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

doubt. But as they did, the barrel-chested figure of the new Lord Captain of the Kingsguard, Tarmon Hoard, his purple cloak billowing behind him, pushed his way past them. He stopped in front of the king, his knuckles pressed to his forehead.

Daymon frowned, tilting his head. “What is it, Tarmon?”

“My king, I bring urgent news. The empire’s blockade has been lifted.”

Daymon smiled for the first time since Arthur’s death, but the soldier’s brow furrowed.

“Tarmon, what is it?”

“They move towards the city, my king. The Dragonguard are with them.”

Rist grunted in triumph as the boards in front of him split in two. He whipped his threads of Air back around, extinguishing the two candles on either side of him before letting go of the Spark.

Brother Garramon had been true to his word. They began training the very next day after they had spoken, and with each day, Rist felt himself getting stronger. He had more focus now and could create more delicate combinations. The first day, he had shattered the planks of wood until they were nothing but a cloud of floating splinters… then he passed out.

Garramon was there each and every minute of Rist’s training. Others taught him lessons too, but they were mostly of histories, mathematics, and the likes. At any other time, he would have adored every moment, but all he wanted was to learn more of magic. He wanted to understand more.

Brother Garramon was particularly quiet that morning as they stood out in one of the many open courtyards of the castle. A large oak tree swept over them, keeping the morning sun at bay. Brother Garramon leaned his back against the stone wall of one of the castle towers. His mind seemed in a different place entirely.

“Brother?”

The mage tilted his head towards Rist, raising an eyebrow.

“Have you heard a response from any of the messages? It has been weeks now.”

Irritation flashed across the man’s face, but it was gone as suddenly as it had appeared. “No, child. Not yet, not from Gisa, Camylin, Midhaven, or the villages. We even got a message to Belduar – secretly – but we have not heard back. Have patience. It takes time to travel these great distances. I’m sure your friends have received your letter and are right now penning one in return.”

Ella tilted the tankard as high as she could, choking the ale down in one gulp. She would never understand how Rhett enjoyed the vile stuff. It left such an acrid taste on her tongue.

More than a few of the men at the tables around her and Shirea stared openly, but that was less because of the way she threw back ale and more because of the massive grey wolfpine curled up at her heels, growling deeply at anyone who got too close.

The innkeeper had baulked at the three of them when they arrived at the door. The plump, ashen-haired woman had tried to physically sweep them out with the end of a brush. One growl from Faenir made her abandon that idea swiftly, and a bit of the coin Ella had taken from the soldiers helped to soften her further. That didn’t mean the woman didn’t eye them askance every time she passed the table.

Shirea was a fumbling mess after Faenir arrived that day. They both were. She and her husband were on their way to Gisa for the same reason that Rhett and Ella were – to start a new life in the North. Neither of them would ever get to live that life. Ella choked a bit at the thought. She still sobbed herself to sleep each night.

Four nights they had been at the Wandering Willow. Ella went to the port on the second day to find the man, Jack Narys, that Rhett’s uncle had mentioned in the letter. He was a leather-skinned, weasel looking man, but he seemed reasonable. He was hesitant to hand over the tickets at first, but he was looser after a bit of conversation, once she explained that Rhett was busy, so he had sent her on an errand for the tickets. Men always seemed more amenable to women if they had been sent by another man.

She had been okay until she got back to the room in the inn, where she burst out crying again as soon as she laid eyes on the tickets. Those yellowish slips of card were meant to be the start of their new life together.

Ella wasn’t entirely sure why she went to get the tickets. The smart thing to do would have been to go back home. To run home as fast as she could, straight into her mother’s arms. But there was something inside her that wanted to keep going. Something that wanted her to make it to Berona, to finish what they had started together – and to meet Tanner. She owed the man that much. To tell him what had happened to Rhett. Those two sides of her waged war day and night.

Ella caught the innkeeper’s attention with a waved hand, calling her for another ale. She despised them, but if Rhett had liked them, then she would learn to like them as well.

She buried him. She and Shirea had buried the both of them, along with the merchant. They had found a shovel in the merchant’s wagon. They marked the graves with piled stones. But even if she were blindfolded and spun until she was sick, she knew she would be able to find her way back to that spot, with or without the stones. It took every shred of willpower within her to walk away.

She thanked the innkeeper, tossed her a few copper marks from her purse, and took a hefty mouthful of the vile liquid. That bitter taste sat at the back of her throat like an unwanted house guest.

Ella looked across the table at Shirea. The golden-haired young woman was a beauty. Not the kind that figured herself