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

Pulling on his last vestiges of energy, in one smooth motion, Dahlen dragged himself to his feet and pulled one of his blades from its sheath. He launched himself at the robed man, clearing the distance between them in one leap, then drove the sword straight through his chest. The blade passed through the cloak as if it weren’t there, slicing into the man’s flesh. He felt the release as it came out the other side, where the man’s heart should have been. Nobody could survive that.

Dahlen collapsed to his knees, his legs unable to hold him upright any longer. His chest heaved up and down, working hard to fill his lungs. He needed to rest. He let his muscles relax.

The harsh sound of a blade sliding free of flesh caused Dahlen to release a defeated sigh. No. That’s not possible.

He lifted his head to see his sword being pulled from the man’s back on its own. He watched as it floated in the air above his head. There was not a single drop of blood along its blade.

Dahlen’s heart sank into his stomach. His throat became as dry as if he had rubbed it with cotton. What is this creature?

It laughed again, the laugh of a wolf. “You humans never do learn, but I like you. You may live.” The creature turned towards Dahlen, its voice like jagged rocks. Rist still lay on the ground a few feet away.

“However,” it hissed, “I cannot let your behaviour go unpunished.”

Before Dahlen could understand what was going on, he was hurtling through the air, thrown around like a rag doll. He felt his back crash into something hard. A wall.

Everything went black.

CHAPTER 18

Cracks

“Calen?” Dann repeated, his eyebrows raised. “I said, are you okay?”

Calen shook his head, attempting to loose the grogginess from his mind. “Yeah, I’m okay, Dann. Just got lost in the fire there for a minute.”

“Be careful. Stare too long into the fire and it will take pieces of you. Well, at least that’s what Dad always said. Look, there is no way you’re all right. These past few days have been insane. Especially…” Dann trailed off, his eyes becoming heavy.

Calen sighed through his nose, turning his attention back to the fire. That feeling hit him again, as if his heart were about to fall into the pit of his stomach. It still wasn’t real for him, and he would do everything in his power to keep it that way. His entire family. Gone. A piece of him held out hope that Ella hadn’t been in the house, but he knew he was only fooling himself.

“They’ll be back soon.” Calen hadn’t heard Erik approaching; the crackling of the fire covered his footsteps. He sat down on a log beside Calen and Dann, then opened his bag and produced two small wraps of cloth. “Dahlen will see the sign we left him.” Inside the first wrap were strips of dried meat. He tossed some to both Calen and Dann, who thanked him hungrily.

“Hold on. There’s some bread to go with that. It’s a little stale, but it’s better than nothing.”

Dann looked at Erik apologetically as he swallowed half of his dried meat in one mouthful. He reached out his hand to take some of the bread. Calen thanked Erik for the bread, and the three of them sat in silence as they ate.

As he struggled through the stale, bark-like excuse for bread, Calen realised that it had been quite a while since he’d eaten. He didn’t have lunch the day before, and he had eaten nothing in The Traveller’s Rest either. His stomach rumbled. He choked down the rest of the bread and dried meat without complaint.

The sounds of the forest settled into Calen’s mind as the group waited for Dahlen and Rist to traipse through the trees. The birdsong collided with the incessant buzz of insects. The leaves rustled as the night’s breeze brushed shoulders with the trees. A nearby brook burbled. But all of it could not match Therin’s rumbling snores. He was worse than Dann. He had been sleeping since they set up camp, which didn’t surprise Calen. When they found him waiting for them at the tunnel entrance outside Camylin, he had looked like he was about to fall off his horse. Calen didn’t think he had ever seen anyone look that way. It was almost unnatural. There were deep recesses under his eyes, his breathing was laboured, and his already pale skin looked as though it were porcelain. It was as if the energy had been dragged, kicking and screaming, from his body.

Aeson sat behind Therin, his back propped up against the base of a tree. The satchel that sheltered the egg was nestled into his lap, both arms draped around it. His eyes were closed, but Calen was sure he was not asleep. The man never seemed to let his guard down.

Calen turned to face the fire, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets as he did. That’s when he felt it. The scarf he had bought his mother in Milltown. He didn’t have to take it out to see it. Autumn red. Vines of gold and cream woven through it in the pattern of leaves blowing through the wind. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he ripped his hands out of his pockets. He felt the tears welling up behind his eyes. Everything flashed through his mind. His father’s lifeless body laying still, the packed dirt stained with blood. His mother sobbing. His home in flames. The screams. His stomach twisted. His hands trembled. No. Not now.

Dann leapt to his feet, snatching his bow from the ground beside him. He had an arrow nocked faster than Calen could turn his head. “Dann—”

“Quiet,” Dann whispered. He narrowed his eyes as he attempted to see farther into the dark of the forest. Calen followed his gaze but saw nothing except