Of Blood And Fire by Ryan Cahill (best color ebook reader txt) 📗

all,” Oleg said, laughing, when Calen apologised for the surprised look on his face. “Many people are surprised when they find that the emissary to the Dwarven Freehold is not a dwarf himself. The dwarves of the Lodhar Mountains have not been above ground in hundreds of years, so I take care of their interests up here.”

Oleg stood up from behind his desk, patting down his wrinkled linen shirt. “May I just say, it is an honour to meet you, Calen Bryer. Word has been spreading around this city since your arrival yesterday morning. I have been eagerly awaiting the opportunity to meet you – a Draleid.”

“Now, Oleg, don’t be swelling the boy’s head,” Ihvon said, his friendly demeanour yielding to an authoritative tone.

“Yes. Please excuse me, Lord Arnell,” Oleg said, raising his hands outward in apology.

“Not at all,” Ihvon replied. “Now, have you sent word to the freehold to arrange the meeting and to inform them of the Draleid’s arrival?”

“Not yet, m’lord. I was waiting to hear from the king, but I can send a messenger immediately, if it pleases you.”

“It does,” Ihvon replied, raising his eyebrow.

With a jolt, Oleg moved back around to his desk. He pulled a sheet of blank parchment from a stack behind him and an inkwell and pen from a drawer to his left. He began drafting a letter. When he finished, he folded the parchment and slid it into a small cream envelope. He dripped wax on the lip of the envelope using a deep purple candle that had been burning on the side of his desk.

“If you please.”

“One moment.” Ihvon dug around in his pockets, then produced a small brass stamp. He pressed it into the cooling wax, leaving the impression of a crossed axe and sword with a mountain in the background. It was the same emblem that adorned the banners in the courtyard and great hall.

“Thank you, m’lord,” Oleg said. He picked up the envelope and slipped it into his coat pocket. “On second thought, I think I will deliver this myself. That should impress the desire for a swift response. You know yourself the way the freehold operates. It will be at least a week or so before I return, but I will make haste as much as is possible.”

“See that you do, Oleg. The king will be watching this closely.”

The stout man nodded and grabbed a satchel from behind his chair. “I’ll leave now, my lord. If you’ll excuse me.”

Calen, Ihvon, and Aeson followed Oleg out of the room. He swung his satchel in front of him, searching through it as he double-timed his way down the corridor. In his haste, Oleg kicked the extended foot of a short table, almost sending himself spiralling to the ground, only to catch himself at the last moment.

“Strange man,” Aeson remarked.

“That he is,” Ihvon said, “but he’s a good man.”

CHAPTER 29

The Skies Above

Sweat dripped from Calen’s brow as he parried a downward strike from Erik.

“Good. Keep your guard up,” Gaeleron said. Since they had arrived in Belduar, the elf had stopped sparring with Calen and instead had taken to observing him spar with others. It would be easier for him to assess Calen’s progress that way.

A metallic ringing chimed through the courtyard of the Inner Circle as Calen and Erik’s blades met in a flurry of blows. On the surface, they seemed evenly matched, but Calen knew that he was always only one mistake away from a new bruise.

There was a knowing grin on Erik’s face as the two men circled each other.

In a flash of movement, Erik lunged, like a viper who had cornered a hare. Calen dropped back into Patient Wolf.

Erik’s blows came in hard and fast; as they always did. Calen counted his heartbeats, waiting for an opening.

One.

Erik struck high, twice. The vibrations jolted up Calen’s arm as he parried both.

Two.

Calen just about brought his sword down in time to block the understroke that followed. It really should have landed; only a warning in the back of his mind from Valerys had allowed him to stop it.

Three.

He leapt backwards, willing Erik to follow.

Four.

Erik dove after him.

Five.

Calen saw his opening. He lunged.

It happened too fast for him to see. Erik turned with the speed of a kat, and brought his blade down on top of Calen’s, knocking it to the ground with a crash. A roaring pain burst through Calen’s face as Erik’s elbow flew backwards and slammed into his nose, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“You must be aware!” shouted Gaeleron as Calen hit the stone. Calen didn’t even move to get up. He just lay there, staring up at the sky above. His head pounded, there was a ringing noise in his ears, and he could taste blood on his tongue. If he lay there a little longer, maybe he wouldn’t have to do another round.

A shadow blocked out the light from the sun. “Do not strike only to leave yourself open. That is enough for the day,” Gaeleron sighed, standing over Calen’s sprawled body. “I will not have Therin complaining again that you are too exhausted to listen to his spells and stories.”

It had been two weeks since Oleg left for the Dwarven Freehold. In the meantime, Therin had decided to not only instruct Calen on the ways of magic but also to educate him on the history of Epheria. He taught him the customs and cultures of the many races that inhabited Epheria and what the land was like before the rise of the empire. He insisted that if Calen were to be of use to anyone as a Draleid, he would need to understand more than just the people of the villages in western Illyanara.

Gaeleron’s humour deteriorated whenever Therin was mentioned. He took on a mocking tone every time he spoke of Therin’s teachings – ‘spells and stories’, as he called them. Calen did not feel right to bring it up with Therin directly, but there was a strange