A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,2

his world had changed in such a short time; he was still reeling upon the shifting ground of his life.

“Come on,” Cullen said, drawing his own sword from the scabbard at his hip.

“What, are they near?” Drem asked, panic whispering in his belly as his eyes searched the shadows.

“No, lad,” Cullen said with a grin, though he was younger than Drem. “The sword dance, while our supper’s cooking.” He paused, looked more serious for a moment. “I’ve known grief,” he said, “know what it can do to you, here.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “I can see it in you now. The sword dance always helped me, mayhap it’ll help you, too.”

The sword dance. Traditional training for the Order. Drem had rarely touched a sword in his twenty-one summers of life. While a trapper’s life required being intimately accustomed to the use of spear, knife and axe in order to survive in the wild, a sword was a warrior’s weapon, used to fight other warriors. There weren’t many warriors to be found in the great wild of the Desolation and Bonefells. Only four or five moons had passed since Olin had first introduced Drem to a sword and begun to teach him the rudiments of its use. Since then Drem had killed with it. A terrible knowledge, one that he felt deep in his bones, an aching sadness that weighed upon him. Drem hated to fight, he disliked the use of violence. But these were violent times, and as his da had said, better to be the one that lives than the one that dies.

With a sigh, Drem followed Cullen to a clear space. Keld looked up from the fire-pit to watch them.

“Stooping falcon,” Cullen said, raising his sword two-handed above his head.

Drem drew his own blade, dropping the scabbard in the snow, sending long, distended shadows stretching across the glade.

Stooping falcon, he heard his father’s voice whisper in his head.

Drem licked grease from his fingers; the weight of a hot meal in his belly spread some warmth through him. He blew a long breath out, savouring the feeling. Beside him Cullen smacked his lips and Keld threw a bone to Fen, who plucked it from the air and crunched it into splinters.

“I can’t believe Sig’s gone,” Cullen whispered, staring at the flames. Drem saw a tear cutting a line through the dirt and grime on Cullen’s face. “All my life she’s seemed immortal, solid as the stone and timber of Dun Seren. She was a legend even before joining with my great-grandfather to found the Order.” He bowed his head.

Keld grunted something as he sat with a whetstone, five or six knives laid out before him, as well as three hand-axes and his sword.

“Poor Sig,” Rab cawed mournfully from a branch above them.

“I’ll take Gulla’s head and drink mead from his boiled skull while I stand upon a mound of his dead half-breeds and acolytes,” Cullen snarled. Drem was learning that Cullen was not one to hide his feelings, whatever they were.

“Rab will peck Gulla’s other eye out,” Rab cawed.

Cullen smiled up at the white crow.

“Aye, lad, Sig was the best of us,” Keld said quietly. “More than that, she was my friend, saved my life more times than I can remember.” He paused and spat on the fire. “She’ll be sorely missed.” A silence fell amongst them, filled with the grate of whetstone on steel, the crackling of flames, the creak and scrape of branches. “You’ll have your vengeance, my friend,” Keld said, eyes fixed on the flames of the fire. Drem didn’t think that the huntsman was talking to him or Cullen.

“I’m sorry,” Drem whispered.

Keld and Cullen just stared at Drem.

“For sending my message to Dun Seren, bringing both of you and Sig here.” He put his head in his hands. “I wish it had been me that died, not Sig. Wish I’d left when my da said we should run, wish I’d never laid eyes on Fritha. If not for me, my father would still be alive, Sig, too.”

“You didn’t kill Olin or Sig,” Keld grunted. “It was that winged bastard Gulla and his brood.”

“But if—”

“No,” Keld snapped. “Everything’s easy looking back at the path you’ve trod, and it’s a fool’s game to try.” He looked up from the blade in his lap, eyes fixing Drem. There was something wild in his gaze, untamed. “You’ve no guilt or shame in this, Drem. Think on this: what would be happening now if we hadn’t witnessed