A Time of Blood by John Gwynne

Author:John Gwynne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2019-04-15T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

DREM

Drem crested a hill and stared at the view before him. A town lay sprawled before them, little more than a league away. It was much larger than Kergard, and Kergard was the largest town Drem could remember. He could smell it from here. Absently, a hand went to the pulse in his neck.

“Dalgarth,” Stepor said from beside him. “It’s a market town, first and biggest of the Desolation. And just beyond…” Stepor pointed into the distance, where Drem saw the dark curl of a wide river, a bridge arching over it, and beyond that a hill with a fortress built upon its summit, buildings and walls cascading down from it.

Dun Seren.

“And that,” Stepor said, pointing to the east, towards a dark stain that seemed to cover the whole world east of Dun Seren, “is Forn Forest.”

It seemed as if faery tales were coming to life for Drem. He had seen beautiful, breath-taking sights in the north, the Desolation cold and harsh, but also full of beauty. But these places he was seeing now, Dun Seren and Forn Forest, were steeped in the histories, myths and legends of the Banished Lands. He had heard so many tales of these places that he felt he almost knew them already.

“Keep moving,” Balur said as he strode up behind them, “and never stop on the ridge of a hill, little Drem.”

Little Drem. I have not been called that before.

“Why not?” Drem called out as he stumbled on.

“Because your silhouette can be seen for leagues around,” Alcyon said as he strode up behind Balur, his two axes hung diagonally over his shoulders like wings of wood and steel. “Not the wisest place to stop if you’re being hunted.”

They wound their way down the hill, Stepor pausing periodically to stare at the sky, searching for the crow, Flick. They were all concerned that the crow was nowhere to be seen.

Hammer and the white bear brought up the rear of their company, while blurred shadows of red, black and slate flitted either side of them through patches of gorse and banks of fern, the three wolven-hounds guarding their flanks.

As the ground levelled, the white bear started growling, a low rumbling in its belly, sounding more as if it had gut-ache than that it was being aggressive. Dalgarth was looming tall ahead of them, now, thick palisaded walls circling the town, columns of smoke rising into the air from countless fire-pits. There was a hum of sound emanating from the place: voices, hammers, cattle, wheels turning, blacksmiths, street traders, children shrieking, dogs barking, all melding into an undefined cacophony of noise.

The white bear growled louder. Drem looked back over his shoulder to see it lagging fifty or so paces behind Hammer, and it was waving its head from side to side, nostrils wide and flaring. Then it sat on its haunches.

Drem strode back to it, shrugging off his pack and delving inside, pulled out the honey jar Alcyon had given him. He unstopped the cork and scooped out a handful, waiting for the white bear to invite him closer.

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