The Weight of Darkness (Catalyst Book 5)

by C. J. Aaron

  They knew he was close.

  They would be waiting for his arrival.

  They encountered little of consequence as they snaked their way through the cramped confines of the alleys. The makeup of the buildings all looked identical; stone bases, slick with the stain of ever-present moisture, gave way to wood, swollen and rotted from the perpetual water in the salty air. They crossed several larger thoroughfares, yet none were occupied by any other than straggling groups of citizens. Still, the commotion of movement rose in the distance. The rhythmic clop of horseshoes on the cobblestone echoed through the air. Muffled sounds of conversation were present, yet their meanings were far too distant to comprehend.

  “There’s no avoiding the commotion, is there?” Ryl inquired as they paused momentarily at the intersection of a pair of buildings. Andr leaned toward the wall, catching himself before he contacted the slime that had formed along the corner.

  “I’m afraid there is no way around,” the mercenary admitted. “At least none that would make sense. We’re close to the port now. The sea is less than a quarter of a mile to the south. The main avenue stretches from the water to the gates of the inner circle. To the palatial complex beyond. The road from here to the throne is lined with shops, cafes and inns. There’s little discreet means of crossing from here.”

  Andr looked to both sides before motioning the group ahead with a nod of his head. They moved steadily into an alley slightly wider than the one they’d just vacated. The buildings that lined either side here were constructed of more stone than wood. The surfaces had the appearance of cleanliness, as if the mildew had been scrubbed from their stone within the last few cycles. Through the shadowed gap between the stone buildings, the movement of men, women and horse-drawn carriages moved across the opening.

  Ryl focused on the illusion, cloaking the brands on the necks of his companions and himself.

  Their pace slowed as they reached the exit to the final alley. They crowded in the shadows, watching the movement of the city for a moment.

  “Is this area always this busy?” Cray asked as he viewed the commotion. His eyes were wide, mixed with concern and wonder. Ryl grinned as he watched a similar expression register across the faces of Tash and Palon as well. They had lived disturbed, but sheltered lives. Though they had lived on the edge of civilization, they’d experienced none of the world save for the worst inclinations that humanity could throw at them. They’d suffered constant indignities, enjoying none of the benefits, none of the comforts of basic human companionship and compassion.

  “From what I understand, it’s rarely this busy. Many have likely been itching to be outside the confines of their homes after being trapped as they were on account of the rain,” Andr commented. His eyes never ceased moving, surveying the commotion of the street before him. A large gilded carriage rumbled sluggishly past, moving from the north toward the sea. Andr froze, motioning the others to pause as a contingent of uniformed, mounted guards rode in their wake.

  The wagon dripped with the trappings of wealth. Gold trim lined the edges, shimmering from the uniforms of the soldiers who were perched along its extremities. It rumbled to a stop at the front of a building to the right of their position. The sign denoting an inn swung noisily in the sea breeze from a post along its front.

  “There are far more here now due to the Deliverance,” he noted. “In my experience, the port is far more subdued on normal days. Come. Let’s move while there is a gap in the traffic. Once we reach the other side, we’ll follow the avenue to the south. We can duck into the first alley beyond.”

  Ryl called on the illusion, easily concealing the identifiable markings on the necks of the unawakened and himself. He eyed their path as the mercenary strode confidently out into the street beyond. With the faltering of the storm, citizens moved about freely. Most went about their business without distraction, yet there were a good number who idled by, perusing the shops that dotted the avenue. They had the look of foreigners, viewing the city and its wares with a look of mystique that the locals found detestable.

  They reached the opposite side of the cobblestone street without interruption, though their eyes maintained frequent surveillance of the happenings to their right. The soldiers perched along the carriage’s exterior glared at the citizens who were moving about. The acidic stares corralled most from their path, yet the greatest animosity seemed reserved for the guards who accompanied them.

  Ryl moved swiftly in pursuit of his companions, his focus divided between maintaining the illusion and observing the carriage and soldiers along the opposite edge of the street. Even from a distance, he could feel the hostility brewing between the parties. None on the street paid any attention to the party of five who slipped from the shadows of the alley.

  The wagon shifted as the occupants spilled out from the opposite side. Voices were raised in anger; the shrill notes of a woman’s voice pierced the stunned onlookers as the tension boiled over into a verbal confrontation. The female speaker and the city guard were hidden from view by the gold-trimmed wagon and the soldiers who accompanied both parties. From the baleful tone and curses that flowed from the incensed woman’s lips, Ryl repressed a momentary pang of sympathy for the man who had the distinct misfortune of negotiating with her. The hands of both parties of guards hovered close to the pommels of the swords as words were minced.

  A cadre of ladies, dressed in finery the likes of which Ryl had only witnessed among the sycophants of the lords and ladies who had viewed the spectacle of the Harvest, strode from the cover of the wagon. With a round of final, acidic glares, they hastened to the door of the inn several meters to their front. The indignities heaped on the youth who held the door open churned Ryl’s stomach. The women held their heads high; looks of disgust and disdain accompanied the chide remarks at the state of the terrified doorman.

  Andr paused, his eyes locked on the scene. A peculiar look crossed his normally impassive face. He ushered the tributes into the shadows of the alley before them as the words of the disagreement floated over the hushed street.

  “My sincerest apologies again, my lady,” the guard sniveled as he backed out from behind the wagon. His hands were held out before him in a placating pose, defending himself from the force of the incensed woman’s fury. “There are no other suitable lodgings available within the inner districts. I assure you, you’ll find that this is more than suitable to cater to your needs.”

  “How dare you presume to understand my needs,” the woman shrieked as she stormed forward. The force of her verbal assault had the guard on his heels, helpless to defend himself from the verbal onslaught. Andr’s eyes went wide for a moment before narrowing into little more than slits.

  “We are here to attend the Deliverance by the side of Lord Kyoris,” she screamed. “You can be assured that he will know about the abhorrent treatment of his mistresses. There will be repercussions, of that you can be assured.”

  Ryl watched the strange play of emotions cross Andr’s face. The color seemed to blanch for a moment, his skin bleaching white.

  “I know that voice,” he hissed as Ryl reached his side.

  Across the street the guard pleaded his case, though his efforts were futile.

  “My lady, the regent himself, Lord Kagran, assured the lodging,” the guard pleaded. “Certainly, your lord would understand that he and his retinue are not the only ones to have arrived in the capital for the Deliverance. There is nothing nefarious in the treatment you deride. Lodging was neither preferential nor symbolic of any special treatment. Those who arrived first were stationed closer to the capital. Accommodations have been made for all. Perhaps you would prefer to stay outside the walls of the capital? Or in the outer circle?”

  The exasperated gasp was audible from across the street. The woman, hidden behind the wagon to this point, sauntered into view.

  “My lord will hear about this,” she growled.

  Andr staggered at the sight of the woman. Ryl had little regard for her indignant c
omplaining at the state of her accommodations. She was tall and thin, wearing a tight-fitting dress that accentuated the curves of her figure. Her face was disturbingly painted, hiding its natural glow beneath a thick layer of paint. The unnatural coloring of her cheeks and eyes stood out against the pale, dull appearance of her face.

  Andr leaned his arm heavily against the corner of the building.

  “What’s the matter?” Ryl whispered, his concern focused on his friend’s abnormal reaction. The incessant whining of the heavily powdered noble was no longer his concern.

  “It’s her,” Andr gasped.

  His face morphed from pale shock, reddening into scolding animosity.

  There was a look of murder in his eyes.

  Andr’s hand fell to the hilt of his blade. He pushed off from the edge of the building; his focus gave Ryl no doubt as to the tangent of his movement. As rapid and unexpected as his step had been, Ryl was quicker. With a single stride, he wrapped his arms around the mercenary, one around his shoulders, the other on his wrist.

  For a moment, they seemed to struggle for control over the blade that remained in its sheath. Ryl spun Andr around as they reached the shadows of the alley, slamming his body against the wall with a force that was jarring. None on the street noted the disturbance; their complete attention was affixed on the increasingly heated dialogue spewing from the entrance to the inn.

  In the darkness of the alley, the unawakened were all too cognizant of the action. Cray and Tash remained frozen in place, looks of incredulity written across their faces. Palon had both hands wrapped around the handles of his twin blades. His legs were coiled into a fighting stance. The look on his face was chilling. The calm lethality sent a shiver down his spine.

  Ryl focused, forcing a placating wave of calm over the primed tributes. He needed to diffuse the situation before any of their number did something they’d likely regret. Palon’s emotions boiled to the surface; the alexen in his veins itched to be free. There would be no disguising the effort needed to subdue him should his emotions progress further beyond control.

  The mercenary’s face was locked into a feral snarl. His normally pensive expression was riddled with anger. The constant pressure against Ryl’s hand forcing the sword into the holster was constant.

  “Andr, enough,” Ryl hissed. With his words he hammered the mercenary with a direct assault of emotion before turning his head to address the unawakened. “Palon, you must control your emotions.”

  After a moment, Andr blinked. The eyes that returned his stare had reverted to their normal calculating calm, though they immediately sought the ground as opposed to the gaze of his own. Palon’s lethal stance reverted to a sheepish pose. He slunk to the side of his twin.

  “Are you with me, my friend?” Ryl whispered, squeezing Andr’s shoulders against the wall. Andr nodded as their eyes met. The pressure of his hand fighting to remove the blade subsided at once. Ryl released the pressure pinning him against the stone of the wall. He looked again at the inn; the commotion had subsided. A fleeting glimpse of the woman’s back was all they captured before the door slammed behind her.

  “Who was that?” Ryl pried again.

  Andr returned his gaze to his, pausing for a moment before rolling to the unawakened waiting nervously in the alley. Ryl noted that his stare lingered on Cray for a moment longer than the others.

  Ryl struggled to contain the gasp that threatened to escape his mouth as the realization struck him like a hammer. The force of the impact nearly robbed him of his breath. He stumbled a step back, releasing the mercenary from the wall. The heat raced through his veins as the alexen churned with agitation and animosity.

  Their vitriol was nothing compared to the rage that consumed his friend.

  He pitied Andr, for he knew all too well a touch of that hatred.

  That betrayal.

  Only a touch.

  “It’s ok.” Andr broke the tense silence that had descended upon the alley. In the street beyond, with the finality of the verbal fray, life again continued as if nothing had disrupted the misty morning.

  “I’m ok. We delayed too long.” His voice, though authoritative, lost a touch of the confidence that usually covered its tone, though Ryl doubted that any of the others noted the subtle change. He understood Andr better than he did most, though most of the mercenary’s life had gone untold. “Make for the end of the alley. We’ll be right behind you.”

  Ryl turned his gaze to the unawakened. The trio remained frozen in place as if they were too afraid to move for fear of catching the animosity of the tumult that had only moments ago engulfed them. He nodded as he made eye contact with Cray. The tribute returned the motion, patting Tash on the shoulder before they turned, stalking into the shadows of the alley.

  Andr followed them with his eyes for a moment before returning his gaze to Ryl. There was an undeniable outpouring of emotion swelling in his eyes. It was raw and unguarded.

  “She wasn’t always like that,” he whispered. “That’s not the woman I …”

  “I know, my friend. I know,” Ryl commiserated. He laid his hand on Andr’s shoulder, bringing his head in close. “I can see the taint of the nexela clearly. The supreme arrogance, the greed. It’s not natural.”

  “Do you think Cray recognized her?” he asked.

  Ryl cast a glance at the retreating shadows of the unawakened moving swiftly through the darkness to their right.

  “I doubt it,” Ryl responded, drawing on his own emotions to guide his answer. He tried to place himself in Cray’s shoes. What would he have done if it were his own parents screaming in the street before him? He desperately wanted to think that he’d turn a blind eye, abandon them as they had done to him.

  There was nothing he could do to repress the chilling inner pleas for bloodshed.

  For revenge.

  For once the call for bloodshed emanated not from the whispers of darkness from within, but from himself.

  Chapter 35

  Ryl and Andr rejoined the others at the narrow intersection of the darkened alleys ahead. The trio were tucked into the shadows of the buildings, waiting cautiously. It was Cray who spoke as they approached.

  “What happened back there?” he inquired, his words tentative as if he had been chosen as the unwilling speaker for their group.

  Ryl opened his mouth to reply, yet Andr cut him off, casting a look that gave him pause.

  “It was an old acquaintance who stole something of great value from me long ago,” the mercenary growled. “It was not a face I’d thought I’d see again. Let’s catch up with the others. The safehouse is only a few alleys away.”

  Andr moved to the head of the group, pausing as he peered into the gloomy intersection, surveying the shadows for threat or motion. Ryl scanned with his mindsight. He confirmed that the phrenics were close. Their distinctive glowing signatures were now grouped together. The warmth, the sensation of welcome that he’d come to understand when at close proximity to them was present, yet it was little more than a tendril tickling his senses at this distance.

  “There is nearly a full day before the Deliverance,” Cray noted. “If the offense was grave enough, at least you know where they’re staying. It looks like the group carried far more wealth than they deserve.”

  Andr turned to his boy; a strange light flickered in his eyes. A wicked grin tugged up on the corners of his lips.

  “As much as I love the sentiment, we have more important matters to handle,” the mercenary acknowledged, though it was with an undeniable sense of regret.

  Without another word, Andr moved across the intersection into the gap between the buildings on the opposite side. He left no time for conversation as they snaked their way through the debris of the back alleys, pressing ever closer to their destination. Ryl could feel the sensation of his phrenic companions grow as they neared.

  Rounding a corner to their right, Andr stopped suddenly as a shadow materialized from the entrance to a doorway. His hand fell to the handle
of his blade. Ryl readied the speed that flowed in his veins as the figure materialized from the darkness.

  “What took you so long?” Cavlin inquired as he moved into a square of patchy light that snuck between the buildings above. The tension that had filled the air vaporized, like the morning mist burned away by the sun. “I was heading back out to find you.”

  “We were delayed at the intersection,” Andr relayed. “Seems the concubines of Lord Kyoris are less than pleased about their lodging arrangements.”

  Cavlin merely grunted as he moved toward the shadowed doorway. He knocked twice, pausing before rapping his knuckles a third time on the door. The metallic clinking of locks being disengaged returned his call. The door swung outward, moving silently on its hinges. Millis greeted them from the dim light of the interior.

  “Is everyone here?” the guard inquired as Cavlin squeezed past into the narrow foyer.

  “Aye, Millis. All are well,” Ryl replied as he hastened his companions into the room.

  The waft of heat that greeted him as he crossed the threshold into the building was invigorating. Though the temperature of the day was not unpleasant, the mist and wind that remained cut through their clothing. Ryl subconsciously rubbed his hands together.

  The room they entered was narrow, neat yet sparsely furnished. A single small wooden table and chair sat opposite the door, positioned against a wall made of stone. The rest of the room was constructed of wood, like it had been an afterthought, an addition to the original design of the structure. To the right, a staircase climbed upward, though it turned at a landing a short distance up.

  “The others are upstairs,” Millis commented as he finished locking the heavy wooden door. “You can see the facility from the roof.”

  The room that greeted them above was much like the entryway below. It was long and narrow, running the length of the building. A single side was walled in stone while the remainder was constructed of wood. Several rickety chairs sat around a table at the far end next to a meager cook station along the wall. The room’s single window was draped with heavy fabric, blocking light from entering or exiting their concealed quarters. Several narrow beds were lined up in a row against the outer wall. A fire burned quietly in a shallow hearth built into the stone wall.