The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4)

by C. J. Aaron

  The burning Leaves in his hands never ceased their lethal assault as they cut down the incoming Horde. Ryl ducked under an errant slash, severing the offending body in two, while plunging the burning blade in his opposite hand through the neck of another. Spurts of black blood clouded the air. He hacked off limbs and appendages. Severed heads and spilled piles of foul entrails on the stone surface of the bridge.

  He danced among the sluggishly moving bodies of his assailants, destroying everything that came within reach. The stone was soon slick with the putrid stench of rot as their blackened blood ran like water. Still the assault came. They poured from the garrison in a never-ending river of bodies.

  The red glow of an arrow streaked from the east. The wind swelled around his right arm.

  Ryl jumped back a step, unleashing the torrent into the continual assault. As with his previous release, the soulborne wind carried the lanky Horde backward with little effort. His wind held the flow of the Horde for an instant. The tenuous break was momentary, like holding back a trickle of water with your breath alone. For a moment it will succeed. It may back up the water.

  Your breath will at some point fail. The water will release its pent-up flow once more.

  There was a distinct thunk as the flaming arrow hit wood.

  The light from the blast preceded the detonation by an instant. Ryl had a split second to harden the woodskin over his body, dashing away from the explosion. He let the Leaves fade out.

  There was a moment of chilling silence.

  The center of the bridge stood bathed in a blinding, yet serene white light. All sound ceased; all motion paused in anticipation. For an instant, the black silhouettes of the Horde stood in stark contrast to the aura that swelled around them. There was a massive sucking sound, almost like that of a giant set of lungs inhaling a deep breath. The dark shadows of the harriers panicked as they fled the epicenter.

  The white light vaporized them as it detonated outward. From serene and sterile, the color morphed from yellow to red as the explosion unleashed its fury. Flame, heat and jagged chunks of stone demolished everything in their path.

  Even with his speed, Ryl was unable to avoid the detonation. The shock wave caught him in the back, tossing his body forward. The woodskin likely saved his life. He felt the sting of stone shrapnel and the slap of stray chunks of flesh against his back as he was tossed wildly across the Kingsway. The heat was intense. It singed the hairs from his arms. The small shrubs bordering the road burst into flame.

  Ryl’s body tumbled wildly. He brought his hands to his face in a desperate plea for protection. He rolled across the cobblestone, careening through a burning bush, coming to a violent stop against the low stone fence that bordered the track.

  A shower of sparks and stone rained down around him.

  Chapter 38

  Comfort surrounded every fiber of Aelin’s being. For the first time in ages, his belly was truly full. The substantial meal had sent his road-weary body into overload. The hearty, flavorful concoction of mouthwatering scents and textures proved altogether too much for the young man.

  The food and idle time, though short, had acted like a drug. Aelin had barely made it to the carriage before sleep took hold. He had told himself he was only closing his eyes for a moment, only until Ryl arrived.

  His body contracted, his arms sliding easily across the silken sheets. The smooth texture wrapped him in blissful serenity. He sighed aloud as he squeezed the pillow, hugging it to his chest as he rolled to his side.

  For once, terrors hadn’t plagued his slumber. He was too afraid to open his eyes for fear the dream would end abruptly.

  The jarring note of a distant wail caused his eyes to snap open though his body remained still. His eyes roved the darkened ceiling high overhead as they struggled to adjust to the lack of light.

  Aelin worked himself to a sitting position. He slid easily across the sheets, resting his back against the wooden headboard.

  “Ryl?” he whispered.

  There was no answer.

  In the hall outside, the growing sounds of commotion found their way to his ears.

  The features of the room slowly came into view. The large bed dominated the center of the interior. To his left a pair of large windows looked out into the darkness. There were a few glimmers of lights. An ominous orange glow hung low, silhouetting the tops of the buildings of Cadsae Proper.

  Past the foot of the bed, he could make out the shape of a large door. A stream of light worked its way in along the tile floor, stopping a few meters inside. He could see the outline of a chair and a small table to the side of the doorway.

  Aelin swung his feet over the edge of the bed, surprised to find that they didn’t reach the floor below. The low cot he’d called his own had offered little height from the cold, creaky and rough wooden panels of the common house.

  He slipped from the bed. The tiles beneath his feet were smooth and shockingly cold on his bare skin. Every step made a quiet sticking sound as his naked skin peeled up off the floor. At the foot of the chair by the door, he found his shoes. Though hardly more than crude deerskin coverings at this point, they muffled the sounds of his movement across the stone floor. He grabbed his small weathered pack, tossing it over his shoulder.

  Aelin felt a chill pass through his body. It was as if a waft of frigid air travelled through the room. His puzzled expression fell to the door less than a meter in front of him. It was closed tightly. No air could have passed through its sturdy wooden panel, yet he had sensed the tingle of the chilling gust as it passed. His hands fumbled against the polished wood as he searched for the handle of the door.

  A distant, sharp cracking sound roared through the air. Though it rumbled like a vicious peal of thunder splitting the sky, it was unlike any he’d heard before. He could feel the impact of the noise. It made his stomach lurch and his heart beat faster as if an unseen hand had punched him in the gut.

  Shouting rose from beyond the door. The commotion swelled as heavy footsteps signaled the rapid movement of the occupants.

  Aelin reached for the handle of the door. The rapid inswing of the wooden panel caught him off guard. His face rebounded off the wood, sending stars through his vision as he careened across the smooth floor.

  There was a gasp.

  A female’s comforting voice.

  He felt gentle hands cradle his head as they pulled him into a warm embrace.

  “My boy, are you alright?” Breila cooed as she gently stroked his hair. In the doorway the hulking shadow of her guard blocked out most of the light from the exterior hallway. Aelin could see the naked sword in his hand.

  “Aye. I’m fine. What’s happening? Where’s Ryl?” he blurted out, not waiting for an answer.

  “Shhh,” Breila coaxed the agitated young tribute. “I have no idea what caused that unearthly howl. My guess is that Ryl had something to do with the explosion though.”

  Aelin leapt to his feet. His abrupt rise sent the madam skidding backward across the floor.

  “He’s gone,” Aelin snapped accusingly at the madam.

  The guard in the doorway growled as he turned his body and his blade in Aelin’s direction.

  “It’s ok, Tarik,” Breila barked as she worked herself to her feet. Her voice was stern yet motherly. It compelled him to listen. “Young man, Ryl said he would return shortly. He’s done nothing to give me cause to doubt the seriousness of his word.”

  The stern features of her face softened as she approached. She leaned forward, bringing her face close to his, placing her hands tenderly on his shoulders.

  “Or to question the sincerity of his devotion,” she added.

  Another haunting wail floated on the wind. Unlike the last, this was closer. It was a bloodcurdling scream, a wail of pure agony. It was the sound of a man’s voice.

  It cut off with an alarming snap.

  “Tarik, see that everyone is inside,” Breila ordered. “Have the archers ready on the roof. Bar the doors.”

>   With a grunt the massive guard hastened from the room. His terse commands echoed through the hallway moments later. The sound of footsteps grew as the unseen guards responded without question. There were sounds of doors slamming throughout the house.

  “Come, Aelin,” Breila said as she placed her hand on his back, gently steering him to the door. “Let us move upstairs.”

  Breila ushered Aelin from the darkened room into the hallway beyond. He had been asleep when they had first entered. His mouth fell agape as he looked upon the opulence of the corridor before him.

  The ceiling was high. He reckoned it reached five meters from floor to ceiling. The walls were lined with all forms of paintings and tapestries. Some were bordered by ornately fashioned gold-colored frames. His mind wondered if they were in fact solid gold, or merely a gilding for show. Either way, he now walked among wealth he’d witnessed only in his wildest dreams.

  Not unlike his room, smooth tiles, polished to a mirrored shine, paved the floor. Ahead, a large staircase ascended to the upper level of the mansion. A carpet of bright, vibrant red lined the center of the stairs. He felt his foot sink into the plush as he stepped upward.

  He’d taken no more than a few steps when he stopped abruptly. He wrapped his hands around his stomach as the discomfort rushed through his body. He felt the cold sweat break across his forehead. His body felt engulfed by an inky blackness that chilled him to the core.

  Breila’s eyes were panicked as they met his.

  The sound of smashing glass ripped through the first floor.

  Bedlam ensued.

  Wicked curses of men roared through the halls. Screams of alarm and pain carried from the exterior. A howl of something inhuman shrieked over the commotion.

  A thunder of footsteps sounded in the hallway behind them as the mammoth guard from earlier sprinted toward them.

  “The house is breached, my lady,” he reported. His voice was steady, though Aelin heard the hint of fear in its tone. “We need to get you upstairs. Now.”

  He grabbed Breila by the arm, dragging her up the stairs. Aelin leapt after him as the madam struggled to keep her feet on the ground.

  The shattering sound of glass crackled from above. The sounds of panic, alarm and war cries of rage were much closer. Aelin heard the splash of blood on the walls. He cringed at the slapping of flesh upon the floor.

  The screams from the exterior and the first floor quieted, though the sound of steel striking something hard registered that her guards still battled on.

  A frantic scream of agony ripped from the upper floor. There was a clanging of metal as a blade bounced off the floor.

  Without warning, the shredded body of a guard slammed into the wall at the top of the stairs. Blood sprayed outward as the desiccated corpse slid to the floor. A stream of thick crimson oozed down the stairs, forming a small waterfall and a muffled splatter as if poured from the step, soaking into the thick carpeting.

  Tarik stopped Breila, growling as he stalked up the stairs. The steady click and scrape of claws across the tile floor increased in volume as it moved toward the stairwell. Aelin squeezed next to Breila, her presence a comfort to the fear that threatened to paralyze him. The guard advanced up another step, his approach muffled by the soft shag of the stairs.

  The clicking neared the corner of the stairs. Tarik bounded up the last few steps, ducking as he led with a vicious swing of his sword. He jumped back a step, bringing the blade back in defense.

  His actions, though valiant, were futile. A black shape streaked around his side. It moved so quickly, he could muster no defense. It grabbed a hold of his head, its razor-sharp claws digging in as they spun his body toward the stairs. The snap of his neck was sickening. The demon bit down onto the dead man’s neck, tearing a jagged hunk of flesh off with its mouth. A fountain of red blood pulsed out.

  The creature paused for an instant, glaring over the ravaged neck of their would-be protector. Its wide jaws hung open, showing off a mouth full of jagged teeth stained red with fresh blood. A chunk of flesh hung from the corner. Its skin, so deep red it was nearly black, was covered in a sheen of gore. Its presence brought a waft of putrid stench that filled the air. The hatred that poured from its body swelled, though Aelin could sense its anticipation. It growled as its beady eyes appraised its prey.

  Aelin grabbed Breila by the hand, pulling her back down the stairs. Only death remained where they stood. The hallway and stairs were lost. Reaching the bedroom where he awoke was their only chance. The roar from the beast at the top of the stairs was deafening.

  Sheer panic spurred him onward. Every step came with a dread that filled his body, weighing him down. Risking a glance, he turned his head, assured that his doom was upon him.

  He cried in warning, though it was too late. The beast had tossed the corpse of Tarik toward its fleeing prey. In life, the guard, roughly the size of Zed, had been a giant. Aelin did his best to brace himself, to shield Breila from the force of the weight. There was little he could do.

  The body fell on him, carrying his strong but small frame backward into Breila. She screamed as the dead weight toppled them, pinning their bodies to the ground. Aelin was on his back, the chest of the corpse, the bulk of its weight, resting squarely on his chest. His arms struggled to free themselves from under his solid frame. He felt the warm blood soak into his clothes as the pool grew around him.

  At his side, Breila struggled against the weight. Her lithe figure could do little to move herself from under the man who’d died valiantly protecting her. Ironically, his failed protection would now seal their doom.

  The beast gnashed its teeth together as it slurped the last of the flesh into its mouth. Two steps at a time, it descended the stairs. The razor-sharp claws on its feet tore long strips in the soft carpet.

  A scream echoed from the hall behind them, ending in a wet gurgle.

  Silence followed.

  The Horde leapt down the last few steps, landing awkwardly on the tile floor. Its clawed feet slipped, squealing as they cut deep gouges into the slick, polished stone. It fell forward, catching itself with a hand. Its weight landed squarely on the back of the dead guard pinning them to the ground. Breila whimpered at his side.

  The pressure robbed the breath from his lungs. Aelin gasped as he struggled for air. The heft of the dead body and the added pressure from the demon was too much for him.

  The beast leaned its head forward, inching closer. The mouth opened wide, nearly splitting its head in half. Row upon row of jagged, pointed teeth greeted him. Aelin fought the bile that threatened to escape his stomach as the putrid odor assailed his senses.

  The vile stench of rotting flesh and death mingled with the metallic tang of fresh blood. A line of thick, black, pungent drool slapped on his cheek from the beast above.

  Aelin knew his life was over. His abbreviated existence had culminated with cycles of pain. He grinned as he recalled the words Ryl had said. He would die a free man. He had mourned the loss of his friend to the early Harvest. He had celebrated his triumphant return.

  Now he was to die without ever seeing him again. He chided himself for not listening. He should have stayed in the safety of the Erlyn Woods. Why did he have to follow? He had let his emotions guide him.

  They led him astray.

  Breila sobbed at his side.

  The beast cocked its head, angling its vision from him to the madam. It viewed her as nothing more than a meal. It was ready to feed, toying with its prey, savoring the final moments of misery.

  The anger swelled in Aelin’s body. An unfamiliar voice raged in his mind. It screamed defiance in the face of his certain death. The sticky blackness that had assailed him earlier vanished in a wave of pure, cleansing calm.

  The muscles in his arms flexed as a burning sensation coated his insides. It felt as if he’d drank fire. The Horde snapped its head back in his direction. Its black eyes widened. The anger inside was tinted for an instant with another emotion altogether.

 
; Fear.

  Aelin screamed as he pushed against the force pinning him down with all his might. He tossed the corpse and the Horde atop it from his body as if they weighed nothing at all. The beast slammed into the opposite wall of the hallway. Combined with the dead weight of the guard, the pair smashed through the thick timbers, disappearing into the room beyond.

  The shock that registered in his mind was dizzying. He could scarcely believe what he’d just witnessed. What he’d just done. The urge to flee swelled. He wasted no time finding his feet. He scooped Breila up with one arm, amazed that her body felt as light as a feather. He darted the final steps down the hall, ducking into the room he’d awakened in.

  The scream from the Horde was that of rage.

  Aelin tossed Breila onto the bed, slamming the door behind them. He braced himself as the harrier crashed into the thick wooden panel. It was now a test of strength.

  Repeatedly the beast hammered the door.

  Aelin could feel his strength begin to falter.

  Chapter 39

  Ryl found his footing quickly. His back stung from where the sharp rocks had struck him. His ears rang from the deafening concussion of the blast. Fires burned all around him as every scrap of wood was lit ablaze by the heat and flame.

  The press of the Horde had vanished. The bodies close to the blast had been incinerated. Further away, they’d been mowed down by chunks of jagged debris or rendered helpless as the shock wave churned their insides to mush. A few, likely the lead element, lolled haplessly on the stone roadway. Pools of black blood slickened the ground around them.

  Lightning split the sky again, though the flames illuminated all they needed to see. The bridge had been destroyed, the entire center pylon had been demolished, taking with it much of the stone expanse. Only a jagged pillar remained in the center of the river.

  Ryl looked for signs of life from the brave soldiers Fay had committed to the task. Nothing moved along the bank. The shrubs were ablaze. The mangled bodies were visible from where he stood.