A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,47

the next, but soon. Before your grandson is a man, is my guess.”

The old woman scowled at her.

“Why do you fight for them, then?”

Fritha looked at the old woman, saw a genuine question in her eyes.

“Because the Ben-Elim killed my baby,” Fritha whispered, choosing to tell the truth.

Footsteps. Fritha knew from the way the floorboards shook that it was Gunil.

The way the grandmother’s eyes widened as she looked over Fritha’s shoulder also gave Fritha the same answer.

“What monsters have you brought into my hold?” The old woman spat out a curse.

“War makes monsters of us all,” Fritha said. “And the trouble with war is that it follows you. Sometimes there’s no escaping it. Sometimes the only choice is to choose which side you stand on.”

“My son and his wife, my grandson,” the grandmother said, eyes fixed on Gunil, who was towering over Fritha now, as he examined the contents of the pot over the fire-pit. “You swore they would live.”

“They will,” Fritha said. “I can’t just leave them here, though. They will come with me and choose a side. You, though, grandmother, you are not up to the journey. And I did not swear to keep you safe.”

Fritha shook her head, leaning forward and patting the old woman’s hand. She felt a wave of sympathy for this woman, a sadness at what she had to do.

“I am sorry,” Fritha said, “but I need your face.” And, faster than a blink, she drew her knife and stabbed the old woman in the throat.

Fritha sliced her knife across her palm and squeezed her hand into a fist, letting the blood flow and drip into a small iron bowl she’d set on a table. Beyond it was a wooden frame she’d quickly crafted, four hooks in each corner. Attached to these hooks was the skinned face of the old woman she’d just killed, stretched out across the frame, hanging loose like an empty sail. Globs of fat and blood still dripped from it. The dead woman’s body lay cast upon the ground. Out of the corner of her eye Fritha saw a rat scurry from the shadows and start nibbling at the meat exposed beneath the hastily skinned face. She ignored it.

“Glacaim liom anois, Gulla, aingeal dubh, agus tríd an fhuil,” Fritha chanted as she dripped her blood into the bowl. It rippled as if some hidden wyrm were uncoiling within it.

“Glacaim liom anois, Gulla, aingeal dubh, agus tríd an fhuil,” she repeated, louder. The skin stretched upon the frame twitched and spasmed. Although the doors had been closed and barred, the windows tightly shuttered, a cold wind blew through the room, sending the flames in the fire-pit dancing and hissing, making shadows dance. Behind her, Fritha heard Gunil grunt.

“Glacaim liom anois, Gulla, aingeal dubh, agus tríd an fhuil,” Fritha said for the third time, and the skin on the frame shifted, filling as if a breeze moved it, then more violently, the mouth jerking, opening, the cheeks filling, changing shape, and the eyes sparking to red life.

“Fritha,” a voice rasped from the animated skin, Gulla’s voice. “What do you want? I am busy.”

Fritha drew in a deep breath.

Little point worrying about a thing. Best just to say it.

“Morn is missing, and Drem and his companions are likely going to reach Dun Seren. Even if we catch them, the crow that took your eye is no longer with them. I think it likely they’ve sent it on ahead to take word of you to Byrne.”

“What!” The face snarled, grating like iron scraping over a cairn-stone. A smell of decay wafted from the mouth of the skinned visage.

Fritha repeated her words. “I am sorry, Lord,” she added.

“Gunil?” Gulla’s voice asked.

“I am here,” the giant said. He was looking at the rat, still feasting upon the dead woman’s skinless face.

“Report,” Gulla ordered.

“Things have not gone well.” Gunil shrugged. “My Claw has been wounded.”

Is that all he cares about? Fritha scowled.

“By a draig,” Fritha added. “We have sustained casualties. Drem and the two Order warriors escaped by leaping into a river while we fought the draig.”

“And my daughter?” Gulla growled.

“She went out scouting four days ago and has not returned.”

The skinned face scowled, not a pleasant expression. Fritha controlled the urge to shudder.

Gunil raised a foot and stamped on the rat. Bones crunched.

“The Order are likely to hear of our presence at the Starstone Lake,” Fritha said. “Of the sword, of you…”

“I understand the implications,” Gulla snapped. “I am not ready yet, have more to do.”