Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2)

by C. J. Aaron

  He knew their questions would not be polite in nature.

  Aldren’s home was a single-story building, with a small garden in the clearing at its front. The path traveled in a straight line between the neat crops to where it split in front of the homestead. A warehouse and small stable for his horses and a large corral sat off to the left, his home to the right.

  “You can release the horses in the corral,” the merchant said as he stopped his wagon alongside the stable. “Make yourselves at home while I take care of my mounts.”

  Andr left to help the merchant, while Ryl and the others relieved their horses of their burdens. Ramm carefully removed the body of Deyalou, laying him tenderly on the ground. Fresh tears welled in his eyes.

  Moments later, Andr emerged from the stable, walking with his head low to the grieving phrenic. He spoke quietly with Ramm, and the phrenic patted him on the shoulder, nodding his head with a small smile before Andr returned to the stable. Shortly after, the mercenary returned bearing a pair of shovels and a lantern. He and Ramm walked into the distance, toward the base of a large tree that stood alone from the rest of the forest.

  It was a short, somber memorial that marked the burial of the phrenic. Ryl stood back as Vox and Ramm lowered their friend’s body into the ground. The tears shed far outnumbered the words spoken. The phrenics remained after the last shovel of dirt covered his eternal bed.

  Ryl had only known Deyalou for less than a cycle, yet he mourned his passing in his heart, and in his veins. His blood felt cold as it crawled through his body. The chill of agony sunk deep into his soul.

  Ramm was the last to leave his graveside. The phrenic searched silently around the grave of his friend as the rest of the group moved somberly back to the light of Aldren’s home. He returned shortly after with a large flat stone, placing it alongside his pack.

  A watch schedule was established; although unlikely, they would be prepared in the case of a follow up visit from the lord’s men.

  The night outside was thankfully quiet. Inside, the planning continued until late. Though Aldren gave his best recounting of the force assembled inside the walled compound, their information was woefully incomplete. A crude plan was agreed upon, though a more thorough reconnaissance would be required when they neared the facility. Luckily, the sleepy hamlet of Serrate rested less than a mile from the walls of the facility, bordering the banks of the river.

  By arriving after nightfall, Aldren would be forced to spend the evening at The Twin Spate, the only Inn in Serrate; an occurrence he’d been relegated to by delays on several occasions. He assured them that a small party arriving earlier that same day would raise no suspicion, as hunting parties routinely used the village as a stopping point in their travels. The others would unfortunately be forced to suffer another night in the woods.

  With the planning complete, it was a weary party, both physically and emotionally, that made for their beds. Ramm remained awake, with the flat stone he’d retrieved earlier resting in his lap. He scratched away at its surface with a small tool he’d borrowed from Aldren as the others took to sleep.

  Ryl was awake with the first light of the sun. The rest, although short, had gone a long way to satisfy his body’s need. He was eager to get moving. The nervous anticipation of the events to come, events that could forever shape a kingdom were pulling at him. It was a feeling that grew stronger with every passing hour. The prospect of disrupting a processing facility was too alluring to pass, though he shuddered to think of what they might find inside.

  As they made to leave, Ramm called the group together, leading them to the tree under which Delayou had been laid to rest. He clutched the rock he’d labored over against his broad chest, cradling the stone as if it was as fragile as glass. With reverent care, he laid the slab down over the phrenic’s head.

  The work he’d labored over was a masterpiece. The face of the stone had been flattened, smoothed to a polished shine. The detail of his design was breathtaking. Two trees stood tall along the edges; each had a single leafy branch that stretched out along the top, merging with the other as they touched in the center. Ryl could see the individual veins on the leaves. An intricately detailed vine wound its way around their trunks, continuing along the bottom border. The vines wrapped carefully around the blade of a sword extending diagonally upward across the face of the stone. The blade on either side of the fuller seemed to shimmer in the light based on the direction it was viewed.

  In the center of the stone were carved two words.

  Deyalou (1351)

  With a silent nod, and a final tear, Ryl said his last goodbye to his friend.

  The group moved quietly down the alley, passing through the small garden, leaving Aldren’s house behind them. Ryl saw the merchant cast a final look over his shoulder before the house disappeared from view. There was moisture welling in his eyes.

  The next day passed in a blur of trees and plains. The road they followed soon merged with the Bredth, the main thoroughfare that connected the southern shores of the Kingdom to the frozen northern coast. Here, the path ran due south, meandering among grasslands of Damaris. To their west, the mountains were a steadfast companion. Ryl’s anticipation grew the further they moved to the south. He scanned the distance with his mindsight incessantly. His vision remained thankfully clear.

  With few exceptions, the group remained quiet and reserved throughout the travel. Nielix hadn’t spoken more than a few words since the attack in the woods, and those were only in direct response to questions. Ryl wasn’t near the point of forgiving him; his careless action had caused the death of a valued friend. However, his downtrodden attitude was almost more grating than the open animosity. From the corner of his eye, Ryl caught sight of the Vigil’s horse tracking a determined line toward his, though the man's head still hung low.

  Andr noted the approach, hastening his pace, stopping just off the flank of Ryl’s horse, providing a buffer between the two.

  Nielix drew up alongside Andr, and his head raised, his eyes locking on to Ryl’s. The look in them was tormented. The animosity was still there, yet it was now overpowered by sadness, fear and the overwhelming self-doubt that failure brings.

  “Please let me speak before you say anything,” Nielix’s voice wavered. “The full weight of Deyalou’s death lands squarely on my shoulders. For that, I take full responsibility. It is a burden I will forever bear.”

  Ryl suppressed the urge to rebuff the comment with effort. Nielix would reap no sympathy from him.

  “I am sorry that my actions led to his death,” Nielix whispered. “I don’t ask for your sympathy, or for your forgiveness. I came to say thank you. Thank you for saving me even though I didn’t deserve the effort. A man far better than me died. Yet when you had the chance, you spared me anyway. I can’t say that I would have done the same if our places were switched. I need to know, why did you stop that blade from ending my life?”

  “It is true, you will find no sympathy from me. The path to forgiveness will be longer,” Ryl said quietly. “You have skill that is unmatched among your peers, yet you let your actions be ruled by petty jealousy and hatred. Yet, I do not seek your death. What's done had been done. There's no changing that. Let your actions from this moment forward be that which defines you.”

  Ryl spurred his horse forward. He'd said what he needed to say. The wound was still too fresh. He had the foresight to see that nothing good would have come from extending the conversation. He felt the hint of anger burning in his veins, yet he respected the man for saying what he had.

  Andr rode up beside him, leaning in close.

  “You showed more restraint than he perhaps deserved,” Andr whispered. “Well done, Ryl.”

  The mercenary turned his horse, slowly plodding his way to the back of the column to relieve the rear guard.

  Shortly after midday the following day, Aldren called a stop to the slow procession. Ahead of them a second road branched off from the first, leading toward the west. The track t
hey’d been following had veered slightly to the east of due south, leading them away from the mountains. Looming over the trees in the distance, set atop a large hill and overlooking the surrounding lands was the crumbling ruins of a once powerful stronghold.

  “Those, my friends, are the Martrion Ruins,” Aldren said with a grand wave of his hand. “As legend holds, they were the home of Taben the Defender before his conquest over the demons of the Outlands. At least that is what the myths say.”

  The phrenics exchanged a knowing glance. None more so than Ryl; they were all keenly aware of the awesome power the ancient phrenics held.

  “We split here,” Andr announced. “Dav, Soldi, Nielix, you're with me.”

  The Vigil moved with purpose, leading their horses to an easy canter.

  “Stay safe. We'll see you in Serrate, my friends,” Andr winked as he wheeled his mount, riding quickly to catch his companions.

  Ryl repressed a feeling of remorse as he watched his friend ride into the distance. Andr had been his steadfast companion over the countless miles. They had traveled through the uncharted wilds and back to the kingdom they’d fled.

  “Cade, it’s time for you to take your leave as well,” Aldren said confidently as he patted his son on the shoulder. “You have an important task ahead of you. One in which I know you will not disappoint.”

  Cade stared at his father for a long moment before wrapping his arms around him in a tight embrace.

  “Stay to the roads by day and Inns by night,” Aldren gently reminded his son. “Keep the message safe.”

  Aldren patted his hand against his son’s chest, over his right breast. Under the fabric of his clothing, the carefully folded and sealed missive remained.

  “I will, father,” Cade said. His words rang clear with impressive confidence.

  Cade quickly alighted from the head of the wagon, gathering his carefully arranged pack, and tucking a small dagger in its sheath under his belt. He mounted the last remaining, unburdened horse they’d retained from the Lord’s assassins.

  He looked back at his father one last time. There was no hiding the moisture in his eyes.

  Goodbye, father,” Cade mumbled.

  “Stay safe, my son,” Aldren responded, his voice wavering as he spoke. “I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

  After a moment's hesitation, Cade turned his mount, hurrying along the southern road.

  Aldren watched his retreating form for several moments. All were silent as the merchant took in the last few glimpses of his son.

  “You’ll be reunited soon, my friend,” Ryl said as he poured a feeling of hope over the merchant.

  Aldren cracked a small smile in response. He took a long, slow deep breath.

  “Aye. Let us be on our way then,” the merchant announced as cheerfully as he could muster. “Darkness waits for no one. We still have a long, slow ride ahead of us.”

  With a flick of the whip, Aldren's horses began their march onward. The collapsing spires of a long-dead house loomed ominously in the distance.

  Chapter 51

  Ryl and the phrenics rode in slow procession following Aldren and his wagon. The lantern suspended from the front cast a flickering halo of light on the surrounding trail and woods. The merchant reined in his horses, whispering for their silence as they nickered noisily. Their sounds echoed throughout the quiet forest.

  The phrenics stopped alongside the head of the wagon. The churning rapids of a river could be heard in the distance.

  “Here's where we part ways as well,” Aldren whispered. “Around the bend ahead the road dips slightly before reaching the river. The stone bridge here is the only crossing for many miles in either direction. The icy waters below run in two channels. Closest to the village, the water is calm, however, closer to this bank, the waters churn with rapids that are nothing to be trifled with. Serrate is on the opposite bank. Stay safe, my friends.”

  “Thank you, Aldren,” Ryl said graciously. “Your guidance has been crucial and your support unwavering. We shall see you again once this is through.”

  “It is you I have to thank,” Aldren corrected. “Without you, my son and I would be dead. We will be forever in your debt.”

  The merchant urged his wagon forward, and the phrenics watched as it disappeared around the bend in the road. Their heads turned as a low whistle broke through the trees to their left. A shadowed figure slowly materialized from the forest’s edge. Andr greeted his friends with a smile.

  “Come, lead your horses after me,” the mercenary said softly. “There's a clearing ahead, we can talk there.”

  The phrenics followed orders, quietly leading their mounts off the beaten path into the darkness of the forest. The night sky was clear, the area lit by the light of a bright moon overhead. They weaved their way carefully along what appeared to be a narrow game trail, stopping a hundred meters of so into the forest. The small clearing was surrounded on all four side by woods, though the lights of the small town flickered through the leaves to the west.

  “What news from Serrate?” Kaep asked as they tied their horses off along the edge of the opening.

  “From what I can tell, the estimates of the merchant were sound,” Andr detailed. “There appears to be no more than a token force of soldiers manning the gate and facility. Though none were visible from the outside, rumors abound through the village of the black cloaked killers who lurk inside the gates.”

  “If it is Lei Guard, where there's one, there will always be six more,” Ryl reiterated.

  “There is no love for the soldiers or Lei Guard around the village,” Andr said. “Though only spoken in whisper, they accuse them both of numerous disappearances and a rash of violent, unsolved murders that have happened over the last cycle. The village feels ripe for revolt.”

  “Then let us use that discontent to our advantage,” Ryl said. “Can you discretely stir the pot?”

  Andr chuckled softly.

  “Aye, I can be discrete,” the mercenary said with a devilish smile. “And there's more. The seeds you've spoke of so many times, the seeds of change, they’ve taken root here.”

  There was a crack of a twig, and a quiet rustle in the woods to their rear. Hands fell to their blades; Kaep had an arrow ready at the waiting. The rustling continued, retreating rapidly into the depths of the forest—the chittering of the squirrel gave away its true identity.

  “Just last cycle, testing confirmed a boy with alexen,” Andr continued. “His family was well respected and well-loved throughout the village. They ran. None but the boy survived, though his legend has grown. Seems their young lad killed a guard in the process of his capture. He's revered like a myth here.”

  Ryl felt his heart rate surge at the mention. Could it be Aiden? He’d heard of none since the boy who’d felled a guard during their apprehension.

  A thin smile crossed his lips.

  “I believe I know the boy well,” Ryl whispered. “Stubborn as a mule, but stronger than an ox. Even at just over nine cycles, I reckon there are few stronger than him in The Stocks.”

  Ramm let out a low, quiet whistle in response to the statement.

  “Do we proceed tomorrow as planned?” Ryl asked, looking to all in turn.

  Andr nodded his head.

  “I don’t see why not,” he said. “Draw them out. The Vigil will be in place.”

  “Let them come,” Ramm growled.

  “I'll slip into the facility with Aldren's wagon,” Andr said. “I'll have the gates open for you.”

  He paused a moment, looking the phrenics in the eyes, one by one. Ryl’s eyes were the last he met. They held their gaze for a moment.

  “Remember, tomorrow, if their numbers are more than you can sustain, get to the horses and flee,” Andr stressed. “Head south, don't stop until you reach The Stocks. Don't wait for us, the tributes are counting on you.”

  Andr squeezed Ryl's shoulder, flashing a quick, pained smile.

  “Good luck. I'll see you tomorrow,” the mercenary sai
d before turning and melting back into the darkness.

  The morning dawned with a chill in the air. Ryl and the phrenics had already left the small clearing they’d called a home for the night. The road was quiet, though in the distance, Ryl could hear the hoofbeats and the squeaking wheels of a heavily laden wagon as it bumped over the uneven road.

  A thick layer of mist floated over the water, hiding the rapids below. The walkway of the stone bridge poked out over the fog as if it were floating on air.

  Across the river, Serrate had come to life with the first rays of the sun. A rooster, late to his morning duty, called in the distance. Ryl could hear the unintelligible voices of the fishermen projecting out over the water. He watched as their bodies disappeared into and materialized from the mist as they moved about along the short stairs to the piers and boats below.

  Warehouses lined the avenue to the left of the bridge, and a small tavern and a three-story inn capped the end of the row of buildings. The main road from the bridge separated the inn from the merchant’s shop on the opposite corner. There were residences and stores lining both sides of the street following the small road to the west.

  Ryl felt a chill rush through his body. He seen the village before, yet he'd never stepped foot in it. The village had materialized in his dreams.

  The village that had turned into a nightmare night after night.

  “We're ready, Ryl,” Kaep said confidently as she stopped beside him.

  Vox and Ramm paused along his opposite side.

  “Do you think they’ll be able to see us, like we can see them?” Kaep asked softly.

  “That thought hasn’t left my mind since we met Aldren on the path,” Ryl admitted. “That tribute, tainted as he was, felt our presence. He had a vague sense of the direction, but we know not whether he could pinpoint our exact location.”

  The realization dawned on him as he spoke the words aloud, as if hearing them sparked the understanding.