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

the horses and let us return to the square. The councils – and everyone else – will be eager to hear what you have told us.”

As the horses approached the tents in the market square, crowds formed around them, eager to hear whispers of what trouble they had run into that caused them to be so late. Calen noticed a few of the other young men that he had seen near the brazier on the first day. By the look in their eyes, they had already started celebrating the conclusion of The Proving.

Erdhardt led the group on horseback through the forming crowds and directly to the feast tent, where they dismounted.

Ferrin Kolm stood guard at the entrance. The warm smile on his freckled face turned to a look of concern as he spotted Calen and the others. Erdhardt called him over as they approached. “Ferrin, please find Iwan Swett, Tarren Netley, and Jon Hildom for me. Ask that they make an audience with the council in this tent before the hour is out.”

“Yes, Master Hammersmith, I will do now.” Ferrin nodded, taking another worried look at Calen and the other boys.

“Thank you, Ferrin. Also, please ask them to bring their sons.”

Ferrin tilted his head as if to question why, but he thought better of it and simply nodded before heading off into the crowd.

Satisfied, Erdhardt turned back towards the group. “Come, boys. Let’s get you some food and water. Vars, would Freis be able to look at Rist’s leg?”

Vars nodded. He paused to give Calen’s arm a gentle squeeze before disappearing in the same direction as Ferrin.

“I think it best we go and let our families know the boys have returned safely. We do not want rumours reaching them first,” Lasch said.

“Aye, you’re right,” Tharn said. “I believe they are over near the campfires, enjoying a song or two. We’d best head over and return swiftly.” With that, the two of them were gone, leaving only Jorvill and Erdhardt to lead the boys into the feast tent.

The tent was massive, easily a hundred feet long and nearly just as wide. It seemed even larger inside than it was outside. The bone-white canvas of the tent was supported along the walls by massive wooden supports, with thick lengths of rope binding everything together in knots and loops. The bulk of the tent was taken up by rows of long wooden tables and benches. Brilliant white sheets were draped across each table, contrasted by rich emerald-green cloths that marked where people should be seated. Regardless of how tough the year had been, no expense was ever spared for The Proving.

According to Jorvill, the feasting had been postponed when the boys never returned that morning. At present, the only occupants of the tent were the villages’ council members, who all sat at a long, elaborately-dressed table at the other end of the massive tent. The table itself had to be about twenty feet long, large enough to fit the councils of all seven villages. They were so engrossed in conversation that they didn’t notice the tent’s new occupants.

“You boys take a seat. We’ll be back in a minute,” Erdhardt said, gesturing for Jorvill to follow. It only took a few minutes before Erdhardt and Jorvill returned, carrying baskets full of bread, cheese, and meat. Three women followed behind them, carrying large tankards of mead and buckets of water. Erdhardt and Jorvill tossed the baskets onto the table. Dann caught a small roll of bread in mid-flight as it bounced free from the impact.

“Well, eat up. You must be starving,” Erdhardt said. He accepted the tankard of mead one of the women offered him. “My thanks, Meera,” he said with a short bow of his head. She gave him a polite smile and returned his nod, then flitted away to carry out what was most likely a hundred other tasks before the feasting began.

They ate in silence, almost choking on their food as they shovelled it into their mouths like hungry dogs. Calen felt a pain in his stomach as he ate, but he couldn’t stop himself from eating more. Food had been scarce on the return journey. They dared not stop too long in any one place for fear of losing too much time, and when they did, they were often too tired to think about much else, other than lying down.

Vars was the first to return, with Freis, Ella, and Faenir in tow. The wolfpine did not stand on ceremony; it dodged past Erdhardt and bounded towards Calen in one massive leap, knocking him clean off his chair. There was a warm rumble in his throat as he nuzzled his nose into Calen’s chest.

“Faenir, get off—” Calen stopped short of finishing his sentence, instead wrapping his arms around Faenir and pulling him in tightly.

“Ahem.”

Calen looked up to see his mother staring back down at him, unimpressed. He shoved Faenir aside, much to the wolfpine’s disagreement. Calen got to his feet, patting down his shirt with his hands as if he would somehow be able to brush away the dirt and blood stains. Freis looked him up and down, horror etched on her face at the sight of him. She pulled him into a fearsome hug. His ribs complained, but Calen didn’t say a word. He just closed his eyes and welcomed the comforting embrace.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Freis said. She pulled out of the hug and gave him a loving smile. Her eye lingered for a moment, betraying a momentary flash of intense sadness. It was one that Calen knew well; the knowledge of loss, and the fear of its return. Puffing out her cheeks, Freis turned to Rist, to examine her new patient. “Now, I hear you got yourself into all manner of trouble out in that forest. Let me take a look.”

Rist protested as Freis fussed over him, examining him from head to toe. She turned back to Calen, her lip turned up in a half-smile. “You