A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,31

or six attackers, using his knife like a shield, his sword leaving bloody arcs. His eyes flickered to Drem, but then he was staggering, defending against a barrage of blows.

A slate-grey blur caught Drem’s eye, speeding through the melee: Fen the wolven-hound hurling himself at the Feral upon Keld, its claws held high, blood upon them. With a snarling howl, Fen slammed into the Feral, both of them rolling away, the wolven-hound on top, pinning the thrashing creature down, jaws finding the throat. A savage wrench and blood jetted, the Feral’s feet drumming on the ground. Fen leaped back to the prone form of Keld, stood over him protectively, crouched, teeth bared in a bloody snarl.

The giant and his bear approached Hammer. She was trying to regain her feet, but the bear pounded her with a paw, Hammer’s leg giving way again, sending her tumbling back to the ground. The bear stood over her, the giant upon its back hefting his war-hammer.

Drem swept a sword away with his seax, chopped hard into the head of his attacker, denting the iron cap upon the acolyte’s head, who collapsed bonelessly, then Drem charged, barrelled into a knot of acolytes pressing about Cullen, sending a handful of them flying, and saw open space between him and Hammer.

The giant upon his bear’s back was raising his war-hammer.

A hot pain across Drem’s back and he was thrown forwards, onto his knees. He twisted, saw a Feral standing over him with blood dripping from its claws.

Without thinking, Drem twisted, kicking at the creature’s ankles, saw it stumble, at the same time he was rising, stabbing with his seax, piercing the Feral’s eye, its momentum as it fell driving the long knife deep until Drem felt the tip grate on the back of the beast’s skull.

He shoved the twitching creature away, swivelled on his feet and threw his axe.

It struck the giant bear in the chest, sinking deep, the blade disappearing. The bear reared onto its back legs, roaring, the giant on its back thrown from his saddle, vanishing from sight. The bear crashed back to all fours, bellowed a challenge at Drem.

I’m coming, Hammer.

There was a blow across Drem’s back, a flare of pain lancing through the wound the Feral had just given him, a face full of pine needles as he stumbled and fell. Something was gripping his cloak, pulling him, lifting him.

His feet left the ground and he was rising, above the battle, an aerial view showing the carnage painted in blood and gore.

“This is for my brother,” a voice grated in his ear.

Drem took a moment to register the strength that had lifted him high into the air. He squirmed, his cloak knotting in the half-breed’s fist. Red-hot pain seared along his waist as a knife-thrust that had been intended for his kidneys scored a red line. Another twist and he was facing the half-breed, his face so close to hers he could smell her stale breath. Her eyes blazed their hatred at him and her fist drew back for another stab of her knife.

Drem jerked with his seax, blocking the blade, and headbutted the half-breed across the bridge of her flat nose. Blood and cartilage burst, spattering his face, and the half-breed reeled back, wings sagging.

He headbutted her again, harder, saw her eyes roll back into her head, her wings folding, her grip upon his cloak going slack and he fell away from her, saw her begin a slow plummet back to the ground.

Then he realized he was falling, too.

A moment of weightlessness and panic as he spun his arms, saw the ground rushing up to him. He landed on Hammer, fur and flesh breaking his fall. She was trying to rise again, the other bear advancing on her, the giant nowhere to be seen.

Drem rolled off Hammer, still gripping his seax. He shifted it to his left hand and, drawing his father’s sword, set his feet between Hammer and the other bear.

Blood sluiced down its chest, soaking its fur from Hammer’s claw-gouges and Drem’s axe, though the wounds had not gone deep enough, not reached any vital organ. It opened its jaws and roared at him, spittle flying, the power of it sending him staggering back a pace.

He shook his head and set his feet again.

“Come on, then, death,” he snarled at the bear, “but I’ll give you a scar or two to remember me by.”

Two figures stepped around the bear: the giant, raising a hand and giving a command to