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

Finally, Calen felt them slow down. A tiny speck of light in the distance grew larger by the second.

“Don’t be nervous,” Aeson whispered.

Calen furrowed his brow. “I’m not nervous,” he lied.

Aeson nodded, that same smirk on his face.

There was a short jerk as the Crested Wave came to a stop just short of the cave mouth. Falmin spun around on the spot, pulled the glasses from his face, and placed them on top of his head. His face still held an arrogance to it, a slight grin that just twisted the corner of his mouth.

“Well, a little wind aside…” He paused, as if expecting a round of applause for his joke. A look of disappointment crossed his face when he didn’t receive one. “Here we are, safe and sound. Durakdur. If you give me a moment, I will extend the bridge, and you can be on your way.”

The navigator strode past the group, to the edge of the platform. Drawing on threads of Air, he launched the crumpled-up rope bridge across to another stone landing that lay waiting to receive the vessel’s passengers.

Calen felt a hand rest on his shoulder. “Well, my boy, I wish that I could see this through your eyes. I remember the first time I saw this place. It was a good five minutes before I could speak again.” Arthur smiled and then moved ahead, making his way onto the bridge. His shoulders swayed as he moved. Reluctantly, Calen followed him. He wasn’t looking forward to crossing that bridge again.

“I meant what I said, Mister Bryer.” Calen hadn’t noticed Falmin approach him at the foot of the bridge. The man had a serious look on his face, at least compared to the grin he usually wore. “It was my pleasure to have you aboard – both you and your dragon. I wish you the best of luck, and so does the guild. Should you ever need us, we are at your service.” The navigator bowed at the hip, just a short bow, but it was enough to convey sincerity. It was a formality that Calen did not expect from the flamboyant man.

“Thank you, Falmin. Your… ship? It’s an incredible feat of engineering… as is your skill with Air. It was a pleasure.”

There was a touch of recognition in the man’s smile. “The pleasure is shared.”

Calen extended his arm, grasping his fingers around Falmin’s forearm. Falmin reciprocated the gesture, then walked off across the platform, inspecting every square inch of the Crested Wave. Calen couldn’t help but stare after the man in curiosity. Falmin shook a brass connection, a look of surprise on his face when it came unstuck. He pushed it back in, pursed his lips, gave a satisfied shrug, and walked on.

Calen turned back to the bridge, trying his best to look dignified as he scurried across the wooden planks. “Fucking bridge…” he muttered to himself, nearly slipping as he stepped off the last plank of the bridge. He felt a sense of comfort as his foot contacted the solid stone of the tunnel entrance.

When he looked up, it was exactly as Arthur said it would be. It took away his words.

The platform upon which he stood jutted out from the side of the mountain wall, looking down over the breath-taking city of Durakdur. It looked as though the mountain had been hollowed out, and a city was built in its place. Everywhere Calen looked, stone walkways and bridges weaved through the city, connecting innumerable stone courtyards and platforms. Barely an inch of rock wall had been left untouched. The walkways ran everywhere, with doors and tunnels all along them that led deeper into the mountain.

Lanterns emitting a greenish-blue hue were alight everywhere Calen looked. They were suspended from chains, mounted on walls, and set in doorways. He had never seen a light that colour before. It had a kind of ethereal beauty. Directly across from the platform, on the other side of the cavernous city, a monstrous waterfall cascaded down to the lower levels.

The low, sonorous bellow of horns filled Calen’s ears. He had been so taken away by the sheer beauty of the sprawling city that he had failed to look closer to where he stood.

Just below the platform was a huge stone landing. It was connected to the platform by a double staircase adorned with statues of dwarves in heavy, sharp-cut armour, hefting axes, spears, and swords. The landing was crammed. Two columns of armoured soldiers stood on either side of a small group that waited at the bottom of the staircase.

The dwarves were shorter than the average man of Epheria, but not by the distance that Calen knew from legend. The tallest stood at around five and a half feet. Their faces were as gruff and varied as the stories said, though. Some had thick, squashed noses, while others were sharp and thin. Some had skin as pale as the winter snow, while others looked charred and ashen.

All the men had beards, which were as varied as their faces. Some were short and red, kept tidy with meticulous care. Others ranged from a hundred different shades of blonde and brown, to the darkest of jet. Some were braided, some were tied in intricate patterns, some reached their knees, and some didn’t pass their chest. All of them – even the women – wore bronze, silver, and golden rings tied carefully throughout their hair.

The soldiers at either side of the staircase wore thick plates of armour over coats of shimmering mail. Their helmets were blocky and sharp-cut, leaving space over their eyes, with a bridge of metal that shielded their noses. Each of them held a ferocious, twin-bladed axe hefted over their shoulders.

At the front of both columns of soldiers, the axes were replaced with long brass horns. Four distinct sets of flags hung from the horns. Calen recognised each one from Therin’s teaching. The crimson and gold flag, emblazoned with an