Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3)

by C. J. Aaron

  Ramm and Vox had joined them after securing the gate and the outer doors. The phrenic had used his strength, and hammer, to crudely commandeer the modest fence that ran along the outside of the warehouse. He had driven the fence piles into the hard ground with ease, wedging them tightly between the rivets of the massive doors, preventing its inswing. The barrier wouldn’t hold long, however, that was never its intent.

  All they needed was to buy time. Precious time to increase the distance between the Pining Gate and their retreat.

  Andr came stalking up from the direction of the gathered mass of tributes. Ryl noted the captain’s approach from the direction of the clinic, while simultaneously a wagon laden with precious food from the storehouse began its sluggish trek toward the edge of the village. Jeffers took his seat alongside the driver of the medical wagon as they moved to follow the first. He flashed a brief, pained smile at Ryl as their eyes met. The overloaded cart rumbled slowly after the first.

  “All are ready, Ryl,” Andr announced. His eyes traveled past, investigating the top of the palisade. The ramparts were still eerily silent. From the city beyond, the noise of commotion and the rhythmic cadence of approaching boots grew steadily.

  “They’re making a final sweep of the buildings. It’s time,” Le’Dral added as he came to a stop alongside the mercenary. His eyes flashed with recognition as he studied Andr’s face. As the captain of the guard, Le’Dral was more than aware of the situation regarding Andr’s reassignment to the private security force for Lord Eligar, Ryl’s sponsor. The captain’s absence of shock was unsurprising, as the day had already proven miraculous.

  “Convenient reassignment, I see,” Le’Dral commented with a grin.

  Andr gleamed a devious smile as he nodded his head. The sound of shouted commands grew from the courtyard on the opposite side of the massive gates.

  “It’s time we bid farewell to Cadsae,” Rly announced. “Le’Dral, how many guards remain under your command?”

  “It’s a token force,” he replied. “They number only thirty, though all are loyal to the core. Where I lead, they’ll follow.”

  “I’d like your men to take the lead with Jeffers and the supply wagons. The black wagon, the Vigil and the tributes will follow. Andr, I want you with them. Have someone relieve Soldi and care for the tributes as best we can,” Ryl added. “The phrenic and I will take the rear. Set the pace as fast as possible. Our horses are limited; save them for those who show any sign of distress.”

  Andr nodded before rushing back to the lead of the rapidly forming caravan.

  “Captain, do you think we can make the waypoint past Thayers Rest before nightfall?” Ryl asked.

  “If it were just the guards, I’d say so without a doubt,” Le’Dral admitted. “You know the state of the tributes better than I. They’ll be hard pressed to make it and still maintain the speed over the coming days if they burn out so early. We’ll know better once we’ve been marching for a few hours.”

  Ryl agreed with the captain’s logic. He still remembered the harrowing four-day trek from Tabenville to Cadsae prior to his Harvest, now just a cycle in the past. The journey had been perilous then and it would assuredly be just as dangerous, if not more so, now. He wouldn’t breathe a sigh of relief until they were all safely under the shadow of the Erlyn’s boughs.

  His eyes traveled past the captain to the jagged peaks of the Haven Mountains spiking their way across the northern horizon. The mountains seemed impossibly far. He felt a wave of nostalgia rush through him as he vividly remembered the path he and Andr had cut through the unknown wilderness of the Outlands. The mountains were all they had to guide them then.

  The captain cleared his throat, bringing Ryl’s focus back from the view in the distance.

  “What are your plans with him?” Le’Dral gestured to the motionless form of Maklan, who remained fettered and staked to the ground.

  Ryl walked slowly to the unconscious body of the councilor. He bent down, grabbing the black sword by his hilt before tearing it from the earth. A shower of loose dirt rained down over Maklan’s still body.

  He let the sword point fall to the back of the councilor’s neck. For a moment, he considered ending the life of the vile man whose hatred for the tributes knew no bounds. Given the opportunity, the corrupted councilor would have likely found his own ways of defiling them, as had Delsith and Osir before him. Rage coursed through Ryl as he raised the sword for its fatal strike.

  Closing his eyes, he exhaled a deep breath. The anger that had swelled through him poured from his lips, carried away by his breath. Ryl let the point of the sword drop.

  “Do with him as you choose. He ordered your execution, Cavlin’s execution and likely countless others; but I’ll not be his murderer,” Ryl admitted as he turned from the councilors prostrate body. He handed the sword carefully to Le’Dral. “I leave his life in your hands.”

  He saw the captain’s hand flex and contract as it fell into a comfortable grip on the long, wicked blade. He watched the anger flash across his face. After a moment, the captain simply nodded his head.

  “Leave him. Let the King suffer his failure. He’ll only slow us down,” Le’Dral announced.

  With Maklan’s fate temporarily spared and the marching orders established, Le'Dral and Andr moved quickly to commence the flight from Cadsae. Cautiously, the heads of the incoming garrisons of the Kingdom’s guard began poking over the edge of the southern palisade. Their backs bristled with arrows.

  Once again, fire swelled around Vox's hand, condensing quickly into a thick, spinning orb of heat and flame. His arm pushed forward, heaving the fireball skyward as if casting a stone into the air. The meteor screamed over the top of the palisade, detonating above the wall in a shower of smoke and sparks. The approach of the archers turned to a hasty, panicked retreat. Vox staggered a step backward as the shockwave from the blast barreled into him. The wind whipped out the fabric of their cloaks. Ryl turned his head to the side as the heated air pushed past.

  The thundering explosion and searing flames slowed the advance of the guard to merely a volley of cautious and probing glances. Heads again peered over the top of the walls, before quickly ducking back down, like animals retreating to their burrows. With the approach of the guards temporarily halted, the phrenics were quick to relinquish their watch over the palisade and Pining Gate. It was only a matter of moments before they’d rejoined the caravan as it moved past the edge of Cadsae.

  The bulk of the group had already abandoned the village, moving quickly up The Stocks’ single main road. A small contingent remained patiently waiting, and Ryl’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized all the faces. They were his closest friends and confidants. They were truly the closest thing he had to family. Nearly all were armed with some variation of crude bludgeon, salvaged from anything they could find.

  Kaep looked at Ryl offering a compassionate smile, leaning in close.

  “Go to them,” she whispered. “We’ll watch the rear. We’ll call if there’s any trouble.”

  Ryl mouthed his thanks though the words failed to make a sound. The events had occurred in such rapid succession since they’d entered the boundaries of Cadsae Proper, that he’d had only a moment to greet his friends. He found himself immediately overwhelmed by the raw emotion that surged through his body. He worked feverishly to hide the tears that threatened to pour from his eyes as he padded forward ahead of the phrenics.

  Again, it was Aelin who ran free from the group, throwing himself around Ryl’s waist.

  “I told you I’d return,” Ryl whispered to the boy as he began whimpering quietly. “Come, let’s join the others. We can talk while we walk.”

  Ryl separated the boy from him, placing his hand gently on his back guiding him to the others. Sarial stood at the front of the group. Her smile was as infectious as he remembered. To her left stood the towering frame of Zed. His massive body dwarfing Odus, Rikel and Quinlen who remained to his side. The twins stood to Sarial’s right. Sa
ndwiched protectively between them was the compassionate young Elora and Luan. He’d failed to note earlier the sleeping babe that she cradled carefully to her chest, supported by a cloth sling hung over her shoulder.

  There was not an eye among them that was free from the evidence of recently shed tears. The wet streaks traced a light clean trail through the dust that had settled over their skin.

  “I’ve missed you, my friends,” Ryl choked out the words as his voice broke.

  The round of embraces and handshakes was brief yet utterly heartfelt. All had their moment of private greeting before Ryl urged them onward. The need to spread the distance between themselves and Cadsae was great. The phrenics remained several meters behind, politely granting them space as Ryl was reunited with his friends. Their introductions would wait until a later time.

  Luan was the last to greet him. The tears were streaming down her cheeks as she stepped forward to embrace him. The hug was light owing to the silent, peaceful child resting against her chest. A thick mop of black hair poked out from under the crude hood pulled over its head.

  Intimate relationships between the tributes were expressly forbidden within The Stocks as having children was considered an abnormally cruel punishment for the child. The circumstances surrounding her unplanned pregnancy were severe. The nameless and unwarranted father was unknown, though it was likely he was executed at the hands of Captain Le’Dral when the truth of the atrocities occurring at Tabenville first came to light.

  Ryl stepped back, admiring the peaceful face of the child in her arms. Luan was glowing with the beauty of motherhood. The joy he felt beaming from her stood out like a blazing beacon in the darkness of The Stocks.

  “His name is Rylan,” she cooed as she looked down at the sleeping child in her arms. “He was born early. The rigors of life here are too stressful. The mender didn’t hold much hope. I knew in my heart that he was bound to be wrong. The first time he opened his eyes, I saw a glimpse of that fire, the terrifying swell of determination the likes of which I’d only seen in your eyes. I thought the name would be fitting.”

  Ryl reached out, gently stroking the babe’s cheek with the back of his finger. His tiny face reacted with a twitch; his body squirmed slightly. His lips puckered and released as he scrunched himself into the warmth of his mother’s breast. It was with difficulty that he removed his eyes from the child raising them to meet Luan’s gaze.

  “He’s perfect,” Ryl whispered with a smile. “Though I hope he’s less prone to injury than his namesake.”

  Luan snorted a quiet laugh, before her face turned deadly serious.

  “I’ll not have you corrupt him with your foolhardy ways,” she said in jest. “I hope you’ve at least learned your lesson by now.”

  “I’m afraid it’s a lesson I’ve yet to accept,” Ryl admitted as he urged his friends onward. They’d lingered too long. The bulk of the group ahead had just disappeared beyond the first corner of the road in the distance. He cast a final glance back over his head at the wall that separated them from the city, and from the growing thousands who likely amassed behind. There was still no motion along the top of the palisade.

  How long would they remain outside? With what force would they make their first assault? Everyone knew it was coming. How soon and with what numbers was the question?

  “Why Tabenville, Ryl?” Tash inquired as they moved ahead at a clip bordering a slow jog. “We pin ourselves between a rock and whatever pursues us through the gate.”

  Ryl smiled at his friend.

  “Tabenville is the most defensible plot of land in the entirety of The Stocks,” Ryl responded. “The woods will grant us the time we need.”

  “Time we need for what?” Sarial interrupted.

  “There are many things that you are yet to understand about your current station and the power that flows through your veins,” Ryl answered cryptically. “For now, save your energy for speed. Let hope power your legs. It will be a long march before we can breathe with any measurable degree of safety.”

  For the beleaguered tributes, the pace Le’Dral had set bordered on frantic. It was still some time before they managed to catch the group ahead. Spurred by the fear of retribution from the world outside their domain coupled with their newfound freedom, they quickly ate the miles up the dusty, hard-packed earthen path.

  The party now totaled nearly four hundred. Le’Dral and a score of his loyal guards led the rapid procession northward. The remainder were stretched out along the flanks of the caravan. Their eyes diligently scrutinized the surroundings for any signs of a threat.

  The party now consisted of four wagons. Along with the black wagon that housed the tributes and Elias, two held a mix of food stocks, clothing and supplies, the other brimmed with the contents of the clinic along with the single litter that carried Cavlin. For the sake of speed, Ryl had woefully chosen to leave the ailing tributes from the razed facility in the black wagon even though their confines were cramped. He’d ordered the door opened so that the fresh air and light could free the inside from the gloom and flickering light of the lantern. They would unfortunately remain contained until the party made their tenuous camp for the night. He’d hoped their progress would carry them to the waypoint, yet accepted that they would likely fall short of that goal. He would be content if they could reach the work camp at Thayers Rest before exhaustion took its toll. Whether they remained there for the night, or simply paused for a spell before pushing further, they would work to reorganize one of the supply wagons to allow the tributes more room to recover as well as granting access to the mender.

  Several miles after their march had begun, the mixed procession crossed over the first of the three bridges that spanned the gap of the river that ran the length of The Stocks. Captain Le’Dral waited on the far side, his hands on his hips, his eyes studying the terrain behind them.

  Ryl had remained with his friends throughout the first leg of the trip. The overwhelming feeling of comfort he experienced in their presence was exhilarating. He’d dreamed of this moment every day for the last cycle. He paused as they crossed the sturdy wooden bridge that spanned the slow-moving waters of the river.

  “They’re holding up well so far,” Le’Dral stated as Ryl stopped along his side. “I admit, I’m impressed by the speed they’ve been able to maintain.”

  “They’ve carried on without a sliver of hope for cycles. Even a limited taste of freedom can be a powerful motivator,” Ryl acknowledged. His eyes traveled to the south, to where Cadsae met the Pining Gate. “So too can fear.”

  The phrenics serving as the rear guard slowed to a stop, falling in behind Ryl as they crossed the bridge. Le’Dral’s eyes followed them as they passed, squinting for a view beneath the hoods that remained drawn over their heads. Though Ryl had grown accustomed to it, he acknowledged the unnatural blackness that hid their faces under the cloth was unnerving.

  “Introductions will have to wait for the time being, captain,” Ryl announced. “How soon can we expect a challenge from the guard outside the gate?”

  It took a moment for Le’Dral’s eyes to separate from the phrenics before returning to Ryl. He shook his head slowly as he thought.

  “After the display you and your friends gave them, they’ll likely wait until the entirety of the garrison has arrived before giving chase,” the captain admitted. “It’ll take time to clear the gates, though not long I’m afraid. As you know, they’ll easily track our movements.”

  Le’Dral’s eyes roved the landscape from the east to the west with the comment, pausing for a moment as they reached the wall that penned in The Stocks. Ryl saw a sliver of the oppressive weight of the situation register across the captain’s face. For the first time, the man viewed the interior of the area from the perspective of its inhabitants.

  “Perspective has a way of coloring things a bit differently, doesn’t it?” Ryl remarked.

  Le’Dral thought for a moment before responding. His brows furrowed and his eyes squinted as he obs
erved the land that surrounded him.

  “That it does,” he whispered.

  He blew out an audible, heavy exhale as he shook himself from the moment of introspection.

  “I’d guess at nothing more than an expeditionary force tonight,” the regimented tone again crept into his orderly voice. “Tomorrow they’ll come with full force, with cavalry in the lead. Though I expect they’ll be sluggish to mobilize at this point.”

  Ryl needed not question the comment as the captain continued.

  “With Maklan’s appointment as Councilor to The Stocks, the dynamic of the guard changed rapidly,” Captain Le’Dral explained. “I found my officers, my senior advisors, my appointments, replaced within a moon. The disappearances of those who shared a passive approach to the tributes began thereafter.”

  “What of Millis and Moyan?” Ryl quizzed. He saw a flash of emotion cross the captain’s face though it was too rapid to read its nature.

  “Moyan and Millis were stripped of their commands. Moyan rides with the cavalry still,” Le’Dral answered. “I’m afraid no one knows where Millis is. He disappeared nearly a moon ago.”

  Ryl’s heart ached at the news. Millis had been kind to him beyond expectation. His sentiment toward the tributes was a relief.

  His absence would be mourned.

  “Maklan replaced the competent leadership I’d installed with men promoted for their subservience to the crown,” Le’Dral continued. “They command through hatred and fear alone, their attention to discipline is poor. The loyalty of those who serve them is fragile at best. The habits that I worked for cycles to instill vanished nearly overnight. The guards have grown lax in discipline and respect in their absence. There is a rift among them that has grown deep.”