A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,97
the town Drem’s breathing eased, the road they were on leading them on towards Dun Seren.
Drem looked up at the fortress as they reached the bridge, which crossed a wide, languorous river. A host of boats were moored on both banks, along with a multitude of piers, jetties and boatyards. Timber trunks floated in great swathes, banging and thumping together as water lapped. Balur One-Eye’s spear marked time as they crossed the bridge, the spear-butt cracking on stone with every long stride of the giant.
Dun Seren rose tall before Drem. If he had thought Dalgarth was big, then Dun Seren was monstrous. He felt that shortness of breath return, a tightness in his chest, like when the white wyrm had wrapped its coils around him and began to constrict.
Stone walls circled the base of the hill, rooftops visible in tiered rows led up towards a fortress comprised of a dark keep upon the hill’s summit, one grey-stoned tower rising from it.
The bridge forked into two roads, east and west, circling the fortress, with gates in the northern wall that faced the river. Balur didn’t lead them that way, as Drem had expected, but instead took them along the western road that soon circled south, following the arc of Dun Seren’s walls. They climbed a shallow slope and then crested onto more level ground, huge meadows opening up before them, an undulating landscape rolling south.
And then they were curling east again, following a road that led up towards a gateway in an outer wall, then on, climbing the hill towards a higher wall and towering arched gateway, flanked by grey gate-towers. Banners snapped from the walls, a white, four-pointed star set upon a black field.
Keld, Cullen and Stepor had stopped for a moment to gaze at the huge fortress.
“We shall never forget,” Drem heard them murmur, and then their column was moving on, through the outer wall. Horns rang out, proclaiming their arrival, voices calling greetings, grim, hard-looking men and women regarding Drem, scores of giants standing amongst them.
They wound their way through narrow streets lined with buildings of timber and sod, a constant bustle and thrum of activity around them. Blacksmiths’ hammers rang out a discordant song, the hiss and stink of steam and hot iron, in the distance a fainter sound, but familiar—the clack, clack, clack of practice weapons. Drem felt something as he passed through the busy streets, a nervous energy in the air that set the hairs on his neck on end.
They are preparing for something, but more than that. It is as if they are… excited.
And then they were passing through the high-arched gate of Dun Seren’s inner wall and spilling into a courtyard before the grey keep. Balur’s iron-shod boots clattered on flagstones, Hammer’s claws scraping, the three wolven-hounds loping wide on the group’s flanks. Warriors lined the walls, men, women, giants; horn blasts and cheers welcomed Balur and the company. Cullen grinned, raising his arms and turning in circles, like the returning hero, as if no one else was there but him.
He deserves a warm welcome, after all he has been through, thought Drem. As does Keld. But the huntsman gave only a brief look at the crowd gathered for them, a curt nod of acknowledgement here and there. In his hand he held a bundle of grey wool.
In the centre of the courtyard a statue towered. It was huge, two or three times the height of Balur and Alcyon, two figures carved from dark stone. One a warrior, serious-faced, clothed in mail and surcoat, a round shield slung across his back and a drawn sword in his fist, the tip resting upon the ground. The sword’s pommel bore the shape of a wolven’s head, raised and howling.
The warrior’s other arm rested about the neck of a wolven, as tall as the warrior’s chest, broad and muscular. Its long canines were bared in a snarl, and Drem could see that its coat was latticed in scars.
“My great-grandfather, Corban, and his wolven, Storm,” Cullen said to Drem, waving a hand at the statue. “He is the founder of our Order, and the greatest hero in the Banished Lands.” He leaned close to Drem. “And his blood runs in our veins. Mine more than yours, of course, which means I’m more of the hero than you, but yours as well.” He winked at Drem.
They marched beneath the statue towards the keep, wide stone steps leading up to its oak-and-iron doors.