A Time of Blood Read online

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by John Gwynne

  Excerpt from Soulkeeper copyright © 2019 by David Dalglish

  Excerpt from The Gutter Prayer copyright © 2019 by Gareth Ryder-Hanrahan

  Author photograph by Pan Macmillan

  Cover illustration by Paul Young

  Cover copyright © 2019 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Map artwork by Fred van Deelen

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  Hachette Book Group

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  Originally published in 2019 by Macmillan, an imprint of Pan Macmillan in Great Britain

  First U.S. Edition: April 2019

  Orbit is an imprint of Hachette Book Group.

  The Orbit name and logo are trademarks of Little, Brown Book Group Limited.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

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  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018961648

  ISBNs: 978-0-316-50227-6 (trade paperback), 978-0-316-50228-3 (ebook)

  E3-20190221-JV-NF-ORI

  Contents

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  MAP

  EPIGRAPH

  CHAPTER ONE: DREM

  CHAPTER TWO: RIV

  CHAPTER THREE: FRITHA

  CHAPTER FOUR: BLEDA

  CHAPTER FIVE: FRITHA

  CHAPTER SIX: RIV

  CHAPTER SEVEN: DREM

  CHAPTER EIGHT: FRITHA

  CHAPTER NINE: DREM

  CHAPTER TEN: FRITHA

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: BLEDA

  CHAPTER TWELVE: DREM

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: FRITHA

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: DREM

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: RIV

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: FRITHA

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: DREM

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: RIV

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: DREM

  CHAPTER TWENTY: RIV

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: FRITHA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: BLEDA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: DREM

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: RIV

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: FRITHA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: RIV

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: DREM

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: RIV

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: DREM

  CHAPTER THIRTY: BLEDA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: DREM

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: BLEDA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: DREM

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: FRITHA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: DREM

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: FRITHA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: RIV

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: FRITHA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: BLEDA

  CHAPTER FORTY: RIV

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: FRITHA

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: DREM

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: BLEDA

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: DREM

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: BLEDA

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: RIV

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN: BLEDA

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: FRITHA

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: BLEDA

  CHAPTER FIFTY: DREM

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: FRITHA

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: DREM

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE: FRITHA

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: DREM

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE: RIV

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX: FRITHA

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  BY JOHN GWYNNE

  EXTRAS

  MEET THE AUTHOR

  A PREVIEW OF SOULKEEPER

  A PREVIEW OF THE GUTTER PRAYER

  ORBIT NEWSLETTER

  For James,

  Remembering all those times when books have meant so much to us. I think Arabel’s Raven was at the heart of it.

  I hope you enjoy this one as much as we enjoyed those stories together.

  Love you, son.

  Cast of Characters

  ARCONA

  Cheren Horse Clan

  Jin—daughter of Uldin, King of the Cheren. A ward of the Ben-Elim, raised in Drassil. Betrothed to Bleda of the Sirak Clan.

  Uldin—King of the Cheren and father to Jin.

  Gerel—Jin’s oathsworn guard.

  Sirak Horse Clan

  Bleda—son of Erdene, Queen of the Sirak. A ward of the Ben-Elim, raised in Drassil. Betrothed to Jin of the Cheren Clan.

  Ellac—A one-handed warrior of the Sirak. Bleda’s guard.

  Erdene—Queen of the Sirak. Mother of Bleda.

  Mirim—oathsworn guard of Bleda.

  Ruga—oathsworn guard of Bleda.

  Tuld—oathsworn guard of Bleda.

  Yul—first-sword of Erdene.

  THE DESOLATION

  Drem—a trapper of the Desolation. Son of Olin.

  Hildith—member of Kergard’s Assembly. Owner of a mead-hall.

  LAND OF THE FAITHFUL

  Alcyon—a giant who resides in Drassil.

  Aphra—sister of Riv. A White-Wing of Drassil, captain of a hundred.

  Avi—Fia’s son.

  Balur One-Eye—father to Ethlinn, Queen of the Giants. He resides in Drassil.

  Ert—veteran sword master of Drassil. Trainer of the White-Wings.

  Ethlinn—Queen of the Giants. Daughter of Balur One-Eye.

  Fia—a White-Wing of Drassil.

  Jost—a White-Wing of Drassil.

  Lorina—a White-Wing of Drassil and captain of a hundred.

  Riv—sister to Aphra. A training White-Wing.

  Sorch—a White-Wing of Drassil.

  Vald—a White-Wing of Drassil.

  ORDER OF THE BRIGHT STAR, DUN SEREN AND OTHER GARRISONS

  Byrne—the High Captain of Dun Seren. A descendant of Cywen and Veradis.

  Cullen—a young warrior of Dun Seren. A descendant of Corban and Coralen.

  Cure—title for the captain of Dun Seren’s healing school.

  Fen—one of Keld’s wolven-hounds.

  Flick—a talking crow of Dun Seren.

  Grack—one of Stepor’s wolven-hounds.

  Hammer—a giant bear.

  Kill—title for the captain of Dun Seren’s warrior school.

  Keld—a warrior and huntsman of Dun Seren.

  Rab—a white talking crow of Dun Seren.

  Ralla—one of Stepor’s wolven-hounds.

  Shar—Jehar warrior.

  Stepor—a warrior and huntsman of Dun Seren.

  Tain—the crow master of Dun Seren. Son of Alcyon.

  Utul—Jehar warrior. Captain of Balara’s garrison.

  Varan—a giant of Dun Seren.

  BEN-ELIM

  Hadran—loyal to Kol. Riv’s guardian.

  Kamael—from the garrison of Ripa, supporter of Sariel.

  Kol—one of the Ben-Elim of Drassil.

  Mei cal—once High Captain of the Ben-Elim. Now frozen in starstone metal, sealed with Asroth in Drassil.

  Sariel—Lord of the Ben-Elim garrison at Ripa.

  KADOSHIM AND THEIR SERVANTS

  Arn—acolyte of Gulla, from Fritha’s crew.

  Asroth—Lord of the Kadoshim. Frozen within starstone metal in the Great Hall of Drassil.

  Claw—Gunil’s giant bear.

  Elise—acolyte of Gulla, daughter of Arn.

  Gulla—High Captain of the Kadoshim.

  Morn—a half-breed Kadoshim. Daughter of Gulla.

  Fritha—priestess and captain of the Kadoshim’s covens.

  Gunil—a giant, brother of Varan.

  “Dark blood drank he, from the demon welling”

  Völsunga Saga

  CHAPTER ONE

  DREM

  The Year 138 of the Age of Lore, Wolven’s Moon

  Drem looked up from his horse’s steady gait. Through the stark branches above he glimpsed the sun sinking into the mountains ahead, a pale glow behind snow cloud and leafless branches. In a matter of heartbeats twilight was settling upon them like a shroud.

  We must stop soon, else the horses risk snaring a leg.

  He glanced to his right, saw Cullen riding with his cloak pulled high, face hidden in shadow. Ahead of them, Keld looked as if he had no thought for stopping, the scarred huntsman loping through the trees much like his wolven-hound, Fen.

  Grief drives him, and hate.

  And fear, if he is human.

  Drem blinked, trying to dispel the image of Gulla the Kadoshim, twitching and jerking upon the blood-soaked table in the mine, then rising transformed, teeth long and gleaming, eyes red as coals.

  It felt like a dream, no, a nightmare, even though it had been less than a day and night since it happened. Too-vivid memories of the battle at the mine leaped out in Drem’s mind like rabid beasts: images of Gulla sinking his teeth deep into the throat of one of his acolytes, of feral things, part man, part beast, snarling, clawing, of winged half-breeds screaming their malice, of Fritha, beautiful and cold as the ice-laden forest, black sword in her fist. And Sig the giantess, friend to his father.

  Friend to me.

  And now she is dead. Because of me.

  A restless anxiety was growing within him. So much had happened in so short a time, giving him little chance to feel anything; instead he had simply reacted, mostly just trying to stay alive. Now, though, they had been travelling all night and most of the day, and he had had time to think.

  So much change. I wish I was with Da, that we were trapping together, out in the Bonefells, just the two of us. And now he’s gone as well.

  As dangerous as that lifestyle had been, it was familiar to Drem, an old cloak, and it had fitted him well. All of this was so different, so new. He felt agitated, like when his legs ached and he just needed to get up and walk around, except that he couldn’t do anything here to help himself; there was no way he could return to the familiar that felt so comforting to him.

  His hand crept to his neck, looking for the steady reassurance of his pulse.

  One, two, three, he began to count.

  “Camp,” Keld said as he emerged from the darkness, raising an arm and smashing a hole in a frozen stream with the butt of his spear.

  A good spot, Drem thought, noting the spread of trees about them, the stream, huge boulders to the right, sheltering them from the cold wind that hissed out of the Bonefells, as well as providing a measure of protection from predators.

  On two legs or four.

  In silence they set to making camp. Cullen took the horses, hobbling them, removing saddles and rubbing them down. Drem found a spot for a fire and, drawing his hand-axe from his belt, began chopping through the thick rind of ice, then scooping away the softer snow until he reached the frozen ground beneath. He gathered stones, chopped kindling from a dead lightning-blasted oak and prepared a small fire. Before he set to lighting it, he trimmed thin branches from a willow beside the stream, spent a while weaving them into a latticed fence, then staked it along one side of the fire-pit he’d dug. A screen against any eyes that might be following them from the east.

  Some tinder from a pouch at his belt, flint and striking iron for sparks, some cold breath upon it and then fragile flames were clawing in the snow, hissing and hungry.

  A shaking of the ground made Drem look up, one hand reaching for the bone-hilted seax at his belt. A shadow the size of a boulder shifted within the trees, but Drem’s grip relaxed as Hammer, the giant bear, lumbered into their small clearing.

  Hammer was Sig’s battle-bear and had borne them from last night’s chaos, carrying Drem, Keld and Cullen away, crashing through tree and shrub, no thought or time for careful steps or hiding their passage, just a driving knowledge that they had to escape, to put as much distance as possible between them and Gulla.

  Hammer had run to exhaustion, bringing them back to Drem’s hold in less than half the time it would have taken them on horseback. There they had dismounted, removed the saddle, harness and battered mail shirt from Hammer’s body, packing it away in paniers and saddlebags. They’d tended to the wounded bear and fed her some foul concoction that Keld said was called brot, then led Hammer and fresh horses into the darkness, knowing they could not wait until dawn.

  They had agreed to head west, using the cover of the forest to screen them from eyes in the skies, avoiding the town of Kergard, and then to turn south when they reached the western rim of the Bonefells. Drem had voiced his worry for the townspeople of Kergard but knew there was little they could do to help them. No one in the town had believed him before, and besides, he did not know if there was anyone in Kergard left to save. To Drem’s horror, scores of the townsfolk had been at the mine, secret acolytes of the Kadoshim, including Ulf the tanner, a man Drem had once thought of as a friend.

  So, they had committed themselves to speed. Pursuit from the mine was likely, and they had to use every moment given them to reach Dun Seren and the Order of the Bright Star.

  Drem had led to begin with, his knowledge of the terrain making him the obvious choice to steer them through the darkness. With the rising of a pale sun they had mounted their horses and Keld had taken point, his wolven-hound Fen scouting ahead. Hammer had followed them, grumbling doleful growls, taking herself deeper into the woods, though never quite out of sound or sight.

  She feels grief for Sig, just like Cullen and Keld. More, maybe. They were rider and mount for more years than Cullen has drawn breath. Probably longer than Keld has lived, too.

  Keld strode to the bear, unbuckled the saddlebags she was carrying, then checked over her wounds and patted her neck. She rubbed her huge head against the huntsman, almost knocking him from his feet.

  “Ah, lass, we miss her, too,” Keld muttered, tugging on one of the bear’s ears. She seemed to like it, a mournful rumble escaping her throat.

  Fen loped into the clearing, eyes glowing in the firelight. The slate-grey hound dropped a hare at Keld’s feet.

  “A hot meal for supper, then. Thank the stars, I’ve had enough of brot,” Cullen said, his obvious pleasure at the thought infectious.

  Keld skinned and gutted the hare and set it on a spit over the fire, fat dripping and hissing. A flapping of wings came from above as a white crow descended from the branches, landing on Cullen’s shoulder.

  “I was wondering where you were, Rab,” Cullen said to the crow.

  “Rab watching, protecting friends,” Rab squawked, then hopped from Cullen’s shoulder to the pile of guts and offal that had been stripped from the hare. He pecked noisily.

  “But the love of slime and foul things drew you back to us,” Cullen observed.

  “All must eat,” the bird croaked as it swallowed an eyeball.

  “Fair point,” Cullen said.

  The dead can’t eat, Drem thought, his mind filling with his father, Olin, and Sig, grief a wave rising within him, whipped high by the winds of exhaustion. His body ached, everywhere, a thousa nd cuts and bruises from the fight at the mine, and from before that. He raised a hand to his throat, rubbed at the scar where he’d been hung from a tree in his courtyard, twice. A memory of Fritha’s face. Sweet, kind Fritha, with her blue eyes and freckles, a face he had trusted. Thought he’d begun to love.

  He didn’t feel like that now.

  I hate her, will see her dead for what she’s done.

  A deep anger uncoiled in his chest, buried deep beneath the pain of loss and exhaustion of the last few ten-nights, distant but never gone. Much of the anger was aimed at himself, at his stupidity for staying, for the choices he’d made, choices that had led to his father’s death, the loss of the Starstone Sword, the death of Sig.

  The enormity of it all threatened to engulf him.

  “Drem, catch,” a voice called out, snapping him from his reverie. Cullen had thrown something to him. Instinctively, Drem caught it, a long bundle. It was his sword, still in its scabbard and belt.

  My father’s sword, mine now. He looked at the worn leather hilt and scabbard, drew it a little, stared at the four-pointed star carved into the blade, just below where it met the cross-guard. My da, a warrior of the Order of the Bright Star.

  So much of 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.