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

is already loaded. Let’s just take a last look over it before you head off.”

Rist and Dann were waiting for them when they stepped out from the forge into the brisk morning; their breath plumed in streaks through the air.

“Ready to go?” Rist said, pulling his coat tight around himself.

“Just about,” Calen replied. “We’re just going to head around back and check the load before we set off.”

As they turned the corner around the forge, Calen went straight to Vars’s horse, Drifter. His reins were already set, and he was ready to go.

“Ready for a bit of a trip, boy?” Calen asked, running his hand along the side of Drifter’s face. Drifter had been his father’s horse for as long as Calen could remember, as much a part of the family as Faenir was.

“Everything looks good,” Vars called from the back of the cart. “Darda will be waiting for you at the port.” Vars made his way around to the front of the cart, rubbing dirt off his hands with a small cloth that he then shoved into the pocket at the front of his apron. “He’s expecting you around midday. Just bring the cart up around the back, and he’ll help you unload the stock. Drop off the delivery, and then you boys enjoy a good night.”

“Okay, perfect.” Calen cupped his hands to his mouth and blew warm air into the space between them, then rubbed them together for heat. “And again, thank you for the gift.”

Vars embraced Calen. “Travel safely, and I will see you when you get back.”

They finished up with some final checks, ensuring the cart was in working order. Then, with a firm shake, Calen checked that all the ropes were secure. Once they were set, one by one, they all climbed up onto the front of the cart.

“Hey. What’s that?” Dann said. He pulled back the bottom of Calen’s coat to reveal the sword his father had gifted him, secured within the emerald green leather scabbard.

Calen swatted Dann’s hand away, pulling his coat back over the sword. “It’s a gift from my father,” he said curtly.

“Hey, no need to be rude. It’s beautiful is all. You’ll have to show me it properly when we’re back for the night.”

Calen nodded, twisting his mouth up into a placating smile that could have been taken as a frown. He wasn’t sure why he felt uncomfortable showing the sword to Dann and Rist. He just was. Coin wasn’t something that any of them had a lot of, and just by virtue of the craftsmanship alone, the sword was worth a lot. Anything with that kind of value always made Calen uncomfortable.

He took the reins firmly in both hands. Waving goodbye to Vars, they set off following the road north, towards Milltown.

The journey to Milltown was a reasonably short one and mostly downhill, only a few hours when travelling by horse and cart. They arrived just before midday, as Vars had said they would. The earlier chill dissipated from the air as the sunlight ebbed away at the blanket of cloud above.

Milltown was the largest of all the villages. In truth, it was more of a town. It was nearly twice the size of The Glade. Most of it had to do with its small but busy port, which acted as the main supply port from the villages to Gisa. All of Vars’s shipments to the North went through Milltown, on to Gisa, and then up the coast to Loria. Calen figured that was the case for most craftsmen in the villages.

Despite its size, the buildings were much the same as those in The Glade, thick and wide-set, built with trees from the outer edge of Ölm Forest. As they drew closer to the centre of the village, the bouncing of the cart let Calen know that the usual dirt track underneath had changed to cobbled stone.

“Well, that’s new,” Rist said. His speech was jarred as the vibrations pulsing through the cart bounced him up and down on the rough plank of wood that masqueraded as a seat.

Leading the cart down the main street turned out to be more difficult than Calen had remembered. He had forgotten how frantic it was during the big trading periods. The start of summer was one of those periods, with apricots, blueberries, and a plethora of other fruits grown in the southern regions of Epheria coming into season. The ports of Milltown and Salme were always flooded with trading vessels at that time of year, and the streets were thronged with merchants eager to flog their fresh harvests.

Calen tightened his grip on Drifter’s reins. The horse was old and reliable, but scared easily. He had to swerve to avoid a woman who had stepped into the middle of the street to shout at a peddler. It would only be a matter of time before he knocked down some poor rambling child or ran over a small dog.

Even in the off seasons, the entire town seemed as if it were simply one big market. The sides of the road were lined with stalls, day traders, and peddlers. The buzz of excitement never seemed to dim. If it weren’t for the ever-present, pungent waft of fish emanating from the port, Calen would almost consider it a nice place to live.

“I think Darda’s building is just up here,” Rist said.

The cobbled stones under the cart gave way to the wooden planks of the docks. Rist pointed to a shop on the right-hand side of the road. A heavy wooden sign hung above the doorway, featuring a large black lion above the words, Darda Vastion Shipping.

“And what would make you think that, Rist?” The sarcasm oozed through Dann’s words as he smirked to himself.

Ignoring Dann, Calen nodded and pulled the cart down the nearest side street, narrowly avoiding flattening a small child who did not seem to have any heed for personal conservation. After Dann shouted a few choice words at the hapless