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

“Go!” she roared, separating head from shoulders as she spun her axe in a sideways arc.

They got to the other side of the yard and into the passageway relatively unscathed. Asius was the only one who seemed to earn any new marks. A thin slice trickled blood down his left thigh. He didn’t seem to notice.

The passage opened into the double-sided street they had come down a few days before on their way to the tunnels. It had looked a lot different then. Not tainted by the blood of the dead, and the screams of the dying. Calen sidestepped a frenzied strike, slicing the man across the back as he slipped past him. Something itched at him. Something wasn’t right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. “Aeson!” Calen roared over the shouts and screams of the pitched battle. “The walls!”

Aeson looked at him as if he had lost his mind, shrugging wordlessly.

A heavy shield to the chest knocked stars into Calen’s eyes. He shook his head as he steadied himself for the second blow. A shimmering white blur took the man by the neck. Calen frowned as he leapt over the man’s body. Fury pulsated from Valerys.

“The walls, Aeson! There’s nobody on the walls!” Calen grabbed Aeson’s shoulder, shoving him into place, so he could look down to the lowest tier of the outer circle. The walls were empty, the gates barred and locked shut. There had been no fighting there. The empire had not fought their way into the city; they had been let in.

Calen saw the moment when it clicked. The man nodded, a coldness in his eyes. “Come on.”

Asius carried on, carving his way up the street. His glowing red níthral pulsated in the shape of an axe in his hand. Most stepped out of his way. They had never seen a giant before, but they knew well enough to steer clear.

As they cut their way through the street, Calen’s joints ached, and his muscles groaned. Even with his training, he still felt the drain from the Spark. He hadn’t thought earlier. It was the first thing that came to his head. He was growing stronger, though. He could feel it.

Up ahead, two figures stood amidst a mass of soldiers. Dahlen and Erik were unmistakable. The two brothers stood back-to-back, their twin blades drawn, whirling in and out of pockets of Lorian soldiers before slotting back together. They looked tired, though. Calen saw it in the way they stood. They would not last much longer.

One nod from Aeson, and Asius waved his hands, whipping swathes of Lorian soldiers off their feet with threads of Air, clearing the way to the brothers.

“It’s about time you got here.” There was a cheeky smirk on Erik’s face. Even then, with a deep gash along his side, and his face painted in blood, he seemed unphased. It seemed unnatural to Calen. Though, he remembered a time when the idea of taking a man’s life turned his stomach. Now…

“What happened?” The coldness didn’t leave Aeson’s eyes.

Erik shrugged. “We were in our chambers when we heard the bells ringing. By the time we got to the courtyard in the inner circle, it was already consumed. It was like they crept in from the sewers. The others are still up there. We fought our way down with some soldiers to try and clear the Wind Tunnels.” Erik panted when he finished.

The fighting around them had begun to die down as the Belduarans gained the upper hand.

“Kira and the dwarves are down by the Wind Tunnels. They need help. Gather these men and go. We’re heading up to the Inner Circle. Have you seen the king?”

Dahlen pursed his lips, a frown creasing his brow, but he did not argue. “He must be in the hall.” He and Erik turned back to the remaining soldiers. “To the Wind Tunnels! For the king!” Shouts and cries rang out in response.

The fighting had thinned out by the time they reached the stone bridge that separated the Inner and Outer circles. It was gargantuan – two hundred feet across and wide enough for four carts to ride side-by-side. Calen couldn’t bring himself to look over the edge the last time he had crossed it, and that hadn’t changed. It was deep enough that if he stumbled off, nobody would hear him hit the bottom.

For the most part, the bridge was empty. Anyone unfortunate enough to be standing in Asius’s way, though, was wrapped in threads of Air and tossed off the side. Calen didn’t hear them hit the bottom, but their screams echoed all the way to the other side of the bridge.

The sound of fighting poured through the half-open gate as they reached the walls of the Inner Circle. The harsh ringing of metal melded with the howls and screams of men who stared death in the face. The waft of air was putrid; sweat and dirt mixed with the metallic twinge of blood.

Calen took a minute to steady himself before he followed Aeson and Asius through to the gate. In the heat of everything, he had pushed it to the back of his mind – the fear of death, the urge to vomit – but standing at the gates, his stomach felt as though it might tear itself from his body. His knees shook. He took a deep breath before he strode through the gate. Valerys was quick on his heels.

The yard was madness. Were it not for the purple cloaks of the Kingsguard, he would not have been able to tell friend from foe in the mass of bodies that consumed the wide-open space. The Bolt Throwers atop the towers were blazing infernos of orange and red, smoke billowing into the night sky.

Calen arched his head down as he avoided a swinging blade, taking the man’s legs from under him as he followed through. He couldn’t move five feet without having to swing his blade. He saw the towering