Of Blood And Fire Ryan Cahill (nice books to read .txt) 📖

what it needed to,” Erik replied, with a solemn twist in his lips.

“That it did,” Arthur said, a regretful look in his eyes. “Okay, now that we are all acquainted, why don’t we eat?” Arthur must have read the expression on Calen’s face, changing the conversation in an instant.

Once they were all seated, Arthur called over the same porter who had shown Calen to the hall. “Conal, can you please inform the kitchen that they may send up the food?”

“Yes, my king. I’ll fetch them now.”

“Thank you.”

That was one thing about Arthur that stood out to Calen, the way he acted towards people.

In the villages, the village elders always spoke with an air of superiority – even Erdhardt, whom Calen considered to be a kind and just man. Yet, here they were in the great hall of Belduar, at a table with its king. Not the elder of the village or a local lord, but a king. He did not treat anyone as though they were less. He did not command. He asked. His authority was clear, and he was not weak, but he knew that he did not need to command.

Calen had not met many kings – or any – but something told him that this was a rare quality among those with power.

“Send up the food?” Dann whispered, leaning over into Calen’s ear. “How much more food could there be?”

Just as Calen was about to agree, a stream of serving men and women swept into the hall. Some of them held large silver trays of steaming hot meats, potatoes, and vegetables. Others held jugs of wine and ale. By the time they all left the hall again, there was not so much as an inch of space on the wooden table to be seen through the mass of food and drink.

“Well,” Arthur announced, “do not wait on my account. Eat, eat!”

Calen watched as everyone piled their plates, talking and joking between them. He felt a warm smile sneak its way onto his face. This was the first time in quite a while that they were actually safe.

Maybe he could allow himself some contentment. He wanted to, but it was almost impossible to push the images of blood and death from his mind. It felt strange to not have the familiar weight of his sword hanging at his hip.

Erik must have seen the look on his face. “We have to allow ourselves the small things,” he said with a thin smile.

Calen nodded. Even Valerys was having the time of his life. He sat just behind Calen, tearing into a leg of lamb that Arthur had arranged for him.

“You not going to eat?” Dann raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I am, I am. Sorry, just got lost in thought there for a minute. What’s good?”

CHAPTER 28

Brother

Rist jumped at the knock on the door. He folded over the corner of the page and slipped his book under the covers of his bed. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to hide it. He just did.

There wasn’t much in the room. A small bed with a wooden frame. A desk for reading and writing, adorned with a single candle. Two wooden chairs, a small dresser, and a woollen rug. There were no paintings, decorations, or ornamentations. It was simple. In honesty, he didn’t mind it too much.

The man who had knocked did not wait on an invitation to enter. He never did. He looked middling in his years, with a plain enough face, a strong jawline, and short, cropped black hair. A black robe adorned his shoulders and flowed down over his body. As usual, he carried a covered silver tray with that evening’s dinner.

Roast lamb, by the smell of it.

Rist had been there nearly two weeks, by his count. Every day flowed in much the same way. He woke with the sun to an empty room and a locked door. He ate one meal a day, which was always delivered by the same man. When he needed to wash or relieve himself, he did so under guard. That was it.

“Are you well?” The man’s voice was firmer than Rist had expected. There was an authority to it. He caught Rist off-guard. This was the first time he had spoken. Two weeks. He brought him his dinner every day for two weeks and had never said a word.

“I… I am. Thank you.”

A hint of a smile sat on the man’s face as he lifted the lid from the silver tray, showing two plates of food. Lamb, carrots, potatoes, and a small pitcher of meat gravy. The food had been like this every night. It was better than home. But there had never been two plates.

The man took the plates from the tray and lay them down on the desk, then placed the tray and lid on the floor under the table. He scooped up the pitcher of gravy and bathed his plate in the sweet-smelling brown liquid.

“Gravy?” he asked.

“Em… yes, please.” Rist was still unsure. It could be a trick. He had not been mistreated while he was there, but nor had he been free to leave. Not one person had spoken to him.

Rist had been angry at first, when he woke up. It had done nothing. He was barely even given a second look. So, he decided to try a different tack. A horse often responded better to a carrot than a stick. “Excuse me… Why am I here? Where are my friends?”

The man waved his hand, calling Rist over. “Come and sit. We will talk.”

Rist’s stomach rumbled. It was not like he had many options. He had been trying to get this man to talk for the last couple weeks. Now was his opportunity.

Rist got up from the bed and took the empty chair. The food smelled amazing. He had tried not to eat it the first few days, but they simply replaced the old full plate with a new full plate. Eventually, the hunger became too