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

“Oh, I know of him. He’s a fine man.” Elena paused, a smile curling at the edge of her mouth. “Your mother is a lucky woman,” she chirped, and then she was gone.

“Well, she’s just a big ball of excitement, isn’t she?” Dann said, finally sitting still on the mattress.

“I think she’s quite lovely.” Rist pulled his coat tighter around himself, puffing his cheeks out. “Although, she could do with lighting a fire in this place.”

Calen laughed to himself as he checked his pockets for his purse. A light jingling noise disclosed its location. He didn’t think he’d ever seen as much coin in his life; he still didn’t feel comfortable carrying it around. He had offered it to his parents the morning after the feast, but they had seemed almost offended. Vars just turned and walked out of the room. “Okay, shall we go to the markets? We can wander around and then meet up back here before sunset?”

The sun sank down over the docks as Calen placed an intricately woven silk scarf into his coat pocket, paying careful attention not to crease or mark it. It was a beautiful autumn red, with vines of gold and cream woven through it in the pattern of leaves blowing through the wind. His mother would love it.

He thanked the merchant and started off towards The Two Barges. He raised his hand to his forehead, protecting his eyes from the twilight glow piercing over the rooftops.

The liveliness of the town did not die down with the setting sun. Instead, it transitioned seamlessly from bustling market centre into a hub of nightlife and revelry. In the docks, the sailors gathered in sunken pits of sand, crowded in around braziers. They emptied casks of ale into their tankards as they exchanged adventure stories at the top of their lungs.

“Sunk the ship, so they did,” one of the sailors said in a whispered voice, that may as well have been a shout. “Dremin said they ‘ad a mage aboard. He tore it apart with magic, so ‘e did. But the ones they were after got away. That’s why they’re ‘ere!”

The other sailors leaned in close, their eyes wide open as they drank in the story. Calen couldn’t help but perk his ears as he walked by. Sailors were known for their wildly ridiculous stories. Not much else to do at sea, Calen supposed, but the mention of the word “magic” always caught his interest.

“Ensure the boat is moored securely before you begin your patrol. We are not in southern lands to be marooned here. Go, and report back to me before you set off.” The commanding voice boomed through the docks. It came from a man with mid-length black hair and a tightly cropped beard. He wore a battle-worn steel breastplate bearing the sigil of a roaring black lion across its width. A long coat of mail dropped down to his knees. A deep red hooded cloak was draped around his shoulders, flapping in the wind. He addressed twenty or so men who were garbed in much the same way, except they did not wear a cloak. Another man stood behind the commander, his black cloak billowing in the wind as he stared off into the distance.

They stood on the deck of a large, broad warship that appeared to have only recently arrived in the docks. Three masts protruded from the deck of the ship, jutting up into the sky, each rigged with cream-white sails. The same roaring jet-black lion on the man’s breastplate was emblazoned on the middle, largest sail. The Black Lion of Loria. What are imperial soldiers doing in Milltown? Calen slowed his pace. The dim moonlight caused him to squint as he tried to get a better look at the group of soldiers.

There were old wives’ tales that the imperial Inquisitors snuck around at night and stole children that misbehaved. His mother had often scared him witless with those stories. But Lorian soldiers were rarely seen in the villages, not in the hundred years since the Valtaran uprising. There was just no need for them to venture out that far. When they came south, it was usually a show of force to the high lords, or to accompany the emissaries.

Travelling from the North to the South of the continent, or back the other way, was difficult since the fall of The Order. The continent was split in half by the Burnt Lands and the Darkwood. Those who survived the vast wastelands in the centre of Epheria were then faced with journeying through the cursed woodland. Calen had heard more than a few stories of doomed adventurers who tried to make that journey. Nobody who ventured into the Darkwood ever came out the other side.

This made voyage by boat the only viable option for those who wished to go from the North to the South of the continent. For that reason, the Lorian Empire seemed content to let the Southern lords of Epheria argue amongst themselves with minimal supervision, only intervening when things did not go the way the empire wished.

Calen was pulled out of his thoughts when he noticed that the man in the black cape now stood at the siderail of the ship, staring across the docks – directly at him. It was a cold unblinking stare.

Calen averted his gaze as quickly as he could, nearly tripping over a wooden crate as he darted for the nearest side street connected to the docks. His heart beat out of his chest, and he cursed himself for being so stupid. Soldiers of the empire were not known for their patience or their good will, and that was not something he wanted to test. They were none of his business.

He picked up his pace, moving as fast as he could without attracting any undue attention. He weaved his way through the streets, taking as many turns as possible without losing his way, eventually finding himself at the