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

‘No? Well, you’ll not like this, then. Up till now, the Ben-Elim have asked for a flesh tithe. But now they’re just taking it. Seems not everyone’s happy to send their young away to Drassil for warrior training, and so the Ben-Elim are just taking their tithe, whether people are willing or no.’

‘That’s close to slavery,’ Drem gasped.

Olin glared at the flames.

‘You’re not the only one to think so,’ Ulf said, ‘and a lot of those that think the same are ending up here, where the Ben-Elim don’t rule.’

‘Good enough reason,’ Olin said.

Ulf looked at them both a long moment, the room silent except for some wood cracking in the hearth.

‘And then, there are the other stories I’m hearing,’ he said.

‘And what are they?’ Olin asked. Drem could feel a change in Ulf, even before he said it. A change in his voice, in the set of his shoulders.

As if he’s scared.

‘Well, no one talks about it at first, but my job, well, I see a lot of people and, believe me, I hear a lot of folk’s tales. After a while they tell me things, serious things. And it seems like there’s one thing everyone agrees on.’ He paused, took another drink from his cup. Drem saw a tremor in his hand.

‘Go on,’ Olin prompted.

‘The Kadoshim are at the heart of it.’

Drem’s da stiffened at that, a tension in his jaw.

‘What do you mean?’ Olin asked.

‘I’ve heard talk of a Kadoshim cult arising. And talk of strange rituals. Of sacrifice.’ His voice dropped to almost a whisper, and Drem felt that even the flames and darkness were leaning closer, straining to hear.

‘Human sacrifice.’





CHAPTER TEN





RIV


Riv drew the arrow, the yew bow creaking as muscles flexed in her arms and back, until the feathers tickled her cheek. She sighted along the length of the shaft, raised the head a little and loosed.

The string thrummed as the arrow flew, arcing up across the archery range of the weapons-field, wind snatching at it before it dipped down and thudded into a straw target. It struck lower than she’d intended. She swore.

If that was my enemy, at worst they’d be walking with a limp now.

Sword and spear, she was a match for most of those she trained with, but she still had a lot to learn with a bow.

A chuckle sounded behind her. Riv turned to see the two wards from Arcona, Jin and Bleda, standing at the head of a small crowd.

‘You see, Father, they use a bow as long as a spear, and most of them are about as skilled as any five-year-old from the Cheren.’

Jin’s head was twisted over her shoulder, talking to a man behind her. His head was shaved, apart from his warrior braid, like all the warriors Riv had seen from the east. He was standing with a handful of others, men and women all of a similar appearance.

The leaders of the Cheren and the Sirak, and their attendants.

Riv saw Israfil and Kol amidst their ranks. A memory of the half-breed in Drassil’s Great Hall flashed through her mind, Israfil standing over him, face twisted in revulsion.

Usually he is so calm, so controlled. How deep must be his hatred for the Kadoshim, and for the breaking of Elyon’s Lore.

The Lord Protector was talking to a woman close to Bleda, and behind them all were two giants.

Riv had heard of the arrival of this party from Arcona, and news that they were here to discuss a tithe of their warriors had spread through the White-Wings faster than sickness through a camp. Riv had mixed feelings about that, as she liked the way things were at Drassil, and having newcomers with new ways felt like a threat to her way of life.

Israfil will not allow that. They will have to become like us, followers of the Lore, not the other way around.

The distinct feeling that she was now being mocked did not ease her concerns. She felt her cheeks flush red, a burning sensation.

‘Why don’t you show me how it’s done, then?’ Riv said, the words escaping her mouth before she’d realized they were even there, and at the same time she was throwing the bow at Jin. Riv was a little disappointed at the ease with which Jin caught it, a moment’s surprise flashing across the girl’s face even as she stepped forwards and deftly plucked the bow from the air.

Jin held it her hand, studying it with her flat, emotionless face as she twisted it from left to right.

‘This is not fit for firewood,’ she pronounced with a curl of her lip and passed it to a man behind her, an older man, with a beard the colour of iron. Another Cheren warrior handed Jin a curved bow, already strung, and a bag of arrows. Riv’s eyes flickered to Israfil, saw him staring at her and she quickly looked away, back to Jin, who strode forwards a few steps, pulling a handful of arrows from the bag. She nocked one, the others held loosely in the hand that gripped the bow, drew and released in one fluid motion. Even as the arrow was rising high into the air she was drawing the next one, loosing, and then a third. She let the bow drop to her side and stared at Riv, not even watching to see if her arrows would find their target.

Riv did, though, and saw the first slam into the chest of the same target Riv had selected, with her arrow still protruding from its leg. The second arrow took it through the throat, the third piercing what would have been a shoulder, the straw man rocking on its base with the impact of the arrows.

‘You should close your mouth, it is not a becoming look,’ Jin said to her.

Riv just stood there, torn between admiration and respect for the feat of skill she’d just witnessed, and a bubbling anger that didn’t take too kindly to being humiliated. An image of her fist connecting with Jin’s disdain-set jaw flashed through Riv’s mind. It was very tempting. But even through the first tendrils of red mist seeping through her she knew that it was a humiliation she deserved.

Israfil is watching. Show him you have learned a lesson. Show him you have control of your anger.

‘That was . . .’ She hesitated, her jaw tight and clamping on what she knew she should say. ‘Good,’ she ground out, not quite what she intended, but better than a host of other responses that were filling her mind.

‘Pah,’ Jin said. ‘It is no more than any child of the Cheren could do. Our warriors do the same from the back of a galloping horse. To my shame I am a little out of practice.’

Riv searched for words to answer that, but couldn’t find any, so she just nodded stiffly and walked away.

As she stepped onto the flagstoned road that led from the weapons-field she stopped and looked back. The field was alive with activity, as it always was: different cohorts of troops training in shifts throughout the day. There were giants upon the field, now, sparring with wooden hammer and axe, making the ground tremble, and Ben-Elim swooping and diving in mock aerial combat.

And there was Vald, her friend and, until recently, training partner. He was with the others who had passed their weapons-trial and Long Night. He stood proudly amidst a unit of White-Wings, being drilled on shield wall formations and flanking manoeuvres.

No, not amongst the White-Wings. He is a White-Wing now.

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