by C. J. Aaron
Though he pitied them not, he wasn’t content to leave them to the slaughter. There was a sickening coldness that covered his body as he considered the plight of those who’d refused to hear his advice. Those who’d turned a deaf ear to the warnings of Lord Eligar’s men.
The irony was poignant.
Much as Taben had been spurned by humanity, Ryl had been ignored that day. Though he’d fight to protect any who stood behind him from the ravages of the Horde, his true purpose was ensuring the safety of the tributes. His family. His friends.
They’d amassed a small army of supporters. Those willing to sacrifice their lives to aid him in his pursuits. To break the tributes free from the slavery that had held them in check for a millennium.
A fragment of the army now stood along the pinnacle of the palisade overlooking the square and the town below. For the first time in his coming, the eyes staring down on him did so without incriminating judgment. Without abject hatred and scorn.
Though fire had not had the opportunity to ravage the buildings to the left, the western side of the square was in shambles. The mess hall and stable had butted up against the massive palisade. A wide but substantial stairwell built upon their backs had provided access to the palisade above. The buildings had been all but destroyed. Chunks of rubble and splinters from timbers were strewn across the square. The great staircase connecting the palisade to the ground below had been severed, leaving a gap that stretched five meters wide by several meters high. Large black sections of charred rock scarred the face of the palisade.
Work here was constant. Guards wearing the nondescript clothing of House Eligar worked in consort with civilians. Both men and women rushed to and fro, some carrying stone, others wood into The Stocks beyond. A group of guards, shirtless and dripping with sweat, hammered away feverishly with heavy mallets, each hammer’s fall smashing another chunk off the broken stairs.
Ryl almost laughed as he saw Aelin bound to the top of the staircase, a hammer far too large for a boy his size in hand. The guards sneered as he pushed past, yet he paid them no mind. Within a matter of swings, their condescending looks altered to those of unrestrained awe. Shrapnel from the massive chunks of stone he demolished peppered those onlookers who chose to gawk at the youngster.
The foreman of the crew was a surprise as well. Ryl reached his side quickly, casting a scan of the city beyond before attempting conversation.
He could feel the hatred of the black mass as they moved ever closer. The ring of darkness that stretched around the western portion of his vision oozed forward as though it was still but a singular mass. None strayed from the host that approached as one.
The throbbing in his left arm had surged again. He winced as he massaged it with his opposite hand.
“It’s fine work you’ve done, Averine,” Ryl commented as he stopped beside the eccentric elder.
“The majority of the iron that this kingdom uses comes from the mines on my property. Well now, Lord Eligar’s property, that is,” he added with a grin. “This is not the first crew I’ve managed. Besides, nothing a little blasting powder couldn’t handle.”
“I thank you for your foresight,” Ryl added. “That stairwell had been a concern. Even with the confined quarters, the Horde would have taken it without trouble. Do you have more blasting powder at your disposal?”
Averine chuckled.
“The presumptuous lord used far more than required for the demolition of the bridge,” Averine grumbled. The annoyance was clear in his voice. “Though I’ve left enough for a few surprises.”
His eyes darted to the buildings that formed the corners of the square.
Ryl smiled, laying his hand thankfully on the elder man’s shoulder.
“Your resourcefulness is again a fortune,” Ryl added with a smile.
The howls in the distance broke their rapid conversation.
The noise was louder, more pronounced than it had been moments earlier. Ryl needed no mindsight to acknowledge that they were far too close for comfort.
“Averine, get them inside,” Ryl ordered. “Who commands the soldiers of House Eligar?”
The eccentric old man laughed as he scratched a hand on his head in confusion.
“You do, of course.”
Chapter 42
Averine wasted no time calling the work to an end. His shrill voice cut through the clamor of the demolition still underway.
Beside the crumbling remains of the stairs, Aelin took a final last swing. Shards of stone exploded out in all directions. A sizable section of the crumbling stairwell cracked free from the remains, crashing to the ground below.
“Aelin, let’s go,” Ryl boomed as the boy bounded down from the remains. He beamed with pride as he noted Ryl’s presence.
“Get inside the gates now. They aren’t far behind,” Ryl ordered. The cheer that had lit his face blanched as the reality of the threat sank in once again.
Ryl forced a mild wave of calm over the tribute.
“You did well. Very well,” he added.
The boy had astonished him. They’d spoken but a few words since the encounter with the Horde. There was a tale yet untold; even still, he’d survived against the odds. He’d done so protecting the life of another.
A stab of pain tore through his arm. He winced as he watched Aelin hasten inside the Pining Gates.
Ryl stepped purposefully to the center of the square, pulling the Leaves from his holsters. A wash of green light shimmered around him as he called the blades to life. Fire danced off their serrated edges as they rippled in the darkness. Though the enemy moved closer, he held the blades low, angled outward to each side. He’d done so more for show than function. The thinning trail of citizens who’d heeded their warning steered wide to avoid him, though they now ran at the warnings of the soldiers.
“Archers, ready arrows,” he called to the marksmen above. “They’ll be too fast to strike from a distance. Save your bolts for when they will truly count.”
The sensation of approaching blackness swelled. Though the moon shone clear in the sky overhead, it moved like an unnatural shadow across the city. He felt the inky darkness blanket everything in its path.
“Make ready to close the gates,” Ryl yelled over his shoulder. There were a few still scrambling up the street toward them. How many would fail to reach the gates in time? How many would be butchered before the wall, arriving moments too late?
Ryl felt the anger swell in his body at the thought. The streets to the west likely ran slick with blood already. The blades flared brighter in his hands.
Between the growing shrill wails of the Horde and the agonized cries of men and women, a rumble arose. The sound of hooves pounding on the pavement grew from the east.
Ryl called back to the soldiers manning the gate behind him.
“Are there any yet to report in?” Ryl demanded.
It took an intolerable few moments of thought as the soldiers confirmed with another behind the gate.
“Aye,” the soldier responded, his eyes now wide with concern. “One patrol to the east has yet to report.”
Ryl cursed under his breath as his eyes travelled down toward the intersection with the main road. The shrill scream of a woman broke the night. Though nothing more than a silhouette as she exited from behind the buildings to the west, her panic was evident. She made it only a few meters before a lanky blackened shadow struck. Her final scream was cut short as she was crushed to the ground.
The horses rounded the opposite corner a moment later.
Ryl scanned the area, dipping into the speed as he charged down the avenue. Several demons had separated from the black mass that still dominated the view of his mindsight. They were still further to the west, clogging the Kingsway with their blackened bodies. Several separated from the host, travelling up the side alleys. He’d need to be quick. Whether through design or luck, the few that cut through the side streets would likely flank him.
If they got past him into The Stocks, the de
vastation would be extreme.
The blackened body of the Horde abandoned the still body of its prey, lunging as the first of the riders passed by. The soldier’s sword swung harmlessly overhead. He was unprepared for the fleet enemy that fell upon his exposed side. He and his horse crashed to the ground, sliding across the pavement. The beast on their side tore off lethal chunks of flesh as they skidded to a stop. The harrier shrieked as his hold was dislodged as they careened into the building along the opposite corner of the intersection. The lantern hanging from the building above swung back and forth, disturbed by the jarring knock.
A focused blast of wind from Ryl’s arm sent the demon toppling backward. Its light, swift body careened into the stone foundation of the building on the corner behind it. There was a sickening snap as its frame reached an abrupt, violent stop. Its head snapped backward, smashing into the stone base of the building, leaving a blackened stain of blood as it slumped to the ground.
No investigation was needed to find life in either the woman or the guard who’d fallen prey to the lethal harrier. Blood pooled on the stones around the mangled bodies. The horse, blooded and fatally wounded in the attack, flailed wildly as it stumbled to its feet.
“Ride now. The gates are closing,” Ryl yelled at the guards who’d wheeled their horses in defense of their fallen comrade.
He whipped his head around to the west. A trio of harriers shrieked, their unfiltered rage leading the charge as they bore down on his position. His stomach lurched as his eyes witnessed the front of the blackened mass he’d viewed only in his mindsight. Thousands had crossed the river, yet Ryl knew countless more remained on the opposite side.
The agony in his left arm continued to mount. He had yet to contemplate the peculiar happenings in the courtyard before the Estates. Ryl gritted his teeth as he hardened the woodskin over the appendage, hoping to alleviate at least some of the discomfort. The effect was mild compared to the pain, yet he welcomed any relief.
The Horde approaching from the west were less than one hundred meters from his position. He could see with his mindsight, several small groups, no more than two or three each, branching off at each of the smaller alleys. Screams of fear ending in harrowing cries of pain rippled through the city.
Ryl knew he could easily dispatch the small group approaching, yet his concern centered on the secondary groups sneaking around their flank. The alexen in his blood begged him to flee. His mind pondered the value of ending the lives of the closest. How many could he save if he was to cut them down now?
It was the urging from the alexen and the common sense of the matter that won out in the end. Casting a final snarl at the incoming Horde, he turned back up the northern avenue. He could see the guards on the palisade and the few remaining in the square frantically urging the few remaining stragglers onward. The horses and riders stormed past, disappearing into the shadows under the gate.
Ryl sprinted up the avenue, all the while keeping his phrenic senses locked on the positions of the Horde, who were now dispersing themselves across the city. There were several groups who appeared to hasten in his direction, eager to cut off his retreat. He slowed as he reached the last of the citizens escaping from the doomed city.
The final pair were much older than him. They carried nothing with them save the walking sticks that aided both of their steps. The pair were dressed in apparel more suited for sleeping. They looked at him with fear in their eyes as they scrambled up the cobblestone alley toward the Pining Gates.
Ryl positioned his body to the west of them, guiding the pair to the eastern side of the road. The Horde were getting close. The scratching of their jagged claws on the stone echoed through the shadows of the darkened alley they just passed.
Unlike others he’d faced before, the pair that lunged at him from the shadows voiced battle cries as they attacked. He’d tracked them with his mindsight. Though he feigned ignorance for their benefit, he was prepared for their assault. The moment their blackened bodies cleared the shadows of the alley, he met their charge. The Horde had made the calculated decision to leap, to crush him from above. Likely fearing the lethal blades that remained passively angled toward the ground, they’d relied on the darkness to disguise their approach.
The speed flowed through his veins as he sidestepped up the avenue. The closest harrier attempted to alter its trajectory, yet its actions amounted to nothing more than an awkward struggling in the air. As its head and shoulders passed, Ryl swung upward with his left arm. The burning blade hissed as it passed through the skinny body of the lanky demon with little resistance, severing the body in two. A blast of wind from his right hand lengthened the flight of the other demon, propelling it across the avenue. Its body flailed wildly, growling as it careened into the building on the opposite side. The crunch of bones turned his stomach.
Ryl let go of the speed as he retreated up the avenue. He’d bought precious moments for the last remaining survivors. Soldiers from House Eligar rushed to meet them, lifting each one up while others daringly covered their retreat. He reached the edge of the square as Fay’s soldiers assisted the elderly couple, disappearing into the gate.
Fear covered the faces of the brave troops who’d rushed out in assistance. None had likely battled anything in the entirety of their lives. Few were likely mercenaries, yet he doubted that there were more than a handful who’d experienced any sort of skirmish where blades met with other blades.
The sight of the Horde and the ferocity of their attack had to be terrifying. Disheartening to even the heartiest soldier. They eagerly backpedaled, retreating toward the calls of their companions.
The cracking of wood preceded the shower of debris that spewed from the final alleyway behind. A group of six harriers rushed into the avenue, their clawed feet casting a spray of sparks as they slid on the stone. Ryl continued backing slowly toward the gate as they scrambled to correct the direction of their charge. Behind him he heard the cries of relief as the last of the soldiers slipped through the crack in the closing gate.
Blind with rage, the Horde charged him. There were none in his vision save the three that he’d spared in the intersection. His stomach churned as he noted the focus of their intentions. The screams that rose from the south were as nauseating as they were heart-wrenching. The beasts descended upon the backs of those fleeing for the port. The sharp crack of cannons echoed from the harbor as the few armed vessels fired on the demons that swarmed the city.
Ryl screamed with anger as he called forth the speed once again. He charged the sluggishly moving demons with vicious intent. His burning blades were in constant motion as he danced between their slender, yet lethal bodies. Wherever he passed, blood flowed freely. Limbs were separated from their bodies. The battle was over in an instant.
He surveyed his work with disgust.
The blood. The death. The stench was sickening.
A single harrier twitched, leveraging its torso up using the bloody stump of an arm. It glared at him with eyes that glistened with hatred. Its mouth opened; a gurgle, the preliminary sounds of a cry, bubbled up from its lungs.
There was a twang, the snapping sound of a bowstring releasing.
A single arrow smashed through the chest of the Horde. The momentum rolled the demon onto its back. A final, wet gurgle escaped its lips.
Ryl looked up at the palisade. The archers along the line stood firm with arrows at the ready. A single bowman, hands shaking with nervousness, looked down upon his kill.
Wails and shrieks of the mass of demons rose from the west.
With a last glance over the city, Ryl darted through the narrow opening in the gate.
The interior shook as the door slammed shut.
Yet again, he found himself a captive inside The Stocks.
Chapter 43
Andr shifted, repositioning his weight to alleviate the cramping that had risen in his lower legs. His perch on the tree overlooking the palisade had been comfortable at the start; however, the rough bark did nothing
to foster the appeal. His back rested against the sprawling trunk of the tree.
He pondered the blast that had lit the sky to the south. What had caused it? He grinned, shaking his head at the thought. Ryl had followed Kaep toward Cadsae Proper. Smoke was reportedly rising from one side of the city. A massive explosion seemingly rocked the other.
He feared for the rest of the city. For the rest of Damaris if Kaep were harmed. Flashes of lightning streaked across the sky far to the southwest, though the winds that had preceded the storm had stilled, eerily similar to the atmosphere under the trees.
After the blast, the troops manning the guardhouse had come alive. Likely many were roused from sleep by the blast. Andr counted the silhouettes of seven as they exited the stone structure, though he was unsure if more remained inside.
The guardhouses extended two stories above the top of the palisade. A pair of tall, narrow slits opened on each side, allowing arrows to be fired from within. From his angle in the trees, he could see nothing more than the flicker of the light escaping from the interior. Darkened shadows blotted out the glow, hinting at the occasional patrols of those within.
The investigation of the blast had been short-lived. Within moments, the guards had returned to the comforts of their tower. The solitary heavy wooden door closed with a muted thud.
Andr had watched and listened, yet the only motion of the night was the sluggish procession of the moon and stars. He had time to ponder their predicament. Vox had returned with Le’Dral to their arboreal home. Andr desired to stay behind.
