by C. J. Aaron
Osir wrenched him to his feet and, for the second time in as many days, he found himself being dragged across the plaza to the small pier. No one moved to help either him or the sub-master. The entirety of the congregation that had borne witness stood holding their breaths as the scene unfolded.
Ryl let his body be dragged onto the slick pier. Just a few steps more. A few paces from the stocks, Ryl let his legs give out from under him, landing in a heap on the slick boards. Osir’s iron grasp remained on his shirt as he stopped to haul his prisoner back to his feet. His ruined right hand hung limp, cradled against his stomach. Ryl pushed downward with all his remaining energy, digging his feet, trying to gain purchase for what was to happen next. Up until now, the painful plan had gone as he had hoped.
A hope that was unraveled by the solid thump of heavy boots on the pier.
Ryl desperately struggled to get his feet under him as the sub-master continued to pull him closer to defeat. The sound of the approaching boots stopped to his right. There was a momentary pause before he felt the hot breath of the guard on his cheek.
“Smart move,” the guard hissed, a combination of sarcasm and venom.
Ryl felt his breath leave him. He had failed.
He felt himself slipping into darkness, an unconscious darkness that he hoped he’d never wake from.
His thoughts were cloudy, but a memory shone through like a ray of light. That voice. He recognized that voice.
Ryl turned his head as far as his body would allow. Through the blurred vision of his working eye, he saw the face of the guard who had helped him earlier that day.
“Real smart,” the guard whispered through a devilish, sarcastic smile.
The two hauled Ryl to his feet. Osir cackled like a man detached entirely from his sanity. The sub-master took a large step down the pier while the guard managed to fall half a step behind. As Osir began his next stride forward, the guard shouted in alarm, falling forward as if Ryl had made a sudden lurch forward for freedom.
The guard’s left arm flailed wildly, slapping against Ryl’s back as if desperately grasping for purchase. His angled body blocked his right arm from view of the onlookers in the square as it shoved Ryl forcefully toward the sub-master. His feet now under him, Ryl pushed off with every ounce of strength he could muster, amplifying the force of the guard’s action.
Lowering his shoulder, Ryl caught the sub-master, who had turned his upper body mid-stride to see the commotion, under the armpit. He struck the sub-master with the force of a hammer, propelling the pair through the wooden railing of the pier. They floated in mid-air for what felt like an eternity before crashing into the churning waters of the pool in a shower of splintered wood.
The icy water was a jolt to his system, robbing him of his air as he opened his mouth in shock. Ryl didn’t have the energy to struggle. He’d accepted his fate, knowing he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. His hands locked on to the struggling sub-master’s clothes like a vise as the icy water pulled them down into its depths.
25
The light was blinding. Ryl squeezed his eyes shut once more. The sudden surge of pain from his left eye made him wince. He blinked the water away as his vision slowly acclimated to the scene around him.
He was laying prostrate on a hard bed, the accompanying room was lit by the flickering light of two small lanterns hung off pegs on the walls. The window on the opposite wall from his bed was thrown open, its thin curtains lightly flapping in the breeze. The sun must have been high in the sky as the light streaming in formed a wide beam that fell nearly vertically to the floor, illuminating the dust and particles in the air. The room was quiet, save for the sound of hammering that entered through the window.
To the left of his bed, a small table with neatly arranged medical supplies, clothes, bandages and water stood adjacent a tall cloth screen that partitioned his bed from the rest of the room. To his right, shelves of immaculately organized supplies ran the length of the wall.
Ryl took a deep breath that he regretted almost immediately. All of his senses kicked in at once. He was flooded with a dull pain that covered the majority of his upper body. His head began to throb. He groaned while reaching his hand to his head, gently massaging his temples. His muscles were slow to react, as if they’d sat dormant for an extended length of time.
From the other side of the partition, there was a grating sound of wood on wood, followed by the hasty shuffle of feet in his direction. Mender Jeffers rounded the end of the screen, his face wrought with worry. The sight of Ryl staring back at him eased the concern, replacing it with the standard look of intellectual curiosity that Ryl had grown accustomed to seeing from the mender.
“It’s about time you’re awake,” Mender Jeffers said, the relief in his voice evident. “You’ve given us all quite the scare.”
“Sorry to scare you, sir,” Ryl said. He couldn’t help the coy smile that tugged at his lips. The quality of his voice startled him. It was weak, hoarse and scratchy.
In all honesty, Ryl was just as surprised to be alive at all. His mind flashed back to Tabenville. He was sure the blackness of the icy depths would have claimed him for her own.
“How long have I been here?” Ryl asked the mender.
“You’ve been asleep for just over a moon, Ryl,” Mender Jeffers explained. “Used almost every poultice and remedy I know. None had any effect. I was starting to worry you’d never wake.” There was genuine compassion in his voice.
Jeffers looked over his shoulder as if checking for someone watching him.
“Your stunt caused quite the uproar here,” Jeffers whispered, using the fatherly tone of parent scolding a child. Ryl studied the doctor, yet said nothing, waiting for him to continue.
“No one knew how bad it had become in Tabenville,” Jeffers said, his voice trailing off. His eyes wandered the room as if searching for answers. “I would have poisoned that swine Osir myself.”
Jeffers’ last statement hissed with an uncharacteristic anger that Ryl had never heard from the mender before.
“You were lucky,” he continued, “if not for the quick thinking of one foolhardy guard, you’d be gone like that cursed Osir.”
Throughout his young life, Ryl had dealt with loss on a scale unimaginable to most. While word that the degenerate sub-master was dead was triumphant news, he was disgusted in himself for celebrating his demise. In the moment, he had wanted nothing more. Now, doubt crept into his mind. Had he done the right thing?
Jeffers interrupted his thoughts as he continued.
“The fool dove in after you,” he said. “Used the rope from the water bucket tied to the pier to haul you and him back up. Osir had no chance with those heavy boots on, pulled him right to the bottom.”
Ryl worked himself to his side so that he could sit up. Jeffers hurried to his side, helping to gently hoist him into a sitting position. Ryl gasped as he looked down at this body. His torso was naked revealing the extent of the beating he’d suffered at the hands of the sub-master. The entirety of his upper body was covered in a litany of bruises, the majority having taken on a sickly pale green, yellow or brown hue. The tattoo of the hand on his chest stood out in stark contrast to the fading bruises.
“You took quite the beating,” Jeffers divulged. “You looked much worse when you got here. Hate to say, I didn’t have much hope.”
“How did I get back to Cadsae?” Ryl quizzed the mender.
“It took them some time to get you breathing again, on account of the water in your lungs,” Mender Jeffers said. “The guard who pulled you out threw you on a horse and rode like the wind to get you to me. Nearly broke my door down in the middle of the night.”
Ryl thought about the mender’s words. He knew in his heart it was the same guard that had helped him that morning. The same guard that had arrived on the pier. The same guard that had opened his eyes to the fact that there was good still in the world. A world that, to that point, had been shrouded in darkness.
Jef
fers chuckled to himself, snapping Ryl from his thoughts.
“Caused such a scene, Captain Le’Dral roused the soldiers,” Jeffers continued. “Came storming through the gate at the head of a whole company of troops. Didn’t take much explaining from your would-be savior for the captain to march his whole squad straight to Tabenville. Not before he stormed back to his quarters, returned with a sword. Never seen him so mad before.”
“The things they were doing there,” Ryl croaked out in reply, only to be cut off by the mender.
“Will never be repeated again,” Jeffers snapped in retort. “Le’Dral made that explicitly clear. Separated a few heads from their bodies to make sure he was understood. Removed every guard there from duty.”
The mender moved to the table, pouring a small cup of water and carefully passing it to Ryl.
“Drink slowly, now,” Jeffers commanded.
Ryl gladly obliged as Jeffers continued his story.
“Needless to say, word got out fast,” the mender commented. “The sponsors were less than pleased to find out that their tributes had been...damaged. Yours was no exception. He was at the gate within days demanding to see you. Threatened to have the master’s head if you didn’t wake.”
Ryl soured at the mention of angst from the sponsors. These were the same nobles that waged fierce verbal battles, openly contesting the cost of a child’s life before forcing them into a life of slavery and a drawn out, torturous demise. The sponsors viewed their tribute as a crop. They were enraged at the thought of damage, as if it might reduce their yield at Harvest.
“I’m sure the master will be thrilled when he hears that I’m awake,” Ryl hissed.
“Not sure I’d count on that either, Ryl,” Jeffers said sullenly. The mender looked worried. “The sponsors have the king’s ear. They raised enough noise that the master was ordered to Leremont. You’ve caused him a lot of trouble. He’ll not be pleased to see you.”
“I see,” Ryl accepted quietly.
“Luckily for you, you woke when you did,” Jeffers smiled. “The master isn’t expected back for a few days and I’ll have you out of here before then. I’m sending you back to Tabenville for a time.”
Jeffers turned, looking around the room, lost in thought. His hand rubbed the uncharacteristic stubble on his chin.
“If there was anywhere farther to put you, I would,” Jeffers thought aloud. “You’ll ride along with the guards bringing the treatment to the waystations. They leave on the morrow after.”
“What am I to do in Tabenville?” Ryl asked curiously. He was overjoyed by the thought of being closer to the Erlyn and tried desperately not to let it show.
“You’ll be helping finish the work you started in the orchards,” the mender said. “They’ve fallen behind on account of everything that’s happened.”
Ryl nodded in understanding.
“That doesn’t mean you’ll be doing any climbing, understand?” Jeffers scolded. “You’ll be tending the fires on the ground and whatever else keeps you out of the trees. Your body needs rest. I don’t want the eyes of the king focusing on me if you break yourself doing something your body’s not ready to handle.”
Ryl stifled a laugh at the mender’s concern. He liked the man, appreciated his honesty and consistent humane treatment of the tributes.
“Now, for the rest of the day, you will rest,” Jeffers commanded. “Tomorrow, we’ll get you up and moving about.”
The mender sighed and rolled his eyes.
“Oh, I’ll send someone to fetch the boy,” he said, sounding mildly annoyed as he took a step back toward the opening beyond the screen. “I’ve practically had to beat him out of here with a stick. Multiple times a day, either at my door or at the window. Persistent little one that Aelin is.”
At this statement, Ryl couldn’t help but let out a short laugh. The action hurt, sending pain tearing through his torso, but the sentiment from the mender was heartwarming.
“Thank you, sir,” Ryl said graciously as he lay back in the bed.
Mender Jeffers nodded and turned, shuffling his way out of Ryl’s room. A thought jumped into Ryl’s mind and he called out for the mender, stopping him as he was nearly past the curtain.
“One more question, if you wouldn’t mind,” Ryl pleaded. Jeffers nodded his head. “What of the guard that brought me here? I’d like to thank him for what he’s done.”
“Sorry, Ryl.” The mender offered him a forced smile. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, at least not for some time. Your sponsor, young Lord Eligar, commissioned his services after hearing of his exploits. He now holds a place in the lord’s private guard.”
With that, Jeffers nodded again before exiting the room, leaving Ryl alone with his thoughts. The unknown guard had helped him for reasons he did not understand. Risked his own life saving him. There was a sinking feeling and emptiness that grew in his stomach at the thought of his departure. Were there others in The Stocks that felt as he did?
In his heart, Ryl wanted to believe it was so. His mind argued the opposite.
26
Ryl had fallen into a blissful sleep; no nightmares plagued his dreamless slumber. The mender’s protest did nothing to stop an exuberant Aelin from charging into his corner of the room. The boy had grown in the moon since Ryl had last seen him. His gaunt frame had filled out dramatically, breathing confidence into the terrified boy Ryl remembered. The wound on his face had healed over into a thick white scar.
Aelin practically launched himself onto the small bed Ryl was resting on, painfully jarring him as the bed bounced and groaned from the added weight. Mender Jeffers was only a few paces behind.
“Aelin, what are you thinking?” the mender shrieked. Ryl had never before heard such an animated the tone in the normally docile man’s voice. Aelin was again oblivious to the mender’s protest. Stubborn, too, Ryl thought, smiling at the sight of his young friend.
“Young Aelin,” Mender Jeffers explained, his voice having calmed back to its usual tone. “Ryl’s been through a lot. I think the last thing he needs right now is for you to be jumping on his bed. He’s not been back to the world of the conscious for more than a few hours. He still needs to rest.”
Aelin acknowledged the mender with a wave of his hand, not even granting him a look. Ryl smiled as Jeffers’ eyes met his. The mender shook his head before turning and briskly stomping the room.
“Hello, Aelin,” Ryl said, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. “It’s great to see you, my friend. It has barely been a moon, you’ve grown. You’ll be as tall as the trees in the Erlyn soon.” Ryl reached out and tussled his hair.
“We’ve been worried, Ryl,” Aelin stated, pulling away from Ryl’s hand. “You look terrible.”
Ryl laughed. The mirth brought pain, but the severity had already lessened from earlier in the day. The pair spent the next several hours in conversation, Ryl taking on the role of the patient listener the majority of the time as Aelin detailed everything he’d missed. Ryl doubted that even if he was feeling better, he’d be able to match the energy of his young friend. Hardly a second went by where he wasn’t in perpetual motion. His energy and charisma were infectious.
Aelin had been recruited by Zed, the gentle giant of The Stocks and blacksmith, to assist with his daily tasks. The boy had more than proven his worth, his abnormal strength paying dividends around the run-down smithy.
The sun must have been close to setting. From the window, Ryl could see the sky growing darker over the top of the palisade. Torches were springing to life, illuminating the guards patrolling above. The pair was interrupted as the mender entered, followed by Sarial, carrying a small steaming bowl of stew and a chunk of bread. Her face glowed at the sight of Ryl awake.
Mender Jeffers crossed to where Aelin was fidgeting at the foot of the bed.
“Time to let Ryl have his rest, Aelin,” Jeffers said, placing his hand on the boy’s back. “You’ve neglected your duties in the smithy for long enough today. I’m sure Zed c
ould use the help. You’ll see him again tomorrow.”
Aelin groaned but complied with the mender, hopping down from the bed.
“If I’m to be walking tomorrow,” Ryl said as the boy turned to exit, “I’m bound to need a crutch, and your head seems to be the right height.”
The boy let out a single laugh, striding toward the exit. He turned at the end of the divider, looking back toward Ryl.
“You did a great thing, Ryl,” Aelin said in awe. “That was a terrible man and he deserved it.”
Ryl and Sarial exchanged worried glances. The sentiment was dangerous to entertain, even more dangerous to voice. The room instantly filled with a tension so thick it was palpable. Mender Jeffers was the first to break the silence.
“Aelin, listen closely for I will only say this once.” The mender’s voice was authoritative, yet compassionate for the youngster. “Words like that will never again leave your lips. Do I make myself clear?”
Aelin look frightened. For a moment, the broken young boy that had arrived weeping to The Stocks returned. His shoulders slumped, his eyes looked down to the floor.
Jeffers crossed in front of him, kneeling down so that his head was eye level with the boy.
“In the wrong company, those words can be deadly,” Jeffers said, looking back at Ryl and Sarial. “Do not fear. Your secret’s safe with me. The man was an abomination and, in my opinion, was judged and punished accordingly. Yet even I would never repeat those words in the presence of another guard.”
Aelin’s shoulders lifted at the statement. The tension in the room that had weighed them down dissipated to nothing.
“Now run along, Zed is waiting.” Jeffers turned the boy’s shoulders, pointing him toward the exit, landing a single pat on the back as Aelin hurried from the building. Shaking his head, Jeffers stood and turned to address Ryl and Sarial, who had remained frozen throughout the exchange.