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

“Only about ten minutes,” Erik called. “I think.”

“You think?” Dann shouted.

“Look, it’s dark, okay? Ten minutes. Just try to keep up.”

Dann grunted in agreement.

A weight crashed on top of Calen, throwing him against the wall, knocking precious air straight out of his lungs. Calen grabbed the soldier with his free hand, pushing him back just far enough to drive his sword up into his ribcage. He felt the body go limp as he slid the sword back out.

Four.

“You okay?” Dann called.

“Yeah,” Calen replied, sighing. “Let’s keep going.”

The spiralling twists and turns continued. They ran through back streets, up and down staircases, around corners, and down back alleys. Their pace didn’t slow. The burning in Calen’s chest was joined by an ache in his legs. The city felt endless.

Calen heard a howl behind him, followed by the ringing of swords colliding. He twisted around. Rist was on the ground, face-down, the contents of his bag strewn out across the cobbled stone. Calen didn’t think he could take losing anyone else.

Rist moved. Calen allowed himself to release the breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding. Dahlen had gone back for Rist and was surrounded by three soldiers. His twin swords spun in a blur as he weaved between them like a dancer.

Calen looked pleadingly towards Aeson and Erik. Their eyes were fixed on Dahlen.

“Go! We’ll catch up.” Dahlen ducked out of the way of a blade that swung through the air where his head had been, driving a deep gash across one of the soldier’s legs.

Calen tightened his grip on his sword. He was about to break into a run for Dahlen and Rist when a hand caught his shoulder.

“No,” Aeson said firmly, his eyes locked on Calen’s.

“I—”

“No. You will do none of us any good by ending up at the pointy end of a Lorian sword.”

The shouts of more soldiers echoed through the city, closing in on them.

“Dahlen can handle himself,” Aeson continued. “And he can look after Rist. We need to keep going. There is no sense in risking us all. There are other ways out of the city, and Dahlen knows them.”

A hundred thoughts raced around Calen’s mind. Every fibre in his burning body told him to run to Rist, who had just gotten himself to his feet, but what Aeson said made sense. He had never seen someone handle a sword in the way that Dahlen, Erik, and Aeson could. Maybe his father. The thought put knots in his stomach. Images of Vars’s lifeless body flashed through his mind. Calen pushed them away. “Okay.” Calen sighed and looked back at Dahlen and Rist. Two bodies lay at Dahlen’s feet now, but fresh soldiers replaced them.

“Calen, we can’t just leave him!” shouted Dann. His knuckles were white, wrapped around the grip of his bow.

Calen looked over at Dann, then back at Rist. Aeson sighed and then nodded. Calen let his eyes rest on Dann’s. If they tried to help, they might all get hemmed in. Dahlen and Rist were working their way towards an empty side street.

“We have to, Dann. Aeson is right. Dahlen will look after him. We need to trust them.” Calen saw the struggle in Dann’s face. He and Rist always poked fun at each other, but the three of them were like brothers. No matter how annoying they could be at times, they would all die for each other.

Dann’s gaze fixed on Rist for a second. He had a sword in his hands now, which he must have taken off one of the fallen soldiers. Then Dann looked back at Calen and nodded begrudgingly. They set off in a sprint.

“It’s only a few minutes now,” Erik said. It was obvious he was trying to reassure himself as much as he was Calen and Dann. Calen had forgotten that as close as Rist was to being his brother, Dahlen was actually Erik’s brother. Calen felt a pang of guilt for hesitating when Erik didn’t.

“Here it is,” Erik said as they approached a small building, nestled against the city wall, connected to a large inn on one side and a small alley on the other. A hand-painted sign hung above the front door, which read, ‘Oliver’s Apothecary: Happiness and Health’. They followed Erik around to the side of the apothecary. He crouched down and tilted a half-rotted wooden barrel on its side, revealing a heavy iron key. “Well, good news at last. The key is here,” he said with a half-hearted chuckle.

“You weren’t sure it would be here?” Dann said. “We ran halfway across this city, nearly died more than once, and you weren’t even sure the key would be here?”

Erik shrugged. “We didn’t have many options. I tossed a coin.”

Dann’s eyes widened. “You tossed a fucking coin?”

Erik shrugged again. “Yup.”

Dann’s face twisted in disbelief as he muttered, “A coin… he tossed a fucking coin.”

Calen had to stifle a laugh. The occasion didn’t really call for laughter, but he found that was often when he struggled to suppress it the most. Dann saw it on his face and threw a filthy look in his direction.

Erik slotted the key into the rusty lock on the side door. It took a push to get it into place, but once it was in, it turned with little difficulty. The door drifted inward on its own, revealing a staircase that descended into blackness.

“Well, you all coming?” Erik said, stepping through the doorway. Dann followed Erik down the stairs. His head twisted around, attempting to find some light. Aeson gestured for Calen to go next, then followed, closing the door behind him. It was as black as pitch. Calen had to feel his way down the staircase with his hands, one running along the damp stone wall and the other along the splintered handrail. The heavy smell of mould and rotted wood filled his nostrils.

“So, how do you know about this place?” Dann asked.

“Oliver is a contact of ours. His grandfather built this tunnel a long time ago. He used it