A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,40
had spread its pale glow across the river, he’d seen that the cliffs had given way to steep-sided slopes of shingle and pine, and as the day had worn on eventually shallow riverbanks appeared. Hammer paddled her way towards dry land, forging across the white-foamed current. The bear had crawled and scraped her bulk out of the river, then stumbled and limped to the granite boulder she was still slumped against now. Cullen had dragged Drem in by the rope and together they had cut Keld from Hammer’s back and laid him out on the ground. He’d been unconscious and had remained more or less in the same state since then. Drem and Cullen had immediately set about making a fire and shelter, both knowing the cold was likely to kill them far faster than any pursuit from Ferals and half-breed Kadoshim. They had stripped their clothes, Cullen chopping bundles of coppiced willow branches while Drem had shivered and shaken his way through, dragging out spare cloaks and hide blankets that had been bundled into Hammer’s saddle bags and stitching them together. Even half-frozen, fingers, toes and lips turning blue, it had not taken them long to fashion a hide shelter and scrape a fire-pit, banked with stones from the riverbed and lit with wood from a dead pine tree.
After a stuttered, shivering conference, both Drem and Cullen had been confident that the river had carried them so far and fast that, unless their enemy built rafts and followed them down the river, there was at least three days’ safety between them and their pursuers.
Apart from the half-breed.
Mustn’t make a sound now. He put a hand to his jaw and physically clamped it shut, his eyes scanning the surrounding woodland through his latticed hide, looking up to search the treetop canopy.
Where is she?
Cullen was crouching in another hide in the shadows of a stand of pine, not more than thirty paces away from Drem. The sound of the river was a constant background roar in Drem’s ears, unhelpfully masking other sounds. They were too close to the riverbank where Hammer had dragged them ashore. Drem could see the bulk of the bear through the trees, a deeper darkness beyond the rough tent he and Cullen had built and where Keld still lay. Hammer was slumped beneath the shadow of a granite boulder. If there was any trouble Drem doubted the bear would be any help, she had hardly moved since she had staggered from the river.
Hammer’s done enough for us.
A rustling in the trees above and Drem shifted, quickly and quietly, tightening his grip on a rough javelin he’d carved.
A wood pigeon, that was all.
Cullen said he saw her, the half-breed, flying along the river.
Maybe she won’t come this way.
But Drem was sure that she would. He remembered her voice in his ear, the look of hatred.
This is for my brother, she had said.
Don’t think she’s the type to give up.
He stared at the path that led through the trees to the river. If the half-breed had led Fritha and her acolytes here, if they’d built rafts and floated down the river, then that path was the only approach to their makeshift camp.
Lot of “ifs” there.
A twig cracked, drawing Drem’s eyes. A shadow in the darkness, solidifying into a figure. Squat, muscular, carrying a spear, wings arching over its back.
Drem felt his heartbeat quicken. He’d sat in hides a thousand times, hunting elk and other beasts, and never felt the worry of it.
Hunting half-breed Kadoshim is different, though.
His hand reached to his neck, found the comforting beat of his pulse.
The half-breed trod carefully through the pines. Boughs hung low over her head.
Harder for her to fly here. That’s in our favour.
Drem focused on breathing long and slow, resisting the urge to burst from his hide and hurl his javelin.
Wait. It’s all about the timing, my da used to say.
She was close, now, fifty paces, her head swivelling, searching the gloom. Close enough for Drem to see the purpling bruising across her flat nose and eyes, from where he’d headbutted her.
Good. Though I came off worse in that meeting. The knife-cut along his waist burned with every movement.
Drem could see the fabric of her wool tunic, taut and stretched over the musculature of her arms, a thick neck above her leather, fur-trimmed vest.
Then she saw their tent, the patchwork of loosely stitched cloaks and blankets. The half-breed froze for long moments, staring at it, scanning the woodland around it.