A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,153

glanced over her shoulder, saw those she had ordered to remain were now dismounting and reaching for their packs. “There will be one battle to decide this, Arn, but a few surprises will not hurt,” Fritha said with a smile.

“One battle.” Arn frowned. “Do you think we can win?”

She glanced at her warband, then at Wrath and Elise.

“Just us, no,” she said.

She looked to her left and saw in the distance a creeping mist that coated the lower ground, following the cracks and gullies that spread like a great cobweb across the land. It almost looked as if the mist were following her.

“But with Ulf and his Revenants, yes.”

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

BLEDA

Bleda knelt in the dirt, spat a glob of blood from his mouth.

His wrists and ankles were bound and he was tied to a stake. A fire-pit crackled in front of him. He saw weapons piled close to the fire, the distinct shape of Sirak bows, and scabbarded swords there, too. Beyond the reach of the fire-pit’s light Bleda saw the denser shadows of trees, heard the rustle of the wind in branches.

We are on the roadside, then?

Tied opposite him was his mother, her face crusted with blood, one eye swollen shut. Her jaw was an odd shape, looked as if it had been broken, her lips cut and mangled.

She saw him looking at her, and her lips moved, a croaked whisper coming out of the pulped ruin that had been her mouth.

“Stay… strong,” she whispered.

The words hit Bleda, the same ones she had said to him so long ago. The day Bleda’s life had changed, the day his brother’s head had been thrown at his feet.

The day the Sirak fought the Cheren.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady the anger and fear swirling through his veins.

Figures stood at the edge of the firelight, Cheren guards. They were talking amongst themselves, but Bleda felt their eyes at his slightest movement.

Never trust the Cheren. Mother was right. I hate them, curse their name. If I ever get out of these bonds, Uldin and Jin, I will kill you both.

He had not been conscious long, his last memory of the battle was of a Cheren warrior stabbing at Ellac, Bleda trying to reach him, carving his way through the sea of flesh between them, and then a blow across his shoulders and neck that sent him falling from his saddle, crunching to the ground. And then… nothing. Until he had awoken to find himself bound and staked like a goat ready for slaughter.

Uldin must have known of the attack. His idea of rotating the vanguard and rearguard put him in the perfect position to avoid any real conflict with the Kadoshim and their servants.

But what of his attack? His wounds when he arrived at Drassil, and the wounds of his riders? All a ruse?

Bleda shifted, trying to ease the strain on his wrists. His lamellar coat wasn’t making moving any easier.

Footsteps: Uldin and Jin walking into the light cast by the fire-pit, a handful of Cheren at their back.

“You’re awake, good,” Uldin said.

“I will kill you for this,” Bleda fumed.

“You have lost,” Uldin said with barely repressed disdain. “Tricked and defeated like bairns. At least do not shame yourself with threats you have no hope of keeping. A childlike display. You have little left to you, but you can still die like a warrior of the Horse Clans, with some semblance of honour.”

Uldin’s words only incensed Bleda more, a burning rage consuming him that he had never felt or known before. This betrayal somehow struck him as hard as his brother’s death. He strained against his bonds, bucking, veins bulging, skin tearing on his wrists. Uldin and Jin stood over him, staring.

“To think you could have been handbound to this pathetic, weak worm,” Uldin said to Jin. “Even at the last he cannot master his emotions. He is like a child.”

Jin just stared at Bleda, a cold fire in her eyes.

“Only a day ago she was still pleading with me to let you live,” Uldin said. “Until she saw you last night, with the half-breed.”

The noise in the glade—it was Jin.

“I told you not to shame me,” Jin said. She stared at him a long while, perhaps expecting him to say something, but Bleda had nothing left to say.

“You gave your half-breed a gift,” Jin said. “I have a gift for you, too.”

Jin’s honour guard, Gerel, stepped forwards. He held something in his hands, a severed head, gripping it by a Sirak