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

“Altwied blood? I’ve heard that stuff can do miracles. Pity it’s illegal.”

“It can. With just a few drops, I’ve seen men survive injuries they had no right to survive.”

Calen’s mother had mentioned Altwied blood before. Petals from the Altwied flower, ground up and mixed with water. The empire outright banned it in the South. Calen had heard rumours from travellers that this was not the case in the North.

“Dad, could you give us some light?”

Give us some light?

Calen heard a hesitant grunt from Aeson.

“I think we’re past the point of secrets, Dad, and I don’t want to trip over something in this dank tunnel. We have a ways to walk.”

Aeson replied with another grunt.

“How do you expect him to—”

Dann’s words were cut short. Tiny fragments of light appeared in front of Aeson, coalescing into a small orb. It floated in the air, illuminating the tunnel with a clear white light.

“What in the name of The Mother and The Father is that?” Dann yelped, pushing his back up against the moss-covered stone wall of the tunnel.

“Calm yourself, boy,” Aeson said. There was no patience in his voice. “It is a baldír. We don’t really have time for questions about it now. Ask your questions once we’ve safely made it to The Wilted Leaf. For now, just accept it. We have about another twenty minutes of walking before we get to the hatch at the other side.”

Calen had a hundred questions that each led to a hundred more. He suppressed them. Dann opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. Calen saw it in his eyes; his mind was doing cartwheels. Calen’s mind was doing the same.

Magic? Actual magic? For some reason, it seemed almost acceptable that a giant could use magic. But not a man.

Now that there was light, Calen could see that the tunnel was barely three feet wide at any point. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years. Moss coated the walls, with a stone poking through here and there. The wooden support beams looked as if they would collapse any second from rot. The ground was soft and pliable; his boot sank in with every step.

They walked in silence for what felt like hours. The only noises came from the squelching of the soft mud below their feet and the squeaky chattering of rats, barely aware of the intruders in their tunnel. An abrupt loss of light signified the end of the tunnel, as the orb disappeared. It was quickly replaced by a sliver of moonlight, which flowed in from the gap in the hatch that Erik had just pushed open.

“There’re no stairs here. We’ll have to pull ourselves up,” Erik whispered. A loud puff of air let Calen know that Erik had just followed his own instructions.

Calen felt a slight flash of relief when he pulled himself up and out of the tunnel. It was nice to have enough space to reach out his arms and stretch his legs. He was happy that the light came from the sky and not a small floating orb.

“Come on, this isn’t the time to stop. We need to make it to The Wilted Leaf. Therin will be waiting for us there, and that’s where the others will be heading.”

“The others?”

Everyone’s head swung around to see Therin slumped on his horse about twenty feet away. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and he looked as though he was about to fall from the saddle.

Dahlen swung one blade overhead and blocked the downward strike from the soldier, then plunged his second blade straight through the man’s belly. One more for the gods.

Ignoring the aches in his shoulders and back, he looked over at Rist. The boy wasn’t as useless as he had initially thought. Two bodies lay at his feet, and he was holding his own against the third. He looked tired, though – far more tired than Dahlen would have expected. His shoulders drooped from the unfamiliar weight of the blade, his steps were laboured, and his eyes looked glassy. He wasn’t going to last long.

A ferocious shout came from Dahlen’s left. He side-stepped the incoming strike by the skin of his teeth. As he did, he stuck his foot out, sending the soldier barrelling down the cobblestone staircase to the left. He wouldn’t be getting up from that for a while.

Without hesitation, Dahlen lunged at the man who was attacking Rist.

Leaning in with his shoulder, he hit the man hard in the ribs, sending him crashing into the stone wall at his back. Dahlen followed through with his sword, up through the jaw. The man slumped, sliding down the wall like a snail.

Dahlen paused for a moment to catch his breath. “Are you okay?” he asked Rist, trying to fill his lungs with air. That tackle hit him almost as hard as it did the soldier. Rist’s eyes looked heavy. He fell to his knees, letting his sword fall. The clanging of metal on stone rang out through the now eerily silent street.

“Whoa!” Dahlen’s muscles screamed in protest as he leapt to support Rist’s slumping shoulders. “Rist, look at me. Are you okay?” Dahlen checked Rist’s body for wounds. Confusion set in when he could not find any. “Are you hurt?”

“I… I’m okay. I just feel so weak. I can’t control it.” Rist could hardly catch his breath. There were dark circles under his eyes, and Dahlen would swear to the gods that he looked fifty shades paler than he did before.

“Can’t control what?” Dahlen asked. His breath was starting to return, but with it, stiffness began to set into his joints. He couldn’t wait for the response. They needed to move; he could hear the shouts getting closer. “Can you walk?”

Rist didn’t respond. He stared off into the distance, his eyelids drooping and his mouth agape. Dahlen was certain that if he let go of his shoulders, Rist would collapse. His eyes were open, but he