A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,34
feet, pulping flesh.
Fritha barked a command and her Ferals swept forwards, some leaping onto the draig’s flanks, clawing and biting, others slinking under the vast bulk of its belly, raking, teeth sinking into meat. Her acolytes spread wide, some with spears stabbing, drawing blood, others darting in with swords, slashing, stabbing, leaping away. Fritha sheathed her short-sword, drew the Starstone Sword and slashed with it, leaving a black, smoking line of charred flesh across the draig’s flank.
The draig roared its frustration as Fritha and her crew worried at it like a wolven pack bringing down an elk. But it was not dead yet. A swipe of claws disembowelled a Feral. An adder-like dart of its head, and the draig snatched up an acolyte who had lingered too long to attack, eviscerating her with a shake of its powerful neck. Elise and Arn stabbed with spears, and it spun to face them, Arn leaping away from a swipe of its scythe-like claws, Elise stumbling, trying to protect herself with her spear, the draig smashing it to kindling, hurling Elise like a straw doll through the air.
And then a winged shape swooped from above: Morn, sword in her fist, alighting upon the draig’s back, between its shoulder blades. She set her feet, raised her sword high and stabbed down, the blade sinking deep.
The draig bellowed in agony, reared up, Morn’s wings beating, somehow managing to keep her balanced atop the writhing draig, and she twisted her sword ever deeper. Acolytes and Ferals rushed in at the creature’s exposed belly, stabbing, slashing, Gunil and Claw pounding at the draig with powerful blows.
With one last roar, the draig toppled onto its side, claws lashing out, taking the head from another acolyte. Morn appeared upon it, wrenched her sword free, stabbed in a frenzy, arcs of blood. Fritha stepped in, set her feet and swung her sword, opening up a huge wound upon its belly, blood and intestines spilling out, a stench erupting, sending Fritha reeling.
One last shudder, a strangled growl, and the draig died.
A sudden silence followed, punctuated by Fritha’s ragged breaths, the groans of the injured, then Claw roared his victory.
“Fritha.” A choking breath.
She cast about, saw Arn kneeling beside Elise, cradling her. Fritha ran to them, knelt beside her friends, saw tears in Arn’s eyes.
Elise was deathly white, one arm shattered, her leg twisted in an unnatural angle, and bone protruding from her side, her ribs smashed. The acolyte coughed, speckles of blood stark and vivid on her too-pale chin.
“Help her,” Arn said.
Fritha checked Elise over, knew what Arn was asking of her.
The earth magic. Words of power.
Fritha looked into Arn’s eyes. “You know I am no adept, my knowledge is limited—”
He grabbed her wrist. “It’s Elise. Just try. Help her, please.”
A long breath sucked in.
Then another thought broke through her worry for Elise.
Where’s Drem?
“Staunch the bleeding and clean her wounds,” Fritha said, standing. “I will be back soon, will do what I can.”
She looked about wildly, couldn’t see him, saw that the Order’s huntsman was no longer sprawled upon the ground.
Where’s the bear?
“FIND THEM!” she screamed, searching the glade, saw the dead scattered everywhere, the tall dunghill mounds, but no Drem, no bear, no warriors of the Order. Her Ferals loped away, but there were so many overpowering scents that they seemed confused, bounding off in different directions.
“This way,” a voice cried from above. Morn was swooping through branches, heading away from the battleground, west.
Fritha followed, found that she was limping, a pain in her leg, and saw a gash through her leather breeks, blood leaking. She ignored it.
The roar of a river growing louder. A shape moving in the distance.
Sig’s bear.
She used her last strength to reach the riverbank, a handful of acolytes running past her, flitting through the trees ahead.
An explosion of water, falling upon her acolytes like a wave, scattered them like leaves.
Fifty paces and Fritha was with them, staring past them.
A wide river roared and foamed, turbulent with snow and spinning broken sheets of ice, floating like icy rafts upon the waters. She saw the bear in the water, two people clinging to it, another lying sprawled upon one of the ice-sheets. Within heartbeats the river had sped them all around a bend, out of view.
Her eyes searched for paths, saw that in a few hundred paces the shallow bank she was stood upon gave way to rearing granite cliffs. The only way to follow them was to leap into the river.