A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,59
some of his guards, too.
Then others in the crowd were shouting it out: Ben-Elim who followed Kol scattered amongst the crowd, but others as well, White-Wings whom Riv had trained with, market stall holders whom she had bought food from, haggled with, blacksmiths she had laughed with, and then it felt as if the entire crowd was roaring, “LIVE, LIVE, LIVE.”
Riv blew out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. A smile spread across her face.
Kol smiled at Riv, and then at Sariel, who looked as if he’d just swallowed a bucketful of angry wasps.
The crowd quietened.
“And who would you choose to lead you?” Kol called out. “Who would you trust not only to lead you against the Kadoshim, but to take us into a new age of peace and harmony? Him?”
Kol pointed at Sariel.
“Stand for him, now, if you wish him to lead you.”
“Kol. This is not the way,” Sariel was hissing, but people were already standing, some shouting Sariel’s name. It was mostly Ben-Elim in the crowd who stood—more than two hundred, fewer than three hundred. White-Wings joined them—again, hundreds, not thousands, and a sprinkling of others.
“Or me?” Kol cried out as Sariel’s followers sat.
It seemed to Riv that the entire host stood as one, though of course they did not. The end was the same, though, the balance so obviously, overwhelmingly, in Kol’s favour. Ben-Elim and White-Wings in the crowd roared Kol’s name, until Riv fought the urge to clasp her hands over her ears.
“This is not over,” Sariel said quietly to Kol. Only Riv heard over the din of the crowd. “The Ben-Elim council will meet. This means nothing, and you know it.”
“It is over, Sariel. Look about you.” Kol gestured at the cheering crowd, smiling his beautiful smile. “This is everything.”
Sariel looked about the chamber, listening to the horde roaring Kol’s name. He turned to leave, other Ben-Elim stepping from the crowd, some White-Wings with them, waiting for Sariel.
Sariel looked at Riv. “She is an abomination,” he said again, quietly, shaking his head.
“No,” Kol said. “She is the future.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FRITHA
Fritha crept through the trees, Morn walking beside her, a dozen of her Red Right Hand spread either side of them both, Gunil and her Ferals further back. Gunil was walking alongside Claw, who had made a sudden recovery from her wounds, the inflammation and infections peaking and then fading. The forest was still and quiet, only the sound of the wind soughing in the trees, the dripping of snow as it melted from boughs. Another sound filtered into her senses, soft as a sigh at first, growing as she stole through the trees. Constant.
The river. I can hear the river. We must be close.
Morn stopped and held up a hand, palm splayed, facing down. She pointed through the trees.
Fritha stared, could only see trees, what looked like a granite boulder in the distance.
Morn walked on, but Fritha put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her, at the same time signalling for two of her followers to go on ahead.
Morn scowled at Fritha, but she obeyed.
How long will that last, I wonder? Until her wing heals?
Morn had all but collapsed when Arn had carried her into the hold’s feast-hall. Fritha had tended to her, spoken words of power over the wound in Morn’s wing, a deep cut where the muscle and cartilage that supported her wing-arch met the muscle and tendons in her back. It was healing, but not fully recovered yet.
Fritha had left Arn with Elise and five of her Red Right Hand to act as guards for the prisoners at the hold. It left Fritha with ten of her acolytes, plus thirteen of her surviving Ferals. Not the greatest warband in the world, but Morn had told Fritha that she had only fought against two men, Drem and the younger warrior, the red-haired fire-cracker, Cullen. Though she had seen a figure inside their tent, which must have been the huntsman, the fact he had not joined the fight against Morn suggested he was wounded.
Wounded, I hope. Dead he’s no use to me.
Twenty-six of us. We are enough to take two healthy men and one wounded. Gulla will be pleased when I return with Drem and two warriors of the Order; success will erase my failure to stop word of us reaching Dun Seren.
They were close to the boulder now, her two men scouting ahead, flitting shadows between the trees.