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

magical abilities far surpassed his peers’, but it was not enough. Fane was enamoured with the Doom at Haedr. The sheer power required to cause such an atrocity was almost romantic in his unique mind. This kind of power was everything his wildest dreams had imagined, but he did not know—” Therin’s words dropped to a captivating whisper. “He did not know the poison that is blood magic.”

Gasps of shock and muffled whispers followed as people searched the room for the presence of empire soldiers, as if the simple utterance of the words “blood magic” could summon them through walls.

“Hush!” Therin boomed, his voice like unbottled thunder. An absolute silence fell across the room. Nothing could be heard but the beating of hearts and hushed breathing. Therin folded his arms, a look of disdain in his eyes. “In his relentless, unwavering search for power, Fane heard whispers of a shaman that resided in the mountains of Mar Dorul, revered among Uraks for his knowledge and skill with blood magic.

“The journey from Ilnaen to Mar Dorul took only a few weeks, but Mar Dorul is a vast landscape, devoid of life and leaf. Its ominous peaks, as ridged as a dragon’s back, seem to pierce the sky itself. It could have taken years to search, but to Fane’s surprise, the shaman was waiting for him in plain sight, where the Naiwell Woods met the snaking legs of the mountains. Nobody truly knows what happened on that mountain, but Fane left Mar Dorul that day a different man than when he entered.

“Upon his return to Ilnaen, he spent two years spreading the seed of corruption within The Order, meticulously selecting those he considered weak of mind. He whispered in their ears, promising them their deepest desires, preying on their darkest fears. His serpentine words of power and glory twisted their minds and bent their will. Men, elves, and even giants succumbed to his malevolent manipulations.” Therin’s voice dropped to a melancholy requiem. “Most fatally, however, he wormed his way into the minds of many Draleid. He told of how The Order was corrupt and how it needed to be destroyed from the ground up and reformed. He picked at their minds, planting the seeds of betrayal.”

Calen thought he saw a fire begin to burn in Therin’s almond eyes.

“Among the Draleid that turned to support Fane’s cause was one of the most powerful in The Order: an elf by the name of Eltoar Daethana. He was the first sword of Alvira Serris and bonded to the largest dragon in all of Epheria: Helios.” Therin stood from his stool, his mouth set in a hard line and a longing in his eyes.

“It was the year 2682, after Doom, on the eve of the Winter Solstice, when Fane’s plans were set in motion. Once he gave the orders, his followers silently murdered the guards on duty at the castle walls. They moved with ruthless efficiency, using knives and magic to quietly send the guards into the void. As planned, when the Blood Moon was at its highest point in the sky, the traitors opened the gates of Ilnaen. Urak war horns were heard for miles. Under cover of night, nearly a hundred thousand had gathered close to Ilnaen. Never before had a single force of Uraks so large been assembled.”

The room was consumed by silence. Not a whisper was heard while Therin wove his engrossing tale.

“The Order never stood a chance. Betrayed from within and surrounded on all sides, they were butchered as they slept. The Draleid and their dragons were slain in the ensuing chaos. Alvira was betrayed and murdered by Eltoar, one of her closest friends, who was twisted by the deceitful machinations of Fane’s lies.” Therin’s voice caught in his throat as pain cut its way through his face.

“Fane stood atop what is now known as the Dead Tower, surveying the madness he created. He watched the city smoulder from a safe distance. And from his perch, Fane sent a message to all those still loyal to The Order. With the twisted, dark magic behind him, he unleashed a magical detonation of fire and wind that eclipsed even the Doom at Haedr. The flames engulfed Ilnaen in seconds, spreading to the foothills of the Lodhar Mountains in the west, and Mar Dorul in the east. They raged for days, fuelled by the power of blood magic. Whatever deal Fane had made with the Urak shamans did not protect them; their usefulness had ended. When the flames finally died out, all that was left was stone and ash.”

The absence of sound in the room filled Calen’s ears.

“Fane returned to Al’Nasla and assumed power over the Lorian Kingdom. King Eric was burned alive by Helios as Fane took his place on the throne. Eric was a conspirator in The Order's tyranny, or so proclaimed Fane. Over the ensuing months, Fane and his followers rooted out and eliminated those who remained loyal to The Order. The temple at Dracaldryr was laid waste, as was the giant city of Ölmur. Nearly all the dragon eggs perished in the carnage, and those that survived were hoarded away in the vaults of Al’Nasla. Not one has hatched to this day.

“The Order had fallen; Ilnaen, Dracaldryr, and Ölmur were nothing but rubble. Fane laid waste to elven and giant cities across the length and breadth of Epheria. Though, he dared not attack the elves in Eselthyr or Caelduin. He knew the forest of Lynalion was laced with wards and traps, laid over a millennium, but he also knew that he need not fear them. Their fabled protectors – the Draleid – were dead, their dragons slain, and their power broken. The elves would not dare emerge from Lynalion, not in force. They could not face the might of the newly formed Lorian Empire. The giants were all but eradicated, and the dwarves burrowed themselves in their mountain kingdoms. He had won.”

The room erupted in a thunderous cacophony of cheers