Kindling Ashes: Firesouls Book I Read Online Free PDF

table.
    “Where’s your girl Tilda?” one of the other patrons asked as he slid in next to him and gestured to the barman for another pint.
    “Gone. She left. She left me,” Corran slurred, turning his flagon so one side of it hit the wood, then the other, until it was tapping out a tune. Tilda used to sing this.
    “That’s rough, Corden. Here – on me!” the man said, pushing his new pint towards Corran.
    Corran muttered his thanks and sipped, his mind drifting towards Tilda. He’d been doing so well at forgetting her absence with the tournament going on, but coming back to this alehouse had been a bad idea and now he could think of nothing else. Her hair... her smell... the two little freckles above her eye... He tipped the flagon up and took a hefty gulp. Now who knew if he would ever see her again.
    His flagon tipped to one side as the word ‘Firesouls’ slithered into his ears. He swivelled blearily to find its source. People swam in front of him, blurring into each other, but after several long seconds of trying he managed to focus enough to watch a stable boy he knew as Henry pulled outside by the scruff of his shirt by a long–haired man.
    Corran half–stepped, half–fell off his stool, then turned to finish the rest of the ale he’d been given. No need to be ungrateful. He wobbled as he turned towards the door, then focused on putting one foot in front of the other to walk in a generally straight line. He lingered in the doorway, still with enough sense to know he shouldn’t walk right into whatever conversation was going on. The cool air helped sober him a little, and he peered around the corner to find the pair. He had spoken to Henry several times before when he had been there with Tilda. The part of his brain that still functioned was disappointed to learn that he might be a dragon sympathiser.
    They ducked into an alleyway down the street and Corran blundered after them, trying to be quiet. He stayed close to the wall and years of training meant that despite the alcohol, he managed not to give himself away. As soon as he was close enough to hear, he halted.
    “– in the north at the end of the war?”
    “My father trades in horses – northern ones especially.”
    “And you’ve had that scar all your life?”
    “Long as I can remember. I already told you though.”
    “I know , we just have to be certain. I– wait.”
    Corran frowned and took a step closer, but the next moment the man had walked out in front of him, grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him into the alleyway. The sober part of Corran shouted at himself for not thinking properly, but most of him just stared with confusion at the man, then turned to Henry.
    “Can I see your scar? Bet I can beat it. Brother sliced my arm open. For fun – ha! Hurt like fuck though.”
    The man rolled his eyes and released his hold, but examined him closely. Corran wondered if he should run, but by the time he’d thought about that properly Henry was talking to him.
    “What are you doing, Corden?”
    “I… am…” Corran thought for a moment. “I am getting drunk. That is what I am doing. Or what I was doing. Because I’m not in the alehouse now. Were you getting drunk too? You don’t seem drunk.” He stared at Henry and tried to work out if he’d been drinking at all.
    “…No,” Henry replied, staring back at him.
    “So why aren’t you in the alehouse anymore? Why follow us?” the stranger asked.
    He thought about the question even harder than he had the first. He knew he needed a good answer for this. “Because… I am drunk enough, I think. And I know Henry. Don’t I know you, Henry? We talk sometimes. He likes horses and I like horses. We have good talks about horses.” He didn’t think it was a good answer, but again all he got was rolling eyes.
    “Do you think he’ll remember this in the morning?” the man asked Henry.
    Henry shrugged. “He doesn’t normally get this drunk. I heard his lady left – I think