A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,80
of her muscled shoulders—“I say, let them try.”
So fierce. So much against her, and yet she would fight the world, if she had to.
“It looks like some have already tried,” Erdene said.
“Aye, they have. And yet here I stand,” Riv said, a vicious smile cutting her face.
Kol threw his head back and laughed.
“Riv is a fierce one, and no denying,” Kol said, still chuckling. He reached for the jug on the table and poured them all a cup of wine, taking a long draught from his own cup, draining it and then pouring himself another.
“But these are fierce times, and fierce is what I need; the Kadoshim are moving throughout the Banished Lands, have attacked Drassil itself, though they were taught the error of that.”
Bleda remembered that all too well: the Kadoshim attacking the Great Hall, attempting to free Asroth from his gaol of iron. Bleda had even played a part in fighting them off, had slain some of their Feral beast-men. It had showed him that no matter what he thought of the Ben-Elim, the Kadoshim were worse. An evil that could not be negotiated with.
“We must talk of strategy,” Kol said, “of how to work together to best defeat their scheming.”
“Aye,” Erdene said. “I have heard much of the Kadoshim. Of bonfire signals, of human sacrifice, entire towns slaughtered. But, is it not the Lord Protector with whom I should be talking about this matter?”
“I am the Lord Protector,” Kol said. “To all intents. It is just a formality to proclaim me.”
“Really?” Erdene said. “I have heard that Sariel sees things differently.”
A flicker of malice twisted Kol’s face, replaced in a heartbeat with his sardonic smile.
“Trust me, Sariel is of no matter,” he replied, taking another long sip from his cup. “Now, enough of abominations and executions and fighting to the death, and on to happier matters. Your arrival was timely—and I thank you for your tithe of flesh. We are lacking in range troops at an elite level, and your contribution will be perfect to redress that balance, along with Uldin’s tithe of flesh from the Cheren Clan.” He paused for another drink.
“I had already sent messengers to bid you join us at Drassil,” Kol continued, “and Uldin of the Cheren. My messengers must have reached Arcona by now and delivered the message to him. But I was not requesting you to speed your tithe to us here at Drassil, I was asking you to join us for altogether another reason.” Kol’s smile drifted to Bleda, giving him a bad feeling in his belly.
“I see no reason to delay our plans for unifying the peoples of this Land of the Faithful. Bleda and Jin will be married upon Midsummer’s Day.”
Bleda strode along Drassil’s streets. It was cold and dark, torchlight flickering from shuttered windows around him. He was walking from the meeting with Kol and his mother, where he had spent as long as it took for a candle to burn from wick to stump as he had listened to the myriad details that went into planning his own handbinding.
Planning how I will be packaged and sold to seal a covenant between my people and the Ben-Elim, as if I were a prize bull at market.
He sucked in a long breath and blew it out slowly, trying to control his sense of unease about it all.
It is my duty to serve my Clan, to protect them. Wedding Jin will put generations of blood-feud behind the Sirak and Cheren.
“Life is complicated,” he breathed, to himself or Ruga, he was not sure.
Ruga strode along half a step behind him. She wore a cloak against the cold, though she’d pushed the hood back, her eyes always moving.
“For you, Lord,” she agreed. “Not for me. I serve my Queen, my Prince, my Clan. I eat, sleep, fight.” She shrugged.
Bleda wanted to smile at that, felt jealous of the simplicity of her life.
A muffled shout drifted down to them from above, and in a second Ruga had her bow in her hand, an arrow nocked. Bleda rested his hand on his bow in its case, staring up into the darkness.
Clouds masked the stars, the moon a silver sheen that gave little light. Either side of Bleda, buildings towered, most of them empty, here and there the flicker of firelight behind shuttered windows. They were in a section of the fortress used as barracks for new arrivals to Drassil, which was why Bleda was here—his mother was housed in the same quarter.