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

and shouts – more for the weaving of the engrossing tale than its conclusion. The dark oak floorboards creaked and groaned as the crowd fervently stomped their feet and clapped their hands. Amidst the celebration, Calen thought he glimpsed an emptiness in Therin’s face, an unequivocal sadness. A moment later, it was gone. He bowed, grasped his mead with one hand, and made his way off the stage, disappearing into the mass of people.

“Well, brother, I think that was his best yet!”

Calen nearly jumped from his seat as a pair of hands clapped down on his shoulders. “Ella, get your hands off me!” he groaned, swatting her away as if trying to bat a fly.

“Get over here,” chuckled Vars. Rising from his seat, he pulled his daughter into a tight embrace.

Both Dann and Rist had made more than a few comments about Ella over the years. Most of it was teasing. They enjoyed winding him up and watching him lose his temper. But at twenty summers, Calen was acutely aware that there were more than a few young men in the villages vying for Ella’s attention. She had the same blue eyes as Freis, and her hair was the same colour their mothers’ must have been when she was younger, a shimmering golden-blonde.

“Come on, Calen. I owe you a drink from the last Moon Market.” Ella tugged at Calen’s hand, dragging him towards the crowded bar. “Your hunt went well?” The crowd seemed to part around her as she glided through the mass of people. Calen followed in her wake, and they managed to arrive at the time-ravaged wooden countertop with surprising ease.

“Yeah, but we found…” Calen’s voice trailed off as he caught a young man staring Ella up and down with a wanton look in his eyes. Calen did not recognise him, but he had the sallow skin and brass nose rings of Salme. Calen glared at him before he turned back to Ella, who had just collected two tankards of mead from Lasch with a grateful smile on her face.

Ella laughed as she noticed Calen’s change in demeanour. She gently placed her hand on his cheek. “A little protective, brother? Don’t you worry. I am well able to take care of myself,” she assured him. “I think you might have someone more interesting to talk to anyway.” Ella nodded over Calen’s shoulder. She pushed both tankards of mead into his open hands, taking advantage of his surprise to slip away into the crowd.

Anya Gritten’s ember-red hair tumbled down over her slight shoulders, highlighting the gleam in her emerald eyes. Just like Calen, Anya had seen nearly eighteen summers. She had a slight, svelte build. Her high cheekbones, dotted with numerous freckles, framed a face that had often left Calen searching for words. He had always had a soft spot for Anya. Maybe a little more than a soft spot.

She waved at him as she approached.

“That was amazing, wasn’t it?” Anya always smelled of sweet flowers; her mother, Verna, was a soap maker as well as a village council member. This night, Anya smelled of cherry blossoms.

Calen wanted to say something witty, but his mind went blank. All he could manage was a muffled “Mm-hmm” as he offered Anya the second tankard that Ella had given him. He made a mental note to thank her later.

“Aw, thanks, Calen,” Anya said, scrunching her shoulders together. “I don’t know what it is about him, but when he tells his stories, they always feel so real. I do hope he comes back soon. My Pa said that he saw Dann, Rist, and you dragging a gigantic stag through the gates earlier. That’s great!”

Calen struggled to suppress a slight swell of pride in his chest. “Well, there was a bit of luck, but—”

Dann came stumbling in on top of them. He wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders, and a gleefully drunk smile spread across his face.

“Are you talking about the stag? Not like Calen had anything to do with that. He couldn’t hit a barn door if—” Dann let out a groan as Calen jammed an elbow into his ribcage. “What? I was just telling Anya—” Another swift elbow to the ribs ensured Dann never finished his sentence.

Anya started laughing. Calen thought he noticed a smile sent in his direction, although that was interrupted by Dann losing strength in his legs and nearly taking Calen with him. Calen grabbed tightly onto Dann’s hip, righting him as best he could.

“I think it’s probably best if I get this idiot home,” Calen said, apologising with his eyes.

“Hey—” Dann let out a loud hiccup. “Don’t you call me an idiot.”

Calen said his goodbyes to Anya, then found Vars and Rist to let them know that he was bringing Dann home. He made his way out of the inn with Dann wrapped around his shoulder, using him as a walking stick. “You have terrible timing, you know that?”

Dann didn’t even look at Calen. Not that it would have mattered if he did; his eyes were barely open. With a hiccup, he drew his mouth up into a dopey grin.

Calen couldn’t help but laugh. “Just try not to fall over, yeah?”

The streets of The Glade were dimly lit by the gentle glow of candle lights emanating from the windows of the surrounding homes. Celebrations from the Moon Market had died down a bit, although the hum of nearby music and drinking could be heard from within The Gilded Dragon and from the campfires of the travelling merchants who had set up at the edge of the village.

As he glanced upward, Calen caught sight of the full moon resting in the darkness. Its pearlescent hue gave the sky an ethereal look.

Something heavy crashed into Calen’s side, sending him and Dann spiralling to the ground. Calen’s back ached as he pushed himself to his knees. He tried to shake the dizziness out of his head.

“So, you two little shits think you’re funny, do you?” Calen recognised Fritz’s voice