The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4)

by C. J. Aaron

  At Vox’s side, the towering figure of Ramm rose from his cursory inspection of Ryl.

  “He still lives,” the phrenic grumbled as he moved to stand protectively between Kaep, Ryl and the motionless bodies of the Lei Guard. He hefted the massive war hammer with his left hand, slamming the shaft down into his right palm. Andr heard the crack of his knuckles as they squeezed the shaft in aggravation.

  “So does Kaep,” Vox intoned. “I see her signature glowing as strong as ever. Ryl’s is far more dull than I’m used to seeing.”

  Andr nodded in acknowledgment, though he couldn’t see the images the phrenic so clearly described. Surviving amongst Ryl and the phrenics for as long as he had, he’d grown accustomed to their ways. Talk of the phrenic mindsight and the mysterious signatures it revealed no longer astounded him. Though he lacked the gift, he grasped the concept better than most.

  He opened his mouth to question the observation, yet the words stopped before they could escape.

  The hammer of heavy boots on the ground echoed from the entrance to the Erlyn.

  There was a creak of bows being drawn to their peak.

  “Arrows,” Andr screamed at Vox as he dove to the side. He threw himself protectively in front of Ryl. The whizzing sound of the projectiles whistled overhead. He felt the disturbance in the air as they narrowly missed connecting with his skin. To his side Vox rolled away from the still bodies of Kaep and Ryl. Ramm threw himself to the ground. The hulking phrenic grunted in pain as his body hit the earth. From their rear, he heard the telltale cries of pain as arrows found their marks among Le’Dral’s men.

  “Light,” Ramm growled at his companion as he jumped to his feet.

  Andr’s dive had been premeditated, though only by an instant, allowing him to regain his footing almost immediately. Without thinking, he charged toward the opening in the woods. A wicked, slightly curved sword of the Lei Guard stood, point buried in the earth, less than a meter from Ryl’s body. A compact, fist-size blazing ball of white fire rocketed past his shoulder, screeching as it streaked into the air. The orb detonated with a blinding light, leaving miniature remnants, no less bright, that fluttered slowly toward the ground. Andr wrenched the blade from the ground with his free hand as he passed, scattering a shower of dirt into the air.

  A second volley of arrows was released moments after the light swelled over the area. The sudden blinding glow wreaked havoc on the accuracy of the deadly projectiles. The mistimed shots sailed harmlessly past Andr and Ramm, careening harmlessly into the darkness.

  Two staggered lines of archers stood in close quarters just outside the mouth of the woods. Behind them a force of almost twenty soldiers remained, swords bared, prepared for bloodshed.

  Though he’d found his footing after Andr, Ramm rushed past him in a moment. The massive war hammer was cocked back behind him, his torso twisted, primed to launch a devastating strike. Blood soaked his tattooed right arm, from where an arrow had pierced the skin. The shaft protruded through the muscle, exiting through the other side. The metal point dripped crimson; the fletching was only a hand’s width from the opposite side. The mountain of a man rumbled forward, unfazed by the wound. He would be an avalanche of death when he met their lines.

  There would be no prisoners here.

  They had been warned.

  Those who stood the line before them had come with vicious intent. Theirs would be matched with a fury they couldn’t anticipate.

  Ramm screamed in rage as he swung his weapon into those unlucky enough to be standing in the front row. The crunch of bone as the hammer connected with the first body was sickening. It overpowered the screams of pain as the force continued its devastating path through the archers. The shattered bodies in the arc of Ramm’s initial swing crashed into those behind them. Together they careened into the edge of the forest. The cracking of broken branches mingled with the snapping of bones as the bodies collided with the trees and underbrush. The disturbing lack of agonized moans hinted at the devastation the blow had wrought. Few, if any, would move again.

  With both swords in hand, Andr barreled into the opposite end of the line. He snarled; a feral growl inadvertently escaped his lips as he slashed through the first pair of unprepared archers. A stream of blood spurted into the air as one of his blades severed a neat line through his opponent’s neck. He felt the warm splatter of the crimson droplets on his face.

  To his left, the phrenic and his deadly hammer hewed another vicious arc through the attacking guards. With less time to prepare his assault, the strike yielded less power than the first, yet the results were still dramatic. Bodies were broken, tossed into the air by the excessive force.

  A sudden wave of heat washed over him as a fireball arced into the rear group of the incoming guards. It exploded with a vicious crack amongst the sword-bearing warriors. Sparks and flames spread outward from where it detonated, and Andr felt the impact of the errant embers. The heat singed the exposed skin on his cheek.

  Though it was only he and Ramm who made the initial contact with the line of soldiers, he could hear the anxious war cry from Le’Dral and his men not far behind. The authoritative tone of the captain ordered his men onward in defense of their lives.

  Andr had little time for contemplation. His body reacted instinctually, a product of cycles of training and armed conflict. He took a quick step to the right, blocking an incoming attack with ease, pushing the offending blade to his left. The move forced his attacker to overextend his thrust, leaving his flank woefully unguarded. Andr’s sword plunged into his side. With a wet gurgle, the man’s body crumpled to the ground as the blade and life slipped from his body.

  Cutting his way forward, Andr moved further into their line. Though he was grossly outnumbered, he hacked his way into the midst of the sword-wielding foes with little fear. Working among the guards for cycles, he’d witness firsthand the green nature of most of those who served under arms. Few had any experience in open conflict. Their combat training had come as a result of carefully controlled exercises. They were unprepared for the inherent, vicious unpredictability of true battle.

  His blades never paused, flashing from one opponent to the next. He felt the slice of a blade across his skin in several places on his legs and arms. The errant cuts bothered him little. He didn’t grant them a look, as his attention was focused on avoiding a lethal strike. Behind him, the clang of steel against steel and the furious shouts of men signaled the addition of Le’Dral and his rebel guards to the fray.

  Andr pivoted slightly to engage a warrior to his right. The man looked younger than he, his smooth face was unmarred by the marks of war, yet the rage, hatred and disdain that burned in his eyes was telling. Here was the kingdom’s finest. A product of generations of fallacy and corruption. This one had been steeped in the hatred of the tributes, a willing accomplice in the denigration of those who by no fault of their own were born different.

  Born with cursed blood.

  Reacting to a low slash from the weapon in Andr’s right hand, the soldier made a fatal error. Andr struck out with the blade of the Lei Guard in his opposite hand, piercing the man’s chest. The tip found the sensitive heart that remained hidden beneath. Before he could turn to address the next opponent, the weight of a body crashing into his side threw him off balance. Ramm’s latest arc of destruction had sent several bodies into the air. The uncontrollable tangent of one toppled the soldiers at his rear, throwing them into him.

  Andr winced in anticipation as he stumbled. The deadly glee, the malicious intent written across the face of his newest attacker turned his stomach.

  He would have no time to defend himself.

  Andr gritted his teeth as he twisted his body away in desperation, throwing himself down toward the ground now slick with gore.

  He felt the blade slice diagonally across his chest, cutting a line from his left breast to lower right abdomen.

  Chapter 3

  The ground raced to meet him, ending his short free fall. The im
pact was jarring, though it was dwarfed by the pain that lanced across his chest. He struck the ground on his back. The impact robbed the air from his lungs. Andr gasped, sucking in a deep, involuntary breath.

  The wound across this chest and stomach would be devastating. He mentally chided himself for the potentially fatal carelessness. Wincing in pain, he worked his blades up in his defense.

  Standing over him, straddling his legs, his executioner grinned in wicked delight. He’d reversed his hold on his blade as he moved in for the killing strike. There was nothing Andr could do in time. His death would be imminent. The soldier growled as he began his attack.

  The descent of the murderous blow abruptly stopped. The eyes of the soldier bulged in apparent shock. The point of a blade burst through the front of his chest, tearing through the clothing and thin armor.

  Andr twisted his legs to the side as the sword slipped from his would-be killer’s hands, falling harmlessly to the dirt. With a wet, sliding sound, the blade, soaked with blood, retreated through the dying soldier’s chest. The body was twisted before being tossed aside. Le’Dral occupied the space where his executioner had stood.

  The captain’s clothes were spattered with blood. His sleeve was torn on his upper left arm; the red stain spread down to his elbow. His chest rose and fell with dramatic breaths as he panted from the exertion and the sudden excitement. The giant cavalry officer, Moyan, nearly as large as Ramm, cleared the enemies from Andr’s opposite side with a disastrous swipe of his sword. Millis pushed past, a host of his soldiers in tow, forming a wall of steel beyond the captain.

  The narrow entrance to the woods was now clogged with the dead and dying as the fighting dissipated. The tide of the small but fierce battle had shifted in an instant. Another swing of his mighty war hammer cleared another clump of enemies from the fray. Only a handful remained; all were engaged by Millis and his companions. The massive phrenic slammed the butt of his weapon into the ground, standing ominously as the final blows of the battle proceeded.

  Le’Dral wiped his blade on the tunic of a fallen soldier at Andr’s feet before returning the weapon to its sheath. He knelt over the mercenary. His face registered a mixture of worry and the lingering thrill of battle.

  “Lie still, my friend,” the captain ordered. “We’ll have the mender look after that wound.”

  Andr had yet to look at the slash that had torn across his chest. Though the wound hurt, a dull throbbing that covered his front, he was surprised by the lack of excruciating pain. He’d felt the sting of deep gashes before, yet this was muted in comparison.

  The captain leaned forward, delicately moving the strip of flayed fabric that was matted to the gash. He gasped as he took in a full view of the damage. The fear washed from his face, replaced by a look of confusion.

  Andr raised his head from the ground, looking at the object of Le’Dral’s attention. The absence of blood soaking his clothing was his initial observation. Only a small stain coated the frayed edges of his torn shirt. He would have figured he’d be covered by a deluge of blood that leaked from the deep wound.

  The gash itself was more shocking. He’d felt the intense pressure of the blade as it dragged across his skin. The soldier had not held back. His strike was meant to be lethal. Even with little pressure, the contact should have proven severe. Only a thin red line of a cut ran from across his chest to his belly. The gash leaked a trickle of crimson, though the incision was still too small to splay open further.

  “How …?” gasped Le’Dral.

  For a moment, confusion settled over Andr as well. His eyes strayed to the trees of the Erlyn that rose high above his head. A wave of relief and comfort washed over him. The answer was clear.

  “The Erlyn,” he whispered more to himself than in response to the captain, eliciting a frown and squinted eyes from Le’Dral.

  “The woods granted me a gift,” he continued. “A naturally hardened skin known as the woodskin. A similar gift was given to Ryl when he was a captive here. Though I knew it was not impervious, I never had cause to test the durability.”

  Andr sat up. The skin was sore as he moved, yet what should have been a lethal wound had been reduced to nothing more than a deep scratch. Le’Dral offered his hand, assisting the mercenary from the cold ground. The sounds of battle from inside the mouth of the forest ceased in a short, agonized wail. The flickering light from Vox’s orbs faded as each falling ember fizzled out as it reached the ground.

  Le’Dral shrugged his shoulders as he patted Andr on the shoulder.

  “My belief in what is and isn’t possible no longer has a bearing in reality, I’m afraid,” the captain admitted. “That the gift found itself in your possession when it did is good enough.”

  “It would have mattered not, if not for your timing,” Andr said. “I owe you my life. Thank you.”

  The look that passed between the two soldiers was brief yet profound. Le’Dral nodded subtly in response.

  “We need to see to the wounded.” The captain’s eyes were pained as he surveyed the bodies strewn across the area. Blood and gore soaked the ground. The potent scent of death choked the air.

  “Gather the horses. See to the sentries at the other side of the woods.” Le’Dral issued the order to Moyan. “I fear they’re all lost. We’ll be hard-pressed to maintain a sustained defense if we lose many more heads.”

  Moyan grunted in response before hastening toward the stables. Several of the guards were already in the process of wrangling the spooked horses. His booming commands rallied others to assist. Many of the mounts remained under control inside their paddock; others galloped through the fallow fields.

  From the square came the rapid approach of a large group of tributes. The reinforcements were armed with blades, bludgeons, or anything that could serve as a weapon. Andr watched with admiration as the contingent moved with confidence and haste. They were all untrained, yet ready to fight side by side with those who’d chosen to protect them.

  Andr’s eyes scoured the incoming tributes. With the glow from Vox’s mage lights nearly extinguished, the party was close before their faces were recognizable. He caught his breath as the image of the one leading the charge resolved.

  It was Cray.

  The mercenary felt a surge of pride rush through his battle-weary body. His emotion must have been evident. His practiced indifference faltered at the sight. The captain followed his gaze, grinning as he saw the object of Andr’s attention.

  “They are a resilient bunch. After all they’ve been forced to endure, they retain hope,” Le’Dral commented. “If they have a drop of the same power that Ryl or his companions hold, I fear for those who stand in their way.”

  Andr, alerted by the captain to his show of emotion, instinctively adopted his regimented impassive guise.

  “We’ll likely need them for what comes if we stand any chance of survival.” Andr’s answer was dark and foreboding.

  From Tabenville, the shrill, animated voice of Mender Jeffers cut through the din of commotion. He barked out commands as he hastened to assist with the wounded.

  Andr’s eyes scanned the battlefield around him. Chaos abounded over the entrance to Tabenville. The newly harvested fields that lay on either side of the road had been tilled by the footsteps of the battle that waged over their furrows. The ground had been watered by the blood of the dead and dying. Bodies covered with sinister black cloaks or shrouded in the light armor of the kingdom’s guards lay strewn throughout. Vox still stood by Ryl and Kaep’s side, though the fire burning on his arm had been extinguished. Nielix and Dav remained with blades drawn, standing guard at their sides.

  “We need to make haste. We need to abandon this village.” Andr’s voice was firm, his determination resolved.

  The captain nodded his agreement.

  “Ryl commands the forest. From what I understand, he and Kaep were the only tributes … I mean phrenics who knew the path. With him down, how will we find the way?”

  Andr observed the
captain for a moment. The steely demeanor cracked with his statement. There was a hint of fear behind his words.

  “You said yourself that the lines of reality and fantasy have blurred as of late.” Andr grinned. “The Erlyn was generous in the boon she provided. There are more surprises yet in store for this day, Captain.”

  Chapter 4

  The sky to the east had begun to transition from the darkness of the waning hours of the night. Deep violet hues morphed into royal shades of blue, foretelling the coming of the day as Moyan at the head of his cavalry thundered from the village.

  The experienced horsemen had little trouble rounding up the errant horses that had broken free from the corral. The startled beasts calmed quickly once back in the hands of their trained riders. Though it went unnoticed, the unseen wave of calm that washed over them, courtesy of Vox, assuredly assisted in the endeavor.

  Somehow, the Lei Guard had approached undiscovered, catching the sentries at both ends of the forest unprepared. Twelve soldiers had perished in the silent, one-sided assault on their positions. Eleven were guards who had defected with Le’Dral and Moyan. Andr mourned the loss of their companions. These men had willingly sacrificed their lives for the cause of righteousness. They’d chosen to live and die on the side of what was right.

  The twelfth to perish in the initial assault was the hardest to bear. The body of Soldi, Vigil from the hidden city of Vim, was found among the soldiers guarding the interior exit from the Erlyn. Of all those who’d perished, the cunning warrior was the only one to have drawn a blade in his defense. In the defense of the tributes. Another defender from Vim had poured his lifeblood out onto the fertile soil of Damaris.

  As with the others, there would be little time for mourning. The dust had yet to settle from the battle, and all had been roused from their slumber. Preparations were underway to vacate the tenuous camp for the safety and seclusion of the Erlyn.