A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,18

the ground, Riv rising into the air, spear raised high.

Ben-Elim moved above Bleda.

“No,” Kol snarled, palm raised to his kinsmen. Blood dripped from a cut above his eye. “She’s mine.” Slowly he stood, gripped the hilt of the sword scabbarded at his hip, with a hiss of steel drew it, raised it high in a two-handed grip. “Come, then,” he called up to Riv, “and have your revenge, if you can.”

“NO,” Aphra screamed, throwing herself at Kol. “You swore Riv would not be harmed.”

At a signal from Kol, two Ben-Elim swept forwards and grabbed Aphra, dragging her away. Aphra’s cry of dismay was blotted out as with a screech of fury Riv all but fell from the air, a beat of her wings propelling her, then tucking in tight as she drove downwards, spear aimed straight at Kol’s heart.

The Ben-Elim stood motionless as the speed of Riv’s dive sent fallen leaves and forest litter swirling around him.

He’s dead, skewered like a rat in a barrel, Bleda thought. And then, in a blur of motion, Kol was no longer there, a simple sidestep, Riv yelling, wings stretching wide to stop herself ploughing into the ground. With a beat and contraction of wings, she turned in the air, landed feet first, stumbled, spear hissing through the air, still searching for Kol’s heart.

There was a loud crack as Kol’s sword sliced, Riv stumbling backwards, her spear chopped in two, one half in each hand. She looked at each half of the shaft, then with an incoherent howl launched herself at Kol, arms windmilling, both shafts striking at him. The Ben-Elim retreated before her, sparks flying as he deflected the spear-point, grunting as the shaft crunched into a shoulder, leaning back as the spearhead sliced through air, grazed his lip, the speed and fury of Riv’s assault almost overwhelming him. Then, somehow, Kol was in the air above Riv, slashing down. Riv gave a cry of pain as Kol landed behind her, a boot sending her sprawling face-first to the ground.

Riv rose to her hands and knees, one hand still clutching half of the spear shaft. Bleda felt a fist clench and twist in his gut as he saw blood leaking from a gash in Riv’s shoulder. Her wings beat, helping her turn, but Kol was upon her, his sword slashing, the spear shaft spinning away, a boot in Riv’s face sending her crashing back to the earth. Kol stood over her, sword raised high.

“Give your mother my wishes,” he said.

Bleda drew his bowstring, aimed straight at Kol’s heart.

A blow to his arm and his arrow fell to the ground, Ellac’s boot stamping and snapping the shaft.

“It’s a fair fight, my Prince. Kol did not allow his own to intervene. Don’t dishonour her,” Ellac hissed, his one hand gripping Bleda’s wrist.

“To the Otherworld with honour,” Bleda hissed. “It’s Riv.” He yanked at his wrist, but as much as Bleda struggled, he could not pull free; Ellac’s grip was like iron. There was a frozen, terrible moment as Kol’s sword slashed down at Riv.

“NO!” someone screamed: Aphra, leaping forwards and grabbing Kol’s forearm, hauling him off balance. “You cannot.”

“She’s a wild animal,” Kol snarled, blood dripping from his lip, one eye purpling and closing. He shoved Aphra away, a buffet of his wings sending her stumbling and falling to the ground. “She must be put down like one.”

“No, she’s not,” Aphra said, weeping now, holding Kol with her eyes. “She’s our daughter.”

CHAPTER FIVE

FRITHA

Fritha paused at the treeline. The boughs were heavy and bending with snow.

The meadows were painted white, and beyond them rose the palisaded walls of Kergard, the most northerly town of the Desolation. Flames and black clouds of smoke belched from Kergard’s heart, and on the cold wind Fritha heard screams. Figures moved on the palisade, pinpricks from this distance. One tumbled over the wall and rolled down a slope as something else leaped after it.

“My father has waited a long time for this,” Morn said behind Fritha.

“This is only the beginning,” Fritha breathed, a flutter of excitement in her belly at the thought of her long-awaited vengeance being fulfilled, at the sounds of Gulla and his Revenants building their war-host. Though the sounds echoing from within Kergard’s walls were terrible, it was not death and slaughter that was taking place.

Well, death of a sort, but then rebirth, the people of Kergard made new. Made better.

Gunil grunted from above her, sitting upon his great bear, Claw. Both giant and bear were wounded, bandaged