A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,156

throat.

Jin and her guard had their bows levelled at Bleda, but he was hidden behind the bulk of Uldin.

“Cut my mother’s bonds,” Bleda said.

“No,” Jin said.

“Cut my mother’s bonds, and give her a horse,” Bleda told her.

“Let my father go,” Jin said, stepping closer to Erdene, “or I will kill your mother.”

“You were going to kill her anyway. Let her go or I give your father the red smile.”

“Shoot him,” Uldin said. “Put an arrow in his eye.”

But Bleda knew they could not. Uldin was a big man; Bleda was hidden behind him, only his knife hand visible as he held his blade at Uldin’s throat.

“Get behind him, idiots,” Uldin grunted, and warriors around Jin began to move.

Bleda knew it was over, then, that he only had moments until Cheren warriors would have a clearer shot at his body. He dragged Uldin back a step, almost instantly realizing that was futile.

He embraced his death. Wished that he could see Riv one more time.

“Mother, see me,” he cried. “Erdene, Queen of the Sirak, I am your last son, Bleda. Watch me slay our ancient foe, Uldin, King of the Cheren.” And he stabbed his knife into Uldin’s throat, and then cut outwards, severing artery and windpipe together. A dark jet of blood and Uldin was slumping, collapsing to his knees. He gurgled wordlessly and toppled face-first onto the ground.

Bleda raised his arms wide, looked at his mother as the Cheren bows aimed at him. Saw the pride and love in her eyes. He smiled at her.

“He is mine,” Jin cried, taking a step forwards, her arrow nocked and drawn. She stared at Bleda.

“I could have loved you,” she whispered. “Did love you. But now I hate you with all that I am. Know this, Bleda, that I will slay your mother once you are dead, and her death shall be slow.”

A whistling sound and an arrow slammed into Jin’s shoulder, spinning her. Jin’s bow-arm jerked, her arrow flying from the string, piercing a Cheren warrior to her left. He fell with a scream.

Another arrow arching down from above, a Cheren warrior stumbling, a goose-fletched arrow sticking from his thigh.

Riv.

And then mounted figures were bursting into the firelight—two, three, more—arrows thrumming, a snatched glimpse of Ellac swinging his sword, and all about him Cheren warriors were reeling, falling, blood spraying.

Bleda lurched into motion, crashed into a Cheren warrior with his bow aiming into the night sky, searching for Riv. He stabbed his knife into the man’s belly, ripped it free and threw the warrior away from him, snatched the scabbarded sword upon the warrior’s back, continued his staggering run towards Erdene.

Riv swooped out of the sky, plummeting into the midst of them. Her bow was back in its case, a short-sword in each hand, and she was carving a bloody ruin around her, Cheren warriors reeling away. She saw Bleda and flew towards him, weaving in the air, something odd about her flight. He pointed to his mother as he staggered towards her.

Jin appeared out of the chaos, stepping behind Bleda’s mother, her left arm hanging limp, a sword in her right fist. She saw Bleda, snarled at him, her face of stone gone, and plunged her sword into Erdene. The blade stabbed down, high in the back, down into Erdene’s chest cavity.

Bleda screamed.

His mother jerked in her bonds, Jin twisting her blade, ripping it free. A gout of blood from Erdene’s mouth, a spasm through her whole body, and then Bleda saw the life leave her.

The world slowed around him. He heard someone screaming, distantly realizing it was his own voice as he leaped the fire-pit, eyes fixed on Jin. His grip tightened on the blades in either hand, sword and knife.

But then figures were swirling between them, a mounted Sirak warrior, Cheren Clansmen all around her, dragging her from her saddle. Bleda looked around, heard the horn blasts spreading the alarm, saw more Cheren warriors pouring into the firelight.

And then Riv’s arms were around him, pulling him, lifting him.

“There is no time,” she was yelling through the red fog in his head. “We must run, live to fight.” And she was trying to lift him into the air.

“Mother,” he cried, pulling free, and Riv followed him, grabbing him.

“The dead cannot seek revenge,” she shouted into his face. He stopped, the truth of her words hitting him like a blow.

I will have my revenge.

Bleda embraced Riv. As she began to hoist him into the air he sheathed his knife back in