A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,32

the bear, and beside him, Fritha.

Something in Drem stirred at the sight of her, fair-haired, a scattering of freckles beneath the blue eyes that stared only at him. A memory of how she’d made him feel, before. A bearskin cloak was thrown back across her shoulders, dark-boiled leather armour covering her torso. She held a short-sword in her hand, dripping red.

Whose blood is that? Which of my friends?

He saw the Starstone Sword scabbarded at her waist, had a vivid memory of how she had taken it, of kneeling beside his father in the snow, holding his da’s hand as he coughed blood.

He took an involuntary step towards her, checked himself.

Fritha looked at his stance, sword held high, seax low.

“Scorpion’s tail and iron gate combined,” Fritha said with amusement. “Your new friend’s teaching you the sword dance?” Drem said nothing. “Come with me, I can teach you more than those blind idiots at the Order.”

“Step a little closer,” Drem said, “and I’ll show you what they’ve taught me.”

“I offered,” Fritha said. “Either way you’re coming back with me; of your own will or in chains.”

“There’s a third option,” Drem said and lunged with his sword.

CHAPTER TEN

FRITHA

Fritha swept Drem’s lunge away, the calculating part of her mind noting how he overextended as he lunged, but at the same time she saw him check and adjust his balance, a natural shifting of his feet and legs that showed him to be a natural fighter, and she knew that in time he would make a skilled swordsman.

If he were given the chance to learn.

She was annoyed with herself. Why had she just offered him the chance of joining her, when he had already spurned her once? She’d had every intention of crushing him and dragging him back to Gulla as a prize. But there had been something in his eyes as she’d approached him, just for a moment. It had reminded her of the way he had looked at her once, all innocence and trust, that she had found so endearing and fascinating. For a heartbeat it had taken her back to another time, the time before, when life was not all about the dark beating heart of revenge. That look in Drem’s eyes had faded in a flash, though—if it had ever been there at all—replaced by something all too well known to her.

Blame and hatred.

Who is he to judge me?

She strode at him, swayed as he chopped down at her with his sword, parried the stab of his seax and stepped in close, within his guard, elbowing him in the mouth and sending him reeling.

She paused a moment, pointed her short-sword at Drem’s heart, then followed after him, saw the flicker of his eyes that betrayed his next move, caught his sword-strike on her blade, sparks grating as she rotated her wrist, cutting his forearm, and he cried out, dropping the sword. He swung at her with his seax, but she caught the blow easily, deflected it wide and countered, cutting a red line across Drem’s chest. He stumbled backwards, tripped and fell. She kicked him in the gut, put a boot on his chest and levelled her sword at his throat.

“Chains it is, then,” she said.

A deafening roar filled the woodland.

Fritha paused, looked up. She’d heard a lot of roaring this past day, mostly from giant bears, and that was loud enough to rattle her brain in her skull. But this sound was different. Not a bear. For one thing, it was louder, which didn’t give her much comfort. There was also an edge to it that set the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

She looked about the clearing. Everyone who was still standing within it was frozen, like her, searching for the origin of such a terrible sound.

Then she saw it. A monstrous shape emerging from the shadows. It was huge, not quite as tall as Claw, but wider and longer. It was serpentine, reminiscent of the lizards Fritha had seen sunning themselves in the south, but a thousand times bigger, with green-brown mottled skin, like a snake’s. Its belly was low to the ground, set upon four immensely powerful bowed legs, splayed feet with claws like the curved swords the Horse Clans of Arcona wielded. A long, wide tail swayed behind its bulk, but Fritha’s eyes were drawn to its head. A broad, flat skull, its muzzle long with a square-tipped jaw full of razored teeth that dripped with thick saliva or ichor. Its eyes