Of Blood And Fire by Ryan Cahill (best classic books of all time .txt) 📕

“It is a glamour,” Therin said. He dropped down from his saddle, joining Aeson at the mouth of the cave. “It is old magic, not something you would find common in these lands. It mostly disappeared with the giants. The stone is the key?”

Aeson nodded, tucking the stone into his coat pocket. “Come on,” Aeson said. “Off your horses. We will have to walk them from here. The roof gets lower the farther you go in.”

Calen swung his leg over and hopped down off his horse. He nodded to Dann, laughing at the grumpy look on his face.

“What?” Dann barked. He furrowed his brow. “He just made a tunnel appear in the side of a mountain!”

“Technically,” Erik interrupted, nudging Dann with his shoulder, “the tunnel was already there.” Erik scrunched up his nose in a ‘just saying’, kind of way, which earned him a glare from Dann.

“He is right,” Lyrei and Alea chimed at the same time, with a giggle at Dann’s expense. Calen didn’t blame Dann for trying his luck with them.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dann muttered as the two elves walked on ahead into the tunnel.

As soon as they had all passed through, Aeson produced the stone once more. Calen watched closely as he drew threads of Spirit to replace the glamour, then pocketed it and took his place at the front of the group.

Aeson wasn’t lying. The farther they got into the cave, the lower the ceiling became. It almost brushed the top of Calen’s head, and the horses had to bow their necks to fit through comfortably.

Torches rested in cast iron sconces, fixed into the walls on either side of the tunnel at regular intervals, just enough so that their light overlapped. The tunnel looked as if it had been cut by hand. The stone face was smooth, almost polished. Calen reached out with his hand, running his fingertips along the surface of the stone.

“It was cut with the Spark.” Calen turned to see Vaeril walking beside him. The elf wasn’t looking at him but past him, studying the walls of the tunnel. “We used similar techniques when constructing our home in the Aravell. In the histories I’ve read, it was common for dwarves to employ mages for this very purpose. It made constructing cities and tunnel networks far more efficient. Though, I have never seen it done myself.”

“It’s incredible.”

Vaeril nodded, a soft smile on his face.

It was at least an hour’s walk through the torch-lit tunnel before they came to a cast iron portcullis fixed into an alcove in the wall. A stone staircase on the other side led steeply upward. Once more, Aeson pulled the polished green stone from his pocket. He slipped it into a tiny groove in the wall, which it fit into like a hand in a glove. Immediately, it lit up, pulsating that emerald green glow.

“Now what?” Dann said after about one minute of waiting.

“Now we wait.” Aeson leaned his shoulder against the wall of the cave. “That stone has a sister, which should light up when our stone has been placed in its groove.”

It wasn’t long before Calen heard footsteps echoing down the stone staircase. “Who goes there?” came the gruff voice of a man, echoing over the sound of his footsteps.

“It is me, Ihvon. Aeson Virandr.”

The pace of the footsteps increased. “Aeson, you old dog! Get in here!”

The man before them looked as though he had seen more than his fair share of battles. The lack of hair on his head was fully compensated for by a thick beard that jutted out from his face, looking as though it had been carved from stone. His nose zig-zagged down his scar-latticed face; it had definitely been broken more than once. A short stump of mottled flesh remained where his left ear had once been. He was a little shorter than Calen, but his shoulders looked like they could take the weight of a horse. The navy doublet he wore seemed out of place on him, like a wolf trying to masquerade as a fox.

Out of his pocket, Ihvon pulled a pulsating green stone, the twin of Aeson’s. He slid it into a similar groove on his side of the portcullis. As soon as he did, Calen felt a tremor reverberate from the walls as the cast iron portcullis receded into the ceiling.

“Get over here,” Ihvon guffawed. He pulled Aeson into an embrace that was reciprocated with a similar but more reserved warmth.

“It is good to see you, Ihvon. How is the king? Is he well?”

“Aye, aye, he surely is. He wishes to see you as soon as he can. He will be eager to know that you have returned. I see your party has grown larger since last we met.”

Ihvon looked around the group, his affectionate smile masked a calculating look in his eyes. Calen hadn’t realised how strange his group might look. Five humans and six elves marching around, armed to the hilt. It almost made him laugh out loud.

Ihvon’s eyes widened and his jaw slackened as he saw Valerys, who now stood at Calen’s feet. A slight rumble let Calen know that the dragon was hungry.

Ihvon turned his gaze to Aeson, back to Valerys, and then back again. “That isn’t…? It couldn’t be.”

He rubbed his fists into his eyes in an exaggerated manner before looking down at Valerys again, who shrieked in response. Ihvon took an involuntary step backward, caught by surprise. A deep laugh came from the man’s stomach as he clapped his hand down on Aeson’s shoulder.

“There will not be a day that you do not surprise me,” Ihvon said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Come. Arthur will want to see you now more than ever, if that were possible. You can leave the horses here. I will send someone for them shortly.” Ihvon turned and walked back up the staircase, waving for the group to follow. “A dragon…” Calen heard him mutter. “The bastard actually did it.”

At the top of the staircase, the