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

much. If they wanted him dead, they could have done so with ease. There was no need to poison him.

He looked up at the man, who chewed away on a piece of lamb. There was nothing about his face that would make him stand out. With an inward sigh, Rist took up the cutlery that the man had set out beside the plate and joined him in eating dinner. It tasted as good as it smelled.

“You are in Al’Nasla,” the man said out of nowhere, as if they had been in a free-flowing conversation. “The embassy of the Circle of Magii in the palace, to be exact.”

Rist’s fork dropped to the ground, clinking off the silver tray below the table. “I’m… I’m in Loria?” His mind raced a hundred miles a minute. “I can’t be… How is that even possible? I was in Midhaven, in Illyanara. How did I get to the North?”

Rist stopped. He needed to collect himself. He had no idea why this man had finally started talking, or if he would ever talk again. He needed to be smart and ask the right questions. “Who are you? why am I here?”

The man chewed his food meticulously, swallowing before he answered. “You may call me Garramon. I am your… guide.” The man pondered for a moment. “You are here because we found you on the side of the road just outside Al’Nasla. I do not know how you got there, nor did I care. You were filthy and half-starved to death. We took you in.”

Rist raised one eyebrow. “Took me in? Took me captive, more like. I am locked in this room, unable to leave unless I am under guard, and even then, only to bathe and relieve myself. That sounds like a captive to me.”

How did I get to the North? Calm down. Focus. Breathe.

Rist struggled to think. He tried to remember what happened, but the only thing he could remember was fighting in the streets of Midhaven, and Dahlen carrying him. Then everything went black.

“Captive? You are fed, are you not? Clothed? Have you been harmed?” Garramon did not wait for an answer. The begrudged look on Rist’s face was enough. “Well, I have given you my name. It is only fair that you do the same in return.”

Rist had not realised that the man would not know his name. “My name is Rist Havel.”

“It is nice to meet you.” Garramon swallowed another piece of meat, washed down with gravy. “Rist, there is a reason you are here and not in a tavern somewhere, and I think you might know what that reason is. It is the same reason that you have not been allowed to roam the grounds freely. And for all I know, it is the same reason that you ended up on the side of the road.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rist’s back stiffened. He couldn’t know.

Garramon sighed through his nose as he finished his mouthful. He wiped his knife and fork with a cloth that he produced from inside his cloak, then set them down on the desk beside the plate.

“You are among friends,” he said after a long moment of silence. Garramon turned his gaze to the candle on the desk and twisted his hand upward in the air, ending with a flick. The wick on the candle burst into life with a flame that flickered back and forth.

“You…”

A satisfied smile flitted across Garramon’s face. “Yes, me. You are no longer alone, Rist. We had to keep you under lock and guard. A fledgling mage can be a danger to both himself and those around him when he is untrained. We needed to watch you. And we did not know you enough to trust you. Surely, you understand?”

Rist’s pulse quickened. This was not how he had expected this day to go.

A fledgling mage.

“I… I think I do…”

“Good.” Garramon clasped his hands together and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. “Rist, I want to teach you to use your gifts. To not fear them, but to embrace them. To not let the fear in the hearts of others stop you from being who you were destined to be. We must never dim our light so that others may shine.”

Rist felt a sense of warmth flowing through him. It was as if Garramon’s words were the remedy to something that he didn’t know was ailing him. “Yes. I would like that very much. Truly, I would.”

“Fantastic!” said Garramon. He clapped his hands together as he rose to his feet. “We will start tomorrow. I will send for you at first light.” Garramon turned towards the door. “And from now on, please, call me Brother Garramon.”

“Yes, Brother Garramon,” Rist said, a touch of hesitancy in his voice. “Brother Garramon?”

“Yes, initiate. What is it?”

A lump formed in Rist’s throat. He held his breath for a moment. “My friends… my family. They will be looking for me. I need to see them or contact them. Let them know I am okay.”

The mage stood in the doorway for a moment, considering. “I will have someone drop a pen, ink, and some parchment to you this evening. If you write them, we can dispatch hawks.”

“Thank you, Brother Garramon.”

The morning after the feast, Ihvon brought Calen and Aeson to speak with the dwarven emissary in Belduar. With the Lorian blockade only a few days’ march from the city, a meeting with the Dwarven Freehold was to be held as soon as possible. Arthur had asked Calen if he would be part of the embassy. It was the least Calen could do, considering Arthur had welcomed them into his home.

Calen was not sure what he was expecting, but he was most definitely surprised to find that Oleg Marylin was, in fact, a human, and not a dwarf at all. He was a heavy-set man, with a bit of a belly, a bald head, and a short beard.

“Not at