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

Darda Vastion was an abrupt man, not impolite but without any time for dawdling. It took less than ten minutes from him answering the door for the entire cart to be unloaded and double-checked for anything left behind.

“Thank you very much, young Master Bryer. Tell your father I send my thanks. His delivery is as high-quality as ever,” Darda said as he shook Calen’s hand.

“I will, of course,” Calen replied with a smile.

“Oh, and young Master Bryer, congratulations on The Hunt. You both as well,” Darda said with a shallow bow towards Dann and Rist, who were sitting up on the cart. Before any of them could reply, he was back inside his shop with the door closed. The lock clicked into place before a “thank you” could escape Calen’s lips.

“Strange man.” Dann’s eyes were still fixed on the rear door to Darda’s shop.

“Agreed,” Rist said.

Calen leapt up into the front of the cart and shoved Dann aside, despite his protests. He grabbed the reins with both hands and ushered Drifter onward into a slow walk.

“Looking for a room, young sirs?” enquired a fair-haired man in a long blue coat as they drew the cart into the stable yard of The Two Barges. He was in his mid-thirties, his face dotted with freckles, with a crease at the corner of his mouth that showed when he smiled.

“Aye,” Calen replied.

The group dismounted to greet the man, then retrieved their bags from the back of the cart.

“Happy to hear. Barret, see that the horse is fed and watered and the cart secured,” he barked at a young boy, no more than fourteen summers. The boy nodded and set about his business, guiding Drifter over towards the blocks. “Well met, my name is Gawain, and I am the stablemaster here. Shall I take you inside to the mistress of the house? She can see to it that your rooms are arranged.”

Calen nodded, shaking the man’s hand with a firm grip. Calen couldn’t help but think that Gawain was altogether too formal for his station. His back was stiff, and his nose was ever so slightly tilted into the air. His long blue coat was crisp, not a crease in sight. His shirt was the same, firmly tucked into the waist of his plain brown trousers.

The man led them through a short entrance corridor. A small woman, no larger than five feet tall, met them as they entered the common room.

“Afternoon,” she chirped, a welcoming smile spread across her youthful face. She wore a long blue dress with white frills at the end and a white apron draped over her front. Her long braided hair was a deep brown, tied at the end with a white bow. She was quite pretty and looked a lot younger than Calen had expected, not even thirty summers.

“I am Elena, mistress of The Two Barges inn. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance. I see you have met Gawain already. We have a lovely room available upstairs with three beds, if that takes your fancy?”

“Aye, that would be perfect,” Rist said.

Elena nodded, her smile never leaving her face. “Please follow me this way, and I will show you to your room. It will be five coppers a night each if that does suit you?” she said, speaking half over her shoulder as she led them through the lounge and around to the base of the stairs. A quick nod of her head let Gawain know that his presence was no longer required, and he strolled back through the entrance corridor without a word.

“That sounds fine. We’ll only be staying one night,” Calen said. He cast his eyes around the room. The inn seemed well-kept. The common room was large, with big round tables taking up most of the floor space. The long oak bar was set across the wall to the left of the door Calen had just walked through. It was clean, and the air was warm with the aroma of freshly cooked food – beef stew, if his nose was right.

Being so early in the day, not many people idled around. A group of four hard-looking men sat at a table on the other side of the room, talking away about some troubles out at sea. Something to do with the empire. Calen couldn’t help but lean in to catch more of the conversation. But Elena shuffled them up the stairs before he could hear anything. She led them down a long tidy hallway, stopping at the room second from the end. Mistress Elena promptly opened the door and stepped inside, beckoning for Calen, Dann, and Rist to follow. “Come on now. Don’t be shy. There are three beds here that I think should do you just fine. The washroom is back down the hallway – last door on the right.”

The room was simple and homely, if not a touch small. A window was set into the back wall, where three single beds were lined next to each other, with just enough space between them for one person to stand. A small chair and desk sat in the right-hand corner of the room closest to the door. There was only just enough space for someone to lean back in the chair without bumping off the end of the closest bed. Still, it would do perfectly.

Calen tossed his bag down on the bed at the far left, while Dann jumped onto the bed opposite him, bouncing up and down.

“Will you be eating right away?” Elena asked, her hand lingering on the door frame.

“No, thank you, Mistress Elena,” Calen said. “I think we are going to look around the markets. My father tells me that supper here is lovely though. We will be back by dark.”

Elena’s eyes lit up, and her eyebrows peaked in interest. “Oh, who might your father be?”

“Vars Bryer, Mistress. He’s the blacksmith of The Glade,” Calen replied as he searched through his