Blood and Honor (Forest Kingdom Novels) by Simon R. Green Page B

by spells and wards older than Redhart itself, and he’s still not dead.”
    “You’re very well-informed on the subject,” said Jordan. He tried to make his voice light and cheerful, but couldn’t.
    “I collect old stories,” said Gawaine. “A hobby of mine. I had hoped we’d not be coming this way. This is a bad place, even now.”
    “I shouldn’t worry about it,” said Jordan. “In my experience, there hasn’t been a historian yet who wouldn’t change or exaggerate the facts to make a better story.”
    Thunder rumbled, not far away. Jordan flinched, and looked up at the sky, expecting to see the dark clouds reforming, but the sky was clear and open. The heavy rumbling sound came again, louder and closer, and Jordan felt the ground stir uneasily beneath his feet. For the first time, he realized that what he was hearing was the sound of earth rending and tearing apart, and he looked instinctively at the barrow. His breath caught in his throat as the huge earth mound shook itself apart. Loose earth ran down the sides of the mound like water, carrying with it clumps of displaced grass and heather. A jagged crack ran along the top of the barrow, widening and lengthening as Jordan watched. Something pale and indistinct appeared in the gap, and clawed at the open air. It took Jordan several moments to realize he was looking at a huge bony hand. Another hand appeared out of the widening crack, and the two hands sank into the crumbling earth and forced the gap open. The air grew cold and the moor grew silent, and Bloody Bones emerged from his grave.
    He stood nine feet tall, and the light shone clearly between his bare bones. He was a huge, ill-formed skeleton, held together by ancient and awful magics that had no place in the rational world. Blood ran from his grinning jaws in a steady stream, and fell down to splash on his chest bone and ribs. The bones were browned and yellowed with age, and smeared with mud and grass from his grave, but still the main color was the horribly vivid red of freshly running blood. It dripped from his fingertips and oozed out from under his feet. It ran down his leg bones, and welled ceaselessly from his empty eye sockets.
    Bloody Bones.
    Jordan found he had his sword in his hand, though he didn’t remember drawing it. He couldn’t for the life of him think what good it was going to be against something like Bloody Bones, but he clutched the hilt tightly anyway. The familiar weight of the sword was a comfort, if nothing else. The wind suddenly changed direction, bringing him the stench of blood and carrion that hung around the skeleton like a rotting shroud. Jordan’s stomach heaved, and he backed away involuntarily. Behind him, the horses were screaming in terror. Jordan realized he was whimpering himself and clamped his mouth shut, clenching his teeth together until his jaw ached. He wanted very badly to turn and run, and keep on running until he found his way back into the safe and rational world again, but deep down he knew that wherever he hid, the creature would come and find him. He swallowed hard and stood his ground, and realized for the first time that Roderik and Argent had joined him, swords at the ready. Gawaine stood at his other side, holding his ax. His face was pale, but very calm. Jordan felt strangely light-headed. The sight of Bloody Bones disturbed him deeply on some fundamental level. A skeleton couldn’t move without muscles and tendons to move the bones, but Bloody Bones stood tall and awful above his violated grave like some horrid vision from a child’s nightmare, held together by foul magics and his own undying hatred. The blind head turned slowly to stare at Jordan, and he somehow knew the skeleton could see him, despite the empty eye sockets.
    “What happened?” he said sickly. “How did that thing escape from its barrow after so long?”
    “Someone must have undone the warding spells,” said Roderik tightly. “The same sorcerer who raised the