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

pull the Spark through you can entice a man to take more than he needs or can handle. You need to be aware of it. You need to learn to focus. It will come with time.” Therin gave a reassuring smile. “And with time, you will find that you can handle more of it. With time, and practice.”

Calen nodded. His arms felt heavy, and his breathing was laboured, like he had spent an entire day working in the forge.

Therin’s hand clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Drawing from the Spark can be exhausting, especially for those who aren’t used to it. It is called the drain. It can leech the very life essence from your bones. Its effects will grow less over time, as you grow stronger. For now,” he said, lifting himself to his feet, “you will have a fantastic night’s sleep. Come. Aeson won’t keep his eyes closed for long, and you will need the rest.”

Calen looked back at the stream as they walked back to the camp. It was still frozen solid where his fingertips had touched. Steam wafted from its surface as the warmth of the summer night eroded away at it.

The dragon lay curled up by Calen’s saddle bags when they got back to camp, still awake but eyes drooping. It poked up its head to watch Calen and Therin approach. Calen set himself down on his haunches in front of the dragon, running his hand along the side of its head with the utmost of care. The comfort that pressed at the back of Calen’s mind matched the purring noise that emanated from the dragon’s belly. Calen stooped his neck down to look into its eyes. He smiled.

“Valerys…”

CHAPTER 23

Not As it Seems

The downpour came upon them without warning. Within minutes, Calen’s hair was matted to his face, and his skin had begun to shrivel as the water soaked him through to the bone. He lifted his hand to cover his eyes from the onslaught of rain as he stared up at the sky. The thick, charcoal-black clouds looked as if they would cave under the weight of the rain they held within their fragile frame. He dropped his eyes to survey the sight in front of him. He had never seen anything quite like it.

Just as they planned, the eerie ocean of woodland that was the Darkwood had come into view just as the sun retired beyond the horizon. As far as Calen could see, and farther beyond again, the landscape was painted in muddled brush strokes of dark green and blackish-blue. The only thing illuminating the eldritch woodland was the cracks of lightning that tore through the sky above, momentarily exposing the flocks of jet-black birds that weaved in and out of the deluge.

Calen had heard many tales of the Darkwood. Terrifying stories of monsters and voidspawn. Of a forest that consumed souls and stripped flesh from bones. Even those stories did not compare to the sinking feeling in his gut as he looked down over the sinister woodland.

“Keep moving,” Aeson shouted. “The canopy will break the rainfall.”

Calen felt irritation from Valerys. The dragon cocooned himself in his wings and shuffled around on the back of the saddle. Calen gave his horse a tap on the ribs with his heel, urging it into a fast canter. The rain stung Calen’s face as they picked up speed, making him wince. His eyes were more closed than open.

He only realised that they had reached the edge of the forest by the sudden relief he felt on his skin and the change in sound. The harsh cracking of rain on his coat gave way to a duller sound as it barrelled down on the canopy above. It gave him the same familiar, calming feeling of sitting inside when the skies emptied rivers down upon The Glade, of being sheltered as the rain drummed on the walls and windows.

Calen sighed, wiping the water from his face. He rolled his shoulders back and surveyed the dense canopy above. He had underestimated the utter blackness that would consume them in this forest. Even if the moon wasn’t imprisoned by the wall of charcoal clouds above, its light would not have been able to penetrate the aphotic roof of the dense woodland. The darkness made him feel trapped.

It was disorienting how the absence of sight heightened his other senses. He could not see past the ears of his horse, but even the soft susurration of the branches felt heavy in his ears. The overpowering scent of loam and decomposing leaves mixed with the mouldy dampness of tree bark permeated his nostrils.

A sigh of relief escaped his chest when the glow of white light illuminated the space in front of him. The small floating baldír pulsated as it held its position about four feet in front of Calen. A similar orb hovered in front of each person in the group. That is a handy trick. It was not something that he wanted to try on his own. He hadn’t tried to touch the Spark since the river. He would have to ask Aeson to show him how it was done.

“The path to the mountain pass is less than a day’s ride from here,” Aeson said. There was a twist of irritation on his face as he squeezed firmly on his coat sleeve, releasing a stream of water that had soaked into the fabric. “Within this forest, day or night matters not. There are few places where the light penetrates the canopy, but we still need sleep and to dry out our clothes, or else the cold will set into our bones. We will carry on for another hour or so, and then we will stop. I think the horses have that much left in them.” He patted his horse on the neck with affection and received a soft neigh in response.

Calen felt the occasional chill on the back of his neck as small droplets of rain