raised a fist, Ruga behind him sounding her horn, his hundred-strong rearguard reining to a halt. Bleda’s eyes scoured the forest to either side. It was mostly thick-trunked oaks, their roots drinking the ground too dry for shrubs and thorn, and their branches were high, so the ground was clear; Bleda could see for a good way into the forest.

Good ground and passage for riders.

The drum of hooves, and Bleda saw a rider cantering down the column to him: Jin, looking fine in her war gear.

“We are making camp for the night,” she said. Bleda already knew that, knew that she didn’t have to come and tell him. She seemed to make reasons to come and see him, to spend time in his company. It made him feel uncomfortable.

Bleda nodded a thanks to her.

“Any sign?” he asked her, more concerned right now about Kadoshim and Ferals than an amorous Jin.

“Nothing.” Jin shook her head. She gave him a long, lingering look as she turned her mount, came out of the turn with a spray of dirt and set her horse galloping back to the head of the column. It was a fine display of horsemanship, gaining some approving nods from Bleda’s Sirak warriors.

“For a Cheren, she is a fair rider,” Tuld said beside him.

Old Ellac gave Tuld a flat look.

Riders began to dismount, setting to the task of making camp for the night.

Bleda inspected the defences of his section of their camp, Ellac, Tuld, Mirim and Ruga around him. All of their horses were picketed within a defensive line on the road, safe from the ordinary predators of Forn Forest, and Bleda paced wider onto the turf between the road and forest, found pairs of guards every thirty paces, torches burning at the mid-point between them. The guards stood in the shadowed point between the reach of each torch.

“Are you satisfied?” Ellac asked him.

“I am,” Bleda said, pleased with the discipline and vigilance amongst his hundred. He looked at Ellac and the other three.

“I have something to do, to ask,” he said. “I would like you to accompany me and bear witness.”

Ellac and the others nodded, and Bleda turned on his heel and strode along the perimeter of their camp, deeper into their warband, into his mother’s section. He found her sitting on a field chair at a fire-pit, her boots off, warming her feet before the fire. Yul her first-sword stood a few paces away, fire and shadow flickering across his face.

“Mother,” Bleda said, dipping his head to her.

“Aye?” she said.

“You gave me my brother’s mail, called me a Sirak prince.”

“I did,” Erdene said, “because you are.”

“Then to me it would seem fitting that I wore the Sirak warrior braid.” He drew a knife from his belt. “Would you honour me?”

He offered Erdene his knife, held it out, glinting in the firelight as she looked from it to Bleda.

“I will,” Erdene said. She pulled on her boots and stood, taking