by C. J. Aaron
The subtle changes, to that point, had gone without notice. The ground along the horizon undulated like waves upon the sea. Far too distant to distinguish details, the sheer numbers were unfathomable.
The wave moved to the east. Even in the darkness, he knew their destination.
“Ryl,” he gasped.
Chapter 44
Ryl’s eyes took a few moments to adjust to the darkness inside the gate. A blast of air pushed past as the mighty panel of the door slammed shut. The interior of the space was almost unrecognizable from when they’d last seen it. Though it had been less than half a day, it seemed like a lifetime ago.
Work proceeded, unabated by his presence. Soldiers from House Eligar worked side by side with the newly displaced citizens of Cadsae Proper, securing the interior gate. Work was well underway on the section that had remained closed. Teams now hastened to secure the opposite side of the door. The thick wooden drawbar slammed back into place
Large sections of timber, carted in from the deconstructed mess hall and stables, braced the door. Chunks of stone, charred from the blast that tore them from the stairs, supported the beams dug into the hard earth. The heavy chains that had once worked to maneuver the drawbar for the opposite doors had been repurposed. They were now strapped to stakes driven into the ground, preventing easy access for the doors to be pulled or forced open. The solitary door, once leading to the barracks, had been sealed shut by stone and debris.
Ryl hastened from the interior chamber. The scent of ash still hung heavy in the air. The regularly sleepy village of Cadsae was abuzz with activity the likes of which the settlement had never before witnessed. Small groups of Fay’s soldiers helped corral the frightened citizens, directing them to the common houses and buildings that made up the ring of the village. Already the central square was packed to overflowing with bodies. The din of thousands of conversations, arguments, tears and orders intensified to a roar as he paused to take in the scene.
At the moment, he was thankful for the commotion. The muted wails of death that pierced the night beyond the palisade would have driven most to madness.
As work continued under the wall behind him, a contingent of troops hastily unloaded provisions from the city into the storehouse constructed along the palisade’s edge. Several wagonloads, likely the carefully rationed supplies brought from House Eligar, remained in their wagons, under strict guard.
Along the side of the storeroom, a crude ladder had been constructed with understandable haste from the supplies they had at hand. The section reached to the gently sloped roof several meters above. The second, longer length gave access to the palisade beyond that. With the destruction of the stairs on the exterior of the wall, no convenient means of access existed.
Aelin bounded up to him, breaking free from the confusion of the crowded square. Ryl was prepared for his embrace, though the youngster nearly barreled him over with the force of his approach. Breila followed several meters behind, though she walked with a visible limp. Someone had fashioned a makeshift sling for her right arm, which she held close to her breast.
“You’re lucky to have made it out alive,” Ryl said as the madam reached his side.
She smiled, looking at Aelin with wonder in her eyes.
“If it weren’t for young Aelin, I’d have stood no chance,” she admitted, gently running her left hand down the boy’s cheek, resting it tenderly on his shoulder. “Though I have many friends and acquaintances that owe or are owed a favor, there is a small brotherhood to whom I owe my life. Of the three, only Andr is not present. Anything within my power to give is yours. All you have to do is ask.”
Breila’s words were heartfelt. The sincerity was undeniable. He nodded subtly with a small smile.
“Thank you, Breila. That I can consider you a trusted friend is payment enough for me,” Ryl argued. He saw the flash of annoyance cross her face; her lips puckered into a displeased pout. He continued before the words could escape her lips.
“Though we are safe for the moment, stone and wood may not protect us forever,” Ryl admitted. “Our numbers here have increased substantially with those displaced this night. They’ll need a voice to guide them. I’m not one of them. Neither are Lord Eligar’s soldiers. Please be the words of guidance they will need.”
Breila rolled her shoulders back. Her posture straightened as she perked up with the new sense of purpose and duty.
“But first, I need to know about Fay,” Ryl urged. “Does he still live?”
Breila placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Aye, he too owes his life to you, as do all those inside The Stocks this night,” she added. “He’s in the clinic with his menders. Go. See him. I’ll await your command.”
Ryl nodded as he started toward the clinic. He stopped himself abruptly, turning around and walking back to Breila’s side. He leaned in close, speaking quietly so that none around might overhear.
“I want you to have a horse nearby at all times,” he whispered. “All that stands between us and the numberless armies of the Horde are walls of stone and doors of wood. If they should breach either, I want you to take Aelin and flee. Flee north. Follow the path until you reach the woods. Though you will see no one there, they will see you. You’ll find Andr there.”
Ryl felt her body quiver at the cold candor of his voice. Her eyes darted to Aelin for a moment before meeting Ryl’s once again.
“And what of you?” she whispered.
“Don’t worry about me,” Ryl snapped. “I will not die easily.”
Without another word, Ryl turned, rushing to the clinic with Aelin in tow.
Fay’s troops had commandeered the use of the Master’s House and clinic for their own. A group of guards stood statuesque along the front steps, preventing access. Ryl made no attempt to slow. The soldiers parted before him without a word.
He reached the low balcony in a single bound. As he crossed the threshold, his senses were bombarded by a deluge of memories. Many were unpleasant. He could still feel the sting of the master’s beatings. The vile taste of the rancid treatment forced upon him week after week threatened to turn his stomach. The building contained a feeling of hatred and oppression that over generations seemed to have penetrated the very wood of the walls. They held onto the emotion, letting it ooze out a tormenting trickle at a time.
Some memories were pleasant, though bittersweet. He had spent a considerable amount of time here under the watchful care of Mender Jeffers. The honest mender had become a quiet ally before becoming a steadfast friend. He was perhaps the first non-tribute to earn that title inside The Stocks, though more, as unexpected as the first, would follow.
The arrangement of the entryway was the same, down to the scant furniture. The single desk blocked the door to the Master’s quarters, the doorway behind, shut as always. Ryl turned to enter the clinic, greeting Averine at the door. The old man smiled yet said nothing as he brushed past.
Ryl smirked as he entered the crowded clinic. Jeffers would have had a conniption if he’d seen the state of his meticulously organized clinic. The usually neat desk was a mess of scattered papers and implements. A chair along the outside wall was toppled on its side. Bloodied rags lay in a heap on the floor.
Ryl breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Fay sitting upright in the first bed. A team of menders worked diligently on the young lord. His left arm was covered with a clean dressing, while a mender worked to stitch the wicked gash cut across his abdomen.
A small smile tugged up on the corners of Fay’s lips as he noted Ryl’s entry. A soldier, chest heaving with excitement, worked to give a report. None moved to stop him as he approached.
“They’ll arrive by morning,” the soldier finished as Ryl stopped along the foot of the bed.
“Thank you, Cortlan,” Fay commented, offering a rough salute. “You’ve done well. Get some rest. We’ll need you fresh in the morning.”
“Aye, sir,” the soldier responded, giving a for
mal salute before turning away. He paused as his gaze fell on Ryl. The look on the soldier’s face sent an uneasy chill down Ryl’s spine. He’d experienced that expression far too many times. The unrestrained awe was uncomfortable. Luckily, the words caught in the soldier’s mouth, and he retreated from the clinic before attempting to speak again.
Ryl had no time or patience for revelry.
“Thanks, are in order, Ryl,” Fay announced with a smile. A moment later, he whistled as he sucked in air through gritted teeth as the mender finished the stitch. The man carefully began wrapping a clean dressing around his abdomen.
“I did not come here for thanks, my friend,” Ryl added. “Though I’m glad I arrived when I did. It was luck that saved you, not I. I’m happy to see that they were able to stitch you back together.”
Fay chuckled at the barb, though the look on his face showed that he immediately regretted the decision.
“There is little time for conversation, I’m afraid,” Ryl added. “The city is lost. The Horde clog the Kingsway and alleys. Cadsae Proper will be a graveyard by morning. They will turn their attention on us before long.”
Fay’s head slumped as his gaze fell to the ground. He was silent for a moment before responding.
“I can hear the screams,” he whispered. “Is there nothing we can do to assist?”
Ryl shook his head. His answer, though cold, was firm.
“No,” he responded. “We gave them a choice. Many chose to ignore it. Had the phrenics still walked this kingdom, perhaps they would have seen sooner. No, my friend, with the assets we have at hand, there is nothing we can do.”
Fay nodded slowly. He tested the wounds, taking a slow regiment of larger and larger breaths.
“Perhaps the news I just received will buy us more time,” he added. “The scout who just left owes you his life. I understand you reached them before the Horde finished the job. He brings word that the army of the king approaches faster than we anticipated. The cavalry waits several miles from Cadsae Proper. The remainder will likely join them by morning.”
Ryl considered the prospects for a moment.
“The armies of man outside this gate are no longer a concern to us,” Ryl added. “They’ve thankfully no experience with the beasts who clawed their way from the Outlands. In the open, it will be a massacre. They will thin the ranks of the demons by hundreds, yet in the end, the numbers will not amount to any appreciable difference.”
His mind was distracted by a separate question. One that begged thought. The appearance of the armies of the Outlands had been a surprise. He’d known they’d come, yet it was a shock seeing them work in concert with the Lei Guard.
With the king.
If the beasts followed orders from the throne, the kingdom had just granted clemency for the murder of an entire city. The king had sanctioned the destruction. Would the demons fall upon the human army of the kingdom as they had with any flesh and blood that crossed their path? Or would the Lei Guard hold sway enough to prevent the killing?
If the latter was the case, why hadn’t they prevented the Horde from ravaging Cadsae Proper?
“We shall see how it plays out soon enough, I’m afraid,” Ryl added. “Who commands your troops?”
“His name is Cipri,” Fay added without pause. “Last I heard, he was atop the palisade.”
“The disposition of your troops will matter before long,” Ryl said. “I’m afraid your men will soon find themselves faced by enemies without and within.”
“Cadsae Proper had close to ten thousand in reserve from my last report,” Fay acknowledged.
“Aye.” Ryl nodded. “Though that number has thinned a bit, they still remain inside The Stocks. Word needs to reach them from the citizens here of the horrors that have befallen the city. They’ll not likely see you as an invading force, but as the unlikely defenders of Cadsae Proper. They need to know what lies outside these walls. We’ll likely need their support. We’ll need their bows. And blades.”
Fay nodded. The mender had finished wrapping his stomach. The clean white dressing covered from his waist to under his armpits. He rose gingerly from the cot. A second mender assisted him, carefully working his arm into the sleeve of a clean shirt. The bloody, torn rags of his previous lay scattered on the ground by his feet.
“At the moment, they have no quarrel with you or your men,” Ryl said. “They hunted me. They learned to fear me. They need to witness the horrors that await them beyond the gate.”
“I’ll see it done,” Fay agreed. “What will you do?”
Ryl thought for a moment. His mind ran the various scenarios in his head. There was a part of him that wanted to run. To abandon those lives here along the walls, as many had abandoned him and so many others as children. They’d turned a blind eye to the plight of the tributes, why now couldn’t he? The walls would hold. The gate would hold, yet not forever. Sooner or later one or the other would be breached. The ground would run with rivers of blood.
A whisper, dark and foreign, begged for it to be so. He struggled to tamp down the voice. The alexen surged through his body, overpowering the barbaric desire.
The familiar heat lit in his veins. He could feel the press of the blackness on his senses. The Horde grew close. The Lei Guard were out there, yet where he could not pinpoint.
The king was out there.
Elias was somewhere beyond these walls. As was Leiroth.
As was Kaep.
Though she had faded from his vision, he refused to believe that she was lost. Had her death been near him, he knew he would have felt it. Ryl couldn’t understand how or why she had faded so abruptly. He’d scanned with his mindsight, yet he’d found no trace of her signature. The approaching blackness covered everything to the south. Only Aelin showed yellow in his vision.
He felt the anger swell inside him as the alexen cried out for justice.
“I’ll be needed on the palisade,” Ryl answered. “Where the stairs once stood lies the weakness. It is a gap that can be crossed, though it will be hard fought. I fear that they’ll throw themselves against it until the dead pile so high they can walk across.”
Fay looked distraught. He shooed the mender off, finishing securing the buttons that held his shirt.
“Is there hope?” he asked quietly.
Ryl smiled, letting the emotion flow from him over the lord. It was the same feeling that had kept him going for cycles. That carried him through the wastes of the Outlands.
“Aye, my friend,” he said. “There is always hope.”
With a nod, Ryl stalked from the room. Aelin, who’d remained silent through the exchange, followed in tow. Averine no longer stood in the doorway.
He moved quickly upon exiting the clinic, angling toward the storeroom by the Pining Gates. He motioned to Aelin as he walked.
“I’m going to the palisade,” Ryl said. “I need you to go to Breila. Stick by her and Fay. If this wall or gate is breached, you need to lead them to the Erlyn.”
Aelin looked distraught. He opened his mouth to argue. Ryl interrupted him before he could speak.
“You promised me you would trust in me. That you’d follow my orders. Do you remember that?” Ryl asked rhetorically. “I aim to hold you to that vow. If the Pining Gates fall, you will flee.”
His voice was stern. He stopped, dropping to a knee, taking the young man by the shoulders.
“I do not intend to throw my life away,” Ryl said. The tone had softened as he reassured the boy. “The city outside these walls is dying. There are untold thousands more who failed to heed our warning. If the Horde chooses to move beyond Cadsae Proper, there is nothing that can be done to slow their destructive wrath.”
Ryl saw the gears turning in Aelin’s mind as the words struck a chord. He understood the struggle all too well, for he too had felt the same way. The internal turmoil was powerful. It tore at his insides as his heart battled with his mind.
“This world has wronged you in ways that are beyond comprehension,” R
yl continued. “When you look beyond these walls, you see only darkness. You see only the hatred that sentenced you to this life. I felt like you did for cycles. Believed it was merely the way things were. The world outside these walls is complex. In here, there is but one way. We work, or we are punished. Outside, life is not so clearly defined. I’ve seen hatred the depths of which rival the most destitute The Stocks have ever witnessed. In the same breath, I’ve seen hope. I’ve witnessed self-sacrifice. I’ve seen compassion in volumes to know that there are those out there who would not see us in chains.”
“Then why do they do nothing?” Aelin quizzed.
It was a question to which Ryl had no answer, though he’d contemplated it long and hard.
“I’ll not lie and tell you I know the answer to that,” he admitted. “There is likely no one way. Every one of us, while we share our similarities and differences, are flavored by our own perspective. Though I cannot condone their actions or likely forgive them for what they’ve done, I’ll not willingly see them all slaughtered.”
Aelin lowered his head, his shoulders slumped.
“And I’ll not give up on the ones I’ve travelled to the ends of the world and back to see free,” he reassured the wavering tribute. “Nor the ones I promised to bring home. Go now. Find Breila.”
Aelin wrapped his arms around Ryl. His grip was suffocating yet showed a concerned level of restraint. Ryl was in awe of the sheer strength that had blossomed in the young tribute since the poison had burned from his veins.
Ryl separated himself from the iron embrace of Aelin, surveying the small village that swelled with the population of the city. A wave of nostalgia surged through him as he catalogued the buildings that had comprised his home for cycles. There was a small blackened char on the last common house along the edge of the main road. The fire had been so small, yet had played a pivotal role in the twisted course of his life. His eyes settled on Breila casually making her way through the crowd, greeting those around her with a commonality that he found both alluring and alarming. Ekard walked at her side.