A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,63

fast. A flash of steel, and Cullen was there, screaming, chopping at the wyrm’s neck, Hammer retreating, tugging the wyrm with her, dragging its coiled length away from the white bear.

The wyrm did not seem to want to let go its grip on either bear, tail coiled around the white bear, fangs sunk deep into Hammer.

Gouts of flesh and viscous blood flew through the air as Cullen struck and hacked.

Drem left his seax and hand-axe in the wyrm he’d attacked, pivoted and drew his father’s sword. Raising it high overhead, he rushed over to Cullen and Hammer, bringing his blade down diagonally—lightning strike, his father’s voice whispered in his head—slicing deep into the wyrm flesh, the treacle-like blood seeping out. He raised and cut again, and then again, deeper into the great rent in the wyrm’s torso, until a white fluid started mixing with the dark red of its blood. Cullen stood the other side of the wyrm, his blade rising and falling in a frenzy, more butcher than sword master.

Drem glimpsed bone through the carnage of his blows, felt his sword grate on vertebrae. The wyrm, finally relinquishing its grip on Hammer, twisted to look unsteadily at Drem and Cullen, much of its supportive muscle and sinew severed. It bared its fangs at them, snapping at Cullen, but Hammer’s paw swatted it to the ground, the two men still hacking frenziedly, until, with a final blow from Drem, the severed head fell. Its lower body and tail twitched and spasmed, and then was still.

Hammer gave out a victory roar, stamped on the wyrm’s head for good measure, and then leaped forwards, swiping at another wyrm wrapped around the white bear.

“Some help!” Keld cried out. Drem turned to see the huntsman clinging to the back of another wyrm, just below its head, legs and one arm wrapped around the wyrm, his hand-axe rising and falling as he slashed and hacked. This wyrm had detached itself from the white bear and was giving all of its attention to Keld. Fen was leaping in, biting, ripping out chunks of flesh, then jumping away as the tail whipped at him.

Drem and Cullen ran to Keld, began their butcher’s work again.

A tail-strike caught Cullen, sent him spinning through the air.

The wyrm’s head came for Drem, darting forwards, quick as thought.

Drem stabbed his sword up, by immense luck more than skill connected his sword-point with the wyrm’s lower jaw, a burst of instinctive terror adding a wild strength to his blow, punching on up into its head, pinning the jaws together. It flopped to the ground, dragging Drem with it, Keld rolling away, the wyrm’s head shaking frenziedly. Finding purchase with his feet, Drem pushed, driving his sword deeper, felt it scrape on the top of the wyrm’s skull. He twisted his sword. A ripple of spasms through the wyrm’s body as it died.

Drem stood, heaved his blade free.

Then he was flying through the air, lost his grip on his sword and rolled a dozen paces. Scrambling to his knees, he saw a wyrm speeding towards him, jaws open, fangs dripping. He lurched to one side as the head stabbed at him, fast as a spear-strike. As he staggered to his feet, the tail wrapped around his ankles. His natural inclination was to run, but as his ankles were crushed tight together, all he managed to do was fall over. Another coil looped around him. He started to panic, searched for a weapon—his belt empty, his sword out of reach—resorted to punching ineffectually at the thick coils as they constricted around him. Another ripple of muscle and another few loops curled around him, pinning one arm to his side, covering his stomach and lower chest.

He screamed. Regretted that when another constriction squeezed his breath out of him, made it difficult for him to inhale.

The wyrm’s head reared in front of him, a malignant hiss, a tongue flickering, filled with the stench of rotting meat.

Cullen appeared, sword stabbing into the wyrm’s mouth, the wyrm rearing away, its coils loosening around Drem. He sucked in air greedily and squirmed free. Keld offered him a hand and helped him rise. Cullen followed the wyrm, slashed up, left to right in a diagonal cut, like a scabbard-draw, opened a great rent in the wyrm’s torso. Its head lunged at him, even as he stabbed straight into its belly, its jaws opening, vomiting blood as Cullen’s blade sank deep, and two-handed he ripped it upwards, opening its guts as if