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

What happened to yesterday? I remember Sig cutting me down from the tree, the others. Telling them about the Kadoshim. He frowned, the rest of it a blurred jumble.

In the yard Sig, Keld and Cullen were standing, swords in their fists, shields slung across their backs, performing the sword dance. Drem recognized it instantly from what his da had taught him, though watching these three perform it made him feel like a clumsy oaf in comparison.

They made it look beautiful. And deadly.

Nevertheless, he felt drawn to join them, his hand settling upon his sword hilt. On the porch to his right the snow was bloodstained, the bear trap closed and put to one side. Drem didn’t know what had been done with the body they’d found in the trap, bled out by the time they’d gone to check. Then he saw a row of boots and legs sticking out from around the side of his cabin, remembered Sig and the other two heaving the dead around there.

A board had been nailed onto the splintered doorframe overnight to keep out some of the chill, but now it was laid across the elk pit Drem had dug. He walked carefully down the steps of his porch and across the wooden board, slightly concerned when it creaked under his weight.

His barn was nothing more than a smoking ruin, charred stumps of timber and the iron parts of his wain making up most of what had survived the fire.

Hope the goats and chickens survived. Though not sure they’d be safe around here with a bear and a wolven-hound.

He saw a goat poking out from the stables and smiled.

He joined Sig and the other two, drew his sword and moved with them, stepping from iron gate into scorpion’s tail. He saw Cullen’s eyes flicker to him, but Sig and Keld took no notice, and before long he was lost in each moment of the dance.

Sig’s sword snapped back into its scabbard, Keld and Cullen sheathed their blades without any noticeable or conscious thought. Drem felt blood well on his thumb as he cut it, trying and failing to sheathe his own sword without looking at it.

‘Need to work on that,’ Sig said as she cuffed sweat from her brow.

‘Here, use your thumb as a guide, not like a vegetable you’re slicing for the pot; like this,’ Cullen said, stepping next to Drem and breaking the move down into smaller pieces. Drem watched, the individual parts clicking into place in his head, and he managed to perform it correctly on his third try.

‘Well done, Drem, my lad. We have a fast learner, here,’ Cullen called up the steps, slapping him on the back. ‘But you are my cousin, after all, so I’m not surprised.’

Cousin? I’ve never been spoken of as kin to anyone before, except my da.

‘Cousin,’ Drem repeated, liking the sound of it.

‘Blood doesn’t help in the sword dance,’ Sig said, ‘there are no short cuts; it’s dedication, day in, day out. That’s all.’

Drem had snatched memories of Cullen riding into the yard with a spear in his fist, the clash of steel as he fought. He was shorter than Drem, slimmer-framed, though Drem recognized the whip-cord strength in him that he often saw in trappers.

Living in the Wild hones a man, his da had often said to him. Body and mind.

Living at Dun Seren must do something similar, then.

‘Ignore her,’ Cullen whispered, ‘she’s too serious by far. You are Byrne’s sister son, descended from Cywen, sister to Corban, so you have royal blood in your veins.’

Drem paused on the step at that. His da had never told him of his lineage past his mam, only that he was blood-related to Byrne.

‘Royal?’

‘Well, as good as, if you’re a resident of Dun Seren.’

‘And who are you descended from, to be my cousin?’

Cullen’s chest swelled a little. ‘Corban and Coralen are my great-grandparents,’ he said.

Drem blinked at that.

Corban. He looked at Cullen with fresh eyes.

‘Enough of that,’ Sig said from Drem’s smashed doorway. ‘We need to talk.’

They all settled onto stools or chairs around Drem’s hearth. Sig sat on the floor, her legs taking up half the room.

‘We came because of your message,’ Sig said to him once Cullen had put hot bowls of porridge and steaming tea in all their hands.

‘You asked me to come, if my friendship with Olin meant anything to me after so many years. A fair question. And here is your answer,’ she said, spreading her hands, as if to say: We came.

‘First I must tell you that Byrne wishes she were here. She very nearly came, it was I and her captains who dissuaded her of it. Strange things are happening in the Banished Lands, the scent of war with the Kadoshim in the air and Byrne is the high captain of the Order of the Bright Star. She could not abandon her post at such a dangerous time. But she asked me to tell you that she has thought of you every single day, from the moment that Olin took you from Dun Seren until now, that she searched for you and would have fought the Ben-Elim to keep you free.’

‘My da knew that,’ Drem said, ‘which is why he took me. To avert a war.’

‘Aye,’ Sig said, ‘we knew that, and loved him for it. But we would rather the both of you had stayed with us.’ Sig dipped her head a moment. ‘One last thing Byrne asked me to tell you. That Dun Seren is your home. It always has been, and always will be, if you so wish it.’

Home. That was a strange concept to Drem. Home had always been at his da’s side.

‘And I would say,’ Sig continued, ‘that you are not just Byrne’s kin, but kin to all of us. We of the Order have a bond that cannot be broken, and you were born there, spent your first four years amongst us. Olin was my sword-brother. He was my friend, and that’s more than enough for me, whether you are Byrne’s kin or no.’

Drem felt his chest swell at that, a surge of emotion. He had felt nothing but alone since his da’s death, and to hear Sig’s words felt as if a door had been unlocked in his heart. Tears glistened his eyes.

‘My heart breaks for Olin,’ Sig said. ‘He was brother to us all, and dearly missed these past years.’ She bowed her head, Keld and Cullen following suit, even the white crow. Drem was deeply touched by the small display of respect.

‘He spoke of you,’ Drem said when Sig looked up. ‘Though not until a moon or two ago. Until then I knew nothing of his past, or the Order of the Bright Star. He said you were friends.’

‘Aye, though friends is too small a word for it,’ Sig said. ‘And I knew your mother, Neve. We were all close, closer than kin. And you. You gave my shins more than one bashing with your wooden sword. I was not surprised to see you join us in the sword dance just now, as we could hardly keep you from it as a bairn. You showed great promise on the weapons-field.’

‘I did? I don’t remember.’

There were fractured, lightning flashes, more of frozen images and moments. A huge tower upon a hill. A stone, words carved upon it, smooth under Drem’s fingers. A fair-haired woman, laughing as she admonished him.

Sig!

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