by C. J. Aaron
The path forward terminated as it reached the solid wall ahead. A similarly clogged, thin exit led from the right of the opening. Breila slowed her horse to a stop.
Formed by the backs of several buildings, the modest square they found themselves in was less than five meters wide. Though there should have been more avenues leading from the area, the clearing seemed to be purposefully designed. The first floor of each of the buildings was nondescript, all being constructed of large slabs of stone and brick. All were unmarred by windows or doors save one. Small ledges dotted the second floor, though clothing and lines hung from various wires covered much of the opening.
The sun, leaning heavily to the west as it continued its descent, cast the wall before them in heavy shadows. Overhead, the cloth and apparel blotted out easy viewing from the windows of the floors above. Ryl looked at the fabric and clothing stretched along the lines, noting the discrepancy immediately.
The shirts, while they had likely been of decent quality at one point, had weathered significantly in the elements. The sheets were threadbare, stained by the ravages of time and storm. To any passerby, though few would likely find themselves here, they would have seemed benign.
Breila slid from her horse, holding the lead as she maneuvered to a hitching post set in the corner to their right. Ryl eased to the ground, his eyes and senses ever cautious of his surroundings.
“We’ll be safe here for the moment.” Breila’s voice was hushed, though Ryl doubted any in the floors above would have overheard. Though they’d taken the ill-used back alleys to their destination, the city maintained an eerie vacancy. Ryl knew that untold thousands lived within the sprawling confines of Cadsae Proper, yet aside from the few guards they’d entombed in the barracks, the city was a ghost town. The people, like insects, seemed to have scurried away, hiding from a threat larger than themselves.
Was it the king they feared? Was it the rampaging guards left behind by Lord Maklan?
Was it something else?
“We are indebted to your sense of direction, Breila.” Ryl thanked her as he pulled his pack from off his shoulders. He tossed a pair of pants and a tunic to Aelin, following with a second pair for the madam. He had only thought to grab a pair of hats. He would be fine to go without.
Ryl wasted no time removing his cloak, carefully tucking it into his pack. He slipped on the extra tunic. The feeling of fabric covering his tattooed arms was unnerving. The coarse threads scratched and itched his skin. The security of the absent cloak was felt immediately. He felt the eyes of the madam on him, studying his features before she pulled the borrowed shirt down over her head.
“So young,” she noted as an aside. “Much like Andr, yours is a face I’ll never forget.”
Ryl pulled the uniform pants over his regular trousers, tucking the shirt in before turning to help Aelin. The youngster was struggling as he was swallowed by the much larger clothing of a full-grown man. Though his strength could likely rival any, his frame was still very much that of a child.
Breila moved to assist the young tribute. She reached a hand to her head, removing a thick wooden pin that held the remainder of her hair aloft. Long silver locks rained down, coming to a stop as they brushed her shoulder. She deftly fashioned the pin to hold the oversized pants at Aelin’s waist before moving to the cuffs of his legs, then arms.
“What is this place?” Ryl quizzed as she finished securing the clothes on Aelin, however temporary they might be. His disguise would surely fail under close inspection, yet from a distance would likely hold up. As oversized as it was, at least it would be easy to remove again if they were forced to move by foot.
“There are various meeting places like this nestled throughout the city,” she replied. “They have many uses. Some are haunts for the clandestine; others, a place to be hidden from the prying eyes of the city.”
“And you know them all.” Ryl’s comment was meant as a statement, not a question. Breila’s grin was all he needed for confirmation.
“They were plentiful in the East Ward. In fact, you and Andr rested in one, if I recall correctly,” she mused. The cramped quarters they’d shared had been a welcome shelter. Her expression turned dismal; her eyes haunted as she continued. “There were many hidden among the Ward. Through all its grime and filth, vagrants and criminals, there were good people there. Maklan’s soldiers have been slaughtering any who question them. Any who they suppose might express sympathies to the plight of the tributes. They are burning families alive in their homes.”
She tried to catch the final words before they escaped her lips. Her sorrowful eyes darted to Aelin before returning to Ryl.
“’Tis alright,” the youngster comforted, though his eyes glistened with rage. Ryl was fascinated as his irises appeared to take on a crystalline appearance. The hardened gaze faded as quickly as it had come. “I’m well accustomed to their barbaric treatments.”
She reached down and jostled his hair with her hand.
“Braver than one so young should ever be forced to be,” she whispered. “The East Ward is lost. There was little forethought and less care in the construction to prevent the fires from razing it to the ground. Here in the city square, the houses are primarily stone. Further west, the mansions will survive without a thought given to the fires that ravage the desperate. The guards should be fewer as we move in that direction, though private security is to be given a wide berth. They’ll not likely interfere with any dressed as soldiers.”
She straightened herself up, tucking in the tunic before neatly folding her hair into the cap to complete the disguise.
“If they bring your friend anywhere, it will be to the garrison,” she interjected. “It is there the king now holds court.”
“How do you know this?” Ryl quizzed. “Could they have not moved her out of the city, or perhaps the port?”
“Men can have loose lips when plied by someone with the right means of motivation.” She flashed a seductive smile and a wink. “Though his coming was done without fanfare, there were still those with knowledge. A few sycophants who live and die by his scraps knew of his travel in advance of the army.”
The assessment made sense even in the best of times. The garrison was well defended on one side by the river while the other butted up against the inhospitable wilds of the Outlands. It was general knowledge that nothing had moved inside the wasteland for a millennium.
Ryl couldn’t help but ponder the timing of it all. The resurgence of the Horde. They massed in numbers unseen by the guardians of Vim. They penetrated the still sanctuary of the forest, led by a shadowed, cloaked figure. The similarities between the Lei Guard and the mysterious apparition were haunting.
If it was true, why would the Horde bow before the Lei Guard?
Ryl scanned the area again with his mindsight. Aside from the young tribute a meter away, there was no sign of any additional disturbance. Though his vision was clear, he couldn’t help but feel the strange pull toward the west. There was a gravity that drew him in that direction. He closed his eyes, forcing his inner vision further afield.
The disorienting sensation nearly rocked him from his feet. Though nothing had shown, the impression was concrete. The feeling was similar to that of the nexus. Just as the stone circle was the focal point between life on one side and death on the other, the west mirrored a similar duplicity. It was as if the light struggled against the darkness in a battle of complete supremacy.
There was no middle ground. No grey area.
He needed to be closer.
He needed to see if she was there.
“Who are the soldiers on the boats?” Aelin interrupted his thoughts with the question.
“I honestly do not know,” Breila answered. “I’ve not seen them up close, yet theirs is a uniform I don’t recognize. Though I admit, my knowledge of the houses is not without flaw.”
Ryl nodded as he shook the unsettling feeling from his mind.
“At the moment, who they are matters not. Like all
, they will soon need to make a choice. They will soon need to choose sides,” he offered. “I need to get closer to the garrison. Is there somewhere safe for you?”
He turned his gaze from Aelin to Breila. Though the young tribute could certainly handle himself in a fight, it was the madam who was at the greatest risk.
Breila giggled aloud at the show of concern, even as clumsy as it was.
“Follow me,” she cooed. “I’ve yet to divulge the entirety of my secrets.”
Chapter 30
Andr buckled at the waist, resting his hands heavily on his knees. His lungs burned as if he’d been sprinting for miles though their travel had been by horseback. Breaths came rapid and deep as he gasped for air. His head swam as the unrelenting dizziness threatened to topple him from his feet.
He felt a strong hand under his arm. Though the grip was like a stone, it was gentle as it assisted him up.
“You’ve done well,” Ramm grumbled. “We’ll make a phrenic out of you yet.”
The laughter that bubbled from his belly rumbled like the churning of stones, a deep grating that was neither comforting nor joyous. Still, the admission from a phrenic was not one to be taken lightly.
“Thank you, Ramm,” he gasped between breaths.
“I’m still in wonder of how you can control the forest with mere thoughts,” Le’Dral admitted as he approached, returning from settling their horses. They’d ridden with speed, skirting the border of the woods to the west. Hidden between the Erlyn and the orchard, their movements were disguised, though their secrecy mattered not.
“Your assessment of the palisade looks to be correct,” Le’Dral admitted. “The regular patrols along the pinnacle of the walls have been abandoned. Even if we secured the top, we will still require dozens of ladders. It will take considerable time to cross.”
Andr nodded his head as they walked slowly across the clearing. He agreed with the captain. He longed for Ryl’s return. While his newly acquired talents would let him commune with the Erlyn, even open the paths within her midst, he knew that Ryl commanded a much greater sway over the very trees themselves. The young phrenic’s work was far less exhausting.
“There may be another way, yet it will likely wait for Ryl’s return.” Andr spoke between breaths. “The tributes are still nowhere near ready to climb, let alone travel.”
As resoundingly true as the statement was, the progress the tributes had made was astounding. The putrid, yet potent remedy had displayed remarkable success. Though it had been only a matter of days since the dose had begun, several of the youngest were already tentatively back on their feet. Many others flashed between lengthening bouts of lucidity, though they all still suffered mightily.
On cue, the mender appeared from the base of the great tree to their left. He rubbed his hands gingerly against his temples as he walked toward his next round of duty. He abruptly changed directions as he noted the captain and Andr.
“You look tired, my friend. When was the last time you had any rest?” Le’Dral’s question earned a baleful glare from the normally passive mender.
“Though I truly appreciate the assistance, some of your men might have more skill controlling the trees than tending to patients,” Jeffers grumbled. “I’ll sleep when there is time.”
The mender sighed. His shoulders slumped as if he deflated with the release of air. The agitation evaporated with the breath hissed from between his lips.
“They are doing their best. I commend them for that,” he admitted. “You’ve trained them to be soldiers and trained them well. This is like asking a blacksmith to perform as a minstrel. We are running low on food though, if you could spare any hands?”
Le’Dral clapped his hand on the mender’s shoulder.
“That I can do,” he said. “Send the worthless, those who are no use to you, back to me,” Le’Dral quipped.
Jeffers flashed a quick forced smile before shuffling away toward the opening beneath the next great tree down the line.
“I’ll have some of the men sweep the orchards for any unharvested fruit. Do you think the woods will provide another bounty of fish or berries?” Le’Dral inquired.
Andr, though he responded readily, was growing tired of answering questions for the will of the forest. Da’agryn had said the Erlyn would provide for their needs. And thus far she had, though he had no concept as to the extent of her resources.
“I have no reason to believe otherwise, though I cannot speak for her,” he admitted with perhaps a touch more agitation than necessary. “I’ll be rested enough to open the pathway to the pond by the time they’ve gathered.”
Ramm stepped between Andr and the captain.
“No, my friend. You have earned your rest,” Ramm offered. “Opening the pathways taxes me but little. Save your strength. Captain, when your men are ready, I’ll lead the way.”
Le’Dral inclined his head to the massive phrenic. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll have them assembled shortly.”
Without another word, the captain hastened away. The notes of his barked commands echoed throughout the clearing as he mustered the necessary force.
“Learning to command the trees, like any phrenic skill, can be exceptionally tiring at first,” Ramm instructed. “Proceed with caution. Overexertion can be dangerous. You’ve seen firsthand the toll it has wrought on Ryl. Rest now. Your strength will be needed before long.”
The phrenic placed a hand on Andr’s shoulder, giving it a surprisingly gentle squeeze.
“I’ll await the mender’s rejects.” Ramm grinned. “I’ll try not to lose any along the way.”
His last statement, though chilling, was said with a grin. Andr knew the phrenic wouldn’t intentionally subvert the attempts to keep them safe by separating any from the group. What would the Erlyn do if he did? he wondered.
Would she grant them passage, or would whatever chamber he left them in remain their eternal home?
Andr refused the absent line of questioning, clearing his mind as he forced his body to move forward. His muscles screamed in protest as he plodded one sluggish step after the next. His assignments were completed for the moment, leaving one task left for him to undertake. One that he ranked high in his list of priorities.
His muscles loosened, easing the discomfort that accompanied every step as he gained speed. His body fought against the motion, crying out for peace, for a chance to rest and recharge, even if for a few moments.
He angled his course toward the closest tree to his left, the one that Jeffers had recently departed to start his rounds. The great tree and its ailing contents had seemed to acquire an uneven amount of attention from Jeffers and, for his part, from him as well.
Within the hollowed-out space between its roots, Jeffers had made his office. Here, those in the most urgent need of care were housed. The bulk of the most critically wounded were from either Captain Le’Dral’s or Lieutenant Moyan’s troops. They had suffered wounds from arrows and blades. Though several had perished since they had set out, the mender was optimistic those who remained would survive.
At what capacity they would find themselves after was the subject of further discussion.
Housed here, closest to Jeffers’s watchful eyes, were a prejudiced collection of those who held the most importance, both tactically and personally. Ryl and Kaep had rested there. Cavlin still worked through his convalescence under the tree’s roots. Andr had ensured that his boy, Cray, would find a place there as well.
Sarial, the last of the tributes to succumb, though temporarily, to the rigors of the withdrawal-induced sickness, held a figurative place of honor closest to the mender’s station. Though he might have strived to keep his feelings and their working partnership ambiguous, the budding relationship between the mender and tribute was hardly a secret. Andr smiled at the development as much as the seemingly universal acceptance of it. Both had worked tirelessly to aid all in need. Regardless of what blood flowed within their veins.
Andr halted for a moment as he
reached the entrance to the chamber. He rested his hand against the giant root of the tree, leaning heavily against the thick support. The jolt of energy nearly made him jump as the woods responded to the contact with his skin.
His head reeled as the messages and signals overloaded his senses, threatening to topple him from his feet. Though the information was largely indistinguishable, however, the main message was clear.
All was well in the woods.
For the moment, they remained safe.
Andr took a moment to breathe deeply, steeling his body for the rigors that were to come. A wave of heat streamed from the interior of the chamber, an accumulation of the combined heat from the scattered lanterns and the excess of bodies arranged across the earthen floor. The temperature served only to amplify the odor that wafted from the chamber. Though the natural gaps in the walls and the ever-present gentle breeze, which emanated from the interior of the forest, worked to dilute the odor, it was still pungent, nonetheless.
The potent stench of death from the blighted rose’s leaves permeated the air. He was unconvinced that it wouldn’t follow those who resided here for the rest of their days. Within a handful of breaths, his body became disturbingly accustomed to the smell. At least the urge to gag had subsided. From experience, he understood it would only lessen from here.
Besides, nothing would keep him from completing his task at hand.
Andr scanned the room, his eyes pausing on any sign of motion from within. A pair of guards, the most competent of the bunch, carefully worked the room in the absence of Jeffers. They hunched over a wounded guard, his torso healing slowly from a nasty slash courtesy of the guards who’d ambushed them in Tabenville. Andr knew all too well, he was lucky to have survived.
Having made their hasty rounds, his eyes returned to the object of their attention. There, set near the far wall of the room, rested his son. Cray.
