The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4)

by C. J. Aaron

  The young soldier cocked his head slightly. His look bore the countenance of confusion and questioning.

  “What the alexen grants in power, the nexela removes an equal share of self-control,” Ryl continued. “The elixir binds those who consume it to their host. To the king. To what end the Horde plays is yet unknown.”

  Ryl glossed over any mention of Leiroth. The young guard was likely steeped in the false mythology and narrative born from generations of complacency. It was doubtful that the name would bear any significance. Ryl felt his blood heating as the alexen inside raged at the thoughts of the traitor who destroyed their proud order.

  “What is it you want from me?” The nervousness returned as the scowl grew uncontrolled across Ryl’s face.

  “Have you encountered any aside from us on your march through The Stocks?” he quizzed as he forced another wave of ease over the trembling soldier. The man’s eyes widened at the simplicity of the question.

  “Aye. Late last afternoon,” he blurted out. “A young man on foot, dressed in a cloak much like yours, carried a bound prisoner.”

  “When did they depart?” Ryl interrupted as he felt hope surge. The guard’s admission narrowed the timeline between their passing.

  “They sought immediate counsel with Lord Maklan,” Hobs announced. “They left by horse this morning. Shortly before you arrived.”

  Ryl felt excitement churn in his veins. They were still close. Only hours separated him from Elias. From Kaep.

  The nagging feeling persisted. It had been an ever-present irritation since he woke to find the phrenic missing. Though he perpetually failed to sense either Kaep or Elias using his mindsight, he couldn’t ignore the sensation that they were still close. It was as his friend was toying with him, keeping himself just out of the reach of his prying vision.

  If what Maklan had said was true, that the king already marched on Cadsae Proper, why would Elias delay upon meeting the army? The city and the relative comforts of the barracks, when compared to sleeping outdoors, were only hours away by horseback.

  They needed to leave and with haste.

  “Were you privy to any of their conversations?” Ryl probed.

  The guard shook his head adamantly as he spoke. “No, sir,” Hobs replied though a peculiar nervousness crept across his face. His eyes wandered as if ensuring that their current conversation remained unheard.

  Ryl’s patience had been exhausted. With little effort, he sent a wave of calming persuasion over the increasingly fretting young soldier.

  “One final question,” Ryl indicated to the visual relief of the guard. “What force remains behind in Cadsae Proper?”

  Hobs eyed him curiously, casting glances to both sides, searching for the army within the peripheral of his vision.

  “There may be no more than a handful left,” he whispered. “Lord Maklan commanded the entirety of the Cadsae Proper guard to give pursuit.”

  Ryl studied the guard for a matter of moments. He squinted his eyes as he watched the nervous young soldier for any signs of betrayal. He witnessed nothing more than hesitance, though his words were truthful.

  “You’ve answered all that was required.” Ryl softened his tone as he spoke. “I told you we sought nothing treasonous. You’re free to go.”

  The relief that flooded Hobs’s face was irrefutable, though the young man tried admirably to hide it. The figurative weight lifted from his frame was evident. He shuffled backwards for a few steps, his eyes flashing between Aelin, Ryl and the Leaves still burning in his hand. Though his confidence had risen considerably, he still appeared as if any moment he’d turn and run—make a break for the relative safety of the numbers among the mass of soldiers at his rear. His retreating steps paused, and the look on his face morphed into question.

  “What will you have us do?” Hobs inquired.

  “I cannot tell you what you ask,” Ryl added. “The concept is foreign to that which you’re accustomed to. I fault you not for your reticence. You are free to make your own decisions, yet you cannot outrun the consequences should you choose to take arms against the tributes. I understand that the world you were raised in has been rocked on its side over the last few days. I can see the light of questioning in your eyes. I urge you to think on it. There is a history you’ve yet to learn. It is dark, written by the evil forces desperate to relgate it to secrecy. They covet their power, the information, yet they are ruled by the fear of it as well. Should the questioning that you feel now spread, the light of truth will wash away the cloud they’ve forced over the kingdom.”

  Hobs froze. His steps faltered as the indecision raged in his mind. Ryl knew the internal torment. He could see the storm swelling inside the young man. The conflict was a visceral reminder of the struggles he’d powered through. His heart, his mind, and the alexen in his blood had waged these battles on several occasions. Ryl was forced to insert his will.

  The battle was recent; he still felt the effects ripple through his body. The foreign voice, the urge to lay waste to the entirety of the army, to bathe the fields of The Stocks in rivers of their blood was potent. It still called to him. Though just a whisper, the voice, the impulse was undeniable. It probed his defenses as if seeking an ingress, a pathway to complete control over his mind.

  “They’ll treat us as deserters. We will be hunted down,” came the feeble plea from Hobs.

  Ryl tamped down the animosity at the statement. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Holding out his left arm, he placed it gently on Aelin’s chest, arresting his approach. Aelin’s eyes churned with the ferocity of an angry sea. Visions of his flight over the churning sea flashed into Ryl’s mind. The images were a painful reminder of his flight with Andr.

  He let a pacifying wave of calm flow over the incensed tribute. Aelin’s eyes calmed; the waters churning within reverted to the mirrorlike calm of windless still. A look of understanding passed between the two. Ryl removed his arm as the pressure from Aelin’s movement ceased.

  “Yet again, that truth will garner no sympathy from me, or any tribute for that matter,” Ryl growled, working diligently to keep his own anger in check. “For centuries, we have been hunted, enslaved, our families butchered. What was our crime? For what purpose were they murdered?”

  The silence was deafening. Even the wind stilled in anticipation of his response.

  “Greed. Power. The evil that poisons their minds and bodies,” he growled. “Look upon your councilor. He is nothing more than a shell, a vessel of the darkness that now stalks the kingdom in the uniform of the king. It hides under the colors of the great houses.”

  Ryl moved a step closer to the guard, whispering as he continued. “The darkness that inhabits them pales in comparison to the storm brewing within the Outlands,” Ryl grumbled. “They mass by the thousands. They will come. The tributes you’ve persecuted, held in chains, are the best chance for hope.”

  Ryl turned from the guard. His words had shaken the young soldier. The color that had returned to his youthful face had receded once more. His skin was pale.

  “The palisades will not hold forever against the wave of death that comes,” Ryl called back over his shoulder. “We phrenics are few and the tributes untrained. I urge you to redirect your animosity. They are likely the key to your survival.”

  Without waiting for response, he led Aelin onward, pushing the young tribute gently toward the front of the black-painted wagon. He angled the boy ahead of the pair of horses that drove the wagon. As they passed, he kept his body between Aelin and the remains of Lord Maklan. The sickening pool of blood crept outward from where he was suspended. The blood, nearly black, remained in a coagulated pool, the earth below seemingly unwilling to accept its tainted essence.

  The stench was horrific. Far from the stale iron tang of blood, baking in the sun’s light, the odor was putrid. It smelled of death, rot and decay. His stomach churned as the potent smell contained a flavor he knew all too well.

  It was the pervasive scent of
the Horde.

  Tamping down the urge to retch, the pair moved to the heads of the horses. The agitated beasts stomped their mighty hooves, nickering as they neared. Anchored to the black carriage, the large drays jostled among each other, nervous of the newcomers.

  “Keep moving,” Ryl whispered to Aelin as he stopped along the flank of the closest mount. With deft precision that belied his personal lack of equine experience, he separated the horses from the carriage. He handed the reins to a bewildered Aelin, whose attitude mimicked a nervousness as severe as the guard they’d just interrogated.

  Ryl returned to the side of the black carriage, the burning blade still alight in his hand. A gout of green flame trailed the blade as he slashed the blade across the edge of the wagon. The serrated, translucent edge ripped through the heavy wooden panels with little resistance. Where it passed, the searing weapon set wood and fabric alight. Charred splinters and sparks sprayed out in his wake. The green flames eagerly took to light as they began devouring the exposed wood.

  With a flick of his right hand, Ryl fanned the fledgling blaze with a gust of focused wind. The green flames from the Leaves exploded into a brilliant orange as they spread across the sides and roof of the doomed wagon. The black paint bubbled in the presence of the heat. Within moments, the flames had engulfed the entirety of the wagon, Maklan included. Knowing the fire would soon consume the haunting relic, Ryl turned, hastening to Aelin.

  For a moment, he had feared retribution from the army at his back. He’d have been unsurprised if a concerted effort had been launched to overwhelm him and the clearly hobbled youth in his company. Yet, as trained as his senses were to the activity at his rear, no attack came.

  Ryl reached Aelin’s side within steps. The young man looked up at the agitated, unsettled beasts at the end of the reins in his hands with fear. The young man who only moments before had faced an army, unarmed and single-handed, looked upon the horses before him with paralyzing fear.

  “You’ve never ridden before, have you?” Ryl guessed.

  The young tribute shook his head rapidly without removing his eyes from the pair of horses that had sidled closer as Ryl approached. The drays were large, their muscular flanks standing above Ryl’s head, well above the young man at his side. They snorted in protest, stomping their feet, churning up the soil beneath them as they protested the unexpected affront.

  Aelin swallowed hard. He tossed the reins to Ryl, balling his hands into nervous fists that he rubbed on his tattered trousers.

  Ryl pitied the young man, as he understood his abject emotions. It was less than a cycle since his own awakening. He recalled how the drastic influx of information from the surrounding world seemed foreign. Growing up, Ryl had ridden nothing more than the lazy old workhorse his father commanded for his paltry work at the mill. He now stood eye to eye with a pair of massive horses, unbridled, yet he was unintimidated.

  Several lifetimes’ worth of experiences on horseback flashed through his mind as the alexen in his blood churned with excitement. Focusing on the beasts, he sent a wave of calm over the trained mounts. In unison their wide eyes swelled. Their heads cocked to the side as they appraised the newcomer in a new light.

  Ryl let the glowing blade fade, slipping the innocuous, dormant stick back into its holster. His attention and forced emotion focused on the pair of mounts. In unison, they both bent their necks, lowering their massive heads toward his. Ryl reached out his hands, gently placing them on their muzzles. With a final snort, a burst of hot air from their nostrils, they acquiesced to his touch.

  Ryl cast a furtive glance back at the army. Flickers of orange light from the burning carriage flashed across them. A plume of black smoke belched into the sky. There was no notable attempt at pursuit or attack. Most watched the blaze devour the carriage and the tainted remains of Maklan.

  His gaze travelled to Aelin. A smile broke across his stoic face as he noted the young tribute’s expression. Aelin stared with eyes and mouth wide. A string of questions seemed ready to flow from his open mouth, yet they were stoppered by the surprise.

  “There’s no time,” Ryl stated calmly, widening the wave of calm from the horses to the young man before him. “We need to make haste.”

  In one fluid movement, Ryl collected the young man under the arms, hoisting him to the back of the closest horse. Aelin yipped in surprise as he shifted uncomfortably on his new seat.

  “Grab a hold of her mane and hang on tight,” Ryl commanded as he swung onto the back of the second horse. “We need speed. Remain still. She’ll follow my lead.”

  Aelin’s fingers wrapped around a clump of the mare’s long brown hair. He nervously nodded his head before positioning himself prone along the horse’s bare back. With a gentle tap from Ryl’s heels, his horse lurched forward. With the lead rope for Aelin’s horse in hand, they moved in tandem.

  Within moments, they entered the narrow road leading south toward Cadsae and the Pining Gates. Easing into a steady canter, they rapidly left the disheveled army behind the rolling hills of The Stocks.

  Ryl slowed, allowing Aelin’s horse to run alongside. The nervousness that had covered the young tribute’s face had been all but lost behind the sheer joy and wonderment as the wind blew in his face. The childlike glow that accompanied his unfiltered mirth was infectious.

  For a moment they were both lost in the pleasure of the moment.

  Ryl feared it wouldn’t last long.

  Chapter 22

  They’d traveled several miles before Ryl slowed the pace to a measured walk. Aelin had relaxed considerably after the initial hesitancy on horseback had resolved into unbridled joy. Ryl carefully scanned the countryside behind them, thankful that there were no signs of pursuit.

  Both ahead and behind, the road was still. Ominously so. Traffic upon the solitary main road that bisected The Stocks was light during for all but a few scattered annual occasions. The migration of the fish that churned the waters of Stillwater Lake brought an uncommon bevy of activity. Its plentiful bounty was a valued resource to the mouths of the guards as well as local citizens throughout the region surrounding Cadsae Proper. At the conclusion of every cycle, carts pulled by teams of heavy horses transported the perishable contents of the storehouses at Tabenville and the other small work camps back to the city that commanded the goods.

  Today, nothing moved in either direction along the road. To their east, the calming splash and gurgle of the sluggish waters lapping on the banks was the highlight of the activity in that direction. To the west, the fields of wild grasses swayed in the gentle breeze that blew steadily from the south. Though they were still many miles away from the solitary exit to The Stocks, the initial tang of the briny seawater tickled his senses.

  Following the cautious survey, he turned his attention to the tribute on horseback at his side. Aelin was still beaming from the excitement of being on horseback. Ryl had been surprised at the relative ease of controlling the beast at his side. At the onset, his fear was that the mount carrying the unsteady rider would test the limits of its newfound independence, even with Ryl’s firm hold on the lead rope. Fortunately, a steady stream of projected emotions—calm and unwavering confidence—held the trained mount in check.

  Ryl was relieved beyond words that Aelin had survived his foolhardy assault on the forces of the kingdom. How the boy hadn’t been maimed beyond recognition was a feat he would likely never understand. Through sheer stubborn will and strength beyond comprehension, the young tribute had given a more than adequate showing for himself.

  Aelin had charged into the fray, equipped with nothing more than a stick, strength, and a burning vengeance. The familiar pit, the desperate sinking in Ryl’s stomach, opened as his thoughts of the young tribute’s upbringing triggered the memories buried deep within.

  Ryl’s family. Their ultimate betrayal. The agony was still raw though nearly a decade had passed since that fateful morning. Nothing he’d tried, not even the awakening, not even the collective memories of gener
ations, could rid him of the pain. It was ingrained into his every fiber of his being, just as the sun was to the daytime sky. Whether camouflaged behind clouds or storm, hidden by roofs of foliage of woods, he knew it was still there. Though absent from his eyes, it still burned nonetheless. Such was the pain of his betrayal.

  The agitation bubbled up from his stomach.

  “What were you thinking following me?” Ryl snapped at Aelin. Both were caught off guard by the harshness of his tone. The young boy’s eyes went wide. The joy evaporated as quickly as light dissipated from an extinguished flame. Sadness, anger, fear—a dangerous mixture of emotions replaced the glimmer in his look. His gaze fell, defeated, to the horse’s mane still wrapped tightly around his fingers. His mount cocked its head slightly. Its wide eye cast an uncomfortable look as if chiding him for his tone.

  Ryl knew he’d gone too far. Knew he’d spoken too harshly. He forced down the agitation at his own internal turmoil, calming his temper with a steady breath.

  “You’re lucky not to have been killed.” He spoke gently. He accented his words with a subtle feeling of warmth. The expression on the face that looked up at him was again changed. The youngster’s emotions were as wild and untrained as the alexen within his veins. Ryl understood the words before the boy even uttered a sound.

  “How do you do that? The feeling?” Aelin gasped, seemingly forgetting the recent chiding altogether. “I know it was you. The sensation was so foreign.”

  Ryl smiled, shaking his head slightly at the jovial child at his side.

  “You’ll not change the subject that easily, my friend. You’ll find that I can be quite as stubborn as you when I have a mind to do so,” Ryl joked. “You should have stayed with the others. Where I go, I need speed. Those who have Kaep will not likely give her up without a fight. I have worries enough for myself, without watching over you.”

  Aelin opened his mouth to retort. Ryl hammered the youngster with a feeling of hesitance. His mouth slowly shut as his eyes widened.