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

The elves, true to Gaeleron’s word, kept pace with the horses without breaking a sweat. In fact, the twins had remained in front of the group for the entire journey, insisting on scouting ahead. Their cloaks allowed them to fade into the forest, almost at will.

The first night at the mouth of the mountain pass was rather uneventful. They went through their usual routine. Calen complained at first when Aeson had told him to grab his sword, but the man had a way of staring wordlessly until he yielded. There was no sparring that night, just forms. There had been enough fighting already.

Calen couldn’t help but notice that all the elves stopped eating to watch. Their eyes followed him with every movement, every swing of the blade and twist of his body. It made him feel uneasy.

There were few words exchanged when Aeson and Calen sat down for their supper. Dann lay unconscious by the fire, his empty bowl of broth on his stomach, moving up and down with his breathing. The elves did not allow the hunting of deer, for whatever reasons they had. The broth of rabbit and potatoes was perfect for Calen, who smiled ear to ear when Vaeril revealed a loaf of fresh bread from his satchel. It had been so long since Calen had eaten bread that didn’t have the consistency of stone.

Vaeril also healed Valerys’s wounds as much as was possible. The dragon was still in a bit of pain, but the whimpering had stopped, and he was strong enough to go searching for his own rabbits.

“So, have elves always lived in the Darkwood?” Calen asked as he held his palms over the open fire. “I didn’t think that anyone could live here.”

Vaeril looked up and held a short silence before answering. It was only the two of them. “No. We came to the Aravell about four hundred years ago. After the Fall, we tried to fight back, to resist the Empire. We failed. It was before my time.”

“Why do you call it the Aravell? Is it’s name not the Darkwood?”

“That is what it has always been known to my people. The Darkwood is a name that was given to it by your people.”

“Why did you come here? I’ve always heard that the elves retreated into Lynalion when The Order fell. But never anything about the Darkwood – the Aravell.”

A melancholy smile touched the corners of Vaeril’s mouth. “We believed different things. So, we followed different paths. Does every human always think the same way?”

“No. I don’t suppose they do.” Calen sighed. He fiddled with a piece of long grass that he plucked from the ground. “What is it they believe? The elves of Lynalion.”

“That the troubles of men and dwarves do not belong to them. That the empire was born from human arrogance. And that the blight on these lands is naught to do with elves.”

“And what do you believe?”

Vaeril pondered for a moment. There was a softness in his eyes beyond his serious expression. “That this world is all of our responsibility. That all races were involved in The Fall. We occupied the Aravell to act as a wall between Loria and the rest of Epheria. To do everything we could to weaken the Empire’s grip. We make sure that nothing that enters the forest ever leaves. Either we take them, or the forest does.”

“The forest?”

There was a loud pop as part of the fire collapsed, sending Sparks spiralling through the air.

“There is old magic in the woodland,” Vaeril said. “Older than stone in the mountains and the songs in the wind. Even we elves thread lightly when we roam its depths. You were lucky to have only found Uraks last night.”

Calen nodded, letting out a short sigh. “Vaeril, why did you swear an oath to protect me? You don’t know me. You owe me nothing.”

The elf gave a weak smile as he leaned towards the fire. “My people didn’t always live in the Aravell. We used to live in sprawling cities of beautiful white stone. With sweeping walls, breath-taking towers, and domes of gold that would shimmer in the sun’s light. My elders told me stories of these cities. I have never seen them for myself. Maybe with your help, what once was, might be again, and I may see for myself. It is a dream that I am willing to give my life for.”

The group had already packed up their things and were over an hour in their saddles by the time the sun rose the next morning. Aeson was determined to reach Belduar within two weeks’ time, which meant marching during every second of light that the sun gave them.

As the sun rose over the crest of the mountains, splashing light into the valley, Calen could see the truly epic scale of the Lodhar mountains that was impossible to see the night before. The group walked along a small dirt track, framed on either side by sheer rock faces that disappeared into the clouds. In the distance, Calen saw nothing but mountains and clouds, stretching far off into the horizon. Up. That seemed to be the only direction the path could lead – up and then up again. Calen had no idea how the elves were still standing. He even felt his horse struggling, but the elves loped through the pass like wolves, not a hint of fatigue on their faces.

They had to have been walking for six or seven hours before they reached the first flat. They stopped for no more than fifteen minutes to eat and drink. Therin used the Spark to draw pools of water up from the ground for the horses. Calen thought he could almost see how he did it. The threads of Water mingled with threads of Earth.

“Therin.” Calen drew his horse closer to Therin’s. “I’m sorry.” The elf hadn’t spoken to Calen since he had stormed off in the forest.

“It is okay. I, too, apologise…