A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,52

leaving him for a while.

“Ah, but you’re a tough one,” Cullen was saying, laughing and crying. “I saw you jump at that draig, you lunatic.”

Fen gave Cullen a rasping lick on the cheek, but then he was pushing through Cullen’s embrace, shaking him off and limping forwards, towards their shelter. Cullen let the wolven-hound go, eyes shining.

Drem followed Fen as he limped his way into the shelter. The hound stopped then, took a long sniff of the air, head weaving, eyes fastening upon Keld lying beyond the fire-pit. A quickening of his pace and he was beside the huntsman, nudging him, licking him, whining. Keld stirred, muttered something incomprehensible, but did not wake.

Fen turned in a circle and lay down tight to the unconscious huntsman; with a very human-like sigh he rested his head on the huntsman’s hand, and in a handful of heartbeats the wolven-hound was asleep, his deep chest rising and falling.

“Ach, with friends like this, how can we ever lose?” Cullen grinned at Drem.

Drem smiled back, overwhelmed to see the wolven-hound, the guilt he had felt at leaving him lifting from his mind.

That hound has a will of iron. Drem remembered how bad his condition had been.

He has had a long hard road to find us.

They settled down for the night, Drem taking first watch. He stepped outside their rudimentary shelter and found a pine tree to lean against, pulled tight the bearskin cloak about his shoulders and looked out into the darkness. He rested a hand upon the seax at his belt, loosened the blade in its scabbard, something that was becoming a habit with him. The cold would make the blade stick, and the last thing he wanted was to need his blade and not be able to draw it.

Something was telling him that he might be needing a blade in his hand, all too soon.

Because if Fen could find us, then so can other things.

Drem woke to the sound of Fen the wolven-hound urinating up the side of their shelter.

I’ve had better starts to a day.

He rolled over and saw Cullen was banking the fire and setting a pot to bubbling.

Drem slipped out from under his blanket as Fen pushed his way through the stitched cloaks that acted as a tent flap and padded over to Keld. He set to licking the huntsman’s face, nibbling at his beard as if he were grooming Keld.

“Ach, get off,” Keld said, a hand reaching up to attempt a feeble shove. Fen yipped and leaped in a circle, his wagging tail threatening to bring down the tent, began pawing at Keld, crouching and barking, pawing again.

“Keld!” Cullen cried, rushing to the huntsman’s side.

Drem grinned.

Keld sat up, rubbing his head.

“I’m starving,” he said.

“Ah, but it’s good to have you back with us,” Cullen said to Keld.

Keld nodded, said something incomprehensible through a mouthful of brot.

Drem was starting to feel a little worried about the huntsman. He knew that half a bowl of the foul-tasting gruel had filled him to bursting and made him feel as if he’d had a stomach full of lead for the next day and a half. Keld was on his third bowl.

He’s going to eat himself to death.

Drem handed Keld a spit of squirrel meat that had been turning over the fire. He was a trapper, after all, and had been sitting in this camp for six days. He’d had to do something, so their food bags were full, and brot, thankfully, was no longer a necessity. Keld looked up from his bowl and took the squirrel meat, tore off a chunk.

“It’s hot, you might want to take it slo—”

Keld swallowed the chunk of meat, hardly chewing it, and ripped off another slab of meat.

“Never mind.”

“So, what trouble are we in?” Keld asked, wiping grease from his mouth and beard.

“Remarkably, none that I can report on,” Cullen said good-naturedly. “I thought Fritha and her arsewipes would have sniffed us out by now.” He patted his sword hilt. “But thus far, no such luck.” He gave his mad grin, the one that Drem was starting to associate with Cullen’s desire for against-all-odds danger.

They’d told Keld of how the battle had ended, of the draig and their mad scramble for the river, of tying Keld to Hammer’s back and leaping into the ice floe.

“After a day in the river Hammer dragged us onto the riverbank, managed to heave herself this far, and then collapsed. Since then we’ve been thawing our toes out by the fire, waiting for