Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2)

by C. J. Aaron

  For the moment, food and water were resources they had in abundance. A day of rest would be a benefit as the road ahead was still long. The final task that loomed closer was perilous at best.

  Their planning concluded after darkness had descended upon the forest. The group made to rest, eager for a decent night's slumber with bellies full, free from the tunnel and the howling winds of The Crags.

  Ryl set his bedroll against the edge of the rock face. A steady stream of thoughts rushed through his mind as he sat down against the base of the large stone. Scanning the forest, he could see the fleeting glimpses of the stars visible through the slivers of openings between the branches.

  Vox and Ramm were standing, conversing in hushed tones a few meters to his right. Kaep was sleeping alongside the stone that guarded the light from the waning fire. Andr and Dav too had made themselves comfortable; their slow, rhythmic breathing giving away their slumber.

  Soldi and Nielix had drawn the first watch. Soldi stalked quietly down the path in the direction of the stream. Nielix slowly moved toward the other. He flashed Ryl a mildly veiled look of disapproval before stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. He felt a twinge of concern as he tracked the Vigil’s casual stroll down the forested the path. The healthy fear, the diligent attention that had been instilled in most after the devastation at the Prophet’s Tree had seemingly been lost on the over-confident soldier. As his skills had blossomed with the advanced training, his attitude had reverted back to that of reckless self-assurance. Ryl still couldn’t come to terms with the animosity that had been present in Nielix since first they met.

  Ryl lost track of time as he thought. His head drooped as sleep pulled heavily on his senses. How long had it been since the first watch had left? Perhaps an hour. To his right, Ryl could see the silhouette of Soldi; a slightly out of place shadow against the base of the dark tree. He could see no sign of Nielix off to his left.

  The forest was silent. The singing birds, the rustling of the leaves as the small woodland creatures darted about had long since grown quiet. Even the songs of the insects had grown eerily still.

  Deyalou, who’d been pacing the clearing, stopped along Ryl's side, his eyes scanning the forest.

  “Seems your friend has fallen asleep on the job,” the phrenic said pointing toward the left. Ryl rose to his feet, stepping forward, peering into the darkness. From his new position, he could clearly see the seated form of their sentry, head hung down resting on his hands.

  Ryl shook his head in annoyance.

  “If only the quality of his skills extended to that of his character,” Ryl mused. “I still don’t understand why his attitude toward me has been so caustic from the start.”

  Deyalou let out a sigh as he kicked at an errant twig on the ground in front of him.

  “Nielix hasn’t seen eye to eye with the phrenics for some time now,” he spoke quietly. “I wish I could say that there was a worthy reason. In truth it’s nothing more than petty jealousy.”

  Ryl scrunched his eyes together in a confused look.

  “You see, our Vigil friend over there has had a thing for Kaep since they were children,” Deyalou confessed. “The innocent childhood crush turned into something of an obsession as they both matured. Kaep has continued to spurn his advances. Rather emphatically, I might add. He’s always been the best among his peers at what he’s done, so he’s grown accustomed to having things his way. He’s taken to blaming this loss on the phrenics.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” Ryl questioned.

  Deyalou let out a hushed laugh before shrugging his shoulders as he walked toward the sleeping guard. He turned back to face Ryl.

  “You’ll learn,” Deyalou said with a smile. “It’s time to send him home to bed. It was my watch next anyway.”

  His words stopped abruptly.

  Two points of metal erupted through the front of his chest in a spray of blood. One poked through the center of his torso, the other through his heart. His mouth fell open, his eyes went wide.

  Triggered by the shock and anger, Ryl snapped into action. Time froze as the last hint of life disappeared from Deyalou's eyes. There was no question.

  Deyalou, master swordsman, and Phrenic of Vim, was dead.

  It took less than a moment to survey the scene. A ring of archers had snuck within a dozen meters of where the sleeping Vigil rested. Two had fired the arrows that killed Deyalou, the other bolts, launched a fraction of a second behind were aimed toward Ramm, Vox and himself. There was a flash of light as the moonlight reflected off the naked blade of the final attacker; his stealthy figure crept toward the sleeping form of Nielix, safely under the arrows of his companions.

  A frenzied roar erupted from Ryl's lips as he raced forward. The alexen inside screamed through his veins. They demanded blood. An inferno raged within him.

  He felt the hot splatter of Delayou's blood on his face as he passed the falling body of his friend. The wind swirled around his arm as he whipped his hand outward toward the arrows that floated harmlessly, suspended in air, crawling forward an inch at a time. The devastating arc of wind slammed into the furthest four arrows. Arrows meant to take the lives of his friends. Their shafts wobbled frantically from the strain as they bent upward, altering their present course.

  Ryl ducked under the closest arrow, that had likely been aimed at him. He focused on solidifying the woodskin on his left hand. His skin reacted instantaneously as his hand shot upward, squeezing his fingers closed around the shaft of the projectile. Even with the hardened skin, he felt the stinging burn as the wood slid across his palm. The arrow stopped as the fletching reached his fist. Behind him he heard the cries from Vox and Ramm as they were alerted by the surprise attack.

  With the arrow in hand, Ryl darted toward the sleeping form of Nielix. The silent blade from the stealthy assassin raced toward his throat. Nielix's eyes cracked open, only a sliver, yet more than enough to realize his doom.

  For an instant, Ryl contemplated leaving the man to his fate. His ineptitude had needlessly cost the life of a phrenic. A friend.

  The thought only served to enrage him further. With a final burst of speed, he dove into the attacker. Ryl led with his left shoulder, striking the assassin squarely in the chest. He rushed to harden the woodskin on his left arm as he felt the burning bite of the man's blade enter his skin.

  He landed on top of the shadowed attacker with the full force of his speed and weight. There was a gasp as he heard and felt the breath leave the stunned assassin’s chest. The bloodied blade slipped from the man's grasp. Ryl wrapped his right hand in the fabric of the man's shirt wrenching the helpless man off the ground as he sprang back to his feet.

  He lifted the assassin’s body, slamming it against the thick tree in front of him. The force of the reverberations shook leaves free from the branches above. He held the man off the ground. Without pausing, Ryl slammed the arrow he'd plucked from the air through the left eye of the unknown assailant. The arrow sunk deep into the meat of the tree behind him, suspending the corpse with it.

  The first of the archers was now a matter of meters away; the man’s eyes grew wider as they struggled to follow what was happening in the darkened clearing. In one fluid motion, Ryl covered the distance between himself and the archer. The man's hand moved in slow motion as he raced to free another arrow from his quiver.

  Ryl's right hand closed around the familiar wooden handle of the Leaves, tearing it from its holster.

  The holster, the custom masterwork that Deyalou had made.

  The blade flared to life with a blinding fury the likes of which he'd never before witnessed. The fire burning from its shimmering green blade seared the air around it.

  There would be no mercy in its flames.

  Without a second thought, Ryl separated the head from the archer, moving down the line with lightning precision. Bows were a futile defense against his blazing fury—he decimated the line of archers in an instant.

  As he wheeled t
o finish the last of the group, the high-pitched wail of an arrow gave him pause. He'd heard the song before. He slid the Leaves back into his holster as the first of the arrows struck the man's chest, carrying him backward into the tree behind him. The rapid stream of arrows pinned his body to the tree in a vertical line reaching from his chest to his groin. The assassin was still alive as the final arrow pierced his skull.

  The world still moved as if in slow motion as Ryl scanned the forest surrounding the camp. Eight had attacked them. None would breathe again. In some cases, their blood and severed limbs hadn’t yet reached the ground. There was a muffled nicker of a horse far off to his right, followed by a muted shout.

  Ryl let the speed fade though the blood still boiled in his veins. Kaep and Ramm were kneeling over the unmoving body of Deyalou. A pool of crimson blood spread out around him. The alexen in his blood cried out in agony. Vox stood tall, a step in front of his fallen companion, guarding his body. His left arm burned with searing orange fire.

  Ryl looked at the body of the man tacked to the tree by Kaep's arrows. His clothes were clean, neatly tailored and pressed. The outfit was not likely the wear of peasants or bandits. The others wore similar outfits. Andr reached his side, sword in hand.

  “Andr, is there a road, or a path near here?” Ryl asked pointing his finger in the direction he'd heard the sound of the horse.

  “There are paths that crisscross the entirety of the forest,” the stunned mercenary responded. “If my memory serves me, there is one leading to the lord's estate in that direction.”

  “I heard a horse, and shouting. Somehow, they knew we were here,” Ryl hissed. “These were no bandits. If they've left someone behind, I'll have answers. Get the phrenics and then come with me. The Vigil stays here.”

  “Ryl, you’re injured,” Andr gasped, pointing at the growing stain of blood from his left arm.

  “It’s only a shallow cut,” Ryl waved his hand, shooing off the comment. “I’ll tend to it while you get the others.”

  Andr, flashed a hesitant look at Ryl, before nodding his head. He backed a step away before turning and rushing back to gather the phrenics. Ryl tore at the fabric of his shirt where the blade had slashed through. The force tore the stitching along his shoulder, separating the entire sleeve from his left arm as well. In truth, Ryl had yet to stop to examine the wound. In the hasty battle, he’d barely given it a second thought. In all respects, the cut should have been severe, yet he was astonished to find it was nothing more than a deep scratch. The corners had already started to scab over.

  He tore the fabric into a thin strip, tying it tightly around the wound. It was a matter of moments before the phrenics arrived with Andr a step behind.

  Kaep’s eyes were red from tears as were Ramm's. Vox had the look of a madman, his eyes burning with hatred that made the fire burning in his hand seem dim.

  “There will be time to mourn Deyalou soon,” Ryl said flipping the hood up over his head. “Now, we hunt.”

  The phrenics raised their hoods, plunging their faces in shadow.

  Chapter 48

  Like wraiths through the night, the phrenics and Andr stalked through the trees. The quiet sounds of horses grew as they left their camp far behind. Without slowing, Ryl scanned ahead with his mindsight.

  He stopped abruptly as a hint of black appeared in his vision. The others halted at his side.

  “Scan ahead,” Ryl whispered hurriedly. “Can you not see it?”

  He watched the phrenics concentrate while he probed the darkness again. The smudge of black moved slightly to the right.

  “I see nothing,” Vox admitted in a whisper. The others acknowledge the same.

  “There's something there,” Ryl confessed. “I see a black void. Almost like that of the Horde, yet it's less solid, almost mist-like.”

  The disturbance was as alarming as it was confusing. Not nearly the pitch-black voids projected by the Outland Horde; this mark was airier and more diffused—like a charcoal cloud moving across the land.

  “Let us proceed with caution then,” Kaep whispered. Though her voice was hushed, the anger her words conveyed was deafening.

  They continued forward, tracking silently through the forest. Muted voices, unintelligible from the distance, began mixing with the sounds of the horses.

  Through the trees ahead, a clearing opened along the side of a narrow path beaten into the woods. Ryl counted twelve horses in the light of the flickering fire. A large, covered wagon stood on the side of the road; its mounts were agitated, stomping their feet in protest. Two men hunched over what appeared to be a pair of bodies lying alongside the carriage.

  A black cloaked figure stood a few paces to their side. Ryl had no need for the mindsight to confirm where the charred signature was emanating from. The figure pointed a finger in their direction. The two hunched over the soldiers sprung to their feet, swords flying loose from their scabbards. Where were the others? Two were still unaccounted for.

  The element of surprise was gone. Ryl pushed through the underbrush into the opening on the other side. The cracking of a twig to his left gave away the approach of the first of the hidden attackers. His sword was raised above his head, already moving forward for a lethal strike.

  Only a hint of speed was needed. Ryl lunged forward, ducking slightly to the side, inside the arc of the downward strike of the sword. He grabbed the man by the shirt, balling his hands up in the fabric of each shoulder. Using his momentum, he spun the man around. The swordsman’s feet lifted into the air halfway through the spin, yet his legs churned rapidly as if they still made contact with the ground. Timing his release, Ryl heaved his attacker face first into a tree along the forest's edge. The snap of his neck as it collided with the wood thundered through the trees.

  With a scream, the second hidden man emerged, this time from their right. The long axe in his hand swung out to the side for a vicious strike. Acting on impulse, Ryl stepped inside his swing, hardening the woodskin in his right hand. He hammered the base of his fist down onto the wooden shaft of the axe handle.

  With an echoing knock of wood against wood, the handle exploded in a shower of splinters. The axe head spun harmlessly across the clearing. Ryl tripped the man as he strode through the rain of debris, sending him skidding to the ground. His body stopped as the pointed end of Ramm's massive warhammer pinned his skull to the ground.

  The two remaining guards wavered as they inched ahead, flanking their hooded companion. With two solid thunks, an arrow sprouted from each of their heads. Their bodies dropped, like marionettes whose strings had been cut, crumpling to lifeless heaps on the ground. The third arrow missed its mark as the hooded stranger casually stepped aside.

  “Ah, there are more,” the hooded figure hissed as it whipped two serrated, curve blades from their sheaths. “Now this is a surprise.”

  It darted forward with astonishing speed, forcing Ryl to fall back a step as he pulled the Leaves from their holsters. The blades erupted to life as soon as they cleared the leather. Time slowed, yet the hooded figure still moved with considerable speed, comparable to that of the phrenics that stood at his back. Kaep, Ramm, Vox and Andr fanned out behind him.

  Ryl dodged a slash at his chest, immediately twisting away from the second aimed at his neck. He had no desire to prolong the fight. He felt an unusual tingling feeling bubble up in his left arm.

  “Keep this one alive,” Ryl called to his companions. “I want answers.”

  The hooded man grinned as he launched a vicious strike at Ryl's chest. He twisted his body into a spin, both blades preparing for an attack. Ryl cut his movement off, darting forward to land the heel of his shoe in the center of the man's back. The blow sent him sprawling across the clearing. The figure rolled coming to a momentary rest on his back.

  Ramm anticipated the motion, seizing his opening, slamming his warhammer down. The man shrieked in pain as the pointed end of the massive mallet impaled his left arm above the elbow, pinning him to the ground.
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br />   “Who are you?” Ryl demanded as he stepped closer.

  The man snarled as he lifted his chest from the ground. Ryl hopped back a step as the blade in his right hand lashed out again. He watched in shock as the hooded man spun the knife in his hand mid-strike, then finished the move by driving the blade through his own heart.

  Ryl let time fall back to normal; his hair and cloak shifting as it rushed past. He quickly scanned the area. The darkened clot in his vision evaporated as the life drained from the man's body. His vision was clear once more.

  His companions were at his side standing over the body as he bent down, removing the hood from the man's head. He heard Kaep gasp as the features became visible.

  The man's face was gaunt and withered. His skin was pale, and streaks of black clawed their way up from his neck. The stains spread out across his cheeks in the same way that the roots of a plant spread out through the earth.

  The face was shockingly familiar to Ryl. As if they'd been acquainted yet separated for many cycles. He let the blades of the Leaves fade away, before using the end of the handle to pull down on the collar of the hooded corpse. Ryl gasped at the sight. He felt the breath rush from his body and his stomach churn like he was falling.

  The blackened lines grew thicker further down his neck, yet that wasn't what shocked Ryl. The folds of the black hood had concealed a harrowing secret. On the man's neck, just under his right ear were the raised markings of a brand.

  H1343.

  The man laying before him was dead.

  The corpse at his feet was that of a tribute.

  “Ryl, do you see the brand? Andr whispered in shock. “How is that possible?”

  Ryl shook his head in disbelief. The withered shell of a man before him bore the telltale marks of a tribute. What madness drew him to attack one of his own?

  Andr bent down, carefully turning the head in the opposite direction. The house brand—a crest with two crossed swords, framed by the massive rack of a buck—still bulged through the skin over the streaks of black on the left side of his neck.