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

a rarity these days. There was, at least, some truth in the old wives’ tales of inquisitors roaming the lands, snatching up children who misbehaved. The inquisitors sought all those who even showed a glimmer of the ability to touch the Spark and stole them away, off to the High Tower in Berona. It left the lineage diluted in the South. Every year, there seemed to be less and less with the potential to wield the Spark. It truly was sad. Until now, the villages must not have seen an inquisitor in generations. Living at the edge of the continent could have its perks.

Therin cursed as Vaen lurched forward. He thrashed wildly, nearly throwing Therin from his back, head-first into the packed dirt below. Vaen stomped his feet and neighed anxiously as his head spun from side to side.

It took Therin a second to regain his composure. The sudden jolt broke his train of thought.

“Strange to see an elf in these parts.” The voice echoed in the night, as if it came from everywhere, and nowhere, all at once. Therin knew that voice, or at least the sound it made. It was harsh, like steel dragged across a gravel path. An uncontrollable shiver ran up Therin’s spine. He reached for the Spark, pulling on threads of Fire and Spirit. Just in case.

The darkness should not have made a difference to his eyesight, not with the Spark flowing through him. The right balance of Fire and Spirit should have given him the night vision of a kat, but the light seemed to pull away from him, shrouding the night in darkness.

“Oh, now, now. You know better than that, elf.”

Allowing the Spark to burn through him, Therin pulled deeply on threads of Fire and Air. He sent a plume of roaring flame from the palm of his hand, in a wide arc in front of him. He caught a glimpse of the black robe flapping in the wind, adorned with spirals and swirls of dark blue. Only a flash and it was gone, but he knew what lay under the hood of that robe. Thin pale skin. Not leathery or cracked, like the hide of a desert animal, but smooth like the finest silk from Narvona. Eyes of jet, from corner to corner, so black that they drew in the surrounding light.

A Fade was a creature of innate shadow, a mage sharing their body with darkness itself. Consumed by the need for power. At least, they believed they were sharing. Therin did not for a second think it was the mage who was in control behind those eyes.

“Ride!” he roared, lashing at the reins. He gave Vaen a firm kick, urging him to move as fast as his legs would allow, steering him back towards Camylin. The egg. It knows where they are.

“You are far too late, elf,” the gravelly voice called out, as if from all around him. It was toying with him. “You will not reach them in time, or at all.”

An arrow whizzed past his head. The darkness was his only saving grace. The soldiers were not protected by the same dark magic as the Fade. He saw them just fine.

He felt the rough grate at the back of his mind as he drew on threads of Earth. He pushed the threads into the earth and dragged the clay from the ground. He formed it into a spike, hardened it to stone, and sent it piercing through the air at the archers hidden in the thicket to his right. They dropped one by one as he rode past, the hardened spike of clay tearing through their armour as though it were a pin through a cushion. Earth was never his strongest, but he could handle himself.

He didn’t look back as the bodies fell. He needed to get to Camylin. Therin placed his hand on Vaen’s neck, pulling on threads of Spirit. He willed the horse to go faster, drawing the pain out of his legs, pulling the tiredness from his lungs. He would need a lot of rest after this. They both would.

CHAPTER 16

No Place Like Home

The setting sun cast a warm glow over the city. The yellow-orange rays splashing down over the smooth grey stone of the buildings made Camylin look so magical.

Ella had spent the day exploring the endless markets across the city. She had never seen the likes of it. Entire squares of market stalls dedicated entirely to different colours of silks. Broad streets full of merchants selling scarves, dresses, and hats of all varieties. There were packed colonnades of hawkers flogging everything that Ella never knew she didn’t need. She could spend days roaming the city streets and never come close to seeing everything there was to see.

The sheer size of Camylin made The Glade seem like the smallest place in Epheria. She wished her father had brought her along with Calen when they visited. She missed them and Mother already. By the gods, she missed her mother. It had only been a few days, but she felt it already. She knew it might be years before she saw any of them again. She gripped the hem of her skirt subconsciously. It was the right thing.

“’Scuse me, Miss,” came a little voice behind her. There was a small child, maybe ten summers of age. A rounded cap with a stiff brim at the front sat upon his head, giving shade to his gaunt cheeks, which were blackened with dirt. His clothes dangled about his slight frame, clearly handed down from an older sibling. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and he looked as though he hadn’t eaten in days. “Could you spare some food? I’m really hungry… I’m sorry to ask…”

Ella’s heart melted when she saw the little boy. “Of course—”

“Oi, you, get out of here. Leave my customers alone!” The merchant’s eyes were hard as stone. He was a horrid-looking man with a thick bushy moustache, a furrowed brow and