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

ear until it came through sharply as Calen became aware of his surroundings. The fighting was still in full pitch around him. Erik had gotten himself to his feet and was taking on a group of soldiers less than an arm’s reach away.

Calen tried to focus as he steadied himself. “What… what are you two doing here?”

An incredulous look spread across Rist’s face. “What are we doing here? You were gone so long, and then when we got to the door, we heard fighting. What are you doing here?”

Calen didn’t respond. He couldn’t think clearly. He tried to survey what was going on around them. Erik and his companion were being overrun. There were simply too many imperial soldiers. Aeson and Farda were still exchanging vicious strikes back and forth, their faces like stone. A few new trickles of blood decorated them both.

Dann half-stumbled over towards Calen and Rist. As their eyes met, Calen gave him a questioning nod, mouthing, “You okay?”

Dann paused for a second, then gave a half-hearted nod.

A hand gripped Calen's shoulder. “Calen, we need to go. We can’t win this. Your friends too, now. Follow me.” Erik rounded himself almost immediately, carving a path through the soldiers ahead of him, his two blades whistling in the wind. Calen did not have to look back. He knew Dann and Rist were following him.

He felt his heartbeat throughout his body. His hand shook as it held the slightly curved sword that his father had given him. Despite all that was going on around him, he only now noticed the intricate swirls that spouted from the guard up into the blade. The ornamentation seemed ironic on something that was made only to take life.

I just killed a man.

A flash of steel glinted in the corner of his eye. He reacted without thinking, swinging his sword to meet the incoming blow. He followed up with his shoulder, sending the man crashing to the ground.

“Dahlen, cover us!” Erik roared towards his hooded companion.

Dahlen had already reached the cart. He pulled a longbow and quiver from inside.

Whoosh. An arrow shot past Calen’s ear, the familiar thunk signalling its successful flight. “Run!” Dahlen loosed another arrow, and another soldier dropped.

As they reached the cart, Erik stopped. “Get in!” He shoved Calen up and into the cart, then Dann and Rist, before joining them.

“Dahlen!” Erik nodded toward Aeson, who was still locked in his duel with Farda.

“Father!” Dahlen screamed, loosing an arrow. Aeson turned his head just as the arrow slammed into Farda’s shoulder. Only a grunt escaped the man’s lips, which seemed more from annoyance than pain. Aeson leapt away from the wounded Farda, sprinting towards the cart.

Dahlen passed the bow to Erik, then made his way around to the front of the cart and started the horses into motion. Erik loosed arrow after arrow into the thick crowd of soldiers, attempting to clear a path.

Aeson fought his way towards the cart, dipping in and out of Calen’s field of vision as he weaved through the soldiers. There was no way he was going to make it. There were simply too many men.

A loud, deep whoosh filled Calen’s ears. It ended with an almighty thump, like an immense gust of wind cracking head-on into a tree, or a powerful wave crashing into the side of a cliff. With it, several soldiers between Aeson and the cart were thrown through the air, hurtling in all directions like rag dolls. Rist almost leapt over the rail of the cart when he saw what had happened, his eyes glistening.

Aeson charged through the gap that was created. An arrow whizzed past his head and through a soldier’s eye as he leapt up into the back of the cart. “Go! Go!”

With a crack of the reins, the cart took off like lightning escaping the clouds. The sudden jerk nearly sent Calen spinning over the back rail. As he peeked over the rim of the rail, an arrow sliced through the air near his face, tearing straight through the canvas canopy that arched over the cart.

Thinking better of another attempted look, Calen flipped himself, letting his back thump against the wooden rail. He slowly slid down until his ass hit the wooden base of the cart. The vibrations shook up through his bones as the wheels battered against the cobblestones. He let his eyes close for a second.

“Calen?” Rist’s hand rested on his shoulder. “What in the name of the gods just happened?”

Calen looked at Rist with a blank stare, then tracked his eyes over towards Aeson and Erik, who were similarly propped up against the wooden rails of the cart.

Erik counted the arrows remaining in the quiver, while Aeson sat with his eyes closed. His chest rose high, held for a moment, and then dropped low. Dann sat in silence, his eyes fixed on his blood-covered hands.

“Dann?”

Dann did not even so much as blink. He held his hands out in front of himself, fingers outstretched.

Calen held out his own hands. They were caked in dried blood, congealed and cracked. “I don’t know, Rist… I don’t know,” Calen said in response to Rist’s question.

He looked up from his hands. His eyes met Erik’s, who gave him a weak smile before returning to counting his arrows.

I killed a man.

A tingly chill ran down Ella’s back as she stepped out into the night air. The newfound warmth of the summer days had not yet seeped into the nights. The sun had dropped over the horizon hours ago. Both Vars and Freis had retired for the night around the same time, and Calen was off in Milltown. Most likely drinking himself stupid if he was with Dann. It is as good a night as any.

Ella pulled up the hood of her long brown mantle. Her hands fidgeted as she adjusted the drawstrings, ensuring it was tied tight around her. She hesitated for a moment, refusing to check the contents of her bag for a fifth time. She took