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

and worn and his hair was thin and grey, the man’s eyes were bright and full of life. How did his uncle know this man so well?

“That is not necessary but very much appreciated, Master Blackwell. My uncle mentioned your kindness in his letters. He did not overstate it one bit.” Rhett smiled and raised his tankard to the older man, who nodded thankfully in response.

“May I ask,” he said, “how are you getting to Berona? Is it by Gisa or Falstide?”

Rhett hesitated. He truthfully wasn’t sure himself.

“I… I only ask as I’ve heard some bad news out of Falstide as of late. Large number of bandits along the road from Baylomon and in the Argonan Marshes. I’ve heard stories of other things, coming down from the Marin Mountains. It’s no place to be travelling, not now. The Blood Moon don’t be far away. And it does be stirring up all sorts of trouble. I’ll tell you that much for free.” The older man shook his head, absently wiping the inside of the tankard with his cloth.

“Well, the original plan was to travel through Falstide, but Gisa might be an option. We haven’t decided yet. Won’t have to decide until we reach Midhaven. The Blood Moon?”

Forn nodded and turned back towards the bar, still absently wiping away at the inside of the tankard. “Gisa would be my choice, young man,” he called back over his shoulder, “if you have the coin.” He ignored Rhett’s question about the moon. Poor man. The years are eating away at his mind. Just as they are eating away at his inn.

Rhett stared down into his purse. He took a deep draught of the bitter ale. It’s going to take a long time to acquire this taste. He sighed heavily as he rolled the coin across fingers, back and forth.

CHAPTER 17

Divided

The echoes of hurried footfall bounced off the high walls of the narrow street, chased by the voices of men shouting commands into the night. Shockwaves vibrated up through Calen’s legs as his feet pounded on the cobbled steps. His chest burned as they ran.

They had thrown what they could into their bags. Calen strapped his sword belt on. Dann threw his bow over his shoulder. Rist stuffed his book into his bag. They followed Erik down the stairs and out the back of the inn. Dahlen and Aeson were waiting for them, both of whom had their armour on and their swords drawn. Dahlen spun his two blades around, loosening his hands for what was to come.

All the horses in the stable were dead. Their throats had been slit while they were still tethered to their posts. The man who had tried to sneak into their room hadn’t risked the chance of them escaping by horseback.

“Here, down this street. Oliver’s Apothecary has access to the tunnels.” The words escaped Dahlen’s mouth between puffs of breath. They had been dashing through the streets at a full sprint since they left the stable yard, mostly down backstreets and staircases. It was tough on even the hardiest of lungs. They had been lucky enough not to run into any of the men chasing them so far, but their voices were never far from earshot.

“Who—” Dann stopped to take a breath. “Who the hell is after us? Who was that at the room?”

They made their way down another cobbled staircase, with tight walls on either side. A quick right at the bottom was followed by a sharp left. Calen had no idea where they were. If he lost the others, he would be dead in a matter of minutes.

“It’s the empire,” Dahlen whispered. “Whoever was outside the rooms was hired, but the men chasing us right now are definitely soldiers. There’s too many of them, and they’re organised. How they found us, I’m not sure.”

“We can discuss it later,” Aeson snapped, “for now, we need to move.”

“They’re here!” came a yell in the night. The soldiers came bursting out of a side street. The cover of night made sure that they were on top of the group before they saw them.

Calen pulled his sword free from its scabbard just in time to block a heavy downstroke. He tried to focus on his forms, but his brain was racing. Stay alive. Just stay alive.

He swung his blade across again, parrying blow after blow with more luck than skill. Dann had an arrow nocked and stood back-to-back with Dahlen. The two of them fared much the same as himself. Aeson and Erik both had the upper hand, by the looks of it. The silhouettes of three corpses were draped at their feet.

Calen panicked for a second, unable to find Rist in the chaos. A metallic ringing chimed through the air as he met another overhead blow. He let out a breath. Rist was behind Dahlen and Dann, standing over the body of a fallen soldier. Something seemed a bit off, but Calen just couldn’t put his finger on it.

He needed to focus.

The soldier in front of him swung for Calen’s head, then tripped over something obscured by the night. Calen caught the soldier’s blade with his own, sweeping the backswing across the man’s torso. The soldier fell to the ground, his hands grabbing at the wound that had opened his stomach. Blood spluttered from his open mouth. The air caught in Calen’s chest. He thought he was going to be sick.

“Calen… Calen!”

Calen barely even noticed Rist calling him. He hadn’t felt the din of fighting ebb away. The look of panic on the man’s face as he died was burned into his mind.

“Calen, we need to go. Now. Come on!”

He had to focus, but his eyes remained fixed on the corpse that lay sprawled on the ground. Three.

He wasn’t sure whether to count the Urak. He had watched the life drain from its eyes. It knew what was happening. It counted.

He eventually moved, and his chest burned again as they continued through the maze of