The Weight of Darkness (Catalyst Book 5)

by C. J. Aaron

  The blow was aimed at Ryl’s neck.

  The strike would never taste flesh.

  The alexen in Ryl’s veins had been screaming warnings for miles. He’d heeded their call. The wind swirled unseen around his tattooed right arm. At the sight of the bared steel of Leyet’s blade, Ryl dipped into the speed that flowed within his veins. Time ground to a jarring halt.

  The blade meant to end his life crept harmlessly through the air. A vicious sneer curled the corners of the man’s lips, though his eyes told of another story.

  They were quicker to react. The orbs widened as the realization set in.

  He was foolish.

  Ryl ducked to his right as he released a focused spear of wind from his arm. He felt the release of tension as the gout hammered the soldier in the chest. A shortened cry of surprise and pain was all he could muster as his body was tossed from the back of his horse. The sword, meant to take Ryl’s life, spun harmlessly through the air.

  His horse had little time to slow before Ryl’s feet touched the ground. The mount nickered anxiously, disturbed by the sudden change. With a few quick steps, he reached Leyet’s side. The man’s flailing body was still aloft as it floated slowly toward the ground. Ryl grabbed a hold of the helpless guard by the fabric at his shoulders. He let time snap back to normal as he drove him to the earth.

  There was a raspy hiss as the air escaped from his lungs. The pair slid for several meters before coming to a rest in the tall wild grasses of the field. Behind them, there was a clanking of metal as the disarmed blade skipped off a stone alongside the well-worn track.

  Ryl refused to relinquish the pressure pinning the gasping man to the ground. His eyes were wide with surprise, pain and fear. They darted from side to side as they sought to regain their bearings. Leyet sucked in desperate breaths as his lungs struggled to reclaim the oxygen they had been forced to expel.

  “Who sent you?” Ryl demanded before the dust they had kicked up settled.

  The guard made a weak attempt at struggle though Ryl’s weight held him firmly to the ground. Ryl had moved his hold to the man’s arms. He let the woodskin form over both hands, pinning the helpless guard down with the heft of a fallen tree. He was sure the mercenary had weapons secreted away on his person, and he was loath to give the man any opportunity to use them.

  Leyet responded not with words but phlegm. Ryl turned his head as a hot wad of spit and blood spattered against the side of his face and hood.

  “I recognize the look,” Ryl growled. “I’ve dealt with your type before, hunter. Where’s the rest of your pack?”

  As if on cue, Ryl had the answer to his question.

  The high-pitched whistle of arrows screamed from the copse of trees a short distance to their north.

  Chapter 2

  Whether the attack was a planned deception or merely a foolhardy attempt, Ryl had little time to ponder the intent. The arrows streaming toward him would grant him little reprieve. Time slowed to a crawl as he gave in to the speed in his veins once more.

  With a grunt, Ryl wrenched Leyet’s body from the earth. He pivoted, twisting to the side, using the helpless hunter as a shield from the incoming projectiles. The impact of the arrows reverberated through his arm as the bolts punctured the defenseless man’s back. The hunter screamed in pain as the four projectiles slammed through his back. Blood spattered on Ryl’s face as two of the metal tips ripped through the doomed soldier’s torso.

  Ryl released the screaming body of his would-be assassin, darting toward the tree line. The man would no longer present a threat to him or any other. What fleeting life remained would drain from his body before this battle was over. The agonized moans quieted as he closed the distance to the glade. A familiar sensation of excitement rushed through his body as his hands closed around the Leaves holstered behind his back.

  The brilliant green glow of the blades flaming to life lit the shadows underneath the trees. At a rapid glance, there were close to twenty men in varying stages of either drawing arrows to bow, or working their swords from their hips. Their well-trained, frantic actions, honed over cycles of training, were frustratingly sluggish. Ryl was in no mood to give them the time to counter.

  They were all dressed similarly in a manner that stoked the fire burning inside his veins. The nondescript, weathered apparel bore no markings or insignias notating their loyalties.

  He squelched the feeling of revulsion at what was to come.

  The ambush had been carefully laid. The disposition of the force had been positioned evenly across both sides of the narrow path. They had chosen their location wisely. Here was likely the only place where their actions could be concealed from the sight of the ever-watchful eyes of the guards atop the palisade. Ryl doubted now, however, that many eyes, if any, would have been turned inward. The appearance of the Horde, coupled with the sheer devastation they had wrought upon the city outside the wall, had given credence to the thought that there was much more to fear outside The Stocks than within.

  Without hesitation, Ryl called forth the gale that had swelled around his right arm. With a flaming blade in hand, he slashed forward across his body. An arc of wind, crackling with glowing green fire, seared its way into the grove of trees. Screams erupted from several locations as the flame and air battered and burned those who couldn’t escape its path.

  Ryl exploded through the tree line to the right of the pathway, hopping over the thin line of shrubs that had grown along the edge of the glade. In large part, the bushes were now alight. He left an eddy of sparks in his wake as he charged into his attackers. The element of surprise was now long gone. Flames from within The Stocks would draw undue attention.

  They would draw soldiers.

  A meter inside the tree line, the first attacker Ryl encountered had been lucky enough to avoid the gout of wind and flame. To either side, his companions shrieked in agony as their bodies, alight, had been tossed mercilessly into the trees beyond. The hunter had ducked behind the thin trunk of the tree after releasing his first arrow, choosing to draw his sword in expectation of the slaughter that was to commence. His face was locked in a snarl of pure hatred. He curled his arm behind his back, leveling what was to be a killing strike. To his right a pair of his companions charged, their motions slowed, like running against the current of the river.

  Ryl slashed with right as he reached the doomed hunter. The burning blade cleaved the man’s arm, sizzling as the superheated flames partially cauterized the wound. The momentum of the counterattack forced the man against the narrow tree at his side. The roar of agony that ripped through the woods was cut painfully short as Ryl struck this time with the blade in his left.

  The burning, serrated green blade cut through flesh and wood with little resistance. Ryl leapt back, lining up his next attack of the two hunters approaching from deeper in the glade. Thrusting his right hand forward, a focused blast of wind ripped from his tattooed arm. The tree severed by the blade toppled as the gale slammed into its trunk. Flames caught the bark, licking their way greedily upward. There was little the rushing hunters could do to escape the falling timber. The closest was crushed under the weight and force of the tree. The second, having a moment to react, was lucky enough to avoid a fatal blow. His howl of pain was haunting as the wood crushed him to the ground at his waist.

  Ryl breathed deep, steeling himself for what he must do next. From both sides, the attackers remained. Four were down. The others, still counting on their numbers, continued their assault.

  He would not relish this.

  A whisper, a distant growl in the recesses of his mind demanded bloodshed.

  A few moments later, Ryl let the glowing blades of the Leaves falter. Time snapped back to normal. He squeezed his eyes shut for an instant as the disorienting rush rolled through his body. When he opened them again, the brilliant green light that illuminated the gloom under the trees reverted back to its natural state. The devastation of the hunters who had sought his death was revolting. With effort, he
was able to retain hold over the contents of his stomach.

  His chest was heaving, rising and falling in dramatic fashion, though he felt no fatigue. He tingled with the excitement of battle. The alexen inside were slow to quiet their agitated roil through his veins. He let a long, steady, calming breath escape his lips.

  Ryl became keenly aware of the silence. The sharp snapping of metal against his searing blades, the hiss of blood as it was boiled by the heat were no more. Curses from the lips of the hunters, heavily laden with murderous hatred, had devolved into screams of agony and gut-wrenching, pleading moans before the firm grip of death took hold. The muffled crackle of fire seemed to surround him.

  The frantic activity that had torn through the branches of the small glade had subsided. It was eerily still.

  A lone whimper broke through the muted rumble of the scattered fires.

  Ryl pivoted, scanning the interior of the grove that surrounded him. Scars from the short-lived battle marred nearly half the meager woods. The makeshift trail they had followed had approached from the south. Nearest to that gap in the trees, the damage had been the greatest, though signs were obvious throughout. Ryl had given no quarter. Shown no mercy. The hunters had carefully laid their ambush. They were awarded the same regard they had likely shown the families of countless tributes who’d chosen to flee from the abhorrent doctrine that put a price on the life of their child.

  A racking, wet cough preceded another whimper. Ryl stalked through the trees, his motions still cautious, though he was certain the glade hid no more danger beneath its boughs. Closer to the southern edge of the copse, the fires burned with greater intensity. The heat from the blaze was more blistering with every step. The wailing grew.

  Ryl located the source with ease. Pinned to the ground underneath the trunk of a tree, a solitary hunter slapped his hands against the wood, his strength, like his life, faded with every motion. His eyes welled with tears as he noted Ryl’s approach.

  “Please,” he called. His voice was raspy. A trickle of blood leaked down the side of his face. The crimson stood in stark contrast to his pale flesh.

  “Help me,” he begged.

  Ryl paused his approach several meters away. He took a knee, folding his arm across the other. The heat grew stifling.

  “You came here for my life. If I were in your position, would you grant me the mercy you seek?” Ryl hissed in response.

  The hunter’s mouth closed tightly. The look in his eyes failed to hide the truth. They would have butchered him. Cut his body to pieces, his head set on display as a warning.

  “Who sent you to find me?” Ryl inquired.

  “Please, this was just for the money. It’s nothing personal.” The hunter coughed.

  “Who?” Ryl demanded, this time hammering the dying man with the need to atone.

  The man’s eyes rolled back in his head momentarily; his eyelids fluttered. The last of the color bleached from his face.

  “There’s a price on your head,” he sputtered. “Too high to refuse. There’s no one name to lay blame upon. Each of the houses pledged support. Likely every noble has gold in the pot.”

  Ryl squinted his eyes as he registered the news. Information from the rest of the kingdom had been sparse. There had been grumblings of a bounty. A price was placed on all their heads, though the sums were unknown.

  The news wasn’t surprising in the least.

  It did little to stop the raging inferno that swelled in his veins. The heat from the alexen was comforting. The dark whispers demanding bloodshed silenced as they relished what would assuredly follow.

  Bloodshed.

  They had set the tributes free.

  They had turned back the forces of the dreaded Outland Horde.

  The fires of change that would spell the beginning of a new era for Damaris had been lit, yet the feeble flame needed tending.

  Their work was far from over.

  Though tributes would no longer languish inside the walls of The Stocks, the process was far from abolished. As long as the nobles, honored recipients of the Blessing of the King, remained in power, the process would still continue unabated. To what scale would be the question. What fate would be in store for any who were discovered with the alexen in their blood now?

  The process would likely lack the pageantry and auction that had defined the Deliverance process. Clandestine meetings would define the fate of children who by no fault of their own were born with the alexen in their blood.

  “Who else has a price on their head?” Ryl inquired.

  The hunter coughed, a weak effort that produced a dark wad of bloody phlegm.

  “There are bounties on everyone,” he gasped. “They want the tributes alive. For Le’Dral and his traitors, only their heads will do.”

  The racking cough preceded violent spasms. Ryl watched his eyes roll back into his head. There would be no more information garnered from this one. The hunter’s last breath escaped his lips with a wet rattle. Though his disdain for killing was palpable, he had little remorse at the demise of a butcher of the innocent.

  The heat from the spreading blaze was quickly becoming unbearable. With a final glance at the hunter, Ryl turned, retreating toward the center of the glade. The eerie still under the shadow of the trees was unnerving. Only the crackle of the hungry fire sounded, a constant rumble over the crunch of his footsteps on the detritus under the trees. He reached the rough clearing hewed into the center of the grove in moments. The spreading blaze had yet to approach the gap between the branches. There was no sign of encampment. Here the hunters would have been free from the consistent eyes atop of the palisades. The agitated nickering of a horse drew his attention to the north.

  The crude road from the clearing ran to the north for a short distance before veering again to the east. Across the makeshift bridge, the rapidly swelling village of Cadsae lay little more than five miles in the distance. With caution, Ryl stalked along the trail. His eyes, ears and phrenic senses were trained on the shadows under the surrounding trees. It was unlikely any remained, though he was hesitant to believe he was safe from harm.

  Ryl stopped as his vision settled on a darkened patch of earth ahead. A few meters before the curve in the trail, the smeared stain led further into the grove to the north. Thick red liquid coated the patches of green moss that spread around the base of the trees.

  Leaving the path, Ryl hastened through the thinning patch of timber. Fragmented images of the sweeping view of the wild fields of The Stocks peeked from underneath the trees. Along the edge of the grove, a group of horses were tethered in a long row. He paused as he watched for activity among the group. There was no movement among their ranks aside from the anxious jostling of the mounts. To the side of the team, the still form of a body remained among the grasses.

  Alerted to his presence, the horses increased their nickering as he approached. Ryl sent a wave of calm over the beasts, halting their agitation within moments. He felt his heart race in his chest as he approached the mutilated form lying among the grass. The clothing was too familiar. The dirt and bloodstained drab trappings of a Cadsae Proper guard were evident.

  A price had been placed on all of their heads.

  The anger stoked the heat that coursed through his veins.

  A crimson pool, still too fresh to have soaked into the ground, spread out around the body. Ryl tracked the trail as it exited from the forest, meters to the south. He felt his stomach churn as he viewed the face of the corpse before him.

  Hobs lay dead at his feet.

  Though he’d known the youngster a little more than a moon, he’d marveled at the growth the young man had endured. From a quivering wretch, a useless reserve among the Cadsae Proper guard to now, the difference had been startling. Between their first meeting and the battle at the gates, his eyes had been opened to a reality, to a possibility that had never before existed. He’d been steeped in a lifetime of lies perpetrated by the kingdom. His apologies to Ryl had been incessant. He’d begged
forgiveness for every family member whom he could remember by name. Generations of guilt had landed squarely on his head once the truth of the ruse had come to light.

  He’d grown into a reliable messenger. A trusted confidant and an almost daily visitor. His death had been unfitting. Ryl snarled as he looked down upon the wreckage that was Hobs. A trio of arrows had punctured his torso. There were deep gouges in the earth where the points that penetrated through his back had scratched into the soil. His neck had been slit. A vicious mutilation, as his body would have been cold long before he’d been deposited amongst the grass.

  Ryl shook his head in anger, balling his hands into tight fists. The woodskin solidified over his hands. The urge to fight was overwhelming. The scream of rage, dark and powerful, threatened to derail his control.

  There would be a price to pay for his murder.

  Ryl knelt alongside the youngster’s body. Though he knew few of the details, he realized just how little he knew of the guard. That he hailed from Pernel was a connecting factor. The city was only a short ride from Ilisot, where Ryl had been born and raised. They had been children at roughly the same time. Perhaps their paths had crossed one day in the market.

  “Goodbye, my friend,” Ryl whispered, placing his hand on Hobs’s shoulder.

  There was nothing more he could do here. Ryl stalked toward the mounts, easily collecting the first. A preemptive wave of calm satiated any worry the horse might have had.

  The urge to return to Cadsae was potent. His assassination attempt, though it had been well planned, had been thwarted with ease. The sheer number of hunters who had been present was disconcerting.

  They had mobilized in secrecy. No warnings had been sounded of impending troubles; however, as his station was routinely far from their main hub in Cadsae, the lack of information wasn’t entirely unsurprising.

  Though this was the first attempt on his life, this had not been the first assassination attempt among the ranks of his companions. Ryl was certain it would not be the last either. Several suspicious deaths had been reported among the officers of their newly constituted force. They had no concrete method of vetting the thousands who had volunteered to serve in Le’Dral’s force.