by C. J. Aaron
His eyes locked onto Averine’s. They were wide in excitement.
“Averine.” Ryl’s gaze fell on the eccentric man across the table. “You wouldn’t perhaps know the location of the remaining facilities, would you?”
The eccentric elder quivered with anticipation as he nodded his head wildly. His giddy cackle echoed through the room.
Chapter 5
The discussions had begun in earnest running late into the afternoon. The course was charted for the release of over two-thirds of the soldiers from House Eligar. The denizens of The Stocks, the ragtag mixture of guards and displaced citizens, were expected to render a decision within two weeks’ time. They would never give their answer, nor would the kingdom grant them the authority to decide on their own.
Ryl knew that the nobles who now controlled the fate of the kingdom had already made their decisions as to the course that they would pursue.
The true import of that decision was the subject of discussion and consternation amongst Ryl and his companions.
He stifled a yawn against the back of his hand as they broke from the extended meeting. Only a sliver of the sun remained above the peak of the western palisade. The cool breeze of the evening air was a comfort, a welcome contradiction from the sweltering chamber.
He stopped as he reached the base of the stairs. The guards who ringed the building remained in place, carefully gauging the activity of the square. As the light had receded, most had withdrawn to whatever habitations they now called home. The sounds of conversation mixed with the steady thump of construction that resounded from the growing city of Cadsae. Many still found shelter in nothing more than tents, their beds simple mattresses on the hard earth.
Though a vocal few grew perturbed at the lack of amenities in the rapidly growing city, the majority were simply grateful. They had heeded the call of soldiers in the night. Their fateful decision was likely all that had stood between them and the savage, merciless Horde. None living there were free from the scars of loss.
Death had touched everyone in one way or another. The screams that echoed long into the dark of the night would haunt them for an eternity.
The phrenics followed a step behind as they cleared the line of soldiers guarding the master’s house. In step, they moved toward the horses tethered to the post along the side of the building. Paasek called the group to a stop a few meters from the waiting mounts.
“Ramm, Taq, Rhoane, you will take Ryl’s place atop the western palisade,” Paasek ordered. “Be ever mindful of the west, though I doubt the danger now lies from that horizon. I need not preach caution. You well know the tales of the phrenics who once walked amongst the citizens of Damaris. It is true, times have changed. Do not let sentiment and wonder cloud your judgment.”
The trio of phrenics nodded in unison. The feelings of understanding flowed as one cohesive wave that washed over them.
“Never forget, it is the unawakened, those they call tributes, who are your true cause,” Paasek whispered. “If the demons come in numbers that are unsustainable, light the signal fires and flee. Save as many as you can. The Erlyn will be the only hope you will have.”
Without another word, the phrenics moved toward their waiting horses. Ramm’s heavy hand rested gently on Ryl’s shoulder for a moment before he joined his companions, who were already mounted atop their steeds.
“Safe travels, my friends,” Ryl added.
The phrenics wasted no time, spurring their horses to a canter. Ryl and Paasek watched for a moment as they vanished into the rapidly growing city to the east.
“Do you think the Horde will come?” Ryl asked the phrenic councilor. Though the elder phrenic had admittedly nothing more to teach him, his opinion was valued above most others. He revered him, nonetheless. They shared many of the same experiences, inherited as a by-product of the alexen. The interpretation of the information was always flavored by individual perspective. The knowledge was universally accessible, yet the interpretation was unique.
In a sense, Ryl felt very much his true age when in the presence of the phrenic. He was but a child in the presence of a man who had lived well more than a century before his birth. He felt nothing more than an apprentice following in his master’s footsteps.
“There’s no telling what they will do, Ryl,” Paasek admitted. “This is a question I should ask you as well. I felt the stain of the Horde as we approached. The inky blackness was an ever-present weight all phrenics could feel. There is nothing now.”
Ryl paused for a moment as he collected the reins of his horse. It took but an instant for his mindsight to scan the area. Aside from the fleeting visions of the phrenics moving rapidly to the west and the man beside him, the vision was clear. It was a puzzling sensation to explain. Since he had called off the demons, banishing them to the west, he was convinced that they would heed his call. He was confident that they would return to wherever they called home.
How long would they remain there was the question that burned through his mind. Theirs was a social structure that respected power. Strength was the true test of leadership. How long would it take for one to challenge Ryl’s dominance?
He shuddered at the thought of facing another of the massive demons he’d felled before the Pining Gates.
“Aye, Paasek, I feel the same,” he admitted. “I can’t explain it, yet deep inside, I know they will remain within the Outlands. What it is they wait for, or when they will return is a puzzle to me as well.”
A fleeting hint of a troubled look flashed across Paasek’s face. He covered the unexpected emotion well, his normal stoic calm returning immediately.
“Come. We should make good time tonight,” he added. “Though the deliberations and planning were important, there is much to be done. The Erlyn beckons. We should not keep her waiting long. I have supplies waiting at the common house.”
Ryl flashed a puzzled look to Paasek, yet the elder phrenic had already begun moving his horse across the square. Though the area had bustled with activity only hours earlier, the coming of dark had sent many of the citizens scurrying back to wherever they called home. Armed guards now dominated the number of individuals still active in the early dusk. Torches had sprung to life across the top of the palisade, their lights blotted out in random intervals by the frequent passing of patrols.
He stopped in his tracks as a hollow, booming thump echoed throughout the square. His heart raced as the familiarity of the sound resonated through his core.
The exterior doors of the Pining Gates, open throughout the day, slammed shut.
They were now, once again, prisoners of The Stocks. This time of their own volition.
Ryl followed Paasek across the square. Their track was familiar. Having called the settlement his fateful home for nearly half his life, he’d likely marched the same path on hundreds of occasions. Ahead, the common house was almost identical to the other two in the line, yet the slight char around the door marked its unique, hidden story.
It was a reminder of a night that had defined his young life.
The circumstances today couldn’t be more strikingly different.
Ryl tied off his horse to the small section of fence that remained bordering the square and the crude walkway leading to the common house. The section to his right, having been consumed by the fire, had never been rebuilt. A pair of guards stood as sentries at either side of the entrance. They nodded at the phrenics as they approached.
Ryl was the first to reach the door. Just as he remembered, the poorly constructed, swollen wood stuck as it rubbed against the frame. The familiar groan sounded as he pushed inward, announcing their presence.
He was ill prepared for the sight inside the common house. The normally sleepy main room, which dominated much of the first floor, swelled with a press of people that far exceeded the comfortable limits of the run-down building. The scattered, mismatched tables had seldom been full during his time here. Today, no seats remained unoccupied.
The din of the room was ov
erwhelming. The accumulation of countless conversations blended into an unintelligible rumble of voices. Thankfully, their entrance was noted by few; however, those who did spoke in hushed, excited tones to any who were close enough to listen.
“I’m sorry, Ryl,” Paasek grumbled. “The meeting lasted longer than anticipated. Looks like we’ve interrupted their dinner.”
The aromas that filled the room were complex. The curious mixture of the myriad of foods was far outweighed by the natural odors of the inhabitants. Many were likely unaccustomed to the rigors of manual labor. Ryl pitied them not for their temporary discomfort. As children, he and the tributes had been forced to work these same fields.
None cared for their well-being.
He found the sights and smells of the main hall quickly turned his stomach, his appetite satiated by the revulsion that churned his gut.
“Let’s collect what we came for and be on our way,” he grumbled. The elder phrenic was keenly aware of the discomfort that oozed from Ryl’s body.
With a grace that belied his size, Paasek led the way across the crowded room. Ryl surveyed those close at hand as they weaved their way through the tables.
Word of their presence spread quickly throughout the cramped room.
He felt the weight of their stares as they centered on him.
Ryl’s vision darted around the room, appraising every passing body as if it were a threat. He found no malice in their eyes. There was awe. Appreciation. Reverence. In a sense, the feelings were more disconcerting than had it been hatred alone.
He was well prepared for animosity. The intensely harsh upbringing had steeled him against such emotions.
He now possessed the skills to counter the hatred. His hands itched for the comfort of the Leaves. The darkened whispers from inside rolled through his core. There was no mercy in its hushed mutterings. It painted a scene that horrified him. He felt his heart race; his breaths came short and rapid.
Ryl blinked his eyes as a layer of crimson coated the walls, leaking slowly toward the ground, where it collected in swelling pools that swamped the floor. The wreckage of human bodies was scattered throughout the room. Appendages twitched, clinging to the last remnants of life. The hollow stares of deadened eyes bored through him. The undeniable metallic odor of blood was thick in the air. He could taste the tang of iron in his mouth. He felt the splash of hot blood across his face and arms. The sticky liquid oozed across his skin.
Ryl’s body tensed. He felt as if his skin were cracking as an unexpected sheet of woodskin coated his body. The warmth of a hand touched his shoulder.
He reacted with lightning speed. Ryl snapped his right arm upward, catching the hand that had touched him just above the wrist. He squeezed as he twisted the arm down to the side and away from his body.
“Ryl!” The voice was panicked. Its shrill tone spoke of surprise and pain, yet it was familiar. The visions of death blanched from his view as his eyes fell upon the speaker.
“Please, Ryl. You’re hurting me.” Breila was hunched over before him. There was fear in her eyes. Paasek stood a step behind her; his posture was defensive. He scanned the surroundings, yet his attention was locked onto Ryl.
A hush had fallen over the room. The thundering of his heart in his chest rang in his ears. The alexen in his veins rolled with agitated fury.
Ryl released his hold on Breila’s arm, falling to a knee before her.
“I’m sorry,” was all he could mutter. His hushed voice threatened to break.
The crowd that had seemed so close moments earlier, the press of humanity that seemed to fill every available space had parted. A wide clearing spread out around him. The expressions on the faces of the inhabitants had changed once more.
Fear now radiated from them.
“Ryl, are you alright?” Paasek whispered as he approached. He felt the foreign wave of comfort wash over him. The welcome sensation was a balm to the revulsion that now coated every fiber of his being. He nodded as the words stopped in his throat.
“Come with me.” Paasek helped him to his feet, half guiding, half pulling him into the kitchen beyond. Those in the room parted before their passage.
The scents of the fully functioning kitchen were overwhelming. Once inside, Paasek shuffled him to the rear wall, depositing him into a chair that sat beside a solitary end table.
“Ekard, clear the room,” Breila ordered as she whisked her way into the room close on their heels. She waited like a sentinel by the door, closing it as the handful of cooks were ushered out of the crowded kitchen. Fay’s friend, the displaced tavern owner, took a place at her side as the last of the others hurried out.
Ryl let his head fall into his hands. What had happened? The sensations, the visions were so real. Not since his sickness, since the removal of the toxin that had poisoned his veins had he suffered a hallucination so potent. He squeezed his hands against his temples.
“Breila, I’m sorry,” he gasped. “Are you alright?”
The madam stood a few meters away, her body partially shielded by Paasek’s body. She rubbed her right hand gingerly over her left wrist. Though her initial steps were cautious, she moved quickly to his side. Her hand rested gently on his shoulder.
“I am fine, Ryl. Just startled, that’s all,” she whispered. Her voice resounded with motherly calm and compassion. “What happened to you? Where did you go?”
With effort, Ryl opened his eyes, raising his vision from the floor. The faces of Paasek and the madam shared a similar expression.
The concern that accented their features was undeniable.
“You disappeared for a moment, Ryl,” Paasek grumbled. “There was no glow of the phrenic, yet no stain of the nexela. You vanished.”
Ryl rolled his shoulders as his seated posture straightened. His body felt an uncommon weariness that was unwelcome.
“I’m afraid I don’t have answers,” he whispered. “I too was lost for a moment. The hallucination was so vivid. Not since the sickness have I experienced the like.”
Breila rubbed her hand gently on his shoulder. Paasek squinted his eyes. Though there was no malice in the look, he could feel the phrenic’s eyes probing him for information.
“You should rest, Ryl,” Breila offered.
He shook his head as he collected her hand, cupping it between his own.
“No, I cannot. There are many miles to cover before the night is through.” He rose to his feet, tenderly assisting Breila up with him.
“The crowd. The noise. The emotions. There are too many memories here,” he added. “We’ll collect our supplies, then slip away before we cause any undue commotion.”
Breila opened her mouth to retort, yet her lips clamped together as she thought better of the reasoning. Ekard collected a small satchel that had been hung from a peg by the door. He shuffled across the room toward them.
“There’s not much to work with here. There are so many mouths to feed,” the tavern owner apologized as he held out the pack. Paasek nodded as he collected the offering.
“Thank you, my friend,” Ryl added, reaching out to shake hands with the barman. “Your kindness is appreciated as always.”
The look on Breila’s face flashed for an instant with the intimidating hint of the matron Ryl knew her to be. She was an imposing figure, her influence daunting. Of all inside their growing city, Ryl fretted over her the least. She was both revered and simultaneously feared. He felt the early stages of a morose smile tug up at his lips as he pondered the possibility of her resuming her clandestine work here inside the run-down common houses of Cadsae.
The irony was too much to bear.
“We will return in a few days,” Ryl added. “Paasek, lead the way.”
Ryl felt his heart race as they exited the kitchen into the common area. If few had failed to note his entrance, none missed their passage. The din of conversations hushed as they moved across the room. Those on their feet parted without a word as Paasek steamed forward. Ryl followed close in his wak
e.
He felt the progressive weight of every set of eyes in the room rest on him. Through the cycles, he’d grown accustomed to the vindictive and baleful stares. He knew he’d never accept the awe and reverence that he’d been viewed with of late. The emotion now was that of pity. It was draining. He felt his stomach twist as he walked in the shadow of the hulking phrenic.
With every step, he felt his confidence falter. Every pace forward was a regression. For the first time in cycles, he felt infinitesimally small behind his peer. But a child treading haplessly in a grown-up’s wake. The alexen in his blood was chillingly silent.
Thankfully, they crossed the main level of the common house without pause. The door groaned as the phrenic shoved it open. The crush of the cool evening air was a shock to Ryl’s system. He felt the chill work through his skin. It seeped into him, replacing the tepid warmth of the interior. The fire of the alexen seemed to ignite again within his veins. The familiar warmth spread outward from his core, coating the entirety of his frame.
Free of the bulk of the appraising eyes, Ryl paused at the end of the thin track from the common house. He closed his eyes, inhaling a deep breath. The air was crisp, flavored with a hint of brine from the sea. At the moment, neither the stale smoke from the remains of the burned East Ward nor the blood and foul rot of the Horde were present.
The feelings, the emotions that had struck him inside the common house were alarming. He had lost control, only for an instant, yet it had shocked him to his core. The hope that had long burned inside him flickered uncontrollably as it was nearly snuffed out by the brooding darkness inside.
He could still see the lingering images, only flashes of still frames in his mind. The devastation was dramatic. The setting, too personal. He longed to put miles between himself and the swelling village. A village that now barely resembled the settlement he had called home since his childhood.