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

Dahlen dipped his arm under Rist’s and wrapped it around his back, heaving him to his feet. Dahlen’s entire body groaned in pain. The shift in balance almost sent them both crashing down onto the cobblestones. Dahlen attempted to keep Rist’s dead weight upright. His knees ached with the strain. The last few days were catching up on him. He needed to sleep.

“Come on, Rist. We’re not far.” Dahlen sighed heavily as he struggled to push one foot in front of the other. “There’s more than one tunnel out of this city.” Dahlen muttered to himself.

He grimaced as he tossed his shoulders, shifting Rist’s weight to a more comfortable position. It could be worse. At least his feet are moving on their own.

He was fairly sure they were going the right way, but it was hard to tell. He had never actually been through the tunnel under the Blind Goat before. His father had only ever let them use the tunnel under Oliver’s, but the other routes out of the city were most likely guarded, so that was their best bet. Letting out a slight groan, he tossed his shoulders again. His legs were beginning to fold, and Rist wasn’t getting any lighter.

A slight breeze whistled through the empty streets as the pair hobbled along. Rist was barely conscious. The pale wash of moonlight caused the long, cobbled streets to blend in with the grey stone walls of the buildings on either side. The reverberation of their footsteps echoed after each step, sending a slight shiver up Dahlen’s spine.

He turned to look over his shoulder every few seconds, checking down side streets and stairways. It was too quiet for his liking, far quieter than it should have been considering the commotion they had made. The city should have been ablaze with activity, but it wasn’t. There was almost no noise at all. He pushed through the aching pain, picking up his pace.

The Blind Goat wasn’t far away now. Just a few more minutes.

“How noble of you,” a harsh, gravelly voice echoed.

Dahlen stopped in his tracks. The momentum of Rist’s limp body nearly toppled them both. Dahlen twisted around to find the source of the voice. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“What do I do with you, child? You do not have what I came for, but the one you carry is… interesting.” The voice trailed off, hissing like a snake.

“Who are you?” Dahlen shouted, panic etching its way into his voice. It seemed as if the night had become darker. The light ebbed from the edge of his vision. He immediately looked towards the sky, but he saw the moon as clear as day. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

“I will make you a deal.” The voice now came from behind him. He turned as swiftly as his body would allow.

A man stood in the middle of the street, only a couple of feet away. At least, Dahlen thought it was a man. He looked around six feet tall, with an average build, although it was hard to tell with his body covered in that black hooded robe. The robe seemed darker than the depths of any shadow, almost as if it pulled the light out of the air. In a stark contrast to the light-drinking black, the robe was detailed with swirling brush strokes of vivid blue. Dahlen’s eyes strained the longer he focused on it, a sickly feeling bubbling in his stomach.

The man’s face would have looked as ordinary as any, were it not that his skin was almost translucent, like a thin sheet of parchment stretched over a candle. His lips were thin and brittle, the usual red supplanted by an icy blue. Dahlen let out an audible gasp when his gaze settled on the man’s eyes. They were as black as tar. Dahlen felt that if he were to stare at them for long, they might pull his soul straight out of his body.

The man’s needle-thin lips began to move. “Well, if you’re quite done staring?”

Dahlen’s voice was caught in his throat.

“I will make you a deal, child. For this world can be terribly tedious if you follow the rules.” His attenuated lips twisted into something resembling a grin. “Give me the boy. I will take care of him, and you can just go on your way. It is as simple as relieving yourself of a burden.”

It took a second to register exactly what the man had said. Give him Rist? Dahlen barely knew Rist. He had only met him a few days ago, but to abandon him? That was not in his blood. There was also not a doubt in Dahlen’s mind that whatever this man would do to Rist, he would not take care of him.

Dahlen steeled himself, fighting the knot in his stomach, and forced his mouth to obey him. “I can’t do that,” he said with a lot more strength than he felt.

The man laughed. At least, Dahlen thought it was a laugh. It was similar to the rumbling noise that a wolf makes when threatened. “You know, I hoped that would be your answer. The hard way is invariably more entertaining.” Without warning, the man swung his hand in an arc. An invisible force crashed into Dahlen from head to toe. It knocked the air from his lungs and sent him crashing into a stack of wooden crates. His head spun. He didn’t think there was a single part of his body that wasn’t in pain. He pushed himself to his knees, panting.

The hooded man’s footsteps echoed through the streets. Dahlen followed the sound to see the man standing over Rist’s prone body, his robe flowing in the breeze.

Dahlen reached over his shoulder, feeling relief when his hand tightened around the grip of his sword. He was worried he might have lost them when he was knocked through the air. He was