A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,27

two were mounted was giving their quarry less of an advantage. The rocky terrain was also making it harder to track them, though.

She put two fingers to her lips and whistled, summoning her Ferals back to her. They seemed as fresh as when the day had begun.

The snow was lessening, glimpses of broken cloud and sky were appearing; the sun was sinking towards the horizon. Two paths stood before Fritha. A narrow ravine leading up into the mountains and a wider path that sloped downwards.

Morn alighted upon a boulder.

“Report,” Fritha said.

“They are in the ravine,” Morn said. “It runs for several leagues.” Fritha had sent her ahead to scout the way, a test of Morn’s new-found obedience.

“And this path?” Fritha asked, pointing at the one that sloped downhill. “Can you reach the ravine’s exit by following it?”

“It drops back into woodland, but yes, you can reach the ravine’s exit that way.”

Good. A flush of excitement.

“Take ten of my Ferals.” Fritha called out names, summoning her most obedient children, the ones she knew would follow her orders, even when she was out of sight. “You will have to move fast. Lead them to the ravine’s exit, hold our prey there. We shall be close behind.”

Fritha drew her short-sword, signalling for her followers to fan out behind her as she set off into the narrow ravine. Soon the Ferals with her began to behave oddly. They’d grown excited, started snapping and slavering, but now they were hanging back, following rather than leading.

Drem, where are you?

Granite cliffs reared to either side of her, the ravine narrowed so that only three or four men could walk abreast.

It’s a good spot to make a stand, especially if you’ve a giant bear to fill the hole. They should be here, fighting, making use of this bottleneck. Of course, they are not to know that Morn and my Ferals will be creeping up and stabbing them in the back.

But there was no sign of them. There was little snow here, the arch of rocks keeping the ground clear, and no soil or foliage to search for evidence of their passing. Then she saw movement ahead, figures shifting around a boulder. Something about them looked wrong.

Fritha swore under her breath.

They are my Ferals.

They were gathered around a shape, the distinct sound of flesh tearing echoing up the ravine to Fritha.

The outline of Morn appeared atop the boulder. In her grip she held the bridle of a horse.

Fritha ran forwards, trying to control the anger she felt that Morn and her Ferals had slain Drem and the others. She wanted him as a slave, or at least the pleasure of seeing him die. As she drew closer she saw her Ferals were gathered around two dead horses, their muzzles and claws red as they feasted.

Something’s wrong. There’s no bear, or people.

“Where are they?” Fritha called up to Morn.

“I was about to ask you the same question,” the half-breed called down to her.

“They are not here,” Gunil pointed out.

Fritha cast him a dark look.

“Stake the horse,” she ordered Morn. “It will feed my Ferals later, but now we must continue our hunt.”

“Anseo,” she called, and the Ferals looked up from their feasting, muzzle-red. Some of them loped over to her, others went back to their meal.

“Laithreach,” Fritha growled, and the others pulled themselves from the horses’ carcasses, reluctantly joining Fritha.

They retraced their steps, Fritha’s Ferals given the lead. Soon they came to a spot where the ravine wall was overgrown with scrub and brush, the dark gleam of granite behind. The Ferals started snapping and whining, one scrabbling into the brush. Arn and Elise stepped forwards; Elise used her spear to dig and pull at the undergrowth. It came away, revealing a boulder, barring the path into a new gully.

“The huntsmen of Dun Seren,” Arn said to her, “always with a trick or two when you think they’re finished.”

“It won’t save them,” Fritha said. “Their horses are gone, all of them are mounted upon the bear. How long can it carry them, wounded as it is?”

Arn grunted his agreement.

“Morn,” Fritha called, and the half-breed took to the air, winging over the boulder. In a few heartbeats she was back.

“They went this way,” Morn confirmed. “Moved the boulder to block our path.”

“Gunil,” Fritha snapped.

The giant dismounted from Claw, gave a command as he put his shoulder to the boulder. His bear moved up alongside him, pushing into the boulder, dipping its neck and putting its weight against the rock.

Giant and bear

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