The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4)

by C. J. Aaron

  The lack of light fazed him little. His enhanced senses seemed to come alive as the alexen raged through his body. Coming in from behind, Ryl chopped the back of the guard’s legs with the dormant blade in his left hand. The unsuspecting soldier’s feet were wrenched out from underneath him. His arms swung up above his head. The lantern slipped from his fingers, smashing into the wall just above the door to the room. Shards of glass mixed with the flammable fluid raining down over the doorway and walls. The noxious tang of the unburnt liquid overpowered the cleaning solvent that had doused the room countless times in the past.

  Ryl had spun after upending the guard. He let the woodskin form on his right hand; in an instant it was solid. The heft was incredible, though his muscles were prepared for the weight. With the helpless man airborne, he hammered his hardened fist into the guard’s chest. The force of the impact crushed his body downward. His head made a sickening thud and crunching sound as it struck the floor.

  The man lay still.

  Voices of concern heralded the hastening footsteps as the group from upstairs responded to the commotion. Heavy boots thundered down the stairs. Ryl grabbed the fallen guard, hoisting him to his feet by the collar of his tunic. He held him aloft with his right hand, his fist, wrapped around a handful of fabric behind the man’s neck, supporting the guard’s head as it rolled uncontrollably. The smells of turpentine and blood mixed to form a sickening odor. The man’s body was limp.

  Lifeless.

  Ryl angled his body, minimizing his profile as he hid behind the corpse of the guard. His left hand, still clutching the dormant Leaves, was angled straight behind his back.

  The heavy footsteps were accompanied by a distinct slapping sound of sheathed blades on legs as the guards moved with speed. The noises stopped abruptly as the group reached the door. Light spilled into the room as the first to cross the threshold stopped, his mind struggling to comprehend the peculiar scene. In one hand he held a lantern, the other a short sword.

  “Kol?” he asked skeptically. “You ok?”

  Ryl let the limp body of the guard fall. It crumpled on the ground at his feet, lying face down on the wet stone.

  “Never again,” Ryl cursed.

  The glowing blade in his hand exploded into life. The room was washed in a brilliant green glow.

  The shock had yet to fully register on the face of the first to enter the room as Ryl charged. There was no time for the guard to react to his approach. The serrated, translucent blade exploded through the back of his torso as Ryl stormed forward. The momentum of his attack carried the two of them across the narrow hall. They came to an abrupt stop as they reached the stone wall opposite the door. The lantern sputtered out as it clattered to the ground.

  Ryl stepped back from the lead guard, letting the body slide down the wall. A thick smear of blood remained as he crumpled. There were four remaining soldiers in the hallway. The closest worked to free their swords from their sheaths. The flickering glow from the Leaves cast dramatic shadows as Ryl stalked forward. The furthest away stood frozen like a statue, a bucket of water in each hand.

  There was no time for dialogue or explanation. Ryl was on them before the first could fully clear his blade. There was no need to tap into the speed that begged for release in his veins. He cut the first down with disturbing ease. He struggled to accomplish what he knew now must be done without giving in to the growing, foreign whisper cheering for slaughter that swelled in his mind.

  Two distinct, solid clanging sounds rang out from down the hall as the furthest guard dropped the buckets of water he’d fetched. He issued an uninspired yelp as he turned to flee.

  Ryl sidestepped to the side, easily avoiding the halfhearted lunge aimed at his midsection. He brought his hardened right fist into the side of the man’s face, splattering a spray of blood and teeth against the wall.

  His glowing blade parried a downward slash from the last of the armed guards. The momentum of the attack pitched the body of the guard forward. Ryl rotated his hand, stabbing upward. The guard’s sword clanged to the floor as the glowing blade penetrated his skull.

  Ryl ripped the blade free, withdrawing his arm to avoid the torrent of blood that cascaded from the gaping wound. The final guard, having been unlimbered from the heavy buckets of water, was nearly at the end of the hall. Wind ripped around Ryl’s tattooed right arm. The resulting gust whistled as if flowed from his body, catching the fleeing guard square in the back. His body was lifted from its feet, propelled forward into the wall ahead. The sharp snapping sound was either the thick timbers of the inner wall at the intersection or the body of the fleeing guard.

  Or both.

  Within seconds, the battle was over. He experienced the chilling calm as the alexen in his blood cooled. A terrifying frustration lingered as the voice from within cheered the bloodshed.

  It demanded more carnage.

  Ryl moved carefully back toward the bath. The burning green blade provided ample light to pass over the remains of the guards. Somehow, he felt fewer effects from the attack now than when he’d slaughtered the guards who had attempted to kill him and Aelin. In both situations, he had been justified in defending himself and others. This time, his insides didn’t twist in revulsion as they had earlier.

  He and the alexen had held the wicked voice at bay. The light and the heat that blossomed from the righteousness of defending one who had no means of aiding themselves had kept the hatred at bay.

  Ryl stepped slowly into the darkened bath, mindful to keep the flaming blade from contact with the lantern’s fuel source that spread across the floor. Frozen in the opposite corner, exactly where she had been when he’d left only moments before, Breila remained. Her body was stationary, though she was unable to hide the quivering of her slender frame. A staccato, hollow dripping sound echoed through the small room as the drips of water and kerosene fell through the crude drain in the center of the floor.

  “What are you?” she whispered.

  Ryl’s laugh was low, though he tempered the reaction before more escaped.

  “Hello, Breila,” Ryl said politely, bending slightly at the waist, bowing his head to the woman. “I’m happy I was able to assist you this time. I’m afraid my actions when we last met were unbecoming to the assistance you provided.”

  Her eyes studied the cloaked figure before her curiously for a moment. They widened again as the true realization dawned.

  “How?” the madam gasped, raising her hands to her mouth, masking the gaping expression.

  “With luck, though I’m afraid it’s a story for a later time.” Ryl’s voice was kind, yet he was short with his words. He offered her his hand. “We need to go.”

  He could see the hesitance as Breila slowly extended her arm. Through nothing but acquaintance, Ryl was a stranger, an enigma to her. A steady wave of death and destruction seemed to follow him wherever he went. Her reluctance, however, was only momentary. As if breaking through a mental barrier, she reached out politely for his extended right hand.

  Her skin was soft, almost velvety as she closed her fingers around his. Her hand slid up his arm, wrapping around the crook of his elbow. The contact, though casual, was intimidating. Ryl moved carefully toward the room’s exit. He slowed before they crossed the threshold into the hall.

  “You might care to avert your eyes,” Ryl cautioned. “I’m afraid those who sought to do you and me harm did not fare well.”

  The look Breila fixed on him could have melted ice. Ryl resisted the shudder that rolled through his body.

  “Young man, I am not as dainty as I may now look,” she said calmly, yet Ryl could feel the fire smoldering underneath at the insinuation. “I have seen more cycles, more death, faced more misery than you could have imagined. I will not be swayed by a little blood.”

  Ryl admired the woman. He was embarrassed by the unintended slight his words had caused.

  “Aye,” was all he could muster as he continued forward, turning left as they exited the room.


  She gasped.

  “Andr?” she whispered. Her voice was pained.

  “He is well,” Ryl replied. “He is hidden and safe.”

  She giggled in response.

  “Andr is never truly safe,” she muttered. “Destruction follows him. I see his influence on you.”

  A few steps down the darkened alley, Ryl paused again, slipping from her grasp.

  “His influence has been life changing,” he admitted. “I’m afraid I have developed my own knack for trouble independently. Wait here a moment.”

  Ryl retreated down the hall, pausing just outside the doorway to the bath. Reaching over the slumped body of the guard, he collected the unbroken lantern from the floor.

  He tapped into the speed that flowed in his veins as he tossed the lantern in the air several meters before his body. The fragile device twisted slowly as it floated. Ryl had let the wind swell around his right arm until it whipped the tail of his cloak out from behind his legs. He slashed with the Leaves across his body while releasing the torrent of air. An arc of green flame lanced forward, striking the lantern in the reservoir.

  The explosion of light was blinding. For an instant the hallway lit with the intensity of the sun. The sudden wave of heat was scorching, bringing with it the putrid scent of burning hair and flesh.

  Everything in the path of the liquid flame caught alight. Fire raced across the floor of the bath as it jumped from one flammable drop of liquid to the next. The corpses of the guards, doused in the kerosene, were ablaze. The ball of flame exploded outward when it struck the wooden intersection, pouring into the foyer and opposite hallway.

  There was a certain balm to watching the fire consume the barracks from the inside out. The building had played home to a festering evil that had plagued the tributes for generations. It was an ever-present symbol.

  It would soon be reduced to ash.

  Chapter 29

  Ryl’s fascination with the fire was short-lived. He snapped himself from his thoughts, hastening to Breila. Taking her by the hand, he rushed onward, escorting her from the doomed barracks. With effort, he closed the heavy metal door that divided the hallway, tamping out the flickering orange light that illuminated the death within. A puff of smoke billowed out of the gap before he forced it shut.

  Though her insistence of her fortitude was finite, he was aware of the gasp and the muted gag as they made their way through the final stretch of the tunnel.

  Ryl sent a focused wave of hope ahead. His mindsight was rewarded with the motion of Aelin’s still form as he approached.

  As it had been before, the fresher air outside the tunnel was a relief. His lungs drew in the oxygen like they had been starved of it for ages. Aelin, who had been rushing to meet him, skidded to a stop as Ryl exited with another in tow. His face was fearful. He protectively balled his hands into fists.

  “Fear not, my young Aelin.” Ryl spoke as he strode from the hallway. “This is Breila. She is a friend.”

  Aelin looked curiously at the woman who approached him. Breila’s stern features seemed to melt as motherly instincts took control. She kneeled in front of Aelin, smiling kindly at the boy. The attention disarmed the cautious young tribute.

  “It’s nice to meet you, young Aelin,” Breila cooed.

  Ryl chuckled to himself for a moment as he moved past to collect the horses.

  “So stealth is out?” he called as Ryl passed.

  “Aye, for the moment,” he replied as he tossed the reins to the youngster before moving toward the chain that controlled the drawbar of the gate. “For now it will be speed. I have clothes. We can get changed once we’ve made the alleys.”

  With a grunt, he pulled down on the heavy chain. The drawbar only needed to clear a few hand widths to allow a single panel of the door to open. The heavy wooden bar rumbled as it retracted into the wall.

  “Breila, were there any guards in the courtyard when they brought you in?” Ryl quizzed. “Any archers on the palisade?”

  She stood, dusting her knees off as she spoke.

  “No, there were none,” she offered confidently. “It’s not the palisade you need to fear. The city has been in a state of disarray since the Harvest failed. Lord Maklan led all but a token force of his most trusted killers behind when the army moved into The Stocks. They’ve closed off most access to the city. There are small patrols throughout, though their focus remains in the East Ward. The port has been filled with ships since the morning, though anchored offshore when they brought me in. Under what banner they fly is uncertain, though it doesn’t bode well. The king is here. Why have you returned? What is it you seek?”

  “Not what, but who,” Ryl corrected, though the purpose for his coming had now swelled. Seeing Kaep alive was his priority. The chance to end the Ascertaining Decree was now inside the city proper.

  “I seek a woman,” Ryl replied, not quick to divulge too much information, though he trusted the madam. The sentiment in its entirety was incongruous; she dealt in skin. Secrets were her power. If not for her unexplained friendship with Andr, he’d have thought himself daft.

  “She or her captor would be clothed like me or even disguised as a guard,” he continued quickly. “They were less than half a day ahead. Can you ride?”

  Ryl moved quickly to collect the reins from Aelin. Breila had little more time than to nod her head before he tossed her as gently as he could onto the horse’s back. Aelin followed shortly behind, landing with much less grace behind the madam.

  Breila fixed Ryl with a momentary glare of annoyance that cleared as she pondered his earlier statement.

  “Tell me, Ryl. What makes her important enough to risk returning here?” she asked.

  Ryl was startled by the question, pausing as he placed his hand on the freed panel of the massive door. As a member of the few phrenics remaining alive, she was vital. He couldn’t help but feel that her survival was a crucial piece of the continuation of their kind. His mind struggled to answer the questions, whether she was more important to the cause? Or to him?

  Breila spoke without awaiting a reply. “Like Andr, I understand and respect your silence, though I can see the truth written across your face.” Breila grinned. “Though I truly know little of who you are, I comprehend, perhaps better than you, the disturbances you’ve caused. The fires you’ve ignited have been smoldering in silence, pent up for generations. She’s important to you, that I can see clear as day. I know where they’ll have taken her. They’ll have taken her to the king.”

  Ryl was unsurprised by the answer.

  “Can you get us off the main avenue, to somewhere discreet?” Ryl asked, temporarily halting the discussion. The troops occupying the port. The king’s arrival. He had no control over the situation, which was rapidly degrading into a frenzy.

  Breila nodded.

  “Then lead the way,” Ryl called as he put his weight into the massive panel of the door. The door shifted slowly at first. Its heavy metal hinges thundered their disapproval. With a second heave, the gap opened wide enough for a horse and rider to slip through.

  With a kick, Breila and Aelin were off through the gap. Ryl mounted his beast and gave chase.

  The grand view of the sprawling city before him was lost in the gravity of the moment. Their horses thundered across the open square. To the left, the barracks belched smoke from every open window. Flames poured from the doorway, crawling up the exterior wall.

  Ryl would have expected shouts of alarm and panic from the forces manning the fort, yet the square and avenue ahead were eerily quiet.

  They crossed the square in an instant. Ryl’s head was on a swivel, watching for any sign of danger from the wall behind or the avenue ahead. The last he’d seen the cobblestone street, it was clogged with a jam of people and wagons. Revelers, merchants and carriages alike had gathered to celebrate the momentous annual Harvest. Colored flags and banners of the great houses privileged enough to purchase the right to a tribute had swung carefree from windows. A carnival spirit had
hung in the air.

  It had sickened him.

  The avenue now was deserted. Shreds of torn cloth, stained from being trampled underfoot, lay strewn across the roadway. Bits of torn paper and refuse blew across the street as it was lifted by the winds from the sea. The atmosphere felt heavy and oppressive. All festive feelings that had been present on the eve of the Harvest were smothered by the weight of tension.

  Ryl found it hard to feel even the slightest shred of remorse at the dynamic swing in emotions. The practice they had celebrated was abhorrent.

  Though none were on the street, Ryl could sense the eyes watching them from behind darkened curtains. Unlike the ever-watchful sensation that he’d grown accustomed to as a result of living in the shadows of the palisades, this was different. The palisades had presented a heft, a discomforting regulation that was smothering. All he experienced now was an overwhelming sense of uncertainty.

  In the distance, floating on the rolling azure waters of the sea, a host of large vessels clogged the port. Many still were anchored beyond the breakwater. Boats laden with soldiers rowed ashore.

  Had a contingent of the king’s army reached Cadsae Proper already? Or had one of the houses sent troops in support of their host?

  Breila angled her horse to the right, slowing as she exited into the first alley leading to the west. Ryl was familiar with the narrow passage, having stalked the corridor while familiarizing himself with the city. Though he knew a few of the streets and avenues leading to the tavern where he’d tracked Le’Dral, he was loath to admit that he knew little of the disposition of the city in this direction. He followed as his guide made a quick right before another immediate left into an alley barely wide enough to fit the muscular horses. A pile of small crates leaning against the corner of a building were an unintended casualty of their flight. An oozing viscous substance spread out from the wreckage.

  There was little room to maneuver around the piles of cartons, scraps of wood, and general debris that clogged their passage. The air thickened with the stench of refuse. The lower portion of the stone foundations of the buildings were slick with dark green and black growth. Without warning, the alley opened into a crude veranda of sorts.