by C. J. Aaron
There was no doubt that he had heard the stories of the glowing blades. He’d likely seen firsthand the aftermath of their terrifying power. He nodded his head rapidly in reluctant acceptance. Without a word, Paasek melted away, backing into the darkened cover of the rain. Ryl delayed a moment before he too slowly retreated into the night.
For a moment, the hunter stood paralyzed with fear. His mind likely churned with a bevy of conflicting thoughts. Could he run? Could he gain access to the wall before the apparitions returned? His blood ran cold, as the truth was singular.
There would be no escaping their wrath.
Ryl watched expectantly as the man made his decision. The hunters were a vicious, murderous lot, yet even the most ruthless, when faced with their mortality, would beg for mercy. Attempt to pay for their lives. With a look that signaled utter defeat, the man turned, slowly slogging through the mud to the south.
The phrenics tracked his lumbering progress from the safety of the shadows. Every few steps, the hunter cast weary glances into the swirling rain and the darkness where the two cloaked warriors had vanished. His eyes traveled from the shadows to the ground along the edge of the wall.
Minutes went by as they moved sluggishly through the rain. The storm, which had unleashed its fury, had thankfully begun to subside. Abruptly, the hunter stopped, his head angled down toward the ground at the base of the wall. He cast a rapid glance into the darkness, searching for signs of the phrenics through the rain.
Ryl hammered the hunter with an overwhelming feeling of dread and caution.
The man shook his head as the forced emotion scrambled his senses. He inclined his head as he pivoted back toward the wall. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he issued a pair of shrill whistles. As he waited in silence for a reply, Ryl could see his nervousness grow. He fidgeted uncomfortably in the rain as he watched the wall above.
The wait was interminably long. Movement from the tower above signaled the response. A figure blotted out the light of the nearest window. Though just a silhouette, Ryl could make out the head of a man peering out into the darkness. A moment later, light issued from the interior as the door to the guard tower was thrown open. The form of a single guard paused in the entry before dashing out into the rain.
The guard atop the wall peered into the darkness, craning his neck to see over the crenelations of the wall.
“Kroy, you’re late,” the guard grumbled from the palisade. “You’d better have our money. We pulled an extra shift due to your delay. It’s gonna cost you. Help yourself up. I’m not waiting for you in this cursed rain.”
Without another word the guard retreated, disappearing behind the edge of the wall. A moment later he tossed a rope ladder over the top. The guard hurried back inside before the ladder had settled against the side of the stone wall. The door to the guard tower slammed shut, blotting out the light that had illuminated the palisade’s top.
Ryl darted forward, catching the guard before his hands closed on the wooden handles of the rope ladder. He hardened the woodskin over his left hand, catching the hunter in the temple with a closed fist. He struck hard enough to knock the hunter unconscious, not kill him.
This man would live to pay for his crimes. At the moment, Ryl would not be his executioner.
Paasek sidled up beside Ryl as he searched the unconscious body of the hunter. He fished through the man’s pockets, easily collecting the small pouch of gold. Payment for the lives that had been stolen.
He squeezed the coins in one hand, motioning to the phrenic at his side.
“They expect payment above.” Ryl’s words were harsh. He failed to stifle the darkness that whispered from within. “Bring him along. Let him face the same consequences as his peers.”
Paasek dragged the limp body from the soaked earth. With one easy motion, he tossed the unmoving hunter over his shoulder. The added weight would be no extra burden to his impressive strength.
Ryl wasted no time scaling the slick ladder before him. The ropes stretched as his weight pulled upon their knots; his hands squeezed tight, struggling for purchase on the rain-soaked handles.
With no weight to inhibit his climb, it was only a matter of moments before Ryl’s head crested the top of the stone wall. He scoured the palisade in both directions, rapidly confirming that the peak was clear of patrols in either direction. To his right, to the north, the darkness and rain shielded the view of any motion. The lights from the distant guard tower, scarcely a mile to the north, were not visible from his location. To his south, even the tower that loomed a few meters away was devoid of motion. The guards, likely products of the kingdom, not Le’Dral’s men, showed little interest in duty.
There was no coordinated patrol from within. None stood watch as their superiors had commanded. The muffled noise of laughter sounded from inside the tower, though its notes were disfigured by the thrumming of the still steady rain.
Ryl felt the snarl pull up on his lips, and the animosity bubbled up from his core. He pulled himself upward, slipping soundlessly over the top of the wall. Pools of water spread out, covering much of the stone walking surface. The excess streamed from the slightly pitched walkway, pouring out in small waterfalls from the outer edge of the palisade.
The loyalties of the guards who had volunteered to remain under Le’Dral’s command had been in question from the start. Though some likely had remained in defense of Ryl’s cause, many, if not most, had likely been coerced by a higher purpose. Their loyalty to a specific house or the kingdom was unknown. Their unwillingness to see clear atrocities as a wrong was damning. Those who questioned the hypocrisy of ages after facts were illuminated risked sealing their fate.
Ryl removed a single dormant blade from behind his back. The disconcerting hint of blackness whispered from within, dwarfing the accustomed excitement that resulted from contact with the legendary blades. His other hand closed on the handle of the door.
The sudden grip on his shoulder distracted him from his advance. Ryl turned his head to see the hulking frame of Paasek looming behind. Over his shoulder, he still carried the body of the unconscious hunter.
“I feel the darkness that drives you onward, my friend,” the elder phrenic whispered. His voice was heavily laden with emotion. His words dripped with a covalent mercy that surged through Ryl’s core. “They will pay for their sins. Let us not be their inquisitors, judges and executioners.”
A wave of calm crashed over Ryl. There was no subtlety in its approach. It was forceful, potent, driven out of necessity, not convenience.
Ryl released a steady breath; the pent-up tension flowed from his mouth. The strength of the darkened call from within was alarming, as was the increasing frequency. The inner turmoil roiled through his body. The alexen stormed through his veins, battling to contain the darkness that had only recently taken residence. It was a war for control.
Control of his mind and body.
It seemed that every momentary lapse of concentration was cause for alarm. Cracks in his learned emotional control threatened drastic consequences. Ryl turned his head to the phrenic at his side.
“Aye, my friend. I understand,” he whispered over the rain. “It is a battle that rages uninhibited. The tides shift by the moment. I feel less in control than when the alexen first revealed its power.”
Paasek was silent for a moment as he considered the words.
“Perhaps that is why the Erlyn has beckoned for your return,” Paasek pondered. His voice hardened as he continued. “Let us not keep her waiting. The delay, though worthwhile, is a delay nonetheless.”
Ryl nodded at his companion. He stalked along the side of the guard tower, stopping just before the vertical slit of an opening. With a rapid, cautious glance, Ryl surveyed the interior of the chamber.
The guard tower was built for purpose, not for comfort. The floor was sparsely furnished; a heavy wooden table and chairs dominated the center of the room. Racks of weapons lined the walls. They bristled with a variety of swords and spear
s. A stand with bows stood separate; quivers packed with arrows were hung from pegs along the wall. Cut into the opposite wall was a single small hearth containing a meager fire that provided light and heat for the small chamber. The heavy door on that side remained closed; a thick wooden bar prevented easy access from the adjacent walkway of the western palisade.
A group of ten sat around the table in the center of the room. They were engaged in conversation, food and drink. Several bottles of wine were open, passed liberally around the table. The dereliction of duty was appalling. Though Ryl could sense none of the telltale signs of the Horde massing outside the walls, the guards inside had not the skill. Keen eyesight and senses would be needed. Inhibited by drink, they likely no longer possessed either.
“Think someone should help him?” one of the group gathered around the table queried. Ryl ducked back behind the opening of the window as the man motioned in his direction. “He might be tired after his swim.”
“Let him haul his own waterlogged body up that ladder,” another chided to the laughter of the others. “I’ll stay here where it’s warm. And dry.”
Ryl backed away, motioning to the phrenic at his side.
“It’s long past time we pay his companions a visit,” Ryl hissed. “Let him be reunited. Hold him up in front of the door. Let them share in his discomfort.”
Ryl moved to the right side of the door while Paasek unslung the unconscious hunter from over his shoulder. With his right hand he held the limp body aloft as Ryl pushed the door open with the tip of his dormant weapon.
The door swung open, striking the wall behind it with a sharp report of wood on stone. The merriment inside ceased at the sound. The men stared with open mouths at the appearance of their drenched companion. Perhaps some noted that water dripped freely from his feet suspended a few finger widths from the floor.
Ryl let the wind swell around his right arm, the gale quickly whistling as it begged for release. The mounting energy of the alexen caught the rain in the air with it, whipping it around his body. Paasek let the unconscious hunter’s body fall to the stone floor. Hidden in the darkness, Ryl stepped into the opening of the door, releasing the storm that had brewed around his arm. The blast of cold air and rain lanced through the center of the room, clearing much of the table’s contents before striking the withered fire behind it.
With a hiss of steam and a scattering of sparks, the flames were snuffed out. The guards inside coughed as the puff of caustic smoke stung their eyes and burned their throats. The chill was quick to set in.
Ryl stepped over the guard, stalking silently into the chamber, unnoticed in the commotion. Once he cleared the threshold, he let the serrated glowing blades spring to life. The brilliant green light and fire of the Leaves exploded throughout the room. The chill from the sudden wind vanished, replaced by the scorching heat.
The hunters quieted once more. Many shielded their eyes from the blinding light. Behind Ryl, the doorway filled with the massive frame of an ominously cloaked figure.
The grin on his lips was chilling.
“Fear not,” Ryl growled. “All will share some of your companions’ discomfort.”
Chapter 9
Panic was the best word to catalogue the fervent activity that descended on the guard tower. The ill-prepared soldiers toppled over one another as they scrambled to their feet. All but two tossed compatriots aside as they sought escape by any means necessary.
They had all heard the stories of the mysterious cloaked warriors.
Exaggerated tales were something altogether different from experiencing the glowing blades firsthand. The air around Ryl distorted, rippling with heat from the burning blades.
Ryl prepared himself to meet the pair that charged him. They screamed as they urged their comrades in arms to join the fray. Strength in numbers was a fallacy in close quarters. They anticipated that the crush of ten men would easily overpower the pair of soaked warriors in the doorway.
They realized too late the folly of their assumption.
The closest guard leading the attack primed his sword arm for a strike at Ryl. The second soldier, only a step behind, risked a glance at the reinforcements at his rear. His eyes went wide as the realization set in. There were none following their lead. The aggression blanched from his eyes, replaced by a look of crippling fear.
In the span of a stride, he attempted to switch his offensive approach to a defensive posture. With a whimper of a warning, he lost his footing as he sought to alter his pace on slick stone. His feet flew out in front of him; his back struck the stone, his body careening uncontrolled toward Paasek. The sword slipped from his hands, skipping harmlessly into the wall.
Ryl’s focus reverted to the lone warrior charging his position. The blade in his hand was now knifing through the air, intent on cutting him down with a single strike. For an instant, Ryl teetered again on the verge of the blackness that bubbled up from within. The distance between the two of them was close to a meter.
Dipping into a trace of the speed in his veins, Ryl let his control of the glowing blade falter. The brilliant green light that filled the room flashed for an instant before plunging the chamber into darkness. He sidestepped the incoming charge, hopping to his right. At the same time he dropped to a knee, chopping out with the dormant blade at the legs of his attacker.
The guard shrieked, a combination of panic and pain as his legs were cut out from under him. There was a sickening crunching sound as he collided with the heavy door that still stood ajar. The sound rattled over the frantic commotion at the opposite side of the room.
Ryl again let the blade in his left hand flare to life.
“Hold,” he called. His voice boomed through the simple chamber, laden with a heavy dose of compliance. The group of guards, squabbling over themselves to access the solitary wooden ladder to the upper levels, were slow to freeze, yet complied without the need for further bloodshed.
There was a groan from behind his left shoulder. Ryl turned his head to note the heavy foot of Paasek planted squarely on the chest of the hunter who’d lost his footing. The second, whose legs he’d upended, remained motionless on the ground. Only the subtle rise and fall of his chest signaled that he still lived.
It only took a moment to observe the group that had now huddled together around the ladder. These were not hunters. These were not the bloodthirsty killers who made a living pursuing wayward children and their families. To a man, all looked young, still green, their skin unmarred by the scars of battle or in some cases the ravages of age. Likely all that remained here were trusted members of one or another of the noble houses. Though it wasn’t personally their blades who’d spilled the blood among the fields on The Stocks, they were complicit. They were culpable for the actions that had occurred.
They would live to see another day. Though in the end some might have likely preferred a swift death at the hands of the phrenics. Le’Dral would ply them for information. Judging by the nervousness he witnessed written across many of their faces, they would divulge much without severe prodding.
“Drop your weapons,” Ryl commanded, pointing his burning blade toward the ground to the left of their group. The echo of the words had yet to finish rebounding off the stone walls of the interior before the clatter and ringing of the discarded blades resounded.
“Are there others here?” Ryl growled as his eyes surveyed the opening into the upper level of the tower.
The shaking of their heads was a definitive response. Nearly as much as the shaking of their nervous bodies, though they worked to disguise the latter.
Ryl stalked across the darkened room, reaching the remnants of the fire in a few steps. The glowing blade cast distorted ever-changing shadows across the room as he padded stealthily through the interior. As he dipped the blade into the hearth, the wood flared with green fire before reverting to a calming orange glow.
“Paasek, we need to secure our friends here,” Ryl added. “We wouldn’t want them escaping into the night.�
�
From the other side of the room, the phrenic nodded. A disturbing grin spread across the stony features of his face.
If there had been a will to fight left among the guards, it blanched as the first of their force was secured. Paasek pointed his great sword across the room, singling out the unlucky guard at the edge of their cluster.
“You,” was the only command the hulking phrenic issued. His voice dripped with malevolence. His figure, lit by the flickering green and orange lights of the fire and burning blade, was imposing. It was terrifying. The healthy dose of dread that flowed from his core, washing over the guards, no doubt added to his ominous posture. Compliance was understood and unquestioned.
The trembling guard wobbled toward the phrenic as if pushed by a force beyond his control. Paasek grabbed the young man as he closed within an arm’s width, pulling his body toward him. He spun the guard, planting his back against the stone wall. He gasped in response to the sudden forceful affront.
There was sudden commotion among his companions. A few voiced halfhearted complaints while the mass of guards inched forward with the confidence born of a sense of collective self-preservation.
Ryl lashed out with his left hand, the glowing green blade pausing less than a meter before the group. The momentary bravado faded, burned away by the threat and rippling heat of the translucent flaming weapon.
“You’re being offered a chance to survive this night,” Ryl snapped. “Another move and the deal is off. Do not test my compassion.”
He glared at the group of guards. None moved.
Paasek continued undeterred by the commotion at his rear. With his left hand he pressed the frightened guard against the stone wall of the tower. Ryl knew the strength of the phrenic. Had the guard chosen the unwise decision to rebel against the constraints, there was likely nothing he could have done to break free. Paasek’s tattooed left arm, hanging down along his side, flexed; the stonelike marking solidified with the normally innate action. The images tattooed in his skin were strikingly detailed. Ryl had taken moments, brief interludes when they were together, to study the markings. To most naked eyes, they could easily be confused with stone, yet now even Ryl gasped at the alteration.