A Time of Dread

by John Gwynne

  ‘Doesn’t much feel like one.’

  ‘No, I’m sure it doesn’t, but Aphra will deal with her concerns, sooner or later. And then you’ll enjoy her apology, no doubt.’

  ‘Aye, that I will,’ Riv agreed. ‘I’d just like it to be sooner, not later.’

  ‘What about you?’ her mam said. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Me? I feel a bit, heavy-hearted,’ Riv said, a whisper, as if even speaking of it was wrong, a betrayal to the Ben-Elim and the hundred. ‘This afternoon,’ she said with a wave of her hand as explanation. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Adonai’s wings tumbling to the dirt, heard his screams. She almost had sympathy pains for him, her back aching between her shoulder blades.

  If these pains had only just started, I’d have believed that.

  ‘Part of me understands. The Lore says what they did was wrong, so it is wrong.’

  Though I am not really sure what they did. Improper relations? What does that even mean?

  ‘There is only one path to Elyon, and that is Faith, Strength and Purity,’ Dalmae intoned from the Book of the Faithful. ‘The Lore cannot be broken, and if it is, those who broke it must be punished, else the Lore is made to appear meaningless,’ her mam said.

  ‘I know. But part of me . . .’ Riv shook her head. ‘They have lost so much. Their lives, almost.’

  ‘Sometimes the heart leads us down a path that the head would avoid,’ her mam said. ‘That is why a warrior must learn to master their emotions. Self-control can save your life, whereas lack of control . . . It can make it feel as if nothing exists except the now. And that the future –’ she shrugged – ‘fades in the mind.’

  Riv could understand that, remembering how Israfil’s goading during her warrior trial had led her anger to explode. It had controlled her, no, consumed her. One moment she’d been aware of the consequences, the next, she had not cared.

  I gave no thought to the future at all.

  ‘But we are not beasts,’ her mam said, ‘which is why we train so hard. Discipline, of body and mind, regimentation, endurance, it all teaches control, which leads to purity.’ She gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘But that’s all very well for me to say, sitting in the safety and calm of our feast-hall, a cup of wine in my hand, my beautiful daughter by my side. I’m glad you feel compassion for Estel and Adonai. You have a big heart, Riv. And an . . . emotional one.’

  Riv smiled ruefully.

  My temper. Always, my temper.

  ‘Am I ever going to become a White-Wing, Mam?’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Dalmae said firmly, cupping Riv’s cheek with her palm. It was cool to the touch, hard-skinned from decades of weapons-work. ‘Next time, just refrain from punching the Lord Protector in the face.’

  ‘Good advice,’ Riv muttered. Her mam smiled and poured her another cup of wine.

  The barrack doors creaked open, a cold wind swirling through, raising goosebumps on Riv’s arms. Aphra strode through the doors, her unit captains behind her. They marched to the fire-pit, all eyes upon them.

  ‘Make sure your kit-bags are packed and your weapons polished,’ Aphra said. ‘We’re marching out at dawn.’

  ‘Why?’ Riv called out before she could rein in her tongue.

  Aphra stared at Riv a long moment, silence settling in the hall.

  ‘We’re going to Oriens, a town on the east road, about a ten-night’s march. Israfil has received strange reports. Screams heard by travellers on the road. No word from there since.’ Aphra looked around the whole hall, her gaze finally coming back to rest upon Riv and her mam.

  ‘Israfil fears the Kadoshim are behind it.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  DREM

  Hildith, Ulf and their riders were arriving as Drem stepped into the yard, through the huge hole in the building’s side. It had exploded outwards, splintered wood sprayed about the yard, littering the ground, spiking up through the snow, like the skeleton of a leviathan in a white sea.

  Except for the blood.

  Droplets speckled the ground, no death wound, but injuries, nevertheless.

  Is the bear wounded? From Surl as the hound put up a fight? Or is it Fritha’s blood, spilt as it crushed her in its jaws?

  He didn’t like that thought and pushed it away.

  His da appeared by his side.

  ‘You like this girl, don’t you?’

  ‘I do,’ Drem muttered, only admitting the thought to himself at the same time as he did to his da. At that internal and external confession he felt a rush of fear and dread at what might have happened to her. The thought of life without her sky-blue eyes and freckles.

  ‘We’d best be getting after her, then,’ Olin said.

  Drem nodded.

  ‘Why’s the bear taken her?’ Olin muttered.

  ‘Bears do that, take their kill to a den where they can eat in peace,’ Drem said. ‘The white bear did it with our elk, remember?’ He thought his da was being kindly, telling him that, even though they both knew that Fritha, despite not being here, was most likely dead.

  ‘Why did it leave Hask and the hound?’ Olin muttered, quieter, more to himself than to Drem.

  For the first time in his life Drem didn’t want to ask questions. He felt frantic with worry for Fritha, desperate to find or avenge her.

  ‘Now’s the time to hunt, Da,’ Drem said.

  Olin looked up at him and nodded.

  Drem sat silently upon his mount, snowflakes falling steadily about him, gusts of wind catching and swirling them into twisting, spiralling patterns, like a kaleidoscope of white butterflies. His da was beside him, Hildith and Ulf just ahead.

  We are wasting time. Let’s get on with it, Drem thought, knuckles white as he gripped his reins.

  Ulf raised a horn to his lips and gave a great, ringing blast. Hounds were released from their leashes and bounded baying into the gloom, noses to the ground. From left and right answering horn calls echoed out, dull, distant things in the snow-shrouded woods. They had followed the bear tracks in the snow from Fritha’s hold back to the woods and then formed a long line through the trees, over a hundred men wide, far wider than Drem could see, long enough, he hoped, to catch any sneaky creature that thought to circle around the hounds on its trail, as a beast at bay is likely to do. With a stuttering shudder, Drem lurched into motion, following Ulf and the hounds-men who led the way, following the blood-spattered bear-prints into the wooded murk of shadow and thorn.

  Drem saw his da glance skyward, searching for any sign of the sun’s position through the snow curtain beyond the branches above. It was hard to tell, but Drem guessed it was closer to sunset than highsun.

  Not the best time for a bear-hunt. It should really be starting with dawn on the morrow.

  But then Fritha would be gone another day. The cold will have killed her even if the bear hasn’t.

  A branch slapped into Drem’s face, sharp fingers raking his cheek. The trees were growing thicker about them, branches lower, men ducking in their saddles. They’d made the decision to stay mounted for as long as possible, just to use every moment of extra speed to close the gap between them and their quarry, but the time to dismount and leave the horses behind was rapidly approaching.

  The line of hunters grew fractured, the thickening trees and dense scrub a barrier that sent horses searching for easier paths. A horn blast, and then they were dismounting, Ulf choosing a score of his followers to stay with the mounts, the rest of them reforming as best they could and marching on.

  Hounds bayed somewhere ahead of Drem, a fresh excitement in their barking. His da was beside him, the next hunter a vague shadow slipping in and out of view.

  ‘Do you think they’ve found it?’ Drem asked his da, a hand reaching for his sword.

  Should have brought a spear.

  His throat still hurt, inside and outside, his cloak rubbing against the rope-burn, his voice grating raw when he spoke.

  ‘No,’ Olin said. ‘They’d be making a different sound e
ntirely if they had. More like dying.’ He looked at Drem’s face, saw the worry in his eyes. ‘They might be getting closer, though, the scent stronger.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Drem muttered.

  Snow was falling thick about them, swirling with gusts and eddies into banks at their feet.

  If it’s this thick inside this wood, what is it like beyond it? We’ll be needing to dig through snowbanks to get in our front door.

  A hand closed around his wrist.

  ‘Drem,’ his da said, leaning close, ‘we should leave.’

  ‘What!’

  I can’t. Fritha.

  Olin saw Drem’s expression, but continued anyway.

  ‘We should go, now. While we have a chance.’

  ‘Da, how can you say this?’

  ‘Drem, you’re usually the practical one. Think. I’ve told you what I plan to do.’ He put a hand to the sword that was hanging through a leather thong at his hip, the blade wrapped in leather and sheepskin.

  Asroth. Drassil. With us being attacked, Fritha taken, I’d almost forgotten my da plans on slaying a demon-lord.

  ‘Hildith and Ulf have told us we are involved in this investigation into Calder’s death. Do you think we’ll just be allowed to leave? And now there’s blood feud against us. A whole town of miners and trappers out for our blood. I’ve told you: something is wrong here, and we need to be away, before it’s too late. This is the perfect opportunity, while the townsfolk, and the men who wish us dead, are stumbling snow-blind amongst these woods. We could just turn around and go back, and no one would know for a good while. We could get a day’s head start. We should go.’

  He let go of Drem’s wrist, just held his gaze. His looked grieved to say it, clearly knew the turmoil Drem was feeling over Fritha.

  ‘You’re right,’ Drem said, ‘it is logical. It does make sense. But . . . Fritha . . .’ He trailed off, unsure of what he meant or wanted, just knowing that he felt torn, emotions running through him that he was unable to put into words. He looked at his da, feeling as miserable and conflicted as he could ever remember.

  His da sighed, nodded.

  ‘We’ll see this through,’ he said, ‘find Fritha . . .’

  Alive or dead, Drem finished his da’s sentence.

  ‘And then we’ll be away, quick and quiet as we can,’ Olin added.

  ‘Thank you, Da,’ Drem said, relief washing through him. To give up on her now would feel wrong.

  Olin took the lead, pushing on through the deepening snow. The hounds were silent now, and Drem could see no one to the left or right, only the snow, the constant flutter of it in his face. Olin’s eyes were on the foliage about them, branch and bush. He paused once, lifting leaves that had been snapped, scraped past; he marched on more quickly.

  And then somewhere up ahead hounds were barking, a raucous baying, close, much closer than Drem would have thought, and he felt his heart lurch in his chest. He broke into a run, past his da, the sound of the hounds growing ever louder, deafening now, and changing, snarling, growling, snapping, a yelp and whine. Drem burst into a clearing, or, at least it was a clearing now, as a giant white bear had snapped branches, torn bushes up and uprooted trees in its violence against the hounds that had tracked it and brought it to bay.

  There was blood on the snow, a hound crawling, whining, its back legs not working, another hound lying as still as stone, head twisted at a sickening angle. Others were circling the bear, snarling and snapping as the great beast growled and swiped at them with its huge scythe-like claws.

  Where’s Fritha? Drem thought, looking about frantically for her, but he could see no sign of her. Hope drained from him.

  It wouldn’t have left her alive in its den, or anywhere else. Dead and stored, more likely. He’d seen predators do it many times, hide their kill until they felt it was safe to retrieve it. He felt a rush of anger, rage like he’d never felt before.

  I will kill you, bear, for what you’ve done.

  Ulf burst into the clearing, a handful of men about him, all of them pausing for a frozen moment, staring at the white beast in astonished wonder. Then a man was charging it, a spear levelled at the bear’s chest, stabbing through fur and flesh, the bear bellowing its pain, a shrug of its shoulder and claws splintered the spear shaft, another swipe and the man was spinning through the air, an arc of blood trailing him. He crashed to the ground, rolled, didn’t move again.

  As if breaking a spell, the first man’s ruin released the others from their frozen stupefaction, Ulf bellowing, the others rushing forwards, spreading about the bear, jabbing at it with their weapons. Drem charged with them, Olin following more cautiously, unsheathing their own blades. Drem heard the distinct sound of sizzling, saw snowflakes melting to steam where they touched his da’s black sword. Then they were part of the net closing on the white bear, Drem stabbing when it slashed or bit in another direction, jumping back when it cast its baleful attention in his direction.

  That’s definitely the one from the elk pit, Drem thought as he saw its right paw, one long claw clearly missing.

  Just need to carve the rest of you up, now.

  Red lines appeared on the beast, blood leaking into its fur, and more men died, those too slow or too foolhardy. In a few hundred heartbeats five men lay bleeding into the forest litter, only two dogs still standing, but a handful of new men had trickled into the clearing, one of them, Drem noted, was Wispy Beard.

  The bear lunged forwards, caught a warrior’s thigh with its claws as he tried to jump away, sent him crashing to the ground, and the bear’s head darted forwards on its long, powerful neck, its jaws crunching about the man’s torso, lifting him into the air and shaking him like a terrier with a rat. Blood sprayed in fountains, the man’s screams rising in pitch, abruptly silent as bones snapped. Olin danced into the rear of the bear and slashed two-handed at the beast, carving a red gash down the bear’s flank and leg, the stench of meat burning, flesh and fat hissing. It bellowed in pain, dropping the dead man, and surged forwards, straight at Drem, fleeing this new agony. It slammed into him and the bulk of men about Drem, sending them spinning, flying through the air like so many twigs. Drem crashed to the ground, air forced from his lungs. He tried to move, hand grasping for the hilt of his blade, and then a clawed paw thumped into the ground by his head and the bear’s jaws filled his vision. It stood over him, looking down at him, saliva dripping from one long tooth to land on Drem’s forehead.

  It sniffed him, opened its jaws and let out a great roar, then exploded away from him and went crashing into the undergrowth, disappearing into the twilight.

  Only Olin was still standing, a handful of others groaning as they tried to rise. Olin ran to Drem and helped him back to his feet, put his sword back in his hand.

  ‘I’m all right,’ Drem said to his da’s worried look.

  I should be dead. It didn’t kill me.

  Drem shared a look with his da and they followed the bear, moving quickly, not quite a run, the sounds of it crashing ahead making it easy for them to track the beast.

  The noise of the bear slowly faded, despite Drem and Olin picking up their pace, a sense of despair settling in Drem’s chest. Eventually Olin stopped, twilight thick about him.

  ‘We’ll not catch it in a sprint,’ his da said. ‘And anyway, it doesn’t have Fritha, you saw. It might have dropped or discarded her somewhere in the forest. Best thing to do is retrace its steps. And then . . .’

  We’ll find Fritha’s dead body in the snow and forest litter, Drem thought morosely.

  ‘She may have escaped the bear of her own accord,’ Olin said. ‘She may still live.’ Drem could tell that his da didn’t believe that, though. And neither did he.

  Drem nodded, admitting defeat, the forest silent about them now, draped with shadow, snow still falling, though he could feel it more than see it, twilight masking the world in grey. A voice in the distance, a horn call, faint and far.

  ‘Ulf and Hildith, regrouping. Might be bett
er to camp out here as a group than try and walk home,’ Olin said.

  ‘I think you’re right and it’s time to leave, Da,’ Drem said, ‘in the dark, where we won’t be missed. Fritha must be dead, though I dearly wish she were not.’

  Olin looked at him.

  ‘Only if you’re sure, son. She means much to you; we’ll stay and search until you’re ready.’

  Drem nodded, then froze, cocking his head to one side.

  A sound, to their right, deep in the undergrowth. His da heard it, too, both of them staring, alert. And slowly something formed in the shadows, the darkness deepening, a shifting of muscle and bulk, a low rumbling growl.

  ‘RUN!’ Olin yelled, shoving Drem back the way they had come as the undergrowth exploded outwards, snapping and shattering in a burst of snow and leaves, a deafening roar blasting them, filling Drem’s head as he stumbled to the ground. He glimpsed his da setting his feet, lifting his blade, heard the crash and growl of the bear as it surged from the shadows.

  It came back. How did it flank us so quietly?

  His da’s voice was raised in a battle-cry and there was a roaring bellow of pain from the bear. Drem pushed himself up to his knees, grasping for his sword, then something slammed into the back of his head. There was a bright explosion of light behind his eyes, quickly followed by darkness as he crashed to the ground, consciousness fluttering away.

  A gasp of air, ragged, pain in his throat, in his head, everywhere, it felt, his whole world a vault of pain. He opened his mouth, tasted snow and dirt, and with a grunt pushed himself over onto his back, then just lay there gasping for a few moments.

  Above him the scrape and rasp of leafless branches stirred by the sighing wind, boughs sagging with snow. Snowflakes landed on his face, tingling.

  Then he remembered.

  The bear.

  ‘Da,’ he rasped, a whisper, his bruised throat raw and on fire. He rolled, pushed himself to hands and knees, then upright, ignoring the pain, spiked explosions pulsing out from the base of his skull. He stood. Looked frantically about.

  There was still a dim light in the twilight world, a faint glow from the snow on the ground. He looked at a hole the size of a barn, a blackness amidst the undergrowth and trees, branches and bushes snapped and torn where the bear had charged them.