Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3)

by C. J. Aaron

  In both directions, the way was clear of travelers. Far to the south, a small smudge of dust rising into the air announced the presence of another caravan. Without stopping, Aldren turned the wagon steadily to the south. From his side of the driver's seat, Ryl peered back along the forested path they'd just exited. The black wagon was just clearing the top of a small rise. He saw the hand of Ramm rise into the air, waving a subtle farewell.

  Though he knew the identity of those under the black cloaks, the site was still disconcerting. The cloaks in combination with his innate revulsion of the black wagon itself imparted a nauseating sensation. They'd wait before following. This would likely be the last he'd see of them until after dark, when they were due to reach the home of Aldren’s acquaintance near Milstead.

  Andr, who had been riding ahead of their wagon had waited at the intersection of the road. With a nod of his head, he led his horse into a canter, quickly advancing ahead of the party. Dav rode slowly, lengthening his gap to several hundred meters at their rear.

  Compared to the overgrown track they’d exited, the road before them looked well-traveled and considerably less rugged.

  Aldren knocked on the solid wall of the wagon behind his seat.

  “We’re joining with the main thoroughfare now, it’ll be far smoother from here on out,” he announced to Kaep, who remained inside, tending to the tributes and watching over Elias.

  “I'll be grateful for that,” came the muffled response from the phrenic archer.

  “How are they doing?” Ryl asked through the wood of the wagon.

  “No change I'm afraid,” Kaep's muffled voice announced from within. “They all remain still.” Her words brimmed with distress. Ryl felt the emotion roll over him as she made her feelings known discreetly.

  He closed his eyes, inhaling a deep breath, savoring the fresh, cool air. In his heart he harbored an acute concern about the fate of the tributes. There was no telling what their bodies had been forced to endure. Even if they could be nursed back to consciousness, rejuvenated physically, would their minds be salvageable? Could their sense of self be restored to its former glory?

  While the physical effects of their torture were plain to see, their mental anguish was occluded. Ryl feared that the full extent might never truly be known.

  The day passed quickly as they worked their way ever southward along the main road. Aldren remained with reins for much of the time. Both were quiet, seemingly lost in thought. Ryl knew that the merchant was concerned over the wellbeing of his son. Though they'd been spared an almost certain death at the hands of the spiteful heir to House Villais, Lord Relensier, he mourned the separation as his son rode to the seat of House Eligar in Cantros.

  The boy was strong, possessing a hardened will, and was well accustomed to travel. Young Cade had been on the road with his father for cycles. In a matter of six short days, Aldren would be released from his tasks assisting Ryl and his companions as far as the outskirts of Cadsae Proper. The merchant had been unexpectantly dragged into a plot that would amount to certain treason. A merciful death was the best he could hope for in the event their plans fell apart.

  Aldren would not accompany them as they stormed The Stocks. He would likely make haste to Cantros in search of his son. Ryl was sure that he’d find a welcome home under the wing of House Eligar.

  Ryl was respectful of the merchant’s remorse. He was all too familiar with loss. He'd mourned far more separations, even at his young age, than many would endure their entire life. On an annual basis he had been forced to grieve the loss of his friends that were stolen from The Stocks during their predetermined Harvest.

  He now knew the horrifying truth of their fates. The torturous existences that they would go on to lead were unconscionable. They were treated as fodder. Strapped to boards, they were milked of their blood. Slowly enough that the process would extend over cycles, every last drop of their blood was stolen from their veins. Every trace of alexen harvested. Were all converted to Lei Guard as was the case with Elias?

  The anger swelled within his body. His blood heated as it scorched a path through his veins. The Lei Guard that had attacked him had for cycles been like him. They’d likely lived together, and toiled side by side as they plodded their way through a miserable existence. Ryl, in part, understood the purpose of the additional markings he’d received during his awakening. The burning sun tattooed over the crook of his elbow; the impenetrable darkness that covered the remainder of his left arm—their purposes had vexed him since their application. Just as the light of the sun pushed against the darkened markings, the power, the blinding orb of pure energy that had flowed from his arm had vanquished the blackness of the nexela. His body contained the light to banish the darkness that gripped their souls.

  The miles passed as did the landscape. The rolling hills and small forests continued onward to the east. To their west, the mountains drifted away into the distance. Every so often as the wagon crested a hill the view of the eastern palisade would dominate the horizon. Its grey stone top was marked by evenly spaced guard towers as it stretched out of sight to the south.

  The road had been thankfully absent of travelers throughout the day. The small smudge of dust rising from the south as they had entered the main thoroughfare earlier that day had disappeared from sight—likely traveling away from them. Dav had arrived on several occasions bringing word from the others. All was well with their companions manning the black wagon that followed a mile to their rear.

  The sun had begun its descent toward the horizon as Aldren pulled the wagon to a stop alongside the bank of a narrow, nearly waterless, stream. The earth at the crossing was parched, having cracked from long hours of baking in the sun. A short distance beyond the crossing, the road turned slightly to the west as it rounded a narrow copse of trees. They would halt briefly to water the horses in the small pools that remained before carrying on toward Milstead.

  The merchant assured them that they had made up ground after the sluggish start. Though there were still many miles to go, he was certain they’d reach Geshill's farm on the outskirts of Milstead as they had intended, shortly after the coming of dark.

  Ryl easily alighted from his seat on the wagon, stretching as his feet hit the solid ground below. Though he stood still, the ground around felt as if it continued moving past him. A product of the hours spent at the head of a traveling wagon. He made his way back toward the rear, intent on relieving Kaep from her duty watching their charges inside the carriage’s cramped confines.

  From the south, the rapid thunder of approaching hoofbeats gave him pause. He whipped his head around in the direction of the road. Without thinking, his hands instinctively drew his hood up over his head before scanning the surroundings for any sign of the Lei Guard. The picture his mindsight painted was thankfully clear.

  Andr rounded the bend several hundred meters to the south, his horse at full gallop. Moments later he reined his beast in, sliding off the mount before it had fully stopped.

  “It’s a group of five riders. Approaching fast,” Andr announced as he tied his horse off to a small tree growing along the side of the road. “They wear no uniform that I recognize, yet they’re heavily armed.”

  “Mercenaries, no doubt,” Aldren hissed.

  Andr showed no emotion at the negative tone in his voice. His chosen profession before losing his son to the Ascertaining testing wasn’t always on the proper side of morality. Ryl knew that Andr had existed in that grey area, flirting the line between right and wrong for more cycles than he cared to remember. Though his moral compass likely convinced him that he’d chosen the jobs that aired on the side of what was right, the fine line on which he balanced was oftentimes a matter of perspective.

  “Ryl, keep your hood up and neck covered. Move to the other side of the wagon,” the mercenary ordered. “Kaep, have your bow ready.”

  Ryl nodded his head as the muffled confirmation sounded from within.

  “Do you expect trouble?” Ryl questioned
as he circled around the front of the wagon. “Could word have traveled from Serrate this quickly?”

  “I don’t expect they come with any knowledge of what happened in Serrate,” Andr responded. “It is possible some could have slipped from the village while we were at the facility. With the attitude of the villagers toward the Lei Guard and soldiers, I’d be surprised if word of the defection didn’t reach our ears before we departed.”

  Andr took his place took his place between the wagon and the road. His hand fell to the pommel of his sword.

  “There’s no telling who they are,” he continued. “They ride with purpose. We’ll soon know.”

  Ryl paused alongside the wagon, lurking in the heavy shadow created by the angle of the setting sun. He pulled his hood down low while stretching his collar up as high as it could go. His face was shrouded in shadow, yet the worry lingered. The brands on his neck would be visible upon any close inspection.

  All knew the marks of a tribute.

  The steady thrum of hoofbeats in the distance drew closer.

  His eyes had been opened to the growing percentage of the population who were opposed to the Ascertaining and the dreadful realities that accompanied it. While few adamantly opposed it, he was certain others made it a policy to hold their tongues. Assuredly, to those with similar sentiment, the vicious murders of the opposition’s vocal supporters, Lord Felloc and his family, lingered still in their minds.

  The cadence of the horses intensified. Apprehension heightened his senses. The sound rumbled like thunder in his ears. The force of the hooves on the ground shook the earth as they approached.

  The first of the riders raced around the corner of the road on the opposite side of the dried bed of the stream. Moments later, four others rushed after the lead rider. They were dressed similarly, though none wore a standard uniform per se. He could see the tops of shields stretching above several of their backs. The others wore quivers that bristled with arrows. All carried two swords, one strapped to either hip.

  The riders slowed as they noted the wagon stopped in the grasses along the side of the road. Their pace was nothing more than a walk as they reached the stream. The riders fanned out into a line, stopping a half dozen meters to their front.

  “Who owns this wagon?” the lead rider, who’d taken his position in the center of the line barked. Ryl noted the hands of the others hovering close to their swords.

  The armed newcomers were dressed in a varied assortment of road weathered gear. Their plain tunics held no visible insignia or colors of any house. Thick, unadorned yet well-made leather armor covered their chests and backs, wrapping up over their shoulders. All were marred with slashes and gouges giving subtle clues to the lives they’ve led.

  Their clothes and armor were undecorated. The glimpses he saw of their weapons showed simple yet effective designs. The saddles of their mounts were made for comfort, yet contained no extraneous design to make them stand out. Nothing in the whole of their gear distinguished it from average utilitarian equipment.

  Something about their appearances was off. The men that sat mounted before them had less the look of those who lacked the means to attaining gear of higher quality. Rather, their bland guises imparted a premeditated design. One chosen intentionally to remain as unremarkable as possible. The entirety of their character had the feeling of a conscious, well thought out anonymity.

  The looks on their faces, however, portrayed an altogether different feeling.

  Their perceptive visages were locked in scrutinizing scowls. Their eyes lingered on the faces of Aldren and Andr before traveling to his. Though he knew their penetrating glare would never pierce the darkness of his hooded face, the feeling of intense inspection was unsettling.

  These men were looking for something.

  Or someone.

  Ryl felt his palm start to sweat at the thought. He felt the call of his blood as it began heating in his veins.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself again. Who owns this wagon?” The lead rider pushed his horse forward a step. With his right hand he withdrew the sword on his left hip from its sheath far enough for the blade to glisten in the sunlight.

  “It is mine, good sir,” Aldren announced. He could see the merchant straining to appear as confident as possible. Ryl could feel the anxiety that poured off him.

  “I’ll have your name,” the rider growled.

  “My name is Radliff, sir,” Aldren replied after a moment's pause. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit this fine afternoon?”

  The sting in Aldren’s voice surprised Ryl, though the riders seemed unfazed by the remark.

  “Have you passed any others on the road?” The man hissed.

  “No, sir,” Aldren responded plainly. “The road has been clear all day.”

  The lead rider studied the merchant for a moment. His skeptical eyes bored into him as he delved for answers. Ryl could see his jaws clench and relax. The look of suspicion was apparent.

  “Is that so?” The rider asked as he jumped down from his mount. The others dismounted in turn. The sound of their heavy boots striking the ground echoed through the still of the afternoon. The action was accompanied by their hands falling to the handles of their blades. Aldren’s horses stomped their feet in agitation.

  Andr’s fist closed around his blade as well, yet the mercenary stood resolute. His demeanor screamed defiance, yet his body was still and calm.

  “What’s in the wagon, Radliff?” Their inquisitor continued. There was no denying the disbelief and suspicion as the man uttered his name. It rolled off his lips like a curse.

  “I’m a merchant, sir,” Aldren responded. Ryl could tell his nerves were fraying under the weight of the inquisitive eyes that rested on him. “I’m bound for Leremont.”

  The rider’s eyes squinted slightly as he stared into Aldren’s. To his credit, the merchant maintained eye contact with the aggressor.

  The man paced to the left as he walked along the line of his companions, his eyes trained on Andr. At the end of the line, he reversed his direction, walking back in the way he’d come. His questioning glare now trained on Ryl.

  “It’s an interesting company you keep,” the man spat as he came to a stop. His head swiveled, pausing for a moment as he regarded Ryl’s companions. The tension in the air thickened.

  “I’ll need to see your wares, merchant,” he hissed his command as his eyes again fell on Aldren.

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” the merchant stated emphatically as he puffed out his chest. “I keep this company to sway the hands of bandits and thieves like you. You have no right.”

  To his credit, Aldren struck an imposing figure. Andr’s hand flexed around the hilt of his sword. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryl noted the slight shift in the back of the carriage. The movement was accompanied by the unfettered feeling of anger that surged over him. Kaep no doubt crept ever closer to the rear of the wagon, arrow nocked and bow at the ready. Her emotion was unchecked, yet her attack pacified by temporary restraint.

  Ryl closed his eyes for a long moment as the silence descended on the area. His deep, steadying breath temporarily satiated the swell that was rising within him.

  The lead rider’s questioning glare turned venomous at the affront. His poorly veiled civility was swept away by the light breeze that meandered through the trees.

  “You misunderstand me. I was not asking for permission,” the man cursed as he slowly pulled his blade from its sheath. The four riders at his back followed suit. The high-pitched trill as their swords cleared their sheaths rang out through the quiet afternoon. Andr merely shifted his pose slightly, his left foot sliding slightly behind his right.

  “It was a command, merchant,” the rider growled, his voice rising to a shout. “We do carry the right and it has been signed by King Lunek III himself.”

  The lead rider reached into his tunic with his left hand, removing a folded and weathered parchment. He held the paper in front of his body, shaking it ge
ntly, letting it unfurl. At the distance, Ryl could read nothing of the script scratched onto the paper’s surface. The telltale mark of the King, the embossed crown and serpent, however, was clear on the lower right-hand corner of the page.

  Andr took a measured step forward, his hand reached out toward the rider, intent on validating the document. The man quickly folded the paper, tucking it back into his tunic before any attempt could be made to authenticate it. Ryl focused quickly sending out a focused feeling of calm toward the speaker. The tension in the air had grown stifling. The mood in the area was tenuous. Ryl guessed it would take nothing more than an ill-timed blink to lead to bloodshed. The agitated rider rolled his shoulders back, stretching out his neck. His grip, however tightened on his blade.

  Ryl let his left-hand slide behind his back. The feeling of his fingers closing around the wooden handle of the Leaves was invigorating. He readied himself to call on the power that coursed through his veins. The call to be set free was enticing. No blood needed to be spilled, yet he would not allow his friends to be harmed.

  “In truth, it’s not your wares I care about,” the rider said flashing a wicked smile. His anger, at least for the moment seemed temporarily satiated. “Your wares are no concern to us. You see, it is not a ‘what’ we are seeking but a ‘who’ we are seeking.”

  The truth dawned on Ryl with an unimaginable weight. The suspicions he’d harbored were confirmed in an instant. These were no simple mercenaries that stood before him but something altogether viler.

  Hunters.

  Standing before him were the hunters of children. The seekers of wayward tributes and the butchers of families.

  “Now, I’ll see your wares whether you choose to comply, or not,” the rider scoffed. “Know that your failure to cooperate will likely result in your deaths. Deaths that will be fully sanctioned by the King under the articles of the Ascertaining Decree.”

  Aldren gasped at the unveiled threat of hostility.