A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,73

heaved up, into the air, weightless, and then she was swinging onto the back of a horse as it rode away and her arms were wrapping around Bleda’s waist.

Half a dozen heartbeats and he drew his horse into a canter, then a halt.

Bleda twisted in his saddle, his bow in his hand, and drew it, aimed at the first White-Wing that was running after them.

It was Sorch.

Bleda loosed, and his arrow sank deep into the ground at Sorch’s feet. He skidded to a halt, blood running from his pulped lips and nose, looked from the arrow to Riv, took another step.

“I can kill you, if you wish,” Bleda said calmly, another arrow nocked and drawn in a heartbeat.

Something in Bleda’s voice drew Sorch up where Riv’s violence had not.

“I would like to kill you,” Bleda said. “Give me the excuse.”

Sorch took a step back, raised his hands.

“Shame,” muttered Riv.

“You’re bleeding,” Bleda said to her.

She licked blood from her lip, felt the red mist still coursing through her, but retreating now, not gone, but a lull.

“Pulling you out of fights is becoming a habit,” Bleda said to Riv. His horse danced on the spot, excited.

“I’ll try and return the favour one day,” she said.

Riv looked around, saw her conflict had spread into a brawl hundreds of people strong, some still fighting on. She saw Vald and Jost standing back to back, practice shields and swords still in their fists, a handful of her old White-Wing comrades with them, as well as Ert. Amongst the various warriors of the field involved in the melee, Riv saw others, not warriors at all, and realized with a jolt of shock that they were from the crowd that had gathered about her and followed her through the streets of Drassil.

They have rushed the field to help me.

Some were still fighting. Hadran the Ben-Elim was trading blows with a trio of White-Wings, as well as two Ben-Elim. Even as she watched, she saw Hadran fall.

Voices were raised behind Riv, a glance showing Aphra running into the field, more White-Wings with her, these with real shields and drawn swords. And Ben-Elim in the air behind her—Kol and his guards, other Ben-Elim swooping in from different directions.

Ach, Kol will not be happy. All this, she thought, looking at the bodies strewn across the ground, rising, groaning. Because of Sorch.

With a snap she spread her wings and took to the air, Bleda calling out after her. She rose briefly, then tucked her wings in and dropped into a dive, a flexing of her wings to adjust her angle, and she was speeding along parallel to the ground.

Straight at Sorch.

He saw her coming, saw the look in her eyes, and then he was turning, breaking into a stumbling run.

Far too slow. Riv caught him in moments, grabbing his leather training vest, her wings beating hard as she dragged him from his feet, sweeping him up and along in her momentum.

Sorch screamed.

Riv laughed.

She flew low, just above the heads of those who had been involved in the melee, Sorch’s feet smacking heads, then she dived down again, barrelling a Ben-Elim out of her way and reaching down, grabbing at an arm, her fist closing around a wrist, and then she was veering up, wings straining as she dragged two bodies up into the air above the weapons-field.

Sorch continued to scream, rising in pitch. As they climbed higher it became a whimper.

The other body was Hadran, battered, a cut above his eye leaking blood over his face.

He was stunned, eyes glazed and fluttering for a few moments, but his senses returned to him quickly enough and he stared at Riv.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“You watched my back, I’m just watching yours,” she said.

Hadran realized he was in the air and extended his wings, flexed them once or twice.

Riv let go and he flew away, but not far, spiralled around her, a strange look on his face.

Riv gave Sorch her attention.

He had his eyes squeezed tightly shut, was whimpering and shaking.

The words Sorch had said to her came back in a rush.

You’re an abomination. You deserve to die.

Anger flooded Riv’s mind, red dots dappling her vision. She put a hand around his throat and squeezed. Sorch croaked a scream, his face turning red, then purple. He swatted at Riv, feebly. She was dimly aware of Hadran shouting at her, flying closer.

You are an abomination. You deserve to die.

She squeezed harder.

A spasm from Sorch and he shrieked, hard and loud, and jerked his