by C. J. Aaron
Their ascent ceased without warning. Andr found himself on a large flat branch roughly a meter wide. The limb curved slightly to the northwest, though it stayed concealed among the foliage that surrounded it. Smaller branches jutted up at seemingly planned intervals, allowing for steady handholds.
Andr crept cautiously out onto the branch, his ears tuned to the sound of guards.
The night was silent.
The branch allowed a startling view of the landscape that surrounded them. From his position, though he remained hidden among the leaves, he could see the clear path of the palisade as it traveled south toward the sea. To the north, the stone walkway ended as it reached the northernmost guard tower, partially built into the base of the mountain.
A torch burned along the face of the structure, though no movement registered along the peak of the wall. To the west, dark clouds blotted out the stars overhead, turning the deep violet sky black. Lightning flashed, sparking through the clouds, though no sound accompanied the show.
“A storm is coming,” Vox commented as the silent flashes of lightning split the sky to the west. The branch remained steady as the phrenic paced along the wide surface. Le’Dral followed a step behind.
The trio watched in silence, surveying the walls for any signs of patrol. Nothing moved save for the roiling clouds above and the soundless lightning. A steady breeze grew as the storm churned ever closer.
A howl carried on the wind. For a moment, all attention was focused, their eyes and ears trained on the sound. From its deep origin it rose in pitch and intensity. This was no auditory illusion. No mental overreaction to the growing wind at the head of the storm.
The note was eerily familiar.
The solitary wail fell into silence.
Le’Dral turned to Andr, his mouth open to speak.
A flash, brighter yet more diffused, rose from the south. It expanded upward like the sun rising from the horizon. For a moment, a halo of light surrounded it. As abruptly as it had come, the glow vanished, seemingly sucked back into itself. A cloud rose in its place.
It was several moments before the wave of sound reached their ears. From the edge of the forest, roughly a half mile to the south, the leaves of the trees shook wildly as the ripples of energy passed. Andr felt the sound as clearly as he heard it. The pressure thumped against his chest. His heart beat faster in response.
Andr muttered a soft curse as he turned his gaze to Le’Dral and Vox standing beside him.
“Ryl,” Vox whispered.
Chapter 41
Ryl rode in the rear as their horses stormed eastward down the Kingsway. The haunting cries from the Horde that stalked them diminished, though only slightly, as they raced onward. Breila, though nursing her own wounds, held tight to Fay, balancing the wobbling lord as they moved with speed. Aelin’s arms were wrapped around Ryl’s body.
On more than one occasion, he yelped in surprise as the youngster unintentionally squeezed too hard. Sharp pains shot through his body as his ribs resisted the pressure of the unintentional crushing assault. Ryl found that leaving a hardened layer of woodskin across his midsection did much to mitigate the risk of inadvertent damage.
They were greeted by few onlookers as they moved hastily toward the questionable safety of The Stocks. Most were guards of the private estates set along the manicured road of the Estates. Breila shouted warnings to most as they thundered by. In rapid verse she begged them to flee to The Stocks.
Her warnings were met with jest by the armed guards, who stood at attention before their prescribed gates.
They laughed at her.
Ryl pitied them. The first few they passed, he’d forced a feeling of fear and urgency to accompany Breila’s words. His projected emotions were no help. With swords drawn, they retreated behind their flimsy iron walls.
He feared that none would survive the coming wave of darkness that followed in their wake. His only hope for consolation was that the Horde, having sighted his signature, would leave them unmolested.
A frightened cry echoed through the night, ending with an agonized wail.
He abandoned his optimistic thoughts of their survival.
Ryl shook his head as he spurred his mount on.
The gate that constricted the solitary crossing between the Estates and the Center City beyond was still open wide. They slowed as they neared the walled border, the thunder of hooves echoing as they hammered on the stone of the courtyard. Lord Eligar’s troops were nowhere to be seen.
“Did you warn them, Fay?” Ryl called.
Fay turned his head. His face was alarmingly pale. Though he whispered the words, Ryl could make out nothing over the sound of the horses.
“Yes,” Breila shouted over her shoulder.
Ryl turned his upper body, scanning the area behind them with his mindsight. For the moment it was clear. He knew the moment would be fleeting. The fast-moving harriers would not be far behind. The speed of the horses and the allure of the easy slaughter amongst the mansions surrounding the roadside had likely bought them a tenuous measure of freedom.
He whipped his head around as noise from the east demanded his attention. A thunder of hooves signaled the coming of rapidly approaching riders. The silhouettes stormed into view though the darkness disguised their identity and intent.
Ryl called Breila to a stop before marching his mount in front of his companions. He held his right hand out to the side, letting the wind swirl around his arm. The incoming riders slowed. The flash of light off metal indicated that swords were drawn as they entered the opposite side of the square.
“Wait.” Fay’s weak voice must have taken nearly every ounce of his strength as he lurched forward after uttering but a word.
Ryl noted the drab uniforms as they entered the well-lit section of the square. They were not that of the Cadsae Proper guards, nor that of the king. They had accompanied Fay earlier in the afternoon.
“Your lord is injured,” Ryl shouted to the approaching guards as he pointed to Fay slumped over on the horse, still wrapped in the embrace of Breila.
“He needs a mender. Now,” Ryl barked, hammering the soldiers with a sense of urgency.
The hostility of the newcomers was replaced by a pressing need as they settled their weapons, quickly surrounding the group. Muscular hands pulled Fay from where he slumped on his horse, quickly wheeling toward the east.
“Take him to The Stocks. There is a clinic there,” Ryl ordered.
“Aye. We came as quickly as his message was received.” The speaker looked beyond Ryl into the darkness of the Estates with a hint of fear in his eyes.
“See that Ekard comes with you,” Ryl barked, pointing to the door of the tavern they’d dined in hours earlier. The door was cracked open. He could see only a sliver of a face of the inhabitant peering cautiously out from within.
“Warn any you see,” Ryl said. “The Stocks will be their only hope for survival. The Horde is here. Whatever supplies you were moving from the port that aren’t behind the gates are lost. There is no time. Go!”
As if emphasis was needed, another set of bone-chilling screams rippled from the Estates. The vicious howl and shrieks of the Horde quickly drowned out the alarm.
Shadows darted across the poorly illuminated roadway toward the garrison.
Ryl focused, marking the shapes of four shadows that approached in his vision. He swung down from his horse, throwing the reins to the nearest mounted soldier.
“Aelin, keep Breila and Ekard safe. Take them straight to The Stocks,” he shouted before turning to the door to the tavern. “Ekard, time to go.”
He watched the fear and uncertainty flash through the young tribute’s eyes. He sent a wave of comfort over the youngster, stepping close as he whispered, “Fear not, my friend. I’ll be safe.” Ryl comforted the frightened boy. “I do not need a horse to stay ahead of this. I’ll be right behind you.”
Ryl was relieved to see the barkeep shuffle from the inside of his tavern, though his frustration
swelled as the man stopped to lock the door behind him. The buffer between him and the incoming harriers shrank dramatically as the demons accelerated. Here was a square full of life. Full of the irresistible draw of alexen. They unleashed a cacophony of war cries and wails as they charged ahead.
As Ekard scrambled onto Aelin’s horse, the square around Ryl cleared rapidly. A handful of soldiers were the last to leave. Aelin turned his head around as they galloped away. He caught a single fleeting glimpse as he vanished into the shadowed tract of the Kingsway.
The shapes that charged forward had now taken form as they neared the clearing. Ryl could see the flashes of light glint off their glistening claws. Claws that had no doubt tasted a recent draught of blood.
There was little time to be lost. Others would soon follow in the wake of the advance. They would come in numbers that were likely uncontrollable. It would take time, yet the demons would continue streaming across the narrow gap of the water until every last one roamed throughout Damaris. Destroying the bridge had been necessary, yet it had only slowed their assault.
The glowing weapon in his left hand burst to light as Ryl stood ready for the charge.
So caught in the emotions and necessities of the recent moments, Ryl had done little to address the nagging pain that still plagued his left arm. He’d done his best to ignore the throbbing pain. He reminded himself that there’d be time to deal with the frustrating sensation later.
Without warning, the agony swelled, surging out from the joint of Ryl’s left arm. The jolt of discomfort was torturous. His skin felt as if it were being turned inside out, then seared with an immeasurable heat. So intense was the pain that his hand spasmed uncontrollably.
The glowing blade slipped from his fingers, fading as it fell to the ground.
Ryl released his hold on the speed that flowed through his veins as he dropped to a knee to collect the weapon. He gasped as his left hand extended to collect the dormant blade.
The tattoo on his arm had inverted. Where the blazing of the sun had been, a solid black void churned. The darkness moved with a power that was all its own. Where the light had kept the darkness that pressed from either side at bay, inky tendrils of black snaked upward toward his shoulder and downward toward his hands. Where the black lines moved, the sensation of pain, white hot and searing, followed.
Ryl closed his grasp around his weapon, returning the magical, shimmering blade to life as he lunged to his feet.
The Horde had cleared the opening of the gate, spreading out into a staggered line as they approached. Their frantic, determined pace had slowed. Their motions were now more tentative and curious as they proceeded into a crude arc.
Ryl afforded them no mercy. Their momentary hesitation sealed their hasty doom. His lightning-fast movements and glowing blade cut them down before they could react. Their steadfast attack withered to a halfhearted defense as Ryl splattered their blackened blood across the square.
An increasing tumult of shrieks and cries sounded from the Estates. The noise far surpassed that of a small advance scouting party. A considerably larger group approached, though he could see nothing of them at the present. The sound was enough.
Another lance of pain surged through Ryl’s arm as he turned eastward. He stowed the weapon in its holder, fearing another spasm would strike while he ran. Holding onto a touch of the speed in his veins, he charged from the square, heading eastward after his companions.
Ryl winced as the pain swelled in his arm yet again. His skin burned as it twisted. This time, he watched in a mixture of awe and horror as the tattoo reverted to its original design. He rubbed his right hand over the markings, disturbed yet curious about the sudden change.
With little time to dwell, and the Horde on his heels, he pushed forward. Panic had spread where Fay and his soldiers had passed. During the waning hours of the day, he and Aelin had found a city devoid of life. The road and alleys were now crowded with people as they hurriedly abandoned their homes. Some carried belongings while others held the hands of loved ones as they hastened onward. Some merely wandered curiously through the masses. Yet others still regarded the exodus with scorn. They stood with arms crossed in their doorways. Some accosted those fleeing, cursing them for fools as they heeded the warnings of an invading foe. An unusual rhythmic hammering thumped in the distance to the east.
Ryl moved on. They had been given the information. They’d made their choice.
The results would be theirs to bear.
Ryl easily avoided the press of the citizens as he eagerly approached the main intersection. Here, the Kingsway continued eastward, eventually arriving in the capital city of Leremont, the cursed lap of the kingdom. The path to the south pointed to the docks. The northern spur led directly to the Pining Gates.
The further east he moved, the volume of smoke lingering in the air had intensified. Through the gaps in the buildings, he captured fleeting glimpses of flames sparking high into the sky as they devoured anything wooden in their path. An unnatural orange glow lit the horizon like an uncanny early sunrise. The shifting winds brought either relief from the acrid smoke or misery as the stray embers floated down from above.
At the confluence, the mass of citizens divided. The largest group continued to the east, pushing to the southern side of the road, giving a cautious berth to the East Ward, which burned uncomfortably close to the road.
Of the remaining number, the greater percentage chose the southern path angling toward the docks beyond. The few who were brave enough to follow the pleas to flee to the north kept their heads down, generally regarded with scorn from those moving around them.
Ryl paused in the center of the intersection. He let the speed fade, allowing the world to snap back to its normal speed around him. From where he stood, he could see the Pining Gates to the north. Lanterns burned along the left side of the gate. The flicker of light from the right signaled that the barracks to their side still burned. The palisade above was alight with activity.
Soldiers, armed with bows and arrows, lined the top of the wall while others rushed behind them, carrying out their tasks. The courtyard before the massive gates was alive with a flurry of activity, though from the distance the commotion was undefined. The origin of the steadily growing thumping he’d heard as he moved eastward was clear. The sounds of construction and demolition were apparent.
A single panel of the massive gate was wide open. A steady trickle of citizens entered willingly, beckoned onward by the animated motions of Fay’s soldiers.
A small contingent of Lord Eligar’s troop shouted commands over the crowd from the northeast corner of the road.
Ryl hailed them as he approached.
“Did Lord Eligar pass through here yet?” he asked.
“Aye. He did, several moments past. With a procession of horses,” the closest guard answered, stepping forward. His appraising eyes traveled Ryl’s body as he examined his attire.
“Said to be on the lookout for you,” the soldier responded.
Ryl nodded, thankful that his friends had already passed through.
Screams of horror sounded from the west. The sound sent a chill through Ryl. The Horde had reached the Center City.
The carnage would be beyond comprehension. He struggled with the emotion. There was little he could do. Alone in the streets, he couldn’t save them all. Though he’d hold his own, eventually he’d tire or the sheer numbers would overwhelm him. If the Lei Guard joined the fight in bulk, he’d not last long.
The traffic on the road churned with fear, spurring themselves onward in whatever direction they had already committed to taking. A few changed directions, heeding the pleas from Lord Eligar’s soldiers. Ryl fed the area with a sense of hope, lacing the guards’ words with a greater chance to inspire. The effort was largely in vain.
Fear was a potent motivator.
“Fall back to The Stocks,” Ryl ordered. “We are out of time. Be ready to close the gates.”
Though unaccustomed to the o
rders of a stranger, the soldiers willingly accepted them. They barked out their final pleas before charging up the hill toward the gate. The bloodcurdling screams intensified from the west. The press of citizens quickened their pace.
Ryl squinted his eyes, scanning the area to the west. Though free from the individual blackened scars of the individual Horde, he could feel the approaching of the darkness. The swelling mass of the demons from the Outlands was closing in.
He started up the gently sloping avenue. His mind flashed to the last trip he’d made up this pathway. The city had been alive with the revelry surrounding the annual Harvest.
That moment, though only a few days in the past, felt like a lifetime ago. The joy of the moment for many had now dissolved into abject fear.
Ryl did his best to spur the travelers seeking safety behind the gates. Many appeared weak from the frantic movement. Some lumbered sluggishly, still half asleep after being roused in the middle of the night. His mental scan of the perimeter was constant as he maintained a vigil, watchful of the approach of the Horde from the west.
The howls, shrieks and wails of the approaching mass now drowned out the screams of those who were slaughtered by their tidal wave of death.
The scene that awaited him at the top of the road was nothing but shocking. To the right side of the square, the fire that he’d started in the barracks had been allowed to ravage nearly the entirety of the building. The heavy timbers had been reduced to ash, collapsing the stone upon itself. The solitary tunnel to the interior of the gatehouse was sealed off by the piles of debris. Thankfully, the flames had been contained behind the stone wall that separated the guards’ station from the houses of Cadsae Proper beyond.
Citizens wasted no time milling around the square. Ryl watched them carefully as they moved into the yawning mouth of the Pining Gates. They approached with a sense of foreboding. Some failed to hide the overwhelming fear that distorted their faces. Ryl had little pity in the case of their wounded sensibilities. For ages, far longer than any had lived to experience, tributes, like he and Aelin, like the thousands who had come before him, had been locked behind that same gate. They had been enslaved behind the massive walls, left to labor for a product they’d never reap. Celebrated as they were ceremoniously paraded to their deaths.
