The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4)

by C. J. Aaron

  Andr’s body moved of its own accord, plodding carefully across the room. He squeezed through the aisle of makeshift cots, working quickly to his destination. Several frayed scraps of cloth floated casually in a small bowl of water alongside one of the tributes along the way. He scooped out one length, carefully wringing the excess chilled water back into the bowl.

  A few meters later, he sank to his knees alongside the resting body of his son. Andr studied the sleeping boy before him. Memories of a life long lost flashed through his mind. He was present for his boy’s birth. There had been pleasant moments as a family. Picnics by the thin, winding creek that ran behind their homestead. Teaching his boy to ride around the small garden they tended. Small moments, seemingly inconsequential in the grand scheme of life, likely taken for granted, were all he truly had. Life as a hired sword, working contract to contract, was not conducive to fatherhood.

  Andr ran his hand over the boy’s forehead. His skin burned. The similarities to the harrowing trek across the Outlands with Ryl had left a permanent scar across his mind. There had been so much uncertainty then, so much confusion. He had been willing to die for Ryl. He had gone willingly into the abyss for nothing more than hope.

  To see his son free.

  It was a fleeting hope. One neither he nor the gracious Lord Eligar, who’d paid for Ryl’s freedom, likely fully believed. Yet if he’d learned anything from Ryl, it was to trust in that feeling.

  For so long, hope was all he had. Hope was all they all had.

  He carefully dabbed the wet cloth across Cray’s forehead, attempting to provide some succor to the fever that ravaged his body. Unlike managing the sickness in the wilds with Ryl, he was certain that Cray would live. That they would both survive the ordeal.

  Why now, under the careful supervision of a skilled mender, did he feel more unsure?

  “What is it about that one?” The gravelly voice startled Andr. He twisted his body to view the speaker.

  Cavlin hobbled toward him, his left arm held gingerly across his stomach. His complexion waxed pale. The tone of his skin was more ghostly than human, yet his conscious appearance added a touch of warmth to Andr’s dour mood. A sword hung comfortably from his belt. Andr smiled at the survivor, following him with his eyes as he rounded Cray’s body.

  “What is he to you?” Cavlin knelt with effort at the opposite side of the makeshift cot. His eyes traveled from Andr to the face of the sleeping boy. Cray wrinkled his brow in momentary distress. Andr dabbed the wet cloth in his hand across the ailing tribute’s forehead. He frowned at the guard as he met his gaze.

  Cavlin grinned as he looked at Andr, a gleam of mischief alight in his eyes.

  “Your scowl bears an uncanny similarity,” the guard added. “I’ve yet to thank you for saving me in the East Ward that night. I was careless.”

  “Make nothing of it,” Andr accepted, pleased the conversation had strayed.

  Against all odds, he’d aided in rescuing his son. Now that they had saved him and his surrogate tribute family, though their freedom was far from assured, the abhorrent fear was crippling. He felt crushed by the weight of revealing to his own flesh and blood the truth.

  “It was Ryl who recognized you. Who recognized the danger,” Andr related. “That one has a penchant for disruption, as I’m sure you’ve come to know better than most.”

  Calvin chuckled, though the effort clearly caused a great deal of pain. He gingerly dabbed at the bloodstained wrap around his torso, occasionally wincing at the touch.

  “Don’t negate the effect you’ve had upon him. I doubt your hand was completely free from some of it,” Cavlin stated cryptically. “In certain circles, this kingdom is small. Far too familiar for a professional soldier, who is well versed in living by the sword, to not be well informed of those who’ve outlived their tragically short life expectancy. Think of the surprise when one resurfaces from the dead.”

  Andr’s hand stopped his careful blotting on Cray’s head. The fever seemed to have passed, for the moment. The heat radiating from his body was palpable. The air around him had cooled noticeably.

  “You worked long and hard to fight. Managed just enough disobedience to ensure your posting in The Stocks,” Calvin continued. “There are likely few alive who still recognize your face. Your papers were forged well, but they would have failed you in time.”

  Andr balled his hands into fists. Though the time to worry over his discovery was long past, he still found himself fighting the reaction to defend himself. Physically if necessary.

  “Easy, my friend.” Cavlin sighed. “You no longer need to fear discovery or the repercussions. You already have a kingdom after your head. There were but a few of us who understood, and all remained silent.”

  Andr looked into the eyes of the guard kneeling on the opposite side of Cray. There was no malice in his gaze. Cavlin was somewhat of an anomaly among the guards who knew of him. He was subservient to the captain, yet acted with almost belligerent impunity. Whether it was through order or not, the guard went where he wanted and when. Andr realized he knew little of the man or his history.

  “I see a great deal of him in you,” Cavlin admitted.

  Andr felt his heartbeat race with the statement. It was a secret he’d trusted few with, protected for far too many cycles. He looked protectively down at the unconscious young man slumbering on the cot.

  He noted a change in Cavlin’s expression. The grin nearly split his passive face in two. Though brief and retracted with a wince of pain, the look was telling.

  Andr chided himself for the unintentional admission.

  “Ryl does too, you know,” the guard added. “Whether you see it or not, you’ve done well by them.”

  Andr sighed as he stared back at Cavlin. The injury, the wound he suppressed, stitched closed with apathy and self-restraint, threatened to tear apart.

  “I see a lot of him in Ryl.” Andr spoke softly, his words laden with emotion. “I should have been there for him. Should have taken him, ran, and never looked back. He’s lived so long with the hatred of me and of his mother, the one who truly betrayed him. I needed to be close. If I needed to die for him, just to know he wasn’t alone in this world, I would.”

  “The truth is a powerful thing, Andr. Your devotion to your son, to Ryl has been irrefutable. One could find faults in any decision if given the time,” Cavlin argued. “Deception, though it might have a righteous cause, is still deception, nonetheless. Either he’ll understand or he won’t.”

  Cavlin gritted his teeth as he worked himself to his feet. His left arm remained draped protectively over his chest. His right rested leisurely on the pommel of his sword. His gaze made contact with Andr’s once more.

  “He needs to know,” the guard added.

  He grinned again, looking down at Cray before turning toward the door.

  Andr watched as the man moved stealthily through the recovering tributes and guards. Even in his weakened state, Andr knew the Cavlin could still fend for himself. He would be judged and underestimated for his weakness. They would likely not live to regret the error.

  Andr watched the retreating warrior for a moment more. He returned his vision to the patient before him.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  Cray’s eyes were wide, locked on to his face. Moisture welled in the corners of each. The salty track of a single tear streaked down his dusty cheek.

  Chapter 31

  The ringing of the horseshoes on the stone street echoed as it bounced off the buildings that loomed on both sides. Ryl had followed Breila to a wide street that ran in a lazy arc from the avenue leading to the gate down to the market and the docks far in the distance.

  Ryl was unfamiliar with this area of the city. He hadn’t ventured this far while he was familiarizing himself with the routes with Andr. Breila had done her best to succinctly describe what they would encounter. The further west they traveled, the grander and more elaborate the houses and shops lining the street became. Though
there were inevitably less fanciful areas hidden amongst the back alleys, the masterful facades spoke to wealth that increased with every passing intersection.

  Sweet-smelling planters of meticulously organized flowers lined the avenue. They passed several small green courtyards adorned with ornately manicured bushes and trees. Benches lined the windy stone pathways into their midst. Small cafes feature extended patios, where tables and chairs awaited patrons.

  Disturbingly absent from the scene were the people. No traffic from those on foot or wagon greeted them as they proceeded onward. On a few occasions they had captured a fleeting glance of motion as someone ducked back into their home or darted down a familiar side street. Heavy blinds and thick curtains closed off the view into most houses and storefronts. Occasionally, the shuffling of the fabric was the only sign that life remained, hidden among the buildings.

  The watchful feeling was ever present. Tens of thousands resided permanently inside the city limits, yet the area around them was barren. They were likely scared and perhaps rightfully so. Never in the recorded history of the kingdom had a disturbance of this magnitude occurred. The willingness to persecute children and murder families for the crime of trying to survive did little to instill confidence that retribution from the crown would be anything less than severe.

  The section of Cadsae Proper they crossed was commonly referred to as Center City. This wide track of the massive city spanned from the East Ward, north to the Pining Gates and south to the port. The port encompassed its own district, which included much of the trade-worthy seawall as well as the bustling market. On the west, Center City was bordered by the opulent Estates. A thin, though moderately sizable wall prevented easy access to the mansions that enjoyed wide tracts of land until the point where the city met the delta of the river. A lone entryway separated the wall. The road through the Estates ran straight and uninterrupted until it reached the lone bridge that spanned the fast-moving water of this confluence leading to the garrison, the westernmost point in the entirety of the Kingdom of Damaris.

  Once inside the Estates, they would be afforded few avenues of escape. Properties were gated. All were staffed with some manner of private security. In normal times, the frequent patrols of the guards coming to and from the garrison were a potent deterrent to any who wished to cause ill content.

  Their path along the road had angled south. The quickly falling sun beat hard upon the right side of Ryl’s face. The warmth on his skin, though comforting, was more of an aggravation than a boon. He had grown accustomed to the cloak, which covered all but the lower half of his face. The freedom and relative anonymity it provided him was comforting. Without his phrenic cloak, he felt exposed. Naked. The scratchy cloth on his tattooed skin was aggravating. He found his concentration fraying as he struggled with the grating sensation against his arms.

  Ryl pulled up on the collar of his borrowed guard uniform, doing his best to hide the clearly defined brands on his neck.

  His scans of the surrounding area had been persistent. His eyes darted from building to building. He focused on each rooftop, scouring every shadow for signs of warning. Though there had been no additional signs of tributes, phrenic or Lei Guard, the sensation of concern, a growing darkness, continued to intensify. The alexen in his blood were alert, powering through his veins of their own volition. Their increased and steady activity without his command was unnatural. It was a disturbing feeling, though it had seemed to keep the dark whispers temporarily at bay. He searched for answers within the vault, within the thousands of lifetimes of experiences and knowledge within his mind.

  He found no recollection or understanding within.

  Ryl spurred his horse forward, slowing when he came aside Breila and Aelin. The youngster smiled at him, though his arms were still locked around the waist of the madam.

  “Will there be any issue gaining access to the Estates?” he asked.

  Much of her plan was still a mystery to him. He chided himself mentally for following blindly, yet he was convinced she would neither slow him down, nor lead him into harm willingly. He and Andr had been at her mercy. Even with the destruction within and around the Proper’s East, she had not cast them aside.

  If Andr trusted her with his life, so would he.

  In truth, her guidance was a welcome addition. She knew the inner workings of the city. Her familiarity was with all, from the most destitute to the highest echelons of society.

  “I do not believe so,” she replied. Though her voice was confident, it failed to instill a feeling of comfort that Ryl would have preferred. “The city guard usually man the gate, though there will likely be none now. With so few troops left in the city, if sentries remain, they’d have been withdrawn to the bridge, closer to the safety of the garrison.”

  Ryl nodded his head at the assessment.

  “As I told you earlier, it is the private security forces here that are to be feared,” she continued. “Though dressed as guards, they are likely to pay us no mind. They exist with an uneasy acceptance of the troops. They allow the soldiers to patrol the streets, yet permit none to trespass on their property. They will likely be on heightened alert, as the regular patrols have abandoned the area.”

  “Why have they forsaken the richest among them?” Aelin’s innocence was relieving as he posed the question.

  “They do not abandon them,” Breila replied, craning her neck to look toward the boy. “It is that they harbor little suspicion of them. They have no fear of uprising. Though they are well protected with their own private forces, they number but a few dozen households.”

  “It is the greater population to be feared,” Ryl added. “To be held in line.”

  Breila nodded her head.

  “Aye. That is correct.” A profound sadness crept into her voice as she carried on. “The citizens outnumber them by tens of thousands. Unlike those of the Estates, many of whom owe their very wealth and fealty to the throne, the citizens are unconstrained by such alliances. They seek to cull any rebellion before it rises. They have been killing with impunity. They burn families alive in their homes, slaughter men, women and children.”

  “How is it that they came about you?” Ryl asked cautiously. He pushed a wave of comfort over the emotional woman.

  Breila sighed, though her shoulders seemed to rise slightly as she continued.

  “I have made it my life’s work to stay well informed. The information that has kept me alive in the past was delayed in reaching my ears this time,” she responded. Ryl could feel the anger swell in her body. Her chest rose and fell with the exaggerated breaths. “There are those who will talk willingly. There are those who give up information without understanding that they do so. The key is to listen. By the time word came that they were coming, there were but precious moments. Though, I believe many who work for me were able to flee, there were inevitably some who didn’t survive.”

  She wiped a tear from her eye with the back of her hand.

  “Where are you leading us?” Ryl posed the question. The road ahead was growing shorter with every passing step. “If the Estates share allegiance with the throne, is there safety there for us?”

  “While, yes, it is true that a great many do, there are but a few who do so through veiled deceit,” Breila admitted. “They are neither indebted to nor purchase favor from the king.”

  “And you’re sure they can be trusted?” Ryl was hesitant to place any more trust in an unknown benefactor.

  “Without a doubt, my young friend.” She smiled. “For it is to my home that we return.”

  Ryl found that he was not entirely surprised by the admission. Aelin gasped in response.

  “You live there?” he cried.

  “Aye. And I long for the comfort of a warm bath and a fine meal.” She laughed as she spoke.

  The road they followed had descended at a shallow angle as they turned to the south. Ahead, Ryl could see the avenue exit into an open square. Though his view was obscured by the houses that lined the stre
et, he could see several other roads exiting from the main intersection.

  They slowed their horses to a walk as they approached the square. Though Ryl had never been there, he knew the intersection was likely a bustling point of congregation. So close to the high society, there were likely a bevy of street vendors hawking their precious wares as well as those who came to seek influence from those who lived in stations above that which they achieved.

  It was eerie viewing the square devoid of any life or activity. They paused at the exit of the road they’d followed. The area was roughly thirty meters across and an equal width. Directly ahead, to the south, the road carried onward, leading toward the more industrious areas closer to the docks and market. Another road, the Kingsway, bisected the square, exiting east and westward, stretching the width of the kingdom.

  To the right, an ornately sculpted wall ran the length of the open square. The carved stone looked out of place, more form than function. He repressed the review that even a child with a knack for climbing trees would find an easy purchase to scale the wall in no time.

  There were none present at the gate. The shops and small cafes lining the square were shuttered and silent.

  Ryl was nearly overtaken by a sudden wave of discomfort. He scanned the area with his mindsight, easily confirming the vacancy of the image. Still, the uneasiness prevailed. The imagined watchfulness bored into him here with a greater potency than he’d experienced anywhere within the city.

  He turned to voice his concern to Breila. Without warning, she spurred her horse forward, entering the square at speed, angling toward the entrance to the Estates to the west. Ryl’s mount surged forward to make up lost ground.

  As they committed to their path through the square, the cause for his concern became alarmingly clear.

  A pair of soldiers with swords drawn burst from the door of a shuttered cafe near the entrance to the Estates. The soldiers were dressed in a fashion that was foreign to Ryl. Their pants and tunics were plain in nature, a muted, drab grey. The obvious bulge under their shirts hinted at the armor disguised underneath. Their clothing bore no insignia denoting their allegiance.