A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,30
hesitating, fear squirming in his belly. Drem was no coward but he knew this was likely to be the time and place of his death.
I don’t want to die.
Then he saw Fritha, deep amidst her acolytes, and behind her the looming shape of a bear, a giant upon its back.
My father’s murderers. Sig’s killers.
Fear shifted to anger.
Bellowing a wordless cry, he ran after his comrades.
Keld and Cullen crashed into the Ferals, a sword-swing from Cullen sending a head twirling through the air, blood jetting from the severed stump. Keld was slicing and stabbing, ducking and spinning, constant motion, and then Drem was amidst it all. A Feral came at him, all red jaws and yellow fangs, and without thinking he knocked raking claws away with his axe and stabbed his seax into the man-beast’s mouth, the point bursting out through the back of its neck, severing its spine. Blood erupted as Drem ripped his blade free, the Feral collapsing, twitching.
A blow to his side, sending him reeling, a moment to register it was an acolyte that had fallen into him, a woman with hair shaved to her scalp, a deep wound in her thigh, from Keld or Cullen, he did not know. Drem hesitated, weapons raised, and she stabbed at him with a spear. He jumped back and she followed, favouring her wounded leg, short stabs at his chest and belly sending him reeling, one slicing along his side, cutting through fur and leather, grazing his ribs. He swung his axe wildly, connected with the shaft, hacking the spear-point off. The acolyte snarled and swung the spear like a staff, Drem ducking, chopping into her knee with his axe, stabbing up with his seax as she dropped, the blade punching into her belly, blood hot and sticky, gushing over his gloved fist, leaking under the sleeve of his wool tunic. He shoved the dying woman away, stood over her corpse, gasping deep breaths, looked for Fritha.
Hammer roared, joining the fray, a sweep of her paw sending men and Ferals flying, one Feral impaled upon a tree branch. Another claw-swing sliced through an acolyte’s belly, a slither of intestines falling about his feet. Screaming. Then the other bear was there, the giant upon its back, acolytes and Ferals leaping aside to allow it to get to Hammer.
The two bears met with a resounding thud, the ground shaking, teeth clashing, claws lacerating. Hammer crouched under a blow from the bear, swiping one paw up like a pugilist’s upper-cut, claws raking across the other bear’s neck, her jaws lunging, sinking into her adversary’s head. A roar of pain from the creature.
Hammer’s as fierce and battle-skilled as Sig.
But Sig wasn’t upon Hammer’s back.
The giant swung his war-hammer. With a sickening crunch it smashed into Hammer’s shoulder and she released the bear’s head to bellow her pain. She snapped at the giant, but he was swaying back out of reach, bringing his hammer high for another blow. His bear swiped at Hammer, sending her stumbling backwards, her leg giving way where the giant had struck her. She collapsed to the ground, crushing an acolyte in her fall, a great explosion of pine needles and forest litter.
Drem tried to get to Hammer, slashed at an acolyte in his way, sliced a Feral across its hamstring, but there were too many between him and Sig’s bear. He cast about wildly, hoping that Cullen or Keld would reach her, protect her.
He caught a glimpse of Keld, the huntsman beset by a handful of Ferals and acolytes. Even as Drem watched, he saw Keld draw his blade across his palm, hurling a fistful of his own blood at the swarming enemy before him.
What is he doing?
“Fola de mo chorp, a bheith tine, sruthán mo naimhde,” Keld bellowed, and as his blood splattered across faces and torsos it hissed and burst into tiny sparks of flame. Ferals and acolytes fell away screaming, the stench of scorched flesh filling the glade.
Keld stood there, enemies writhing in agony about his feet, and then to Drem’s horror he saw a Feral leap upon Keld from behind, both of them going down, the Feral’s claws slashing, arcs of blood in the air. They rolled. As they stopped, the Feral was on top, rearing back with its misshapen jaws wide, claws rising. Keld lay still upon the ground.
“Keld!” Drem yelled, trying to carve a way to the huntsman, but there were too many between them.