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

intricately crafted hammer, and four stars positioned above it in a semi-circle, was the flag of Durakdur. The green and silver flag with an anvil wreathed in flowers belonged to Azmar. The flag that bore black, crossed axes with a white backdrop was Ozryn’s. And the yellow and black flag with a horned helmet at the fore was Volkur’s.

Four dwarves stood at the foot of the staircase: three women and one man. They didn’t wear plates of armour and mail like the soldiers did. All four wore an odd mixture of leathers and silks. Their shoulders were padded out and a cuirass of leather covered their chests, which flowed down into a silken garment not dissimilar to a skirt. All four heads were adorned with intricate crowns of the finest gold.

The woman at the front of the group stepped forward. Her hair was a flowing straw-blonde, with scattered silver and gold rings laced throughout. She had a beauty about her. She radiated confidence, and her eyes were fierce.

“Welcome,” she said, “to the Dwarven Freehold. I am Queen Kira of Durakdur.” The sweetness of her voice surprised Calen. She bowed slightly at the hip, though not deeply enough for it to be born of respect. It was more of formality.

“Your presence here is most welcome. I am King Hoffnar of Volkur.” The man wore his dark hair short, only long enough to drop down over his forehead. His face was angular and free of cuts or blemishes, yet he moved like a soldier. Were it not for the friendly smile he wore, Calen might have reached for his blade.

“I am Queen Elenya of the dwarven kingdom of Ozryn. Your swords are welcome under our roof.” Elenya was a warrior. If her words did not give that away, she was the only one of the four who carried a weapon; a short throwing axe strapped to her belt. Her hair was like a roaring fire, wild and untamed. It cascaded down over her shoulders and back, reaching near to her elbows. The hardness in her face unsettled Calen.

The last of the four was Pulroan, the queen of Azmar. Her blonde hair was tied back behind her head in braids. She was a stocky woman. The furrows in her skin and lashings of grey through her hair clearly marked her as the senior of the other three.

“Thank you for your kind welcomes,” Arthur said, bowing at the hip. “As you know, I bring with me today, esteemed guests. Two, you have met many times before. One has never graced these halls. May I present to you Calen Bryer, the first Draleid free of Lorian influence since the fall of The Order and the first new Draleid in four hundred years.”

Arthur stepped aside, waving him forward. Calen was not sure what to do. He wished that he were better at listening. Therin had probably told him precisely what to expect four times over. There was so much to take in, so many customs and traditions. It was as if each new piece of information forced something else back out of his mind to make space. Everybody stared at him expectantly. He tried to remember the greeting that Therin had told him. It was in his head somewhere.

“Your Majesties, thank you for welcoming us into your halls. From Valerys and I, may your fires never be extinguished and your blades never dull.” He tripped over his words a bit, but he was sure he had gotten it right. Valerys mirrored him with a low rumble. He spread his wings to their fullest.

All the four – except for Kira, who had a twist of impatience on her face – smiled back at him warmly. “May your fire never be extinguished and your blade never dull,” they chorused, though Kira’s words lacked the verve that the others possessed.

Calen saw a look of satisfaction on Aeson’s face, which was mirrored on Arthur’s.

“Please,” Hoffnar said, catching Kira with a sideways glance, “let us escort you to the Heart. We have much to discuss. Have you eaten? We can arrange for food to be prepared.”

“Food would be—” Oleg clamped his lips shut after a glare from Arthur.

The king seldom chastised those who served him, but Calen was beginning to notice a steeliness to him. Although Oleg was the dwarven emissary, he was now in the company of kings and queens. It was his turn to bite his tongue.

“That is quite all right, Hoffnar,” Arthur said. “We left for the Wind Tunnels as soon as we received your message. Our bellies might rumble a touch, but we can wait for supper. As we are all aware, ever since our companions returned from their voyage, the empire has held a blockade some three days’ march from Belduar. With their intentions not yet determined, and with the arrival of the Draleid, I’m sure you can appreciate the need for haste.”

“That I can,” Hoffnar replied.

The route through the city wound from walkway to bridge and through numerous open squares. Most of the squares were completely cleared ahead of time – armoured soldiers stood waiting on each – but Calen could see throngs of dwarves lining the walkways above, staring down over the procession that weaved its way through the city.

A harsh whoosh sound drew Calen’s attention to the air above him. A Wind Runner shot from the mouth of a tunnel overhead, soared through the sky, then flew perfectly into the open mouth of another tunnel. The machines truly were incredible.

He remembered Therin saying that no matter how hard they tried, no mage had ever been able to make themselves fly. Nobody was sure why, but it was the way. To Calen, it looked as though the dwarves had come as close as was possible.

The procession stopped at an enormous set of wooden doors. They could have been the twins of the doors that marked the entrance of the keep in Belduar, were it not for the intricate carvings inlaid in the wood.

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