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

but by the way he carried himself, Farda was willing to bet that it bore a bit more strength than it appeared. The boy’s features were sharp and angular, with a slightly hooked nose. His light brown hair was slicked back up over his head with some kind of oil. His eyes were shrewd. Farda believed that eyes were the measure of a man’s intent. He did not speak. He looked into the boy’s eyes, unblinking. He let himself sink into the chair, ignoring the complaints of his back as it battled with the stiff cushion. There was silence as they stared into each other’s eyes.

Farda tapped his fingers impatiently on the arm of the chair. He was beginning to think that the boy was going to land on the stupid side. He might just need some incentive. Raising one hand, Farda pulled on threads of Fire and Air. The fireplace erupted in a blaze. Orange and red flames twisted and turned over themselves as the fire tripled in size, bathing the room in a harsh orange light. The boy almost leapt out of his seat, fear shimmering in his eyes. Good. Maybe you’re not stupid after all.

The boy’s gaze flitted back and forth between Farda and the roaring fireplace. Farda savoured an entirely different type of silence now. Satisfied, he made a noise as if clearing his throat. Its intention was clear.

The boy’s eyes were fixed on Farda now. Farda could see the lump in his throat.

“… Fritz, sir. Fritz Netley,” the boy said, shifting anxiously in his chair.

“I am Farda Kyrana, Justicar of the Lorian Empire,” Farda said. He leaned forward, his elbows again resting on the arms of the leather chair. Judging by the boy’s reaction, he had not expected the words that had just left Farda’s mouth. “Inquisitor Rendall said you were helpful in locating Calen Bryer’s residence. And that you might be of use in tracking him further?”

Anger flashed across the boy’s face at the mention of the name. That could be useful.

“Yes,” Fritz said. “Sir,” he added almost immediately.

Good. He is learning.

“Calen is a lying coward, and we have unfinished business,” Fritz said. Contempt burned in his eyes.

Farda shifted in his seat, narrowing his eyes. “Well, it is good to hear that our desires are aligned. Now show me that you are of use. How do you think we should find him?” Farda held his gaze on the boy, making sure not to break it. The boy shifted in his seat. Farda thought that he saw the moment the idea struck. An eerie grin crept across his face.

“His sister.”

“Sister?” Farda repeated, attempting to hide the surprise in his voice. That weasel Rendall had ensured him he had questioned the villagers, and that the boy’s entire family had perished that day. It seemed that Rendall was either not as thorough as he would like to believe, or he underestimated the villagers’ contempt for the empire. Either way, it was an interesting development.

Rendall could wait, but this incompetence would be dealt with. He was long overdue for a lesson in respect.

“Yes, sir. His sister, Ella. There are rumours that she left The Glade the night before you arrived, sir. Despite what they may have thought, her little affair with Rhett Fjorn was common knowledge. It’s a small village. From what I’ve heard, Rhett has family in Berona. I would bet the skin on my back that is where they are heading.”

Farda tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “And this helps me… how? What do I care for the boy’s sister?”

“Well, sir,” Fritz said, gaining confidence, “if you can find her and take her, just let it be known that she will face the noose if Calen does not make himself known to you. Simple, sir.”

The boy is not stupid. “And you are sure that Berona is where she would be going, boy?”

“Yes,” Fritz said, nodding. “To the North, at least, but I would reckon Berona.”

“Hmm…” Farda bit the bottom of his lip as a plan formed in his mind. “There are two ports in Illyanara that head north. Gisa and Falstide.”

Fritz stifled a laugh. “Gisa? Those weasels couldn’t afford a ticket from Gisa… sir.”

“Nevertheless,” Farda said, “we must account for all possibilities. I will send men to both Gisa and Falstide. You will go with the men to Falstide, seeing as you are so unconvinced on Gisa. Understood?”

Fritz’s head twisted in confusion. “I—”

Farda cut him off, tossing him a purse full of coins. “This is yours. The journey to Falstide is a long one, so use it wisely. There will be more if you bring her back alive. Captain Mormun is waiting for you in the lounge downstairs. You will report to him, and you leave at first light.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. That is probably more coin than he has seen in his lifetime.

Farda gave him a few moments to enjoy his newfound wealth, then raised his eyebrows and signalled towards the door. The boy got the message. He stuffed the coin purse in the pocket of his coat like a hungry urchin would an apple. He jumped to his feet, patted down the creases in his shirt, straightened his back, and cocked his chin up. “Sir, thank you, sir.”

Farda gave a curt nod and sat back in the chair, turning his attention towards the far corner of the room. As the boy made to leave, Farda picked his opportunity. “And – Fritz, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you ever strut into my chambers like you just did today, I will cut out your tongue and set it on fire in front of your eyes.” Farda waited to hear the silence that he knew would follow. “Are you still here?”

The door slammed shut, not in anger but in haste. Farda allowed himself a satisfied grin and stood out of his chair. He had an idea what Rendall saw in the boy. He was rough around the edges, but with a little work, he could