by C. J. Aaron
“I’m not leaving you, Ryl,” Fay responded as he folded his arms across his chest.
“Then one way or another, we’ll see this through.” Ryl nodded. “Thank you for everything, my friend.”
He darted along the top of the wall, skipping between crenulations with little concern for the dizzying drop off one side. Moments later, his body floated through the calm of the afternoon air. The day was young, yet blood already clogged the gutters of many of the streets. Ryl reached the courtyard only moments later.
He walked purposefully to the center of the clearing, though he pushed a few meters closer to the entrance of the square. Though the buildings, now tombs for the Lei Guard, had been decimated by the blast, the opening was riddled with loose debris and clogged by the buildings on either side. He was undersized, yet he’d have his preference of fighting. He’d not be bullied into open combat with both the massive Horde and the banes that travelled in its wake.
The ground shook with every footstep as the beast neared the courtyard. The mammoth head crested the gentle rise in the avenue, followed rapidly by the massive club slung casually over its shoulder. Ryl let the wind swell around his right arm.
His body cried out; his stomach churned with anxiety and doubt. Every fiber in his being pleaded for his retreat.
He could not comply.
An army of death approached. He was the only thing standing between the Horde and his friends. Though he feared not for the tributes, for Andr, for the remaining phrenics secreted away in the Erlyn, he feared for everything that he’d stood to defend.
The scenarios ran rampant through his head as he struggled with the doubt. Had he brought the phrenics, they’d have likely all died together in the face of insurmountable odds. Though few of the Vigil remained, the path to Vim was long and fraught with the threats of the Horde.
Had he remained in the safety of the woods, had he not sought Kaep and her captor, they likely could have slipped over the wall and through the scattered forest beyond. In all reality it would likely be another several days before the last of the tributes was ready to travel. Kaep was lost now. Fay and his troops would have been slaughtered senselessly, fallen prey to either the Horde or the king’s army.
In all the scenarios that coursed through his mind, it seemed there was but one constant.
The tributes.
In all, they remained, for the moment, unmolested. Though the cast of characters around them would change dramatically, they would slip over the wall, disappearing into the remains of the Erlyn Woods that hugged the mountains forming the northern border to the Outlands.
Ryl sighed as a sense of relief flowed over him. A burden that had been forced upon him evaporated at the thought. Though his fight was far from over, he felt free from the weight of prophecy. The words Da’agryn had repeated echoed through his mind:
The phrenics will balance on a blade’s edge, clinging desperately to their ideals, teetering on the verge of oblivion. On this precipice, one will come with active blood. This one will be the catalyst. The wind behind our sails to push us through the storm to calmer waters. The light needed to guide us home through the darkness. Only the blood of the catalyst will set us free.
Of all, the last line caused the most consternation.
Only the blood of the catalyst will set us free.
Had the prophecy foreseen his demise? If his time had truly come, the cold hands of death would find him an unwilling tribute. He glared ahead at the demon that approached. The Horde would find him a fickle prey.
He would fight for himself.
For every tribute who suffered under the heel of the kingdom.
For every family torn apart by the abhorrent doctrine.
For Kaep.
Only moments later, the full body of the massive Horde came to a stop at the edge of the square. The wind whipped around Ryl’s body, scattering a low cloud of dirt across the courtyard. Less than fifteen meters separated the pair.
Standing in front of Ryl was easily the largest creature he had ever seen. At more than double his height, the beast must have outweighed him by thousands of pounds. Its barrel-shaped chest heaved in and out as it inhaled and exhaled gigantic breaths. Even through the wind that curled around his body, tendrils of the foul odor reached his nostrils. It had a face much like that of its kin. Large ovular, hate-filled eyes were set wide upon its skull. Its nostrils were nothing more than narrow vertical slits in its face. The mouth that nearly split its head in half hung partially open, showing off its jagged, discolored teeth. They glistened with saliva, reflecting the light of the day off their surfaces.
The club it carried effortlessly in its right hand was more akin to a felled tree. Several disorganized rings of large rusted metal spikes protruded from the end of the devastating weapon. Ryl stifled a gag at the sight of the shattered remains of what used to be a lanky harrier still wedged between the spikes. The monstrosity hefted the cudgel from its shoulder without a hint of concern for the added weight. Behind the beast, standing atop the pile of rubble, a line of banes sealed off the exit to the courtyard.
The beast took a single step forward; the ground rumbled at the impact of its massive clawed feet. Feet that could easily crush Ryl. The beast hoisted its club, hammering a taunting cadence as he slapped it against the palm of his opposite hand.
Ryl waited patiently, though his heart thundered in his chest. The alexen in his blood boiled at the sight of the beast. He held a tentative grasp on the speed that waited eagerly in his veins. The Horde swarmed behind their champion. Were he to fell the massive beast, the fight would still be long.
Desperate.
For a moment, the incessant slap of its club on its opposite hand paused. Its eyes narrowed as it curled its mouth into a horrid snarl. Streams of fetid saliva spewed from its mouth as it released a deafening roar. The stench that permeated the air was revolting. Ryl’s stomach churned as it threatened to release its contents.
The beast struck out with its massive hammer. Devastatingly quick, Ryl had only a moment to leap to his left as the weapon plummeted down. The crushing force shattered the neatly fitted stones of the cobblestone square. Chunks of rock and dirt exploded from the point of impact. As lethal as the blow had been, it was far too telegraphed. Ryl had merely stepped to the side to avoid the initial swing. In an instant, the disheartening cause for the concern became clear.
The impact had driven the great cudgel almost a meter into the ground. The earth and stones surrounding it spread outward, forming a wave on either side. Spikes scraped across the rocks as the beast ripped the club from the ground. With the head of the weapon only a meter from the ground, it lunged to its left, away from Ryl. The grunt of exertion preceded the impact of the brutal weapon with the usable remains of the stairs. The stones exploded from the force of the strike. A shower of rock careened into the buildings to the west. Along the wall, archers scattered, diving out of the way of the lethal debris. The cries of pain signaled that some had reacted too slowly.
Ryl had little time to react as the Horde continued its swing as it charged back in his direction. He dipped into the speed flowing through his veins, flattening himself to the ground as the weapon passed overhead. The swishing of the air and the wind that whipped in its wake were eerie heralds of its passing.
Ryl’s connection to the relative safety of the palisade above had been severed. Even with his agility and speed, his lifeline to the respite atop the wall had been destroyed. A chilling feeling settled into his bones as he realized he was truly cut off.
Alone.
The beast rounded on Ryl, greeting him again with another thunderous roar. Mocking cries broke from the mouths of the banes standing in anticipation behind. He had the sickening sense that he was being toyed with.
The beast paused, again resuming the impatient, rhythmic slap of the shaft of his cudgel into his other hand. It waited. Daring him to move. Goading him into an irrational action, one predicated by emotion, not logic. The oversized Horde
had considered his match unworthy. Its pretentious attitude made Ryl grin.
Lessons from his tutelage under the deceptive watch of Andr flashed into his head. Predictability will get you killed. The massive club of the Horde fell back into the awaiting palm. Its journey upward brought it perpendicular to the ground, standing tall like the tree it had once been. As it reached its apex, Ryl struck.
Seizing the opportunity, he released the gale that had swelled around his body. A focused blast of wind and green flame slammed into the head of the club just as it reached its apex. The powerful rush of air pushed the massive club backwards. The jagged tines embedded themselves in the beast’s right cheek.
With a roar that shook the earth, it bellowed in pain and fury as it wrenched the crude barbed weapon from its cheek. Black blood streamed from the wounds, rushing down its face in a putrid-smelling waterfall.
Ryl gave the demon no time to regain its composure. Time slowed to a crawl as he drank deep from the power in his veins. He exploded forward. Having turned its giant frame to the right while removing the offending barbs from its face, Ryl surged around to the left, toward the creature’s unguarded rear. The beast pivoted to counter, yet it was too slow. The glowing blade in the left hand slashed outward, biting deep into the back of the left knee, splitting it open to the bone.
With its mass twisting on the injured knee, it screamed as the skin tore beyond Ryl’s cut. The ground shook as its hulking frame crashed to the courtyard. The momentum of his attack carried him beyond the giant demon. While the element of surprise was his, he aimed to unleash as much chaos as he could.
He barreled into the unprepared line of banes. Ryl came in low, lashing out with a vicious slash with the blade in his right hand. Wind and flame streamed forward. The two closest, unlucky enough to be within reach of his blades, collapsed to the ground, wailing as they grasped at the stumps where their legs used to be. Several next to them and in the row behind joined in the agony as the burning wave of green flames crippled them.
Ryl darted away before the unprepared beasts could enter the fray. He returned his attention to the massive Horde bellowing in rage and pain behind him. His momentary lapse of focus on his primary target as he struck out at the waiting line of demons cost him. He had only a moment to react.
He cringed in anticipation, focusing on the woodskin over his body. His skin reacted instantly to the command, crusting over with a thick layer of protective bark. Ryl tried to leap away. One final attempt to avoid the blow he saw coming.
His effort was in vain.
The beast had twisted as it had fallen, wrenching its ruined knee to the side. Its massive body hammered into the ground with a force that sent a tremor rippling outward. Catching the bulk of its weight on its right forearm and elbow, its left was free to attack. It swatted at Ryl with the back of its open palm, as one would shoo off a pesky insect.
The blow would have shattered a normal man.
The combination of the woodskin and his last instant reaction dampened the blow. Even so, the force of the impact was staggering. The errant swipe of the demon’s hand caught him in the chest, lifting his body into the air. He floated for several meters before slamming again into the hard stone of the courtyard.
Ryl’s vision blurred from the sudden absence of air in his lungs as his head ricocheted off the stone. He rolled over and over, fighting all the while to maintain a hold of the woodskin.
To his consciousness.
He ended abruptly as his body crashed into the still-smoldering rubble of the barracks.
Sparks rained down around him as he shattered the charred timbers.
He felt the heat of the embers on his back. The pain in his left arm grew excruciating.
Chapter 47
Ryl’s vision spun madly. His body ached. The force of the impact had been astounding. It was as if he’d collided with an avalanche. At first the heat that radiated through his body was a comfort. He struggled to his feet as the pleasant warmth soon became sweltering.
His legs wobbled beneath his weight as he staggered to his feet. He fought the urge to vomit as his stomach retched from the pain and nausea. He had no time to fully evaluate his condition, not that it would likely matter. Every staggered step lanced pain through his body. He’d lost hold of the speed somewhere after the strike, yet his executioners remained fixed. Though his vision was still blurred, the black masses of the Horde were clear.
Ryl shook his head gently, though the act alone caused an excessive amount of pain. His brain seemed to rattle in his head as he moved it subtly from side to side. Splotches of gold and yellow dotted his vision, mixing with the errant glow of the embers that still rained down around him. His ears rang. He was aware of raised voices from the palisade behind him, yet he failed to assemble the words.
He ambled forward, step after pained step. His vision was fixed on the massive Horde that remained watching from where it crouched. Ryl stopped in the center of the debris-filled square. He turned his body to face the giant. Steam wafted up from his cloak from where he’d remained in the coals of the fire.
As Ryl moved, his body took stock of its injuries, or lack thereof. He was sure ribs were broken. Thankfully, the choking flood that had nearly drowned him alive when his lungs were punctured was absent. Though the rest of his body was sore, if he was broken elsewhere, he didn’t notice.
His hands were the most distracting feature. Both felt like great weights suspended from the base of his arms. He risked a glance down, surprised to see the bark-like crust of the woodskin had coated the entirety of his balled fists. The plain ends of the dormant Leaves bulged from either side. The thick bark coated the gaps between his fingers. He rolled his hands over, astonished that on the underside, the protective covering had seemingly melded the mythical weapons to his body.
As he squeezed his fingers, the protection faltered. It was an awkward combination of sensations. The feeling of pins and needles tickled his hands while he felt like a heated blade sliced across his skin. The last of the bark seemed to flake off as he wiggled his fingers individually.
Surprisingly absent from the pain that covered his body was his left arm. Only a lingering hint of the extraordinary discomfort remained. As the crust from the woodskin subsided, the answer became apparent.
The tattoo on his left arm had again inverted. The center of the burning sun had filled with the darkness of an endless void. The black tendrils twitched outward at the extremities of the circle, though they remained close to the host. Ryl raised his gaze upward, inhaling a deep breath. Steadying himself for what was to come. He flicked his wrists out to the side. The Leaves exploded into flame.
The massive Horde awaited him on the opposite side of the square. Less than twenty meters separated the two. The damage done to its left leg was appalling. The lower extremity was useless. Jagged pieces of bone protruded from the side, punching through its blackened flesh. A pool of thick, dark, putrid blood pooled around the useless stump. It had shifted the club to its left hand, now using the deadly cudgel as a crutch.
Cocking its head slightly to the side, it eyed Ryl with a look more humanlike than he’d witnessed from the bloodthirsty beasts. There was genuine confusion in its great black orbs. The massing wall of bane at its rear held firm, seemingly judging the outcome of the standoff.
Shouting rose from behind Ryl. The whistle of arrows was unmistakable. One after another, the projectiles bounced harmlessly off the beast’s thick skin. The bolts, though nothing more than a nuisance, served to enrage the giant. The once questioning gaze it offered at Ryl vanished, replaced with the bloodthirsty lust for violence. It leaned forward, roaring a deafening note at the humans, promising them death for their pestilence.
Ryl watched as the beast shifted its weight, centering its mass over its one remaining leg. As it reared its left arm and the club behind its back, its intention became painfully clear. The weapon would be the battering ram that would seal the doom for Fay, his troops, and likely all inside T
he Stocks. If that gate fell, they were all doomed.
He dipped into the speed as he lurched forward. His legs were unsteady, yet he experienced the comforting balm of the alexen as it fired through his veins. The burning heat from inside washed away the pain that covered his body. The demon paid him no mind as he streaked forward toward its remaining sturdy leg. With a roar of his own, Ryl chopped with the Leaves, striking the leg just below the knee. He dragged the blades around to the side, splitting open the rank skin and bone.
Ryl dodged to the left as its leg buckled. The scream that billowed from its mouth was more agony than angst this time. With its body twisted and its arm moving forward, the beast crashed backward, releasing the club over its head. The weapon sparked as it skipped off the stone courtyard, cutting deep gouges into the rock. With a crushing of bone and a wet splatter of blood, it hewed through the left edge of the waiting Horde before leveling the corner of the next unlucky building down the avenue.
He leapt over the giant’s right arm as it flailed wildly on the stone. Ryl’s next step found him on the creature’s stomach. The sensation of running atop the beast was discomforting. He was surprised at the solidity of its frame. Its skin was textured and rough. With time slowed, he easily slipped past the right arm as it slapped against its own chest. With its head lifted from the ground, it gnashed its massive jagged teeth at Ryl as he approached.
Ryl slid off the torso, angling his body away from the vicious mouth that snapped open and closed within a meter from his body. He brought both Leaves down on the Horde’s neck. It uttered not a sound as the life vanished from its eyes as the flaming blades reached the stone below. He wrenched them free, leaping to the left before letting the speed again fade.
A set of solid thumps echoed as the two lifeless arms crashed to the stone. The stench of the charred black blood of the demon was nauseating. Its aroma, so potent he could taste its odor in his mouth. He felt the splatters of the hot, sticky fluid seep down his face. Covered to his shoulders, the blood dripped from his arms, hissing as it burned off in the heat of the Leaves. The beast’s head rolled free, flopping to its side. The mouth hung open; the jagged teeth separated from each other. A flood of blood spurted from the severed neck, forming a sickening stream as it caught the gentle slope of the avenue. The lifeless orbs stared at him in shock.