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

was a good game. I am pleased to have met you, Calen, but I need to be on my way. I wish I could stay for a few more rounds.” He passed the coppers to Calen, gave a quick nod to the group, and made his way towards the rear door. Just like that, he was gone.

“Well… that was a bit strange, wasn’t it? I mean, I don’t like to lose, but at least I don’t storm off in a strop when I do. Cost me four coppers—” Dann shut his mouth as soon as he saw the look on Calen’s face. “Sorry. I was just kind of sick of you winning.” He shrugged, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m going to go check on Rist. He’s had his head buried in that book so long, he’s probably turned into one.” With that, Dann stumbled through the inn, struggling to keep control of his legs.

Calen made his way back towards the table where he had left his drink. He had some catching up to do on Dann. He could hear Baird challenging Alleron to the next round of axes. That was a round Calen wanted to see.

Before he enjoyed the spectacle, he needed to put something in his rumbling belly. He had been so distracted he couldn’t remember when he last ate. He managed to catch the attention of the serving girl who had tripped over the slumbering patron earlier. Her dress was a little damp from mead, but she was pretty. Short, with auburn hair and an endearing smile. He asked her if there was any soup and bread left, to which she gave a brisk nod and a curtsy before shuffling back through the crowd. It felt strange to have someone curtsy towards him.

As he waited for his soup, sipping away at his mead, he watched Alleron and Baird play some game with their hands to decide who would throw first. He hoped beyond hope that the bard would suffer some form of sudden, non-life-threatening but still incapacitating injury that would stop him from singing or hurting that poor, defenceless lute. The noise that came from it was almost as bad as the insects in Ölm Forest. Almost.

Out of the corner of his eye, Calen noticed that Erik’s black mantle was still draped over the back of the chair he had left it on. Calen reached over, rubbing the material between his thumb and forefinger. It was a lot heavier than he had expected, built for warmth and comfort over long distances. Calen placed his tankard down on the table, then pulled the mantle off the back of the chair, doubling it over and draping it across his forearm. It was good quality and probably worth a fair amount of coin. If he lost something of its likeness, his father would have him in the forge day and night to work back the cost.

Taking one last draught of his mead, Calen made his way towards the stable yard door, trying his best to hold his patience as he pushed his way through the drunken crowd. When he finally reached the other side of the room, he breathed a sigh of relief as he walked down the corridor and out into the fresh air.

CHAPTER 11

An Unexpected Journey

“Step away from the cart. It is to be searched, by order of the emperor.”

Erik and his two companions stood to the right of the stable yard door, in front of the bonnet of a horse and cart. His two companions had their mantles drawn about them. Their hoods covered their faces from the shimmering yellow lights of the lanterns hung around the yard. A group of Empire soldiers stood in a semi-circle around them. The two men who Calen had seen on the deck of the ship stood at their fore – the man in the black cloak and the man in the red cloak with the lion breastplate. Red Cloak was nearly half a foot shorter than Black Cloak, with a wiry frame that did not make him any less intimidating. There was a coldness in his eyes.

Erik glanced over at Calen as soon as he had stepped out into the yard. His mouth furrowed into a frown when he noticed him carrying the mantle. Only his eyes moved; his body remained fixed towards the group of soldiers in front of him. Calen wasn’t the only one who noticed Erik’s glance in his direction. Almost half of the soldiers turned to see who their new visitor was, including Red Cloak.

“Get out of here, boy. This does not concern you,” commanded the soldier, slightly tilting his head. “Do not make me tell you twice.”

Calen’s feet were glued to the ground. Every fibre of his being told him that this was not the place that he should be, yet something was stopping him from moving his feet. He simply stood where he was. His expression was the picture of calm, while inside his bones trembled. He wanted to excuse himself, step back inside, and continue drinking with Dann and Rist.

“I…” His words betrayed him.

“That was not a request, boy. That was a command.” The anger in the man’s voice was palpable. He drew his sword and turned, straightened his arm, and pointed it directly at Calen. “Get inside,” he growled.

“He has no part in this. Leave him be. Calen, get back inside,” Erik said, taking a step towards Calen.

“Erik, what are you doing? Get back over here now. He is not our problem,” said one of Erik’s companions. His voice was wrought with impatience. He turned to Red Cloak. “Please, sir. We are just leaving; we don’t want any trouble.”

The man in the black cloak let out a sigh. “I grow tired of this. We are searching all carts and wagons in the village. If you had nothing to hide, then we would already be gone. I have no qualms with spilling blood, but if you step