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

“Sure, why not?” Calen took the axe from Alleron. He felt its weight, trying to gauge its balance. “How does it work?”

Alleron put his hand around Calen’s shoulder and turned him towards the makeshift target on the wall. “If you land the axe between the outer ring and the next ring inwards, that’s one point. Two points for the next ring, and so on. Five points if you land it in the centre, like your friend did. Easy.” He smirked at Dann, who laughed it off and took a mouthful of mead.

“Okay.” Calen gripped the axe, tossing the weight about in his hand. “Hopefully, I’m better with this than I am with a bow. Where do I stand?”

“Over here, behind this mark on the floor,” Alleron responded. He pointed to an etched line in the floorboards about two feet behind Calen, drawing a frown from the passing mistress Elena. Calen had a feeling that line was a recent addition to the inn’s floorboards, courtesy of his new friends.

The group was quiet as Calen stepped behind the line and touched the tip of his left foot right up to its edge. He was going to need all the help he could get.

It was hard to focus with the background noise of the inn droning away in his ear. The click-clack of dice as they bounced off tables. The clinking of tankards as they cracked off each other. The shouts and roars of the drunken townspeople who were drowning the tiredness of a day’s work in a bellyful of mead. Whatever pain that bard was inflicting on that poor lute. It seemed like it was getting louder and louder as the seconds passed, like the crow of a rooster in the morning.

“Well, come on then, Calen. You waiting on the damned sun to rise?” Dann mocked. The rest of the group laughed along with him.

Calen threw Dann a dirty look and then tensed his grip on the axe, his knuckles turning a pale white. He pulled his shoulder back and lifted the axe up over his head. Throwing all his strength forward, he launched the axe at the target.

It seemed to move in slow motion as it twirled through the air. A metallic ringing noise reverberated in Calen’s ears as it did. After what felt like an eternity, the axe head buried itself in the target, just outside the outermost ring. Calen’s chest sank.

Above all the noise, he heard Dann cackling. “Well, look on the bright side. At least you are better with an axe than you are with a bow. I’ve never seen him hit a target with a bow before,” he said to the group, struggling to keep upright from the laughter.

Calen felt a fire burning in the pit of his stomach. A hand landed softly on his shoulder. “Take a minute. Breathe in and hold it. Don’t let the air escape until the exact moment you release the axe and don’t let your hand drop after you’ve thrown it. It will drag the axe off course.” Alleron gave him a reassuring smile and handed him another axe.

Calen nodded. He took the axe from Alleron and set his feet behind the line once more. He took a deep breath in and let his muscles loosen.

“Four coppers, he hits dead centre,” he heard Alleron say.

“Oh, I’ll take that bet. I’ll never say no to a free drink,” Dann said, raising his tankard in the air. Calen didn’t wait for Dann to say anything else. He launched the axe through the air, leaving his hand hanging there after he released it, just as Alleron had said. He closed his eyes just as he threw it. Please, please let Dann lose this bet.

The group erupted in a frenzy of raucous cheers that drowned out all sound from the rest of the inn. Calen felt his heart beating. His nerves pricked at the inside of his stomach like small needles. He peeled open one eye, too nervous to look with both.

The head of the axe was nestled firmly in the centre circle, the handle suspended in mid-air. A surge of energy seared through his body. An unintelligible roar left his throat as he jumped up into the air. He turned to see a despondent look on Dann’s face as he stared in disbelief at the axe.

Alleron thrust a tankard of mead into Calen’s hand. “For The Warrior! For Achyron!” he shouted.

“For The Warrior!” came Calen’s elated response. They both drained their tankards down to the last drop.

“I knew you had it in you,” Alleron said, beaming. “Though, next time, try keeping your eyes open.” With a wink, he turned and strode over to Dann to collect his winnings. The rest of the group congratulated Calen the same way Alleron did.

“Not bad,” Dann said when Calen walked over to where he stood, half-slouched, leaning against the wall. He raised his tankard up in the air, tipping it off Calen’s in the salute that the Drifaienin enjoyed. “I’m going to have to win those four coppers back, though – either off Alleron or you.”

Calen felt the mead providing him with some liquid courage. A smirk formed on his face. “Four coppers to whoever gets the best of three axes each?”

The challenge seemed to send a bolt of lightning through Dann. He immediately pushed himself from the wall and stood up straight, his eyes filling with that familiar fire. “Oh, it’s on. I’m throwing first.”

“Yes!” Calen roared as his axe landed firmly inside the fourth ring, two points clear of Dann’s. A mischievous grin spread across his face. “Looks like it’s your round.”

Dann mimicked him in a mocking voice as he trudged off towards the bar to order the next round of drinks. He accidentally kicked a table and floundered into the arms of Mistress Elena, who simply smiled, patted him on the back, and then pushed him towards the bar a little