A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,149

it a little so that the spearhead stabbed into Bleda’s side, the plates of his lamellar coat holding, turning the strike harmlessly away.

And then the man’s head was gone, a severed stump erupting blood. The body fell to its knees and toppled to the ground.

Tuld was peering down at him from atop his horse.

“My thanks,” Bleda grunted.

Ellac joined them, his sword red to the hilt.

They had been left behind in the melee, distant shadows and muffled cries, the three of them seemingly alone in the twilight world of Forn.

Then something changed in the forest around them.

It seemed to get darker, as if night were falling, and yet Bleda knew it could not even be highsun yet. A darkness swelled in the gloom, like a black thundercloud rolling across the ground, deeper within the forest, enveloping the last shadows of those Bleda could see fighting.

Screams, high and shrieking.

They spoke to Bleda of terror, rather than pain.

“I do not like this,” Ellac muttered, his sword pointing at the darkness. His horse danced, ears back.

And then a figure appeared from the gloom, exploding out of the dark cloud that filled the forest before them. A man, no weapons, grey and gaunt, clothing tattered and hanging in strips. Its eyes were shadowed wells, lips thin and blue-black, teeth razored and glinting.

Bleda felt the urge to turn and run.

The man-thing saw them, changed its course and ran at them.

Tuld’s horse reared, Tuld falling backwards from his saddle, the horse lashing out with its hooves at this new creature. Bleda heard the distinct sound of bones splintering as hooves connected with the newcomer’s chest and shoulder. It flew backwards, rolled. Was still. And then it began to climb to its feet, one arm hanging limp. There was a series of juddering snaps as bones and joints struggled to support its weight, yet still it managed to regain its footing. It looked at them, and lips drew back in a parody of a smile.

It ran at them again.

Tuld’s horse bolted, the Sirak warrior stumbling to his feet, Bleda moving to help him.

Tuld swung his sword, perfectly timed to connect with his attacker’s neck, but somehow it swayed, Tuld’s strike whistling harmlessly over its head, and then it was on him, slamming into Tuld with no thoughts of defence.

They rolled, Bleda running to reach them, Tuld’s blade rising and falling, chopping and cutting into the creature’s arm and back. And all the while it was biting Tuld, jaws unnaturally wide, crunching down onto whatever part of Tuld presented itself. His arm, his shoulder, hand, the side of his head.

Tuld was screaming.

They rolled to a stop, Tuld’s sword arm flailing, Bleda reaching them, stabbing down with his sword into the creature’s back. Bleda felt flesh part, his sword-point slipping through ribs into the vital parts of a human’s body. He twisted his blade and wrenched it free, felt ribs snap.

The creature’s jaws fastened around Tuld’s neck. A savage shake of its head, and dark blood was jetting, Tuld’s sword dropping from his fingers.

Bleda screamed his rage, hacked two-handed into the creature’s neck, cutting almost to the spine.

It rolled off of Tuld, the Sirak warrior’s blood drenching its lips and lower jaw, and it seemed almost to float back to its feet.

The drum of hooves and Ellac was there, chopping down at the creature. It swayed, lightning-fast, Ellac’s sword slicing a chunk of flesh from its shoulder instead of hacking into its head.

“Get out of here,” Ellac yelled, and Bleda wanted nothing more than to obey, to turn and run as fast as his feet could carry him.

But this thing had just killed Tuld. His oathsworn man.

Bleda raised his sword, chopped into its side, then drew his arm back and stepped into a lunge, his whole body weight behind the blow, stabbing the creature through its belly, his sword-point punching out through its back.

It looked at Bleda then, a dark malice leaking from its eyes. Then it grabbed the blade of Bleda’s sword and began to drag itself along it, towards Bleda, its jaws chomping and gnashing in some kind of paroxysm of fury or hunger.

Ellac was still hacking down at the beast, rocking it, but having no other obvious effect.

And then there was a rushing of wings, Riv appearing, her sword slicing into the creature’s neck, once, twice, three times. The head rolled away and bounced on the ground as the thing collapsed. No expected jet of blood burst from the creature’s severed stump, just a thick, pale, porridge-like