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

to a crescendo, until it was a battering ram beating at his mind. There weren’t many clocks in The Glade. They were expensive and hard to come by. In Durakdur, there were clocks in every room. He had to admit, it was the only thing that gave him any sense of night or day in a city where the sun never rose or set. But now, he wanted to tear it from the wall and smash it against the stone floor.

Tick-tock.

Calen’s eyes snapped open as he heard a creaking sound coming from the door. He had locked that door. His heart beat almost as loud as the clock now. He had left his sword in its scabbard, about two feet away, on top of the writing desk.

He heard another creak. This time, it was a floorboard. He was sure of it. Somebody was in the room.

Valerys was still asleep. That was the only time they couldn’t feel everything, as if the dream world gave them both time apart. Calen cursed in his head, breathing as quietly as he could.

Another creak. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind.

Stilling his fear, he threw his sheets off and leapt the short distance between the bed and the desk. Calen pulled his blade from its scabbard in one sweeping motion and turned to face the intruder.

In the dark, his eyes had barely focused on the intruder’s outline when threads of Air cannoned into his chest. They lifted him from his feet and launched him into the wardrobe against the far wall, shattering it to pieces.

Calen shook his head. It was spinning, and he needed to clear his eyes. His hands were empty. The impact made him drop his sword.

A short, gruff laugh drew his attention. His attacker stood over him, a sword pointed towards his chest. All Calen could make out was his silhouette. His eyes still hadn’t adjusted.

“Just a child.” The man’s voice was deep and coarse. “I’ll make it quick.”

Calen closed his eyes. He reached out for the Spark. Drawing on threads of Fire, Air and Spirit, he formed a baldír as bright as he could, as if it were the sun itself. Once he heard the man gasp in pain, he snuffed it out.

The man stumbled backwards, with his free hand clasped over his eyes. “You bastard! My fucking eyes!”

His howls were cut short as Valerys leapt up across his shoulder. The dragon sank his teeth into the man’s neck and tore at his back with his claws. The pair of them collapsed onto the bed in a tangle. As they fumbled, Calen caught sight of a second man lurking in the doorway.

In case one wasn’t enough.

Calen didn’t need a moment to think. He could see the threads of Fire as the man pulled them towards his hand. Calen was quicker. He reached out with the Spark, wrapping threads of Air around a thick splinter of wood. He sent it straight through the man’s heart. A brief flash, and the man dropped to his knees without a whisper, then collapsed on his side. A rumble of satisfaction let Calen know that Valerys’s opponent was no longer an issue either.

Calen could already feel the drain from the Spark seeping into his muscles. In his panic, he hadn’t controlled the flow as much as he should have. His heart thumped. He heard shouts coming from the hallway outside, but it was only when he made to follow them he realised he was still in his smallclothes. He buttoned up his shirt, dragged a pair of trousers up his legs, and stamped his feet into his boots.

Bounding from the room, he crashed straight into a stone wall. When he looked up, he realised that wall, was Asius. Aeson was with him, and both had splatters of blood on their clothes. It wasn’t their blood.

“Someone—” Calen didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.

“We know,” Aeson said. “They were in our chambers too. They must have snuck into the city.”

“They’re—”

“Mages. We know.”

Calen frowned as he was cut off again.

“Calen, listen to me. They are the Hand. The empire’s assassins. If they came for us, then they are after the Council as well. We need to get to them. You and Valerys go to Queen Kira. Her chambers are only five minutes from here, down the western corridor. You’ll know it by the vermilion doors inlaid with the symbol of Durakdur. Asius and I will see to the others. We will meet again at the Wind Tunnels. Calen, if they are here, making this move out in the open, they are doing the same in Belduar. I have sent Oleg to the Wind Runners Guild hall to fetch Falmin. Make sure the queen is okay and get to the tunnels.”

“I—”

“Don’t argue! Go!”

Calen thought about doing just that. He thought about shouting and telling Aeson that he would go where he chose and not where he was told. He didn’t. He furrowed his brow, turned on his heels, and ran. As quick as his legs would take him, he ran towards the queen’s chambers. Valerys bounded along beside him. As much as he hated to even think it, let alone admit it, Aeson was right. Everything else could wait.

Calen reached out for the Spark as he approached the large, vermilion double doors, inlaid with the symbol of Durakdur, that marked the queen’s chambers. Two dwarves in heavy plate armour and thick crimson cloaks, which marked them as Queensguard, lay rigid on the floor. Calen didn’t check their bodies. Their blood stained the smooth stone.

He crashed through the doors of the queen’s chambers, ramming them open with his dropped shoulder. Drawing on thick threads of Air, he used a barrage of wind to send the hooded man spiralling across the room, shattering the window to pieces. The man fell, screaming, into the endless depths on the other side.

He moved to parry the blow from the second man, stopping mid-air as Valerys crashed into the assassin’s chest, rending