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

dripped through the dense canopy. The deeper they went into the forest, the heavier the air became – not in the ethereal way it did in Ölm Forest, but in a more tangible sense. Although the canopy held the deluge above at bay, it also kept the dampness of the soil and the bark from escaping. He could taste the thickness of the moisture in the air as it hit the back of his throat with each breath.

There was something about a forest, especially one so devoid of light, that caused time to pass differently. Everywhere Calen looked was indistinguishable to what he had seen five minutes before, as if he hadn’t moved an inch. He heard the occasional flapping of wings amongst the branches, often drowned out by the cracks of thunder that followed the lightning strikes in the sky above. Had he been on his own, he did not think he would ever find his way out.

“This looks like as good a place as any,” Dahlen called, hopping down from his horse. “We could walk for hours here and not find anything different.”

There was a murmur of agreement amongst the group.

Valerys yawned and lifted his head to survey the area. He leapt down from the back of the horse and stretched out his wings, as if they were groggy from sleep.

“Calen, Dann, sword forms,” Aeson said firmly. He tossed his saddle bags to the ground and drew one of his blades from across his back.

“Now?” Dann sighed, “Can’t we sort a fire first, dry ourselves out a bit? These clothes feel like a sack of stones.”

“No,” Aeson replied. “We rarely fight on our own terms, so that is how we must train. Sword forms. Begin from Striking Dragon.”

Dann sighed heavily, then threw back his head and pulled his sword from its scabbard. Calen did the same. His thighs and back were a mixture of numbness and agony. He had never ridden a horse so much in his life. The rain didn’t help. He took a deep breath as he entered the starting position for Striking Dragon. Some of the forms’ names were beginning to stick in his head. Not all of them, but some of them. It was a start.

“Again.”

The word shook Calen’s resolve. They had been practicing sword forms for over an hour while the others sat by the fire, awaiting the warm meat of a small boar that Therin had found skulking around the campsite. His shoulders cried out in pain as the sword grew heavier and heavier. It felt as though his muscles were on fire. Calen focused on his breathing. He swung the blade downward in one long sweep and sidestepped an imaginary strike. He brought the blade back up for a parry and then drove it into the ghostly attacker’s abdomen.

“Stop.”

His knees dropped into the damp ground. A wave of relief flooded over him. Pangs of hunger punched at his stomach. His skin burned from where the damp clothes had chafed the inside of his legs.

“Dann, go warm yourself and eat.” Aeson turned towards the campfire, a glint in his eye. “Dahlen. You will spar with Calen. Now.”

Dahlen responded with a look of confusion as he rubbed his hands over each other in front of the flames. “What, now? Look at him. He needs to rest—”

“Now.”

Calen dug the point of his sword into the ground and dragged himself to his feet. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have the effort left in him to argue. Is he trying to kill me? He felt concern tipping at the back of his mind. Valerys’s lavender eyes watched him from atop the trunk of a fallen tree.

“Yes, sir,” Dahlen replied. He pulled one of his swords from its scabbard, which stood propped against his saddlebags. Calen stood up straight and heaved his sword upright. He didn’t stand a chance. Dahlen raised his sword up in front of his face. “Ready?”

Calen responded with a nod. He wasn’t wasting his energy on speaking.

Dahlen’s first strike was heavy. The shockwave jarred Calen’s forearms. His shoulders burned as he parried the blow. Calen didn’t have the strength to counterattack, and his fingers loosened on the handle of his sword with every deflected blow.

Dahlen swung a vicious sideswipe, and Calen leapt backwards to avoid it. His left leg collapsed from exhaustion under his own weight. His knee crashed into the muddied ground. He was done. He had no strength left. It infuriated him. The last person he wanted to concede to was Dahlen. Anybody but him.

A warm feeling washed over him. He felt Valerys at the back of his mind, pushing him, willing him strength. He noticed Therin and Aeson exchange a look. Calen risked a glance over at the young dragon. He stood fully on his hind legs, his eyes fixed on Calen, his teeth showing as his mouth twisted into a snarl. Calen heard the rumble coming from Valerys’s throat.

Dahlen’s downstroke swept through the air. Calen brought his blade up to meet it mid-swing. The newfound strength flooded relief through his muscles, and he sprang to his feet. A confused look set into Dahlen’s face. He thought Calen had given up.

They traded blows back and forth. Calen pressed, running through the forms, his sword a flurry of movement. Then Dahlen pressed, pushing Calen onto the back foot. It went like this for several minutes, but even with the new push of energy, Calen knew that he wasn’t a match for Dahlen. He already felt exhaustion creeping back into his bones.

He couldn’t lose, not to Dahlen.

Calen pushed away one of Dahlen’s blows and leapt backwards, urging him to follow. He took the bait. When Dahlen attempted to make up the ground between them, Calen reached out to the Spark, doing as Therin had said. He could see the ball of energy floating in a sea of black. Twisting and turning in on itself. The elemental strands called out to him.

He drew on threads of Water, Earth, and Fire. Calen drew