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

the soldiers stepped from his column and strode over to the doors. “Open the gates!” he bellowed. “Queen Kira has returned.” Without waiting for a response, he fell back into his column. A stiff creak rumbled through the air as the doors crept open, struggling under their own weight. The doors gave way to a courtyard. It was at least the match of the inner circle in Belduar, except this one was surrounded by buildings. Each was carved from slabs of smooth stone, gilt lacing their edges.

The entrance to the courtyard was framed by a colonnade of pedestals, with one of those strange lanterns placed on top of each one. It was only then that Calen realised the lanterns around the city did not contain candles, but flowers. Inside each lantern were bunches of small flowers, the petals of which glowed with a vivid, bluish-green light.

“Heraya’s Ward,” the Queen of Azmar, Pulroan, said as she stood beside Calen, a warm smile touching her weary face. “The gods’ gift of light in the darkest of places. Little natural light touches the heart of mountains, and although the Wind Tunnels provide air flow, we must reserve open flames for the kitchens and the forges.”

“The entire city is lit by—”

“Yes, my child, by flowers. I quite enjoy the notion of it.” Before Calen could respond, Pulroan pottered on, joining the other dwarven rulers at the front of the group.

In the very centre of the yard stood a fountain, with a statue of a woman in a long flowing robe, with a circlet atop her head. The woman held a small jug, from which the water flowed. Calen recognised the statue of Heraya – the Mother, the Waters of Life flowing from her jug.

Kira turned to the procession. “The Heart of Durakdur.”

The Heart was a city all on its own. On the far side of the square, an armourer hammered away at a piece of mail. The orange glow from the forge behind him cast an enmity against the bluish-green glow of the lanterns. Beside the armourer was a fruit seller. The colours and shapes of her fruit put even Arthur’s feast to shame. They gleamed in vivid oranges, ocean blues, and one of the oblong fruits was even purple. Servants and officials darted around, dressed in crimson and gold livery carrying silks, scrolls, jewellery, and a wide assortment of other trinkets.

“Captain,” Kira said, addressing the armoured dwarf who had ordered the doors open, “please disperse the guard. May your fire never be extinguished and your blade never dull.”

“At once, my Queen,” the soldier replied, mimicking the salutation.

The sound of so many heavily armoured men moving in unison filled the chamber until they moved far enough away that it was only a faint murmur in the background.

“Please, let us continue. The council chamber is just this way.” Kira led the group through the many streets and squares of the Heart. She stopped, passing servants in their livery, doling out instructions wherever she went. It seemed to Calen that she was the unofficial leader of the council – or, at the least, she thought herself to be.

Unlike Arthur, she carried herself in the way that Calen had expected of a monarch. Her shoulders were thrown back, and her chin was just a touch higher in the air than anybody else’s. Even for one of such a short stature, she managed to make her strides long and purposeful.

As they made their way through the city within a city, Calen noticed that it wasn’t just dwarves that resided within Durakdur; there were elves and humans as well. Though there were not many, there were enough to be noticeable. It was not something that Therin had mentioned.

“Mages,” Aeson replied when Calen asked who the men and elves were. “Far more than all other cultures, dwarves value magic above most other things. They cannot touch the Spark themselves, for reasons unknown to even the most voracious of scholars. Despite this, the dwarves have always embraced magic wholeheartedly. I suppose it is their way. They see the value of things, big and small. Mages are held in high esteem here in the Freehold and in dwarven cities beyond. It is where a lot of young mages come when they are shunned by the world or on the run from the empire. If they are lucky.”

Perhaps it was because, up until a few weeks ago, Therin was the only elf Calen had ever met – well, the only non-human Calen had ever met – but to see so many different races in one place seemed odd to him.

Calen had been so engrossed by what was going on around him, he only just realised that everyone they passed in the street stared at them. Not in the way you would expect people to stop and watch a foreign delegation or to admire their queen; they openly gawked, with wide-open mouths and eyes that looked as though they may pop from their heads.

A shriek, growing closer to a deep growl, reminded Calen what they were gawking at. Even there – miles inside a mountain city, surrounded by dwarves, elves, mages, and a particularly hulking giant – Valerys stood apart. They had seen giants before. At least, they had seen Asius. Magic was in their every day. All the things that overawed Calen were normalities to them. Yet, they had never seen a dragon. Calen had to conceal a smile when Valerys shrieked sharply at a dwarf whose eyes had lingered just a touch too long.

It did not take long before they found themselves in front of a large stone building, with a domed roof, set into a sweeping rock face. The building itself stood over fifty feet tall, nearly two hundred feet across, and was cut from smooth grey stone. Two giant square doors, that looked as though they were cast in solid gold, were set into the front of the building. Halfway up the building, on either side of the doors, were