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

She glanced behind her, saw expressions of wonder and awe spread upon the faces of the young recruits from Ardain, and then Sig was spurring Hammer on, the bear roaring as it ran lumbering down the rise, Keld, Cullen and their recruits from Ardain cantering behind, Fen the wolven-hound a grey blur ahead of them.

The scrape of Hammer’s claws and the clatter of hooves echoed as they passed through the arched gate of Dun Seren’s inner wall and into the courtyard before the grey keep. Above the gatehouse a banner of a bright star upon a black field snapped and rippled in the cold wind that was blowing hard from the north. Sig tasted a hint of snow upon it. Warriors lined the walls, horns ringing out and voices cheering Sig’s return, sword-brothers and sisters, a smattering of giants as well, and Sig smiled to see them, raising her hand in greeting. Cullen grinned and waved as if he was a returning hero, though Keld was more contained beside him, still raw with the loss of his wolven-hound, Hella.

A statue loomed before them, dominating the centre of the courtyard, twice the height of Sig upon her bear’s back. Two figures carved from dark stone, pale veins running through it. One a man, handsome and serious, broad-chested and thick-armed, his hair tied into a thick warrior braid that coiled across one shoulder. He was dressed as a warrior, wearing a shirt of mail and leather surcoat, breeches and boots, a round shield slung across his back. A torc sat about his neck, snarling wolven heads at either end, with an arm ring spiralling about one bicep, two more wolven heads at beginning and end. One hand held a naked sword, the tip resting upon the ground, its pommel another wolven head, this one raised with jaws open, howling.

The warrior’s other hand rested upon the neck of a wolven, broad and muscular, standing almost as tall as the warrior’s chest. Its teeth were bared in a snarl, long canines curved, scars latticing its body.

‘Behold Corban, the Bright Star, founder of this Order,’ Sig bellowed. ‘And Storm, his faithful companion.’

‘Told you he had a pet wolven,’ someone said.

‘Storm was no pet,’ Sig growled at them.

A figure stepped out from the fire glow of the keep behind the statue, the jut of a curved sword sheathed across its back. Byrne, the high captain of their Order. A giant walked beside her, the outline of a crow upon the giant’s shoulder. Sig raised her hand to them, saw Byrne raise hers in return, then turn and walk back into the keep.

Sig led their party through the courtyard towards the main stable block, a word to Hammer and the bear was slowing to a halt as stablehands swarmed to meet them.

‘Back to your tower and report to the crow master,’ Sig said to Rab, who was still clinging determinedly to Cullen’s shoulder. The white crow looked up at her from its human perch, appeared to sigh – a rise and slump of its wings, if that was possible for a crow – and then winged into the air, spiralling slowly upwards, circling the tower that loomed behind the keep. Other dark-winged shapes appeared from the tower, a raucous cawing drifting down from them.

‘Hope they’re nice to him,’ Cullen muttered beside Sig.

Sig just shook her head.

‘See to your mount, greet your kin, and then meet me in the High Captain’s chamber,’ Sig said to Cullen and Keld, ‘I’ll see that our new recruits are looked after.’ They nodded to her and dismounted, leading their horses to the stables.

Sig turned to look at the two score young warriors behind her.

‘Welcome to Dun Seren,’ she said.

‘Welcome home,’ Byrne said with a warm smile as Sig stepped into the High Captain’s chambers, Cullen and Keld either side of her. Fen the wolven-hound was with them, slinking towards a fire that blazed in a hearth almost the size of one wall. He flopped down in front of it with a satisfied sigh.

I’m glad Dun Seren was built by giants, Sig thought. At least I don’t have to lower my head entering every chamber, or risk smashing any chair I sit in.

Byrne looked older. Sig had been gone from Dun Seren less than six moons, but the lines in Byrne’s face were deeper, and there was more silver creeping through her once-black hair.

‘Did you miss me, cousin?’ Cullen said, all smiles and swagger, the returning hero, his sleeves rolled up to show his new-earned scar, a white slash through the centre of his left bicep.

Fool boy. There’ll come a time when he wishes for fewer scars, and the ache they give him.

‘Whisht,’ Sig said to him with a scowl.

Byrne raised an eyebrow at him.

Cullen’s smile shrivelled.

Byrne raised her other eyebrow, continued to scold him with her gaze.

‘Sorry, High Captain,’ he mumbled.

Ach, but she looks like her great-grandmother when she pulls that face.

Byrne was descended from Cywen, the sister of Corban, who had founded the healers’ element of Dun Seren, teaching and pioneering new methods of the healing art, of herbs and remedies and medical procedures. All who came to Dun Seren, who dreamed of becoming warriors of the Bright Star, were educated in the art of healing as much as developing skill at arms. It was the same in reverse: any who came with a passion for healing would be taught with just as much rigour how to fight, how to kill. And Byrne had excelled at both, from a bairn Sig had noticed the talent in her. It had fairly glowed.

Sig had once seen Byrne drill a small hole through a fallen comrade’s skull to relieve swelling and pressure upon the man’s brain, the result of a heavy blow from a sword-pommel. A difficult procedure at the best of times, but this had been knee-deep in an ambush, Kadoshim and their servants all about. Sig had stood over her, trying to guard her back while she did it.

It’s no wonder she rose to the position of high captain of the Order.

And she’s a good friend.

‘It’s good to be back,’ Sig said. She threw a leather bag onto a wide desk, where it landed with a heavy thud, its contents spilling out, rolling a half-circle. It was the severed head of the Kadoshim from Ardain, flesh rotting and peeling, stinking, the long fangs in its mouth accentuated by the decomposing lips, pulled tight and slimy with putrefaction.

‘Do you know its name?’

‘Rimmon,’ Sig said.

Byrne nodded, her lips a tight line. She opened a large leather-bound book upon her desk, dipped a quill in ink and wrote upon a page. Sig leaned over, saw Byrne write Rimmon at the bottom of a list, pages long. Above it were the names Charun, Malek, Balam, Dramal, many, many more.

I know. It’s always good to see a dead Kadoshim, a new name on the list. But it would be better if it was Gulla, the self-called New Lord of the Kadoshim.

‘The rumours were true, then,’ Byrne said, bending closer to study the Kadoshim’s features, her expression clinical and detached as only a healer could be.

There was a knock at the chamber door, Cullen rising from the seat he was lounging in to go and open it. Byrne did not have servants.

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