A Time Of Dread (Of Blood and Bone #1)

‘This is a truth,’ Uldin said, glancing at Erdene, who just gave a curt nod.

‘We Ben-Elim are here for one reason: to protect the creation of Elyon. All the peoples of these Banished Lands. Asroth led his legions of the Fallen, the Kadoshim, into this world, and so we followed them, to protect you as best we could. The war with the Kadoshim was fierce and bloody, and many of my kin fell in battle on that fateful day. Even so, we won that battle, saved mankind from a dread fate, but the war is not over. Asroth remains, imprisoned within a skin of starstone iron, and many of his Kadoshim survived, secreting themselves away to fight on with stealth and cunning. So we stay to guard the body of Asroth, and we fight on against the Kadoshim.’

‘This is a tale we all have heard,’ Erdene said. ‘You did not summon us over a hundred leagues to tell us this.’

‘No, I did not,’ Israfil said, betraying no sign of annoyance at Erdene’s interruption. ‘I have received word of the Kadoshim moving in your lands, of deaths at their hands.’

‘Aye, this is true,’ Uldin said. ‘Some foul sacrifice was performed.’

‘We will find these monsters and root them out,’ Israfil said, a hint of snarl and iron in his voice, the closest thing to emotion that Bleda had ever seen in the Lord Protector. ‘But we are stretched, the Banished Lands vast, which is why we are blessed with the allies we have. Giants, as well as warriors from throughout the Land of the Faithful; they are a tithe of thanksgiving to aid us in the practicalities of this war that we wage.’

Israfil stopped then, allowing his words to sink in.

‘What are you saying?’ Uldin grated, his voice less warm than before.

‘He is saying that he wants us to fight the Kadoshim,’ Erdene said flatly.

‘Yes, and more,’ Israfil said. ‘It is time for you to show your gratitude to the Faithful, time to prove your commitment both to peace with each other and to the great war. It is time that you committed a tithe of warriors to the cause, just as the other peoples that dwell within the boundaries of the Land of the Faithful do.’

‘Well, now we have it out on the table and plain for the seeing,’ Uldin said.

‘If that is the whole of it,’ Erdene said.

‘That is the meat of it,’ Israfil said, ‘though there is a little more. We want a tithe of warriors soon, and after that, a yearly tithe of your young, to be trained here, at Drassil.’

Bleda felt his face twitch at that, a momentary slip of his cold-face.

They would steal the heart from our people, and deny our culture to each new generation. He controlled the sneer that threatened to twist his face. They would make puppets of us all, turn us into them, pious, wingless pawns.

Uldin and Erdene just stared at Israfil, giving no clue as to their inner reactions.

‘And to cement your peace with one another and your commitment to the cause,’ Israfil said, ‘a symbolic act to bind your Clans further in peace, your two heirs shall also commit to one another.’

For the first time a twitch upon Erdene’s face.

‘What does he mean?’ Jin whispered to Bleda.

‘I . . .’ Bleda said, his voice not working right, his head spinning, for he was sure he knew exactly what Israfil was saying.

‘Bleda and Jin shall be wed,’ the Lord Protector declared.





CHAPTER SEVEN





SIG


Men and women in hooded cloaks charged at Sig, iron glinting red in the flickering firelight as weapons were drawn, and, from behind her, Keld’s wolven-hounds bounded forwards, crashing into the onrushing crowd, an eruption of blood and screams and snapping, slavering growls. Sig strode forwards, Keld and Cullen close behind, Elgin shouting a battle-cry and leading his men charging from the tunnel entrance.

Sig punched her sword through the belly of the first man to rush her and kicked him in the chest as she ripped her blade free, sending him hurtling into those behind, a snarl of limbs as they went down. Cullen leaped into the space and stabbed down with his spear, ducking a sword-slash from a man who knew his blade-craft a little better, not that it helped him much as Keld’s axe crunched into his skull, wrenched free in a spray of bone and brains.

Sig marched on, longsword swinging in great loops, sent a head spinning through the air, a jet of blood erupting from the stump of a severed neck. Her sword-kin stabbed and hacked to the left and right of her, the wolven-hounds wreaking bloody havoc in the shadows, and Elgin’s warriors spread wide as the Kadoshim’s followers hurled themselves in a frenzied attack.

Sig wiped sweat from her eyes, searching for the Kadoshim. It was still upon the dais, passing something to one of its shaven-headed followers, leaning to hiss in the man’s ear.

Sig shouted, pointing with her sword at the Kadoshim, and Keld and Cullen answered, moving towards the dais like ships through a storm-racked sea.

A woman came at Sig, wielding sword and knife, a swirling attack that stopped Sig’s advance, the clang of steel as Sig parried the sword, a grunt as the knife slashed at her belly, stopped by her ringmail shirt. She slammed an elbow into the woman’s jaw, then hacked though the woman’s forearm, which dropped to the floor still clutching its sword. The woman staggered and fell to her knees, face draining white as her life’s blood pumped into the ground. She toppled sideways, cursing Sig as she died.

Sig forged on, the din and stench of battle in this subterranean chamber immense: death screams, battle-cries, the wounded mewling and shrieking in their pain. She saw the Kadoshim push its companion on the dais away, sending him running for a shadowed alcove. A sword hissed into the Kadoshim’s fist, its wings unfurled and flexed, a beat of air that carried the stench of corruption as it lifted from the ground, Keld’s axe whistling through empty air where it had just been standing.

Sig burst onto the dais through a knot of the attackers, her bulk scattering them. A jolt of power shuddered up through her boots, sudden nausea making her stagger; a glance at the dais showed runes scratched and scribed into the ground. She shook her head and strode towards Keld and Cullen. A glance at the prisoner bound to the wooden frame showed there was no helping him, slumped in his bonds, his entrails heaped about his feet. His chest was still, a string of spittle hanging from his slack jaw.

‘Keld,’ Sig said, pointing at the hurrying messenger who was disappearing into what Sig had thought was a shadowed alcove, but as she looked now she saw it was an exit from the chamber.

‘The Kadoshim gave him something,’ Sig said. ‘Whatever it was, I need to see it.’

‘It’s done,’ Keld grunted, running and leaping from the dais, two fingers in his lips and whistling, an answering snap and snarl came from within the chamber.

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