by C. J. Aaron
They barked orders in a tone that demanded obedience. Breila spurred her horse into a gallop in response. Soldiers streamed from the surrounding buildings that lined both the northern and southern sides of the square. The snap and twang of bowstrings releasing their arrows showed their intention. Ryl screamed in warning, though it was too late.
The identity of the soldiers was a mystery to Ryl. He knew nothing else than that they were not the guard from Cadsae Proper.
They had come prepared for a fight.
Were they soldiers from the boats?
Why would they fire on riders dressed in the garb of a Cadsae Proper guard?
Ryl’s instantaneous inspection and introspection were cut short. Arrows streamed toward them. The attack had been planned, calculated, and coordinated with purpose. The first wave, screaming from the southern side of the square, was aimed at Breila and Aelin in the lead. The bolts from the northern side were aimed at his right flank. The angles of attack were plotted to avoid collateral damage.
Ryl cursed himself as the heat of the alexen burned through his veins. He should not have underestimated the feeling of discomfort. He should have seen the attack coming. His heart raced. He gritted his teeth as the world came to a halt around him as he dipped into the speed.
Even so, the arrows tracked forward. Their deadly progress slowed dramatically, yet not frozen.
The assault had come so quickly and from such close quarters there would be no time to deflect or destroy them all. Even with the speed and powers at his command, some of the arrows would find their mark.
His decision was made instantly. There was no time to be wasted, no hesitation needed.
The winds tore around his right arm with the sudden fury of a storm. The fabric of the sleeve scratched against his skin as the power rubbed it against him. As the gale raged, his skin burned, like being pelted by errand grains of sand propelled by the wind.
Ryl screamed as he released the focused arc of wind. The sleeve covering his arm shredded as the power streamed from him. Scraps of fabric tossed helplessly in the wind. The sudden release, the exposure of his tattooed arm, sent a feeling of exhilaration rushing through his body.
His focused assault impacted the doomed flight of arrows aimed for Breila and Aelin. The assault shattered several on contact, reducing their deadly load to splinters. Those not destroyed outright were forced aside by the gale, tossed desperately off course. They would fall harmlessly to the stone of the square.
His mount was not so lucky.
Ryl shifted his leg to the forward, fanning a desperate, uncoordinated burst of wind with a flick of his right hand. The projectiles wobbled in the air as the unfocused blast did little to allay their progress. A trio of arrows found his horse’s flank, just behind the shoulder. The animal stumbled, whinnying in agony, tossing Ryl as it toppled to the ground.
Ryl leapt as the horse’s massive frame crashed into the stone roadway. He hardened the woodskin across his shoulders, arms and back as he neared the ground. His feet contacted the ground at speed; he tumbled forward as he sought to minimize the effects of the abrupt dismount. His fall started gracefully as his enhanced natural agility attempted to control his roll. Even so, the speed was too great, resulting in a painful tumble. Though the rapid coating of woodskin prevented any serious injury, his stolen shirt tore in several places as he scraped on the rough stone. His grip on the unnatural speed within faltered as he skid to a stop. Time snapped back to normal.
“Ryl,” Aelin screamed. Breila had reined in her horse, guiding the beast behind the relative safety of the small gatehouse on the inside of the Estate’s elaborate entrance.
“Go,” Ryl called over his shoulder as he rose to his feet. “Take him to safety. I’ll catch up.”
The two separated groups of soldiers converged into one. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they formed a concave line that stretched from one side of the square to the other. Ryl reached behind his back with his left hand, drawing one of the Leaves, though he kept the blade dormant. A chuckle went up from the soldiers at the appearance of the seemingly innocuous wooden stick. Nearly half the line had a second arrow nocked, ready to fire.
Ryl let the wind swell around his right arm as he faced down the group. The alexen surged through his blood. In the face of armed soldiers, the dark whispers, the urge for bloodshed, raised its voice in an effort to ensure its opinions would be heard. He gritted his teeth as he focused on the heat inside his veins.
He counted close to fifty soldiers standing at the ready, though few, aside from those with bows, had their weapons drawn. Their companions had their fingers on the hilts of their swords on their hips. He’d stared down an army. He’d not allow this palty force to stand in his way. His companions would see no harm from their blades or arrows.
From the avenue behind the grouping, another large contingent approached. Though the bulk were warriors, this party appeared to contain several plain-clothed members as well, though they walked under the concealment of hoods that cast darkened shadows over their faces.
Ryl let the wind swell around his body. Even after a relatively short period of disuse, a thin layer of dust had formed atop the even stone of the courtyard. A small haze from the rotating gust spread outward as the moments passed. It started as nothing more than a gentle shifting of the fine grains strewn across the cobblestone, though it ramped up as his patience waned. His tunic, weakened from the fall, began to tear at the seams. The taut strands of fabric snapped as the wind ripped shreds free. His shirt was soon tattered, whipping to the side as its strength failed in the growing wind.
He felt the light of the last rays of the late afternoon sun on his back. His torso was now entirely exposed.
The determination of the line of soldiers facing him waned as his unnatural skills bloomed before their eyes. To their credit, though several backed a few nervous steps away, the line held true. The high-pitched roar of the wind grew deafening. Along the curved line of the soldiers, many placed their hands protectively over their faces as the wind and dust pelted them from the side.
From the rear of the line, a single man, one of the hooded figures, surged forward. Ryl readied himself to release the storm that swirled around his body. The hooded newcomer shrieked orders at the soldiers in the line, eagerly pushing through the center of their formation. His cloak billowed out to his side as it was caught by the wind. Though Ryl could only make out the muffled garble of his words over the wind, they, in combination with his animated gestures, pacified the soldiers standing ready to fire.
One by one they released the tension on their bowstrings, lowering them toward the ground. They retreated several paces, freeing themselves from the onslaught of the unnatural storm. Only the cloaked man remained several steps ahead of his companions.
He moved a pace forward, raising his arms, palms out toward Ryl in a placating manner.
Ryl let the intensity of the wind fade, releasing it in a diminished arc over the assembled soldiers. At full power, the blast would have scattered their bodies, sending them tumbling across the stone courtyard. Aside from a necessary release, the force served another purpose.
The wind ruffled the clothes of the line of soldiers. The final gust focused on the solitary figure standing before the center of the line.
The hood blew back, revealing his face.
Chapter 32
For a moment, Andr choked on the words that fought to escape his throat. His eyes were locked on to Cray’s. He struggled to hold back his own emotion as the tears flowed freely from his son’s eyes.
“My son,” he whispered. His voice was feeble. The confidence that resulted from a lifetime of training and experience with a blade, that had carried him through countless battles, crumbled in the face of a single pleading glance from his boy.
“Is it true?” Cray stammered, his words rich with emotions, choked out between growing sobs.
“Yes, Cray,” Andr replied. “I’m sorry for more than I can ever hope to atone for.
I know not what you’ve suffered through all these cycles. I swear to you, had I known what she would have done, I’d have taken you and fled. I’d have died protecting you from the monster that she became. That she fed you to.”
Cray broke eye contact as his lucid gaze reverted to fevered delirium. His pupils dilated and contracted in rapid succession as he fought desperately to make sense of the situation.
Andr placed his hand on Cray’s head. His brow radiated heat once more. He dabbed at it with the damp cloth, though it too was warm with sweat.
“I promise there is no force that will keep me from protecting you,” Andr vowed.
Cray’s vision ran the course of the room again before locking on to Andr’s. There was a depth of emotion swelling inside that he could never hope to understand. If it took him a lifetime, if he had to walk to the ends of the earth again, he would.
“I’ve hated you for so long.” Cray stumbled through the words. His eyes glazed over as the last sliver of clarity faded under the weight of the fever. His body quaked with chills. Andr had lived through this stage of the sickness before. In the darkness of the Outlands, he’d kept Ryl close to monitor his temperature. He’d fretted over his shallow breathing in the still of the nights when the beasts that stalked them gave momentary pause.
How long it was that he remained at Cray’s side was anyone’s guess. He’d watched his boy until his fever had broken again and slumber came with peace. At some point he’d fallen asleep, his arms wrapped around his knees.
His mind had run rampant with questions prior to nodding off. Cray’s last words haunted him.
Would his son ever forgive him? Would the hatred of him remain a permanent scar?
His mind had eventually put an end to the speculation. What was to happen would happen. Nothing he could do now could affect the decisions Cray would make.
Exhausted, both mentally and physically, for once, his sleep was deep. Neither dreams nor thoughts disturbed him. The peaceful silence was a balm. For the first time in cycles, the truth had been revealed. The weight that had smothered him had vanished.
A gentle tap on his shoulder roused him from sleep. His eyes snapped open; his hand instinctively fell for the sword resting across his lap. Thankfully, his messenger was well prepared for that eventuality.
Cavlin grinned at him from a meter away. He shrugged his shoulders as he tossed the thin stick in his hand absently to the side.
“The scouts have returned,” the guard stated matter-of-factly. “Come, the captain awaits.”
Andr was on his feet in an instant. Though his legs were cramped from being locked in position while he slept, he powered through the soreness and the pins and needles, strapping his sword to his belt as he followed.
The interior of the chamber for the time being was quiet. A solitary conscripted guard moved stealthily among the recovering bodies, paying close attention to those in the direst of need. Mender Jeffers was at his makeshift desk along the far wall. His arms were crossed over the tome that lay on the table before him. His head rested on the pages as the need for sleep finally took its toll. Sarial slept quietly on a cot only a few meters to his side.
A few steps ahead, Cavlin strode with slow paces yet showed little sign of hesitance in his steps. Andr marveled at the apparent speed of his recovery since he’d regain control over his faculties. At the moment, the soldier showed no outward signs of injury, though Andr knew he suffered still.
Andr reached his escort’s side as they stepped out from the interior of the tree. Cavlin paused, inhaling an audible breath. His face scrunched in a wince of pain as the volume of air pushed against the fresh wound across his torso.
He sighed as he exhaled.
“I truly think that infernal stench aided my recovery,” he said in seeming jest though his face remained passive. “Though the sentiment will be of little consolation to those who’ve been forced to take the treatments for cycles.”
Without another word, the guard strode forward. His steps increased in length and speed as they led onward. Andr walked alongside as he approached the firepit in the center of the clearing. Several had already congregated around the small blaze.
Andr’s glance tracked around the clearing. Darkness had fallen, though the fire’s light illuminated a vast swath of the interior of the ring of trees. Torches illuminated the entrance to each arboreal shelter. Set against the darkened backdrop of the forest, shadows continued to move in a calculated procession as the sentries patrolled the edge of the clearing.
Though the hour was late, there were signs of motion around the base of each tree. Tributes, some with the aid of guards, lumbered with hesitant steps, or simply lounged against the thick roots of the great trees. Andr was amazed at the rapid healing that many had seemingly undergone. Had Ryl progressed so far before the addition of the remedy that his body was forced to endure the painful duration of its course?
That would be a discussion for the mender. The return of the scout meant they’d likely have more immediate martial concerns to discuss. Andr could easily make out the shapes of the phrenics among the men gathered near the center of the clearing. Ramm towered over those assembled, the thin frame of Vox standing at his side. The figures of Le’Dral and Millis resolved as Andr neared the gathering.
Cavlin nodded at the captain before gingerly seating himself on a stump nearer to the fire. He winced as he stretched out his legs, wrapping his left arm protectively over his abdomen.
Le’Dral greeted the newcomers quickly before nodding to Millis to begin.
“Let’s get on with this,” the captain said. “We have much to discuss.”
Andr folded his arms across his chest, and he made himself comfortable for the debriefing.
“Thank you, Captain,” Millis began. The lieutenant looked weary from a long day of travel. Even in the dark, Andr could see the layer of dirt that soiled his face.
“I witnessed none of what happened this morning,” Millis began. “The disposition of the army now is at best confusing.”
The lieutenant ran a hand through the tangled mass of hair atop his head. Living off the land inside The Stocks for over a moon had done little for his hygiene. He took a deep swig from the waterskin in his hand.
“It’s a strange sight,” Millis announced. “The army has shattered. The vast majority seem to mill around without a plan or leadership. Only a small contingent moves to the south, though their march is sluggish. It appears that great plumes of smoke rise from Cadsae Proper.”
“Was that the cause of the smoke we saw this morning?” Le’Dral inquired.
“No, sir.” Millis shook his head. “We arrived after that blaze had burnt itself out. The remains are indistinguishable, yet the guards avoided it like a curse. None move within twenty meters of it.”
Andr chimed in. He found it difficult to keep the fatherly concern from his voice. His normally stolid emotions were in a state of turmoil far greater than he’d ever experienced.
“Were there any signs of Ryl or the boy?” he interrupted.
“There was no indication that they were still among the army, though there was evidence of a struggle,” Millis said with a twinge of remorse. “There were bodies still lying on the ground. Perhaps one hundred or more. The graves are fresh. They tend to a significant number of wounded. It would appear that whatever battle occurred was one-sided, though I have no evidence other than a feeling that he did in fact survive. Their disposition was too fragmented, too morose for a victory to have been lodged.”
Andr choked down the momentary panic that threatened to crush him.
“He’s alive,” Ramm grumbled. His voice was accompanied by a wave of authority that demanded belief.
All eyes turned to the massive phrenic, who merely folded his arms across his chest in response.
“There is little we can do to explain the occurrence, so I’ll dispense with the attempt,” Vox chimed in for the silent giant standing at his side. “Though we cannot see his presence when he is
further than our field of vision, the effect of his death would be noted by all who share the phrenic blood. He and Kaep yet live.”
Andr nodded his head in agreement.
“You’ve witnessed what Ryl is capable of,” Andr acknowledged. “Yet I fear for him still.”
The attention that had been directed to Ramm now swung fully to him.
“We all know too well that there is a burden wrought for every life that ends by your hands.” Andr sighed. He knew the weight well. The death wails of countless men still echoed in his skull. He wiped his hand over his cheek as the phantom sensation of a hot splash of blood splattered across his face. He had to look at his hand to confirm that it was in fact still clean.
“Ryl is better equipped than any to handle himself in battle.” Andr sighed as his gaze lowered to the ground. The vision that flashed into his mind was chilling. Ryl lay helpless at his side. His feeble body, that had fought for so long, finally succumbed to the sickness. The look of desperation and fear that clouded the young man’s face was a chilling reminder. “I fear for the army that stands between him and a righteous purpose, though I’m terrified the emotional toll of that volume of death would crush him.”
There was a pause as those assembled pondered the assessment.
“And what is Kaep to him?” Le’Dral asked curiously. “Is she a noble cause?”
Andr looked to the phrenics, who stood only meters away. The flickering light of the fire illuminated their scowls. Their jaws were clenched in frustration. Though their eyes were lost in the shadow of their hoods, he could feel them boring into him.
“She is family,” Andr replied.
Chapter 33
The smile that greeted Ryl was disarming. It was infectious.
“Fay,” Ryl gasped.
The last puff of wind from his arm wafted past Lord Eligar, ruffling the collar of his shirt. Errant strands of hair floated across his face.