The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4)

by C. J. Aaron

  The Kingsway itself was dim, lit only by the occasional lantern that dotted the wide cobblestone lane.

  In the distance to the west, the lights of the far-off garrison burned. The last fortification of human expansion twinkled in the darkness.

  Ryl swung himself into the carriage, careful to avoid disrupting the comfort of its inhabitants.

  The interior of the wagon was divided into two seats, one to the front and one to the rear of the carriage. Nestled along the rear seat, Breila lounged comfortably. The young tribute was already asleep, curled into a position smaller than Ryl could imagine possible, his head resting upon Breila’s lap. The madam hummed softly as she stroked the mop of shaggy, wild hair atop his head.

  Ryl seated himself on the bench across from the pair. He’d settled into the cushion of his seat for a moment before she raised her eyes to his. The smile was one that he’d never witnessed from the elder woman before. Though he’d only known her for a short period of time, they were bound by common trust of Andr. They were indebted to each other by varying degrees of support. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment. A small smile tugged up on her lips before her eyes returned to the peacefully sleeping boy.

  Ryl was reminded for a moment how truly young Aelin was. How young all the tributes were.

  The bulk of those housed between the cold stone walls of the palisades were nothing more than children. Though they’d matured at the hands of their wicked keepers, they were adolescent at best.

  Ryl leaned his head back against the wooden wall of the carriage. He sighed as the thoughts took over his mind. He chided himself for the time wasted during the meal and meeting, yet he understood the need for pause. He and Aelin had pushed without rest, with only scraps for food. They were famished and exhausted. In turn, Ryl welcomed the darkness that had fallen.

  The wagon groaned as Fay leapt aboard the small carriage.

  “Let’s bring the lady home,” his authoritative voice ordered.

  Lord Eligar swung inside the carriage with one fluid motion, finding his seat next to Ryl as the horses jolted forward.

  Fay’s gaze travelled the occupants of the carriage, landing finally on Ryl. The lord smiled as he patted him on the shoulder, his face stretching into a wide smile.

  “Rest, my friend,” he whispered. “The road ahead is assuredly long. I’ll not bother you for trivial details.”

  Ryl nodded as he closed his eyes.

  The sentiment was a welcome one. Ryl scanned the area surrounding with his mindsight, confirming the standard monotony of the scene. Though to the west beyond his vision, he could feel a troubling anomaly, nothing in the vicinity was amiss. The road to Breila’s estate was clear.

  His path further to the west was uncertain.

  Though he couldn’t yet see them, he could feel their presence tingling at the periphery of his senses.

  The king was there.

  Elias was there.

  Kaep was there.

  He was coming.

  Chapter 35

  Kaep’s knees buckled at the force of the blow against the backs of her legs. She crashed to the ground, the impact sending sharp jolts of pain through her bones.

  The interior of the garrison was plain. Constructed from the same drab stones that made the palisades, it was awash with varying shades of grey. Elias had dragged her through the foyer to the chamber that was directly beyond. Here the walls opened into an amphitheater of sorts. Several rows of benches descended into the ground; the focal point centered on a narrow stage below. She pondered the similarities to the grand auditorium of Vim, though they were few. The differences were stark.

  Compared to the orate artistic construction of her home city, the entirety of the garrison, the auditorium included, was pedantic. There was no flair for design, no touch of creativity. All the constructs were cold and lifeless. Sterile. They had been built for the sole purpose of function. All else had been neglected.

  She shuddered at the chill that seemingly seeped from the room itself.

  The focal point of the meeting hall in Vim was the massive statue of Taben the Defender. His position was larger than life. The enormity of his deeds dwarfed the statues constructed there and other places in his honor. The focus here in the garrison was nonetheless potent.

  A line of seven black-cloaked Lei Guard stood like statues, evenly spaced along the rear wall. The throne centered before them was imposing, though it was as plain as the stones that made up the garrison. The sturdy wooden timbers were painted solid black. Set atop the throne, lounging in finery that reflected glints of light as the jewel-adorned fabric sparkled in the low light, was a man who needed no introduction. Blackness oozed from the Lei Guard at his rear, coating the floor around him in shadow.

  King Lunek the Third.

  “This is not the return I had been expecting,” the king grumbled, turning his head to the side, casting a quick, puzzling glance over his shoulder at the Lei Guard.

  “So few, yet more than enough. You’ve returned with a worthy prize.” He chuckled to himself. His eyes roved over Kaep’s body with an inquisitive hunger that turned her stomach. A glimmer of recognition seemed to flash in his eyes, though it faded as quickly as it had come.

  “Tell me, my dear,” the king grumbled, “what of the others? What of the tribute come back to life?”

  Kaep glared at the king. She struggled against the bonds that held her wrists. The ropes had dug into her skin. She could feel the trickle of warm blood ooze from her skin. The icy grip of Elias standing by her side pinched on her right arm. He pulled up, a single violent jerk, arresting her struggling hands.

  The king rose to his feet. He stepped forward, stopping as he squinted his eyes, scouring her frame with his look.

  “Your silence is admirable. Yet pointless,” the king whispered, though the power of his gravelly voice filled the room. “I care not for the tributes. They will be rounded up, or they will perish. Either way, there will be more.”

  He paced slowly to the side.

  “The lords will wait. The price they pay will increase. They will squabble. Some will die, yet you are my salvation,” he admitted. “In your blood I will achieve life eternal. You are a phrenic. A long-lost relic of a time when your superiority sought to command the kingdom. Your blood has never been tainted by the treatments, allowed to flourish hidden in the depths of the wilds.”

  The king crossed back toward his throne, stalking along the line of the Lei Guard.

  “Think that I have not heard the whispers of prophecy,” he hissed as if the word itself was a curse. “Think you that I have not noticed the open contempt for my law. The discourse spreads among the people like a plague. They whisper of hope. It will be crushed by a wave of blackness.”

  The king’s voice escalated as he finished his dissertation. His final words struck with a faint wave of inky blackness. It was awash with hatred, hopelessness, and fear.

  Though she shrugged off the feeble attack with little effort, her mouth cracked open in astonished, disgusted surprise.

  “Your powers are pitiful,” she cursed. “You are a monster.”

  The king’s eyes went wide. His body trembled with anger.

  The coating of blackness that covered the floor lurched forward with the emotion. The crippling power of the sensations was daunting. She doubled over at the waist. Elias’s viselike grip was all that held her body up from the floor.

  The assault of emotions hammered into her. Her eyes welled with tears.

  The crushing pain of loss.

  A bottomless feeling of betrayal.

  The blistering hatred, raw and seething.

  A chilling black void of hopelessness.

  Her senses screamed for mercy as the tears streamed down her face.

  Through vision clouded with moisture, she glared at the king. His face was scrunched into a heinous scowl of concentration as he attempted to force his will, exert his force over her. His attack was impotent. Her agonized gaze settled on the Lei Guar
d standing in the center over the king’s right shoulder. He had separated himself from the solid line of his peers by a step. The figure was a few hands shorter than the others. Even buried in the black folds of its cloak, the telltale hunch of age was unmistakable.

  The power that coursed from his being was unrelenting.

  It was ancient.

  The alexen in her blood screamed in rage.

  She gasped in horror as his identity dawned on her.

  The phrenics of old had been betrayed by one. He represented the original sin that brought the proud order to the very brink of extinction.

  He was the butcher of his own people. His own kin.

  “Leiroth,” she gasped.

  The Lei Guard glided forward without a sound. With every step forward, the agonizing emotion that hammered her body swelled. He stopped alongside the king, extending his hand to his liege. In his palm was a small glass vial. A thick, viscous black liquid sloshed inside.

  “Her presence lures another. A prize far greater,” his voice hissed. There was a disturbing familiarity in its tone. “Make her ready. It is time.”

  Chapter 36

  Ryl had closed his eyes for what he’d intended to be nothing more than a long blink. The rhythmic bumping of the large wheels across the cobblestone street had ceased as he stirred from the slumber that had overtaken him. The sounds of familiar voices from outside the wagon assured him that his respite had not been long.

  Though the tendrils of sleep clung tightly to his consciousness, he found his footing easily, slipping from the carriage without a sound. The rest, though abbreviated, had done his body wonders. The heaviness from the rich meal had burned off, leaving his body energized from the nourishment. He felt refreshed as if he’d managed a complete night of uninterrupted slumber.

  Undisturbed sleep had been elusive to Ryl since his imprisonment within The Stocks. Terrors routinely plagued him at night. Neither remedies nor potions worked to rid him of them for long. He’d resolved to find rest in short spurts, therefore alleviating the rigors and temptation of the more potent terrors that frequented deeper sleep.

  Ryl found himself in a vast courtyard, though the area was poorly lit for its size. Likely by design, heavy shadows permeated the area, casting large swaths in the deep cover of night. He squinted his eyes into the dark. There, set against the violet of the night sky, darker shadows lurked in the gloom.

  For a moment, he panicked, reaching for the Leaves strapped to his lower back. He stopped as his senses and wisdom took control over the conditioned reaction. His mindsight flashed into view unbeckoned.

  There were no shadowed wisps of black lurking in the darkness that surrounded him. Only the calming yellow glow of young Aelin was shown in his vision.

  He could almost sense Kaep at the periphery of his vision. There was a hit of light that split the darkness that seemed to surround the western edge of his phrenic sight. The sense of dread, of the blackness approaching had grown. The intensity was overwhelming.

  He was close.

  It had been careless to slumber.

  Ryl snarled to himself as he viewed the activity outside the carriage. Breila whispered softly into the ear of a hulking man who carried the sleeping body of Aelin cradled carefully in his arms. A lancing shot of remorse arched through his body as the image conjured the acknowledgment of what his young friend truly was.

  Though he was near his awakening, on the verge of becoming a phrenic, Aelin was still no more than a child.

  Scarred far more than any should be, he had been forced to endure hardship painful enough to bring the mightiest to their knees. The young man had taken it all in stride. It was true that he wore his scars, both mental and physical, as all tributes did. Yet the reasoning for them seemed obtuse at best.

  The solution to the situation had never been so near at hand.

  The answer to the problem of the Ascertaining Decree, the Harvest, and the tributes was nearly within reach. He was determined not to keep the king waiting. He would not keep Kaep waiting.

  Ryl stalked forward, relaxing the tension that had settled. The insinuation of the blackened shadows of the Horde faded into the familiar shapes of men as he moved.

  Surrounding him in all directions was an elaborately paved courtyard stretching twenty meters in each direction. Immaculately groomed hedges lined three sides. A lone large opening, easily wide enough for two carriages to fit abreast, ran toward the main road in the distance. Several small gaps, covered by large arched awnings, broke the continuous hedge.

  The mansion that made up the remaining side of the courtyard was as grand as it was large. Made almost entirely of white stone, the building seemed to glow with an eminence that was all its own. The rock, polished to a gleaming shine, reflected the yellow light of the lanterns, casting a shimmering faux daylight over the surrounding courtyard. Several thin, evenly spaced windows ran across the front facade.

  Massive fluted pillars, seemingly carved from a single stone, stretched from the ground to the roof high above. A large balcony lined the second floor, its edge lined with an ornately adorned wrought-iron railing.

  The mansion was a strange analogue of the structures he’d become familiar with in Vim. A feeling of nostalgia gnawed at his senses. The wonders of the hidden city called to him. He longed to be reunited with its comforts. Though immaculate and impressive, the mansion reminded him of the gawdy excess that characterized the overindulgence that was rampant among the high society. Many of those, by more flattery than fortune, had clawed past their peers, leveraging the backs of those below to profess their loyalty to the throne.

  The contrast between the grand estate and the Proper’s East, Breila’s tavern and brothel located in the heart of the city’s most destitute ward, was startling. The madam lived in two vastly differing worlds. He watched as she issued hushed orders to her staff. Lord Eligar was present at the discussion, his hands gesturing to the west. A host of armed guards had exited, fanning out behind her in a protective arc. Three of the group hastened to their horses waiting nearby, spurring the mounts into a gallop as they rushed down the avenue toward the road.

  Ryl approached, nodding his greeting to the pair. His eyes fell on Aelin, still asleep in the arms of one of her massive stewards.

  “He was weary,” she whispered. Her eyes welled with tears. “He is strong, but he’s so young. Just a child …”

  Ryl agreed with the sentiment.

  “They all are,” he acknowledged. “He needs rest. There is much that lies ahead for him. For all of us. Can he remain here until I return? I won’t be long.”

  She smiled as her eyes turned back to the sleeping boy. She ran her hand gently across his face, pushing aside a clump of stray hair.

  “Put him in the guest quarters nearest mine,” she ordered softly. The guard moved slowly, careful not to wake the sleeping boy.

  “You knew the answer before you asked.” She watched her guard until he disappeared into the house.

  Ryl stopped abruptly as an annoyingly dark sensation washed over him. His left arm throbbed, the pain radiating outward from the center of the tattooed sun. He rubbed his arm gingerly with his right hand. His skin felt hot to the touch.

  The sensation came from the west. It was a ripple of blackness that stilled the quiet calm of the early night. His gaze travelled to the blackened horizon. His mindsight showed nothing abnormal inside its frame, yet the darkened border in that direction seemed to push ever closer.

  “Be ready to move at the first warning,” he said cryptically. “If you cannot flee by the port, The Stocks will be your safest haven.”

  Fay and Breila regarded him with caution. Questioning looks were written clearly across their faces.

  As was the concern.

  “What is it?” Fay asked. “What did you feel?”

  Ryl pondered the discomfort. The throbbing in his arm had been a precursor to the blackness that had accompanied the abnormalities of the Lei Guard. At the present, he wasn’t sure
if it was that which he felt. The king, tainted by the elixir, the unholy concoction of alexen and the vile nexela, was there as well.

  Was Leiroth?

  Was the Horde?

  “A hint of blackness,” Ryl answered, cautious to reveal more than necessary. “The night hides its intent. I fear what the light of the morning will illuminate. I must go. I’ll return before long. How far is the bridge to the garrison from here?”

  “It is less than half a mile to the bridge,” she responded without hesitation. “Avoid the gates to the other households. My men darken the lanterns on the Kingsway to hide your approach.”

  Ryl turned his vision toward the road that split the darkness, joining the city with the garrison. As he watched, a light between their location and the river winked out.

  “My men will meet us there,” Fay added.

  “Us?” Ryl asked.

  Fay grinned. He bowed low to Breila. “Thank you, my lady, for your kindness.” His voice was genuine. He stepped back before turning and striding toward the exit to the illuminated square.

  “Aye, Ryl,” he called. “You can’t have all the fun on your own.”

  Ryl shook his head. There would be no talking Fay out of the decision he’d already made. Acceptance, though bitter, was the only option.

  “Thank you as well, Breila,” Ryl said with a nod. “I’ll be back for Aelin before long.”

  “I’ll watch over him,” she called as Ryl hastened after Lord Eligar.

  He joined the eccentric lord as he crossed the threshold of the illuminated square. Fay was confidently strapping a sword to his left hip as he walked. The surprised look on Ryl’s face must have shown, as a chuckle bubbled up from inside the young lord.

  “My life has not been relegated to banquets and relaxation, you know?” Fay spoke in jest. “Though I’m no expert, I’m more than capable with a blade. Andr was a fountain of knowledge from which I drank freely. I have no qualms adopting his less than proper fighting style.”