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

Kurtis and Dennet nodded, only lifting their eyes from the ground momentarily. Fritz, however, protested. “That is not fair! You said it yourself. This is The Proving—”

“Shut your mouth, boy,” Tarren Netly, Fritz’s father, said while giving him a firm slap across the back of the head. “You’ll be lucky not to get a lashing.”

Tarren was a tall man with a grizzled beard and a stern jaw. He was not known for his soft touch. Calen couldn’t help but feel sorry for Fritz. Tarren had seemed to become even colder when Fritz’s two brothers died. They died with Haem, pushing the Uraks back through Ölm and into Wolfpine ridge. In a different world, it might have brought Fritz and Calen together. But that world was not this one.

Erdhardt eyed Tarren and Fritz with a grim look as he pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. “I will send word that the feasting is to begin shortly and that the victors of The Hunt are to be announced. All of you who took part in The Proving, we will give you an hour to clean yourselves up and prepare for the feast.”

A few filthy looks were exchanged between the two groups of young men as they made their way out of the tent, but no words. None were silly enough to risk incurring Erdhardt’s wrath.

“Do you want me to go back with you?” Vars asked as they stepped out into the brisk night air.

“No, that’s okay. You all should stay. Start your celebrations. I can go clean up by myself,” Calen said with a weak smile. He did not want Freis and Vars fussing over him, and he could do with at least a few minutes on his own. If he could survive The Proving, then he could survive the walk home.

“Don’t be too long,” Freis said, cupping her hands on either side of Calen’s face and placing a kiss on his forehead. “I’ve left some clothes out for you.”

“I won’t. I’ll be back as soon as I’m ready – and thank you.” Calen turned to Dann and Rist, “I’ll see you two in about an hour?”

“You think I’ll miss the opportunity to get some free mead? I’ll need it after what those idiots got away with,” Dann said, a scowl on his face.

“They didn’t get away with anything, Dann,” Rist said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Have you ever known Erdhardt to let anyone get away with anything? He said he will revisit it tomorrow. For tonight, can we just get drunk?”

“Agreed,” Dann and Calen said together.

Calen felt a sense of relief as he stepped into his room, collapsing onto his bed with a sigh. He lay there for a few minutes, allowing his aching body to sink into his mattress. If it were up to him, he would have lain there all night. If it were up to him.

With a sigh, he dragged himself to his feet, scrubbed the dried dirt and blood from his skin, and began to dress in the clothes his mother had laid out. The trousers were a simple pale brown, secured at the waist with dark wooden buttons. The shirt was a pearlescent white, the front opening coming down to his collarbone. Finally, he pulled on a warm coat before stepping out into the chilly night air.

The feast tent was an entirely different spectacle upon Calen’s return. It was a cacophony of sound. Every table was packed from one end to the other. Serving girls glided between drunken revellers, ducking and diving under flailing arms, somehow never spilling a drop of mead or dropping a morsel of food. The cheery mead-induced conversations warmed Calen’s ears. If he could go the rest of his life without hearing the incessant noises of insects, he would be the happiest man alive.

Music blended with the din of merriment. Travelling bards ambled about between the tables, carrying lutes, harps, or the occasional flute. Their garb was as flamboyant as Calen had come to expect. Wildly ornate coats accented vibrant shirts and trousers, each one more extravagant than the last. Some wore wide-brimmed hats with feathers of all shapes and sizes pluming from the top. Others had beards that draped as low as their waistline, twisted in plaits and coloured with dyes.

“Come on, then. Let’s get some food in our bellies,” Dann said, appearing beside Calen. “Oh, and some mead.” He clapped one hand down on Calen’s shoulder; his other hand snatched a tankard of mead from the tray of a passing serving girl. Nothing ever seemed to faze Dann. No matter what happened, he was always back to himself before anyone could tell any different.

“For once, I’m with Dann,” Rist said, emerging from behind the flap of the tent, a stiff limp in his walk. He looked like a different man after cleaning the matted dirt and dust from his face.

Calen laughed and nodded in approval. His body ached, and exhaustion still held him firmly in its grasp, but the scene before him gave him a renewed feeling of vigour.

“You clean up well.”

Anya was beautiful. Her ember hair rolled down the side of her face. It was striking against her flowing green dress, decorated in a white floral pattern. The scent of honeysuckle drifted through the air around her.

Calen’s voice caught in his throat. He wanted to reply, “So do you,” but his lips wouldn’t listen to his brain. He couldn’t help but be angry with himself. He had just faced a bear and two Uraks, yet he couldn’t bring himself to speak when Anya stood in front of him.

“Come on, lover boy. We have to get to our table,” Dann said, wrapping his arm around Calen’s shoulder. Calen wanted to give him a swift elbow to the ribs, and he would have done if he hadn’t seen Anya blush.

“Dance with me later?” As soon as the words left Calen’s mouth, his heart sank into his stomach. He wanted the