Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3)

by C. J. Aaron

  The boy appeared nearly old enough for his own Ascertaining.

  Did they know what they were cheering for?

  Ryl pulled his horse to a stop along the side of the road. The throng of travelers continued by, their eyes set on the event that lured them in from all across Damaris. Andr slowly worked his way back through the crowd, wading upstream against the flow of humanity. He stopped alongside Ryl’s horse.

  “What’s wrong?” the mercenary asked.

  The dreaded tendrils of doubt, of apprehension, of fear began to squeeze their way into his senses.

  How could they hope to affect any change with the numbers that still believed the tributes were a curse, a stain on the pure society they revered?

  “Do you think the Kingdom’s ready?” Ryl asked quietly. “Do you think these people are ready for change?”

  His eyes paused momentarily on the face of the joyous child as he surveyed the scene around him. The boy smiled, an unrestrained grin that spread from ear to ear as he waved with jubilant fervor. Ryl exhaled a deep, defeated breath. His shoulders slumped, and his head lowered.

  Andr scrutinized the faces of the crowd that pushed steadily onward.

  “You know as well as I that one act will not sway the minds of all,” Andr cautioned. “All those here are a product of generations before them, who’ve lived knowing nothing different. Whether they change their minds now or not, it’s immaterial. They need to see the truth, Ryl.”

  Ryl raised his head, meeting the eyes of the mercenary. There was a fire burning in them the likes of which he hadn’t seen. They’d known each other for a relatively short amount of time in the grand scheme of things, yet their travels had brought them past the edge of the world and back. They’d survived the sea’s fury, the abominations of the Outlands and the forgotten horrors of the mountain’s depths. Ryl knew he’d have perished without the steadfast determination of the mercenary.

  His friend.

  The conviction in Andr’s eyes washed any last residue of the lingering doubt from his mind.

  “The truth they will see, my friend,” Ryl acknowledged. “Thank you for saving me, Andr. On more occasions that I care to count. Thank you for bringing me back from the brink.”

  Andr looked thoroughly surprised by the statement, though the start of a smile flashed across his face.

  “I think we’re about even in those regards,” he admitted. “That first time, in Tabenville, I couldn’t rightfully explain it, yet something drew me to you. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’ll follow you to the end, Ryl.”

  Andr reached out clapping him on the shoulder. He wheeled his horse, aligning it with the direction of the traffic, toward the sprawling city in the distance.

  “We need to make haste. I’m afraid few choices for lodging will remain,” Andr said.

  Ryl nodded in reply, following the mercenary as he spurred his horse onward toward the city.

  He meant every word of what he’d said. He’d have been lost without the steadfast support of the mercenary. He was lucky to have a friend of his caliber.

  The road ahead wandered over the flat terrain in roughly a westerly direction. The slow curves and swells never traveled far from the edge of the water to the south. Ahead, the torches of the vast, spreading city had already begun flickering on in many places; illuminating pinpoints of light in the fading illumination of the day.

  Ryl had never the opportunity to see much of the city prior to now. Cadsae Proper stretched well beyond the end of the Palisades that loomed over them like a shadow. Around the outskirts of the city a second wall, nowhere near the height or width of the Palisades, had attempted to establish a boundary. In many places, the narrow barrier had failed to stop the sprawl of humanity. The houses that sprouted from the ground outside the barricade were small, rundown and lacking in any true sense of forward planning or cooperative order.

  The road split in two well before it reached the city’s boundaries. Even from the distance, the disparity was evident. Just beyond where the tracks separated, the southern roadway widened, and closely spaced cobblestones paved the surface. The land on both sides of the road was dotted with well-manicured trees, beds of flowers and benches for relaxing. A large gate spanned the road, and Ryl could see the masts of the ships resting in their berths in the ports in the distance.

  The northern fork in the roadway remained unpaved, a hard-packed dirt track wrought with ruts. The uneven dirt road was home to small shacks that had been built to accommodate those not privileged enough to live inside the city’s domain. The traffic following the main road was steady, with few daring to make the trek up the northern extremity.

  Like all cities, there were clear divisions between the differing classes of society. In Cadsae Proper, the areas south of the Palisades, between the sea and the stone, were home to the highest echelons of society. The mansions grew ever more impressive the further one travelled to the west before reaching the river. Along the east side of the towering wall lived those who were less fortunate.

  Andr explained that the gritty Eastern Ward, as it was known, was home to the bulk of the laborers—the manpower behind the thriving industry that had grown in the port city. Here, the view of the sea was blocked by the tall stone houses to their south. Here, the sun set earlier as the shadow of the palisade prematurely cut out the last stretch of daylight.

  Andr steered his horse from the main path, following the unpaved road toward the north. The traffic here was scant. Few ventured off the main thoroughfare, and those who did walked with their heads down. The din of the crowded street behind them quickly faded. The thrum of the hoofbeats of their mounts rang out through the quieting air like the beating of a drum. Closer to the sea, the air had smelled a pleasant mixture of briny salt from the water and the sweet aroma from the gardens that lined the avenue. In this direction on the other hand, growing hints of refuse and decay assaulted their noses as they steadily approached the dilapidated buildings.

  The sun had already fallen below the rim of the palisade. The way was lined with an unevenly spaced scattering of torches and lanterns, and it wasn’t long before they were swallowed beneath the long, dark shadow that blanketed the rundown residences of the East Ward in an inky gloom. From outside of The Stocks, the umbrage of the massive wall felt less oppressive. Though the sky overhead still held onto the light of day, the early darkness from the wall was off-putting.

  Disconcerting as it was, the citizens residing underneath its shadow were comforted by the feeling of security it provided. Nearly ten thousand guards resided within the city and the surrounding garrison. Impenetrable walls separated them from the memories of the legendary beasts of the Outlands.

  They had no concept of the horrors present beyond those stone barriers that imparted them with a false sense of security.

  Ryl knew firsthand the true terror that lurked beyond the walls.

  The unmistakable odor of human waste grew as they weaved their way through the narrowing pathway that led into the city. Toiling inside The Stocks, Ryl's life had been sheltered from the outside world. He had grown up naive to the opposing stations that comprised the world outside the Palisades.

  The hovels that had been hastily erected outside the low retaining wall that surrounded Cadsae Proper were composed entirely of wood and thatch. The quality of the materials and the imperfections in the design and application reminded Ryl of the inadequate work camps within The Stocks. He’d spent far too much time inside their shelter throughout the cycles. Most of the buildings they passed leaned slightly to one side, as if the winds blowing from the sea were slowly forcing them over. Large gaps could be seen in their walls, giving a minute glimpse into the lives within.

  “Where are you leading us?” Ryl ask quietly. Though he could see no eyes, he could feel their progress being followed from inside the shadows of the houses. Andr turned his head slightly toward Ryl as he responded. His gaze surreptitiously moved across the street. His hand hovered close to the hilt
of his blade.

  “There is likely no lodging left within any of the more reputable establishments in Cadsae Proper,” Andr explained. “I know of one that's bound to have a room available still. Though it's been a long time since I've had the need.”

  Andr trailed off as his sentence finished. His face registered the beginning of a wicked grim, before morphing into an unexpected sadness. The extreme duality of the emotions was curious to Ryl, though he asked not. He knew Andr would reveal to him the information when the timing was right.

  “Know that, in general, this city is a relatively safe environment. People here have little fear of undue violence. The area we're bound for being the exception,” Andr said softly. “There will always be those who prey on the misfortune of others. I needn't warn you to keep your wits about you.”

  The narrow gate through the city’s outer wall approached rapidly as they pushed their way through the dimly lit, decrepit aisle between the leaning shacks. There were a surprising number of guards gathered on either side of the rundown gate, though none seemed to be paying much attention to the happenings around them. On one side of the stone gate, the group conversed in a small huddle. On the opposite side, one guard rested comfortably in a rickety wooden chair, while his partner leaned heavily against the wall. Unlike the guards Ryl had grown up accustomed to seeing inside the walls of The Stocks, these carried steel blades, not ironwood batons.

  Andr made no note of the guards, keeping his head down as he calmly steered his horse through the opening between them. To Ryl, the tension and readiness that his friend carried in his shoulders was apparent. He followed slowly in his wake, his hand resting not far from the reach of his blade. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the heads of several turn their direction, carefully tracking their movements. Their eyes spoke of distrust, yet none made a motion or sound to disrupt their travel.

  Once through the gauntlet of guards, Andr carefully increased his pace. Ryl followed the experienced mercenary, though his ears were trained for the sounds of the guards behind them.

  He was relieved as no evidence of pursuit or warning trailed them into the city.

  Inside the gate of the East Ward, the buildings grew substantially sturdier, yet a far cry from the comforts Ryl had experienced in Vim. He was certain that attempting to compare any city in the whole of Damaris to the wonders that were contained in the hidden city would leave him sorely disappointed.

  The buildings inside the East Ward were a mix of wood and stone. Their crude, weathered facades were poorly maintained, showing a patchwork of ages of neglect amidst newly repaired areas. The air inside the walls of the city was stagnant, allowing the fetid stench to thicken to a fog like quality. The streets were littered with piles of refuse. Torchlight escaped from houses on both sides of the narrow alley, flooding the laden air with a muted glow.

  There were few others on the street. Those they encountered seemed quick to seek the concealment of the shadows, hastening away with purpose.

  “Is that the usual detail for the city’s entrance?” Ryl quizzed quietly.

  “No. I’ve never seen a guard stationed there in all the cycles that I’ve come,” Andr replied. His eyes were diligent as they catalogued their surroundings.

  “Even for the Harvest,” he added softly. “Something feels off. I’d like to get off the street before nightfall. Let’s make haste.”

  Ryl agreed. The hesitant, even worrisome attitude of the citizens they’d encountered bordered on fear. What were they afraid of?

  Ryl scanned the area with his mindsight. They were yet too far from The Stocks to sense the tributes inside. Thankfully there was no sign of the tainted blackness that he’d come to understand as the Lei Guard.

  The mercenary increased his pace, spurring his horse into a slow trot. They rode toward the base of the looming palisade a short distance before turning to the right, heading north into the city. The further into the center of the mass of buildings they traveled, the more rundown the constructions again became. Here there seemed to be no thought given to maintenance of either shop or residence alike. In most cases, Ryl couldn’t tell if the houses were even occupied.

  In the distance, the sound of people speaking began as nothing more than a dull rumble. The barely perceptible murmur of conversation grew into a cacophony of voices, each talking over one another. The dull thrum of music fought desperately to carry over the din. The two sounds were locked in a constant competition with one another, each achieving nothing more than making the other unintelligible.

  The avenue they followed deposited them in entered a busy square that opened beyond.at the end of the alley. The numbers of people, though not overwhelming, was dramatically in contrast to the handful they had passed to this point. The activity was focused on a large building that dominated the entire side of the square to the north.

  Andr reined his horse to a stop.

  “We’re here,” he chuckled, inclining his head toward the building at their front.

  “Welcome to The Proper’s East.”

  Chapter 16

  Ryl cocked his head slightly to the side as he looked at the bemused expression on the face of the mercenary.

  “Aye. It’s every bit as bad as it seems, and yet it’s probably the safest place in all Cadsae Proper to spend the night,” Andr chucked. “Follow me. There’s a stable around the side.”

  If Ryl’s faith in the mercenary hadn’t been confirmed time and time again, he’d have thought his friend had gone mad. With a shrug of his shoulders, he wheeled his horse, trailing Andr around the western edge of the crowd.

  The Proper’s East occupied a sprawling complex. The western half of the massive two story building had a porch that was covered by a balcony that jutted out from the second floor. Large double doors on both floors gave a view of the revelry that was commencing within. A mass of people spilled out from the interior on both levels, silhouetted against the light and sound that poured from within. Even from the distance, Ryl could tell that most were thoroughly intoxicated.

  Both balcony and porch stopped midway around the building, dividing the structure nearly in half. Past that point, the windows were all shuttered, though he could make out the barely noticeable sparks of light that snuck out through the cracks.

  Few acknowledged their presence as they traversed the edge of the square, passing around the side of The Proper’s East to enter into a cramped alley. The stable at the end was busy, though there was more than enough room available for both their mounts. After the sight of the haggard buildings they’d passed in the East Ward, not to mention the level of debauchery within the tavern, Ryl was pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness of the stable’s interior.

  A pair of stable hands politely gathered their mounts, leading them to adjacent stalls toward the far end of the stable. They both had the appearance of soldiers, not stable hands. They were lean, yet well-muscled. Each wore swords comfortably on either hip and walked with the swagger of men who were well accustomed to the blade. Andr thanked them, flipping both a pair of coins.

  “A coin for the Proper’s Maiden,” Andr spoke calmly, yet cryptically.

  The workers exchanged a momentary look; one wheeled about, hastening back toward the entrance. The second simply nodded his head slightly, he took a single step backward before turning and following his companion back toward his station near the entrance.

  Ryl watched discretely as the first exited the stable through a door along the side wall that it shared with the tavern. The second stopped at the entrance to the stable, crossing his arms to lean against the wall in a pose that conveyed boredom. Though the relaxed stance spoke to an unprepared, lackadaisical approach, judging by the eyes, Ryl could tell the position defied the true preparedness of the man. His eyes were in a constant state of surveil; his hands never far from the hilt of his blades.

  “Bring your pack, leave the rest here,” Andr said. “Fear not. It'll be safe.”

  The mercenary threw his pack over his shoulder
, patting Ryl on the back as he moved toward the door. The guard at the door seemingly paid them no mind as they exited the stable into the narrow alley.

  Andr moved quickly, stopping at a door along the side of The Proper’s East.

  “Say nothing until I give the word,” Andr whispered. “It's been a long time since I've been here, yet I've never known her to negate a promise.”

  Ryl squinted his eyes at the mercenary.

  “A story for another time, I'm afraid,” Andr admitted with a forced grin as he pushed his way into The Proper’s East.

  Ryl was wholly unprepared for the sweeping assault on his senses as the door opened. The creaking of the hinges was immediately drowned out by the volume of the group inside. The heat from the roaring fire burning away in the large hearth along the left-hand wall added to the combined body heat of the mass of people inside. The temperature was near sweltering yet seeped into his bones with a comforting warmth.

  He'd grown strangely accustomed to the thick, off-putting, rotted, and stagnant scent that permeated the East Ward. A tidal wave of aromas washed over them as the air sucked out through the open door. The acrid smell of smoke combined with the mouthwatering scent of freshly made stew. The combination worked in consort to partially overpower the stink of stale ale, human odor and a tinge of vomit.

  No one paid them any mind as the made their way across the expanse of the large room. Smaller tables lined the wall on three sides, while long tables were scattered across the center of the room in an uneven pattern. A long bar spanned nearly the entirety of the wall on the opposite side of the room. Behind it, a row of large casks lay on their sides, held aloft by a thick wooden stand. The golden colored brew that spewed from their taps poured in a stream that seemed never-ending. For every tankard filled, a second waited empty in the wings. There was a single, large door squeezed in the middle of the barrels, presumably leading to a kitchen behind. A veritable army of women carrying either plates or mugs of ale worked their way through the crowded room.