A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,155

pressing upon his chest. Terror shifted inside him, Gulla’s eyes boring into him, pinning him. When Gulla’s gaze moved on, Bleda felt breathless, as if he had been under water too long.

Gulla looked to Erdene, and she met his gaze.

“The queen and prince of your ancient foe,” Gulla said.

“Aye, my Lord,” Uldin answered.

Erdene’s words nagged in Bleda’s head.

A tight spot. A knife’s edge. They were familiar.

Not her words, someone else’s.

And then it came to him.

Old Ellac.

He shifted his weight as Gulla spoke with Uldin, the attention of his guards on these two victorious leaders for a few moments.

“I have news, my Lord,” Uldin said. “Kol joined us last night and called a council of war.”

Some of the other Kadoshim snorted laughter at that.

“There are five hundred White-Wings on the road from Drassil, and there are scouting bands in the forest.”

“All the better,” Gulla hissed. “The fewer bodies they have to man Drassil’s walls, the better. The Ferals are still loose, what is left of them. They are wild, beyond my control, but I imagine they will leave a mark upon these White-Wings and scouts. The rest I shall leave for my Revenants.”

Uldin dipped his head.

“Do not linger here,” Gulla said. “I need you at the gates of Drassil four days from now. This battle is won, but there will be survivors, and they will try to make their way back to Drassil. My Revenants are scouring the forest, but there is no guarantee that they will find every survivor. We must move fast and reach Drassil’s walls soon. Word of your true allegiance must not reach the fortress. My Kadoshim and our children have routed Kol and his Ben-Elim, but there are still too many of them at Drassil. We will not take the fortress from the skies alone.”

“I understand,” Uldin said. “I will be there, and soon. We will ride hard, using the road. It will be impossible for survivors on foot in the forest to reach Drassil before us.”

“Good. Then enjoy your revenge.”

Gulla glanced from Bleda to Erdene.

“You chose the wrong side,” he hissed. Gulla looked at the Kadoshim around him, and grinned, a humourless distortion of his face.

“We are for some night-hunting. In case there are wounded Ben-Elim out there.” One last look at Uldin. “I will see you soon. Do not fail me.”

With a storm of beating wings the Kadoshim took to the air, the flames of the fire-pit crackling and hissing.

The Kadoshim horde, flying for Drassil.

“So, to my revenge, as Gulla advised,” Uldin said. He stepped towards Erdene, a hand reaching to the knife on his weapons-belt.

“Gulla did not advise you. He ordered you,” Bleda said with a sneer. If Uldin wasn’t afraid to show his emotions, then he certainly wouldn’t be either. “You are his servant, his whipped dog. Not slave to the Ben-Elim, no, but you have another master, all the same.”

Uldin stopped, turned and looked at Bleda.

“Not my master, my ally,” Uldin said.

“Really? I did not hear Gulla call you Lord. Yet that is what you called him. Yes, my Lord Gulla, I will not be late, my Lord Gulla. And you bowed. Since when do the Horse Clans bow to anyone?”

“You bleat like a goat,” Uldin said, walking towards Bleda. “You will stop, or I will make you stop.”

“Best not take too long about it, though,” Bleda told him. “Or your Lord Gulla will be disappointed you didn’t obey his orders.”

A twitch of emotion on Uldin’s face, his grip tightening on his knife hilt.

“He is mine to kill, Father,” Jin said.

“Oh ho, someone else who gives the great Uldin orders,” Bleda said.

Uldin drew his knife and knelt beside Bleda, close enough for him to smell his sweat, and the goat’s milk on his breath.

Bleda slashed the sharpened iron plate from his lamellar coat across Uldin’s face, the Cheren King falling backwards with a cry, dropping his knife.

All the while Uldin and Gulla had been speaking of their victory and plans, Bleda had been working at the sharpened iron plate on his lamellar coat, slowly cutting away at the bonds on his wrist and then ankles.

He scrambled after Uldin now, his legs numb but working, threw himself onto the big man as all around him warriors shouted. Bleda’s right hand reached to the sleeve of his coat, found the hidden flap, the worn leather hilt. He drew it and stabbed Uldin, low in the waist, Uldin crying out. And then he was hauling Uldin to his feet, his knife at the king’s