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

The Sirak and Cheren riders swept into the courtyard of Drassil, two hundred of them, the riders merging, grey of Sirak and blue of Cheren a blurred whirlwind galloping around the courtyard’s edge. Then they were separating, regrouping, Bleda and Jin staring in unadulterated joy, cold-faces forgotten for a few glorious heartbeats, and then the riders were slowing, forming up before Bleda and Jin.

Bleda forced his cold-face back into place, even though his heart was pounding with the joy of seeing his kin, a fierce pride at the mounted skill of Sirak warriors. One of them drew up before him, face a map of deep lines, and Bleda breathed deep to hold back the smile that wanted to spill onto his own face. Old Ellac upon a black horse, the rest of Bleda’s honour guard falling into place behind the old warrior.

And then the courtyard was still, dust settling, a horse whickering.

Ellac dismounted, behind him a hundred others did the same, and those gathered before Jin followed suit. And then they were all dropping to their knees, heads bowing to touch the cold stone of the courtyard.

Bleda just stood and stared at them, not knowing what to say, a storm of emotions swirling through him.

‘Welcome to Drassil,’ Kol shouted, spreading arms and wings wide in greeting.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Drem

Drem stumbled into his yard, feet and hands half-numb, still clutching his spear with frozen fingers, his vision blurred, body drenched with sweat, yet it was cold enough that he felt ice crackling in his hair.

A day and a half he’d run, expecting at any moment to hear the roar of a giant bear behind him, or the whisper of wings above, or the eerie howling of twisted, mutated things. His blind terror had lasted a good while but, by the coming of the first dawn, exhaustion had finally driven it off, and even as he forced his legs to keep moving, trudging through snow and ice, he had started to think. First and foremost, how to survive, how to get home, and he had used every trick and tactic his da had taught him in their years in the Wild to hide his tracks from an unwanted follower. He’d splashed up streams and down streams, entering at one point and exiting half a league north or south, doing the same at half a dozen streams that fed into Starstone Lake from the Bonefells. He’d climbed trees that grew tight and close, shuffling along branches onto a neighbouring tree, then onto the next, and the next, and the next, eventually climbing down and running on. He’d come across a fox’s den and taken his hatchet to a pile of frozen dung, smearing the softer faeces inside all over himself, to cover his scent from anything that might track him with its nose. He’d sought out higher ground forested by pine, where the snow-cover was thin upon the ground, the forest litter thick with spongy pine needles that sprang back and hid his tracks far better than ankle-deep snow.

And now, against all expectations, he was home.

He didn’t bother entering his cabin, just staggered into his barn, was greeted by goats and chickens that he’d locked up and left with enough food to feed them for a whole moon. He broke the ice in the water barrel and drank deep, found some eggs, cracked them and swallowed them raw, then locked the barn back up and set about saddling a horse in the stables.

‘Get on, girl,’ he said and touched his heels to his mare’s ribs, and then she was cantering from the yard onto the track that led to Kergard.

On the meadow before Kergard a great space had been cleared, tents and a roped ring set up, and beyond them the bars of what appeared to be an iron cage rearing high. Drem barely glanced at any of it, his eyes fixed on his path.

‘Ulf?’ he asked the gate guards.

‘An Assembly meeting, at his yard,’ one said, looking him up and down and wrinkling his nose.

Drem rode on, through Kergard’s streets, people staring strangely at him as he passed, until he was clattering into Ulf’s tanning yard, the caustic smells of lime water and animal fat hardly affecting him at all. A handful of men were there: Hildith’s guards and others. They stared at him as he slid from his mount and staggered through Ulf’s doorway. He stumbled on, almost falling through another set of doors into a large room, half a dozen people sitting round a table. Ulf was there, and Hildith, some others Drem recognized, and some he didn’t.

Ulf was speaking when Drem burst in, but paused when he saw Drem, frowning as if at a stranger. Recognition dawned.

‘Good grief, lad, what’s happened to you? We’re but soon back from a seven-day bear-hunt and by the looks of it we feel a damn sight better than you!’

Drem swayed and Ulf jumped from his chair, catching Drem.

‘Sound the alarm, the call to arms,’ Drem said, his voice cracked and trembling from lack of use.

‘Fetch the lad a drink, and something to eat,’ Ulf yelled out, easing Drem into a seat close to a crackling hearth. He sniffed. ‘By Asroth’s stones, but you don’t smell so good, lad. Now, what are you saying? Call to arms? No need, we’ve caught your white bear. Don’t need to worry, it’s caged up on the meadows.’ He frowned, put a hand to Drem’s forehead. ‘Have you got a fever, lad? Having fever dreams?’

‘No,’ Drem said, leaning away from Ulf. ‘I’m not talking about the white bear. There’s worse things out there than that bear.’

Faces round the table moved in and out of focus, all of them staring at him.

An Assembly meeting. Good, I can tell them all.

‘Drem, you’re not making any sense,’ Hildith said. ‘We came out to your hold when we got back with the bear, wanted to tell you. But you weren’t there, didn’t look like you’d been there for a while. Where’ve you been?’

‘The mine, on Starstone Lake,’ Drem said. The warmth of Ulf’s fire was seeping into him, setting his fingers and toes tingling. Instead of waking him up, making his mind sharper, it was dulling his senses, a fog settling upon him. Someone appeared and thrust a cup of something warm into his hands and he sipped. It was like warm honey, soothing his throat, warming his belly.

‘What about the mine?’ Ulf said. ‘Come, have some stew. He put a bowl in front of Drem, gravy and onions, chunks of beef floating in it. The aroma set Drem’s stomach churning. Before he knew what he was doing, he was spooning it into his mouth, blowing on it, gravy in his beard.

‘Slow down, lad, you’ll give yourself gut-ache. When was the last time you ate anything?’

‘Two days,’ Drem mumbled. ‘Three?’

‘I think you need some rest, lad,’ Hildith said, ‘and someone to watch over you.’

‘Aye,’ Ulf agreed. ‘You can stay here, if you like. My lot’ll make some room for you.’

‘No,’ Drem said, putting the bowl of stew down. ‘Thank you,’ he added, remembering his da’s constant expounding on the benefits of good manners. ‘No, I can’t stay,’ Drem said, ‘though I’m grateful for the offer, and the kindness behind it.’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘I have something important to tell you all.’

How do I say this, without sounding insane?

‘The mine at Starstone Lake. It is not what it seems. The missing people; they are there, have been abducted. They’ve been . . . changed.’

Gasps and hissed breath. Someone laughed.

‘What do you mean, lad?’ Ulf said.

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