A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,25

“There,” he said, pointing.

A day and a half had passed since they’d said farewell to the white crow, Rab, and now they were high above the plain that Kergard sat upon. With a jolt, Drem realized that they were not far from the place where he and his father had once been attacked by a great white bear. He worked it out: only five moons had passed since that fateful day when they’d found a lump of starstone rock beneath the elk pit Drem had been digging. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and a different world. Certainly he felt like a different person. Drem’s hand drifted up to the bear claw hanging around his neck. He’d chopped it from the white bear as it rampaged past him. Then his da had hauled him onto his shoulder and carried Drem to safety.

It feels as if Da’s whole life was spent saving me or protecting me. He rested a hand upon the bone hilt of his seax, something about it comforting after what he’d recently learned. In some ways he still is.

“I see it,” Keld said.

A flare of red firelight, bright in the all-white, just a flicker far in the distance, then it was gone, cut off by a curtain of swirling snow.

“I think that’s where Kergard should be,” Drem said, though it was hard to tell.

Cullen joined them, drinking from a fresh-filled water skin. He pushed the hood of his fur-lined cloak back, and looked up at the sky, snow dappling his cheeks. He stuck out his tongue, snowflakes landing and melting upon it.

“Ah, but I love the snow,” Cullen said. His red hair was starting to grow back in tufts and clumps on his head.

Keld just shook his head.

As Drem stared into the distance, more flickers of firelight appeared, scattered across the plain south of Kergard.

Keld was staring, too.

“What is that?” Cullen asked, seeing the flare and flicker of light on the plain.

“Kergard burns,” Drem said.

“Aye, and a dozen holds south of Kergard,” Keld added. “Gulla is hiding no longer.”

Drem felt a frustrated anger radiating through him. There were people down there that he knew, had traded with, had lived alongside, and Gulla and his horde were murdering them.

Or worse. He shivered as he remembered Gulla and his Revenants.

“We could help them,” Cullen said.

“Too many of them, even for you,” Keld said, glancing at Cullen. “But we can help those further south, by getting to Dun Seren and telling Byrne what is happening.”

“Let’s be on with it, then,” Drem said, a sense of futility and frustration burning in his belly.

Hammer emerged from the trees, bending and snapping branches. She scratched a paw on the ground.

Fen growled, head cocked to one side, ears twitching.

“What is it, lad?” Keld asked, one hand resting on an axe-head at his belt.

Out of the snow and wind a sound reached them, an ululating howl, rising and falling on the wind.

“Wolven?” Drem breathed, knowing instantly that he was wrong. The sound was similar, but twisted somehow. Deeper, more frantic.

More howls, in the distance, yet not far away enough for Drem’s liking. Shapes moving amidst the trees much further down the slope. The shadowed bulk of something bigger behind them.

“Ferals,” Keld said.

A hiss as Cullen drew his sword.

“What do we do?” Drem asked, wings of fear fluttering in his belly.

Keld stared into the trees. Drem, following his gaze, saw more shapes solidifying than he was happy about. A dozen, more.

“I think we can take them,” Cullen said, a fire in his eyes as he bounced on the balls of his feet and gave his sword a lazy turn with his wrist.

We are clearly outnumbered and cannot win.

“We run,” Keld said. “Quick, help me with Hammer’s harness and saddle.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

FRITHA

Fritha’s breath was loud in her ears, her heart a drum in her chest. She was surrounded by snow and ice, but her leathers and furs were warm, her bearskin cloak a weight upon her shoulders, and she felt exhilarated by the thrill of the chase. She was close to catching Drem and his companions, she knew, the behaviour of her Ferals spurring her on. They were as excited by the hunt as she was, snapping and growling, some bounding on ahead up the steep incline, only returning reluctantly at her stern summons.

They’re excited, like hounds scenting their prey, close to the kill.

“We are close,” Gunil said. He was striding beside her, Claw lumbering behind.

An ear-splitting roar echoed through the forest, sending crows flapping and squawking from branches,