The Weight of Darkness (Catalyst Book 5)

by C. J. Aaron

  The trusted core, those who had stood beside the tributes defying a millennium of history at the last Harvest, remained a tight-knit group. Whenever possible, they were kept separate from the mass of the army. The battle-tested, trusted warriors acted more as a personal guard for Le’Dral, his officers and the phrenics alike. For them, there was relative strength and security in numbers.

  Ryl untethered the nearest horse from the tree it was tied to. Pulling the blade that was lashed to his saddle, he made quick work of the ties that bound the remaining beasts to the forest. He mounted the sturdy mare with ease, turning her quickly to the east. The other horses, freed from their restraints, moved leisurely from the fire that quickly ravaged the woods. Giving the horse her head, he rounded the partial circuit of the glade in moments. Only a few meters separated the edge of the glade from the rolling rapids of the river. The soft earth was churned, stamped with the distinct hoofprints of horses. It wasn’t until he reached the rickety wooden crossing that he realized the true extent of the fire that was consuming the small forest.

  Most of the southern half of the glade was engulfed in flames. The hungry fire was indiscriminate, eating away at both living and dead timber alike. A thick cloud of charcoal-colored smoke billowed into the sky, leaving a darkened scar across the clear blue. A signal fire from the nearest guard tower mimicked the plume of smoke, though its skinny trail was dwarfed by the blaze from the forest.

  Though a product of training, the signal fire was nonetheless redundant in this case. None in Cadsae, the port city or The Stocks would have missed the signs of the blaze.

  Ryl was ill equipped to battle the fire on his own. The guard would have prepared for this unlikely event. He was certain Le’Dral would be dispatching a fire brigade soon if he hadn’t done so already. He needed to return to the village in haste. The guard would deal with the fire.

  The horseshoes echoed a hollow report as he rode carefully across the bridge. Reaching the bank on the other side, he spurred his horse to a gallop.

  He had more pressing matters to attend to.

  Chapter 3

  The village of Cadsae was abuzz with an uncommon flurry of activity. Ryl slowed his mount as he encountered the first of the patrols. A dozen guards marched in formation as they patrolled the western edge of the swollen settlement. His was a figure that was universally recognized; they offered him a quick, nervous salute, waving him past without question.

  Ryl had given a brief report to the brigade he’d passed miles back. All riders, equipped with buckets, had ridden at speed toward the growing plume of smoke looming in the distance. The dark streak still lingered, reaching high into the sky. The signal fire atop the wall was dormant.

  The continual changes in Cadsae astounded him. Both on a physical and an ideological level, the village barely resembled the crude habitation he’d lingered in for almost half of his life. The three original common houses and the small horseshoe of buildings remained, yet around them the new construction swelled. It seemed that every time he returned, another new frame had been erected. Unsurprisingly, the citizens who’d survived the slaughter of Cadsae Proper wanted little to do with setting up homes again outside the relative safety of the palisades.

  A rapid scan of the city highlighted his destination. As he expected, the glowing signature of phrenics pointed him in the direction of the master’s house. He felt the familiar warmth of their presence. At the distance, it was nothing more than a trickle of energy, yet it was undeniable. Ryl spurred his mount to a steady walk as he moved through the growing village. Keeping his head down, he ignored the stares from both citizens and guards alike as he passed.

  The discomfort as he passed through the rapidly evolving village was a potent reminder that vigilance would be a long-standing necessity. Under the shadow of his cowl, his eyes rapidly catalogued the faces of those he passed. As expected, expressions of fear and awe were readily present. A few citizens even fell to their knees, throwing their hands up to him in worship.

  The sight made him cringe.

  His efforts to hold the Horde at bay were paramount. They, along with the assistance of his late arriving phrenic companions, pushed back the tidal wave of death that threatened to overwhelm. He was nothing to be revered. He felt the weight of the assumptions that had doomed the phrenics over a thousand cycles earlier press down on him.

  He was no miracle worker.

  He was skilled, that was true. His stubborn, ill-advised quest for revenge had nearly ended in his death. It could have easily sealed the fate of all those he’d sworn to protect. He had been deceived. Ryl had let his emotions guide him.

  In the end, they had prevented the destruction of the kingdom. The physical loss suffered was still no easier to bear.

  Kaep, the phrenic archer, defender of Vim, was dead.

  Elias, in the end, had aided them. It had cost him his life.

  Ryl continued his rapid survey of his surroundings as he urged his horse onward. Scattered among the onlookers were looks that flashed hints of disdain. Much had changed in a short amount of time. The acidic expressions did little to strike fear into his heart, yet they were a concern nonetheless.

  There were those who were opportunistic. They had sided with the group they believed would benefit them at the moment. Ideologies mattered little where personal gain was the primary motivation.

  They would need watching. These were men and women who would sell them out without a second thought. That there were a host of dissidents actively seeding distrust, inciting violence among them and without, Ryl had no doubt.

  The center square of Cadsae thrummed with activity. Steady pounding notes, the hammer of steel on steel echoed through the area as the smithy labored to meet the burdening demands. The ill-maintained and supplied workshop had been expanded as the call for materials had seen a dramatic increase. Ryl understood that teams worked well into the night finishing the tools and weapons the growing village required.

  He looked ahead toward the darkened shadow of the Pining Gates. A trickle of citizens moved freely in both directions. Though they carried out their tasks without hindrance, the force of guards manning the passage had increased since he’d last set foot in Cadsae. Both atop the palisade and throughout the square, armed soldiers watched the activity with cautious eyes.

  There was a pressing feeling of tension in the air.

  Within the village, no location was more heavily secured than the master’s house and clinic. A squad of thirty guards surrounded the modest house. Ryl was surprised to note a handful of Vigil, the soldiers of Vim, among their ranks. Four horses were tied off to the hitching post to the right of the structure.

  As Ryl approached, a man stepped forward from the ranks. Dressed in the telltale mountain grey of Vim, he recognized the approaching soldier immediately.

  Nielix reached for the reins of the horse, nodding as his eyes met with Ryl’s. A grin crossed his lips, though his eyes spoke of a loss felt mutually.

  “I’m happy to see you alive, my friend. Rumor has it you took on the entire Horde alone,” the Vigil commented. He paused for a moment as their gazes held. Ryl could see the pain threatening to spill over. Nielix opened his mouth to speak before clamping it shut. The skin on his cheeks tightened as he squeezed his jaw together, holding the thought from escaping.

  The soldier regained his composure in a moment.

  “No fault falls on your shoulder for this loss, Ryl.” His voice cracked as he spoke. The subtle contortions of his face ranged from supreme pain to unyielding animosity though the tone was genuine and sincere. “This is a pain we will both bear for an eternity. We will forever be bound by that. There was nothing more you could have done to save her.”

  Ryl slid down from the horse, alighting beside the Vigil. Nielix was of similar stature; however, at the moment, he seemed withered. Crushed by the supreme weight of the loss.

  He placed his hands on the man’s shoulders, letting a soothing wave of emotion pour from his core. He thought
back to the last few moments he’d shared with Kaep in Tabenville. After the Erlyn Woods had bestowed gifts on her and Andr, she had been withdrawn. Her personality had been veiled. Her response when questioned about the boon the woods had provided had been simple.

  Her cryptic answer now rang with startling clarity. He heard the echo of her voice ring through his ears, resonating throughout his body.

  Understanding.

  Ryl cast his gaze down to the newly imprinted tattoo on his right arm. Kaep’s handprint was clear, yet her fingers seemed to wind around the vines as if she were twirling a lock of hair. He felt the warmth as if her hand rested on his skin.

  He felt a jolt of energy rush through his body; with it came a lingering emotion.

  Regret.

  Kaep had known her destiny. The Erlyn had foreseen her fate.

  “I tried, Nielix,” Ryl whispered. “I would have burned the kingdom to the ground to find her. There is no force of man that would have stopped me from reaching her. I was too blinded by emotion to see that it was not man who would be waiting for my arrival. I should have known.”

  Nielix offered a forced, pained smile before he responded.

  “You know as well as I that there was no dissuading her once her mind was made up,” Nielix added. “Kaep understood what she was doing. She knew there was but one way out for her. In the end, she was the salvation that you and all of us needed. Because of her, the goal is still attainable today. Because of her sacrifice, the tributes have a chance of seeing their awakening. The phrenic order will thrive once again.”

  Ryl had learned not to question the will of the ancient woods.

  “If there were only another way.” Ryl’s voice trailed off as the futility of his statement sank in.

  “For a moment, I was beginning to believe the stories that floated on the lips of those who’ve heard secondhand stories of your exploits,” Nielix commented. “It seems you are human after all.”

  Ryl shook his head. A part of him had dreaded this meeting with Nielix and the future conversation with Dav. Four defenders of Vim had perished since they made the trek from their hidden mountain city to Damaris. Two Vigil and two phrenics had been lost.

  The price was steep.

  Their losses would be mourned. Their lives would be celebrated in time.

  Nielix’s eyes turned to the west. His vision settled on the dwindling plume of smoke rising into the sky.

  “You have something to do with that?” he quizzed.

  “Aye. I fear Damaris is less safe today than it was before our arrival,” Ryl responded with a nod of his head.

  “It will take time for them to learn that you are not to be trifled with, I’m afraid,” he retorted. Nielix turned, leading Ryl’s mare toward the hitching post along the side of the building.

  “Head inside,” he added. “Paasek brings news from the Erlyn that you’ll want to hear.”

  Chapter 4

  The guards manning the front of the master’s house parted without prompting as Ryl approached the stairs. The faces here were all known to him. The posting included none other than trusted allies of Captain Le’Dral. He greeted them with a nod as he moved quickly through their ranks.

  Ryl noted the tension in their stances. They averted their eyes from their cautious survey of the village for only a moment to meet his. He focused, letting a wave of confidence wash over them. A fleeting spark of comfort flashed in their eyes.

  The door to the master’s house and clinic was ajar. For cycles, the sparsely adorned entry chamber was nothing more than a brief destination for the tributes. Assignments were doled out with scorn as the Master glared from behind his simple wooden desk, his rotund frame guarding the secrets hidden beyond the closed door leading to his personal chambers.

  Today, the door to the hallway beyond stood open. Cipri filled the gap, his head uncomfortably close to the top of the door’s frame. A pair of guards waited just inside the opening. The captain of Lord Eligar’s troops, who’d commanded the regiment atop the palisade, broke off his conversation with a mender, motioning Ryl over with a curt gesture of his hand.

  “Welcome back, Ryl,” Cipri acknowledged, holding out his hand. He returned the offering, meeting the firm handshake.

  “Fay and the others await your arrival,” he continued. “Follow me.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Cipri turned, moving further into the building. A pair of soldiers hurried from the interior to assume their positions on either side of the door. One was clothed in the uniform of the Cadsae Proper guard; the other was dressed in the covert garb of Lord Eligar’s troops. Ryl felt their eyes track his movements as he fell in line behind the captain, marching on the heels of the retreating soldier.

  Lord Eligar had ordered his officers, at least in private, to treat Ryl as a common citizen. Though he had been granted the lands and title that would make him a lord, he knew the deference would draw undue attention. Cipri, as all those who had witnessed the battle before the gates firsthand, understood the heroics that had saved them from doom that day. At first it was Ryl alone. The assistance of the welcome strangers had reclaimed their lives from the assured clutches of death.

  The doorway opened into a narrow foyer barely large enough for the two men to stand comfortably abreast. There was no space for furniture here. The weathered wooden walls matched the interior of the previous chamber as well as the walls of the clinic. At the opposite side of the chamber, a single door, cracked slightly open, blocked their forward progress.

  The hinges shrieked in protest as Cipri pushed through. Ryl felt an unconscious snarl form on his lips as the previously undiscovered interior of the master’s abode came to light.

  Throughout Cadsae, throughout the entirety of The Stocks, decorations were crude at best. All that the tributes had been provided—their clothes, the common houses furnished with little more than rough pallets for beds, their tools, even the scraps of food they survived on—were poor quality at best. They existed with barely enough to survive, toiling endlessly for the betterment of their jailors, captors, and sponsors at large. Ryl stopped in his tracks as the hallway ahead resolved into focus.

  Whereas the village of Cadsae was drab, shrouded in a veil of weathered wood, the hallway was vibrant. The walls of the master’s inner sanctum were painted a bright red; the stark contrast to the seemingly colorless exterior was startling. Elaborate paintings lined the walls; the gold leaf of the frames sparkled in the light of the torches burning in the sconces at either end. A pair of closed doorways lined the left wall. A single veiled entrance broke the monotony of the right. Ahead, the doorway stood open. Ryl could see a portion of the large table inside. Animated conversation flowed from the inhabitants.

  Cipri led on without pause. Ryl found his animosity grew with every step further into the interior of the master’s domain. The opulence was sickening.

  A comforting wave of calm washed over him. He recognized the voice, the signature of Paasek in the chamber ahead. Ryl had done little to disguise his disgust. The phrenic’s response momentarily snapped him from his revulsion. He took a deep, steadying breath as he followed Cipri into the meeting room beyond.

  The temperature in the chamber bordered on sweltering. The combined body heat added to the warmth of the small fire burning in the hearth along a rear wall. Ryl smiled as he greeted the familiar faces seated around the table. Fay was the first to rise at his entrance. Ryl waved off the acknowledgment with a swipe of his hand. Lord Eligar grinned, gesturing to the open chair across from his position at the table.

  Ryl eased into the padded wooden chair. He’d been a participant in more meetings over the last moon than he cared to remember. In a twisted way, he longed for the simple, yet meaningful tasks of preparing the fields and tending the crops that were already in the ground.

  It was a welcome, albeit abnormal sight to see any other than the tributes attending to the crops. For a millennia the manual labor in the field had been a forced task left to the tributes alone.
The original stewards of the land labored over only a select few of the fields, though their travels were restricted to Tabenville and the closest plots to the Erlyn. Their short-ranging movements were always accompanied by a heavily manned force of Vigil.

  None other than the protectors from Vim and the guards who had accompanied their initial revolt were allowed into the hidden sanctuary of the woods.

  The group seated around the table contained none but familiar faces. Captain Le’Dral sat to his right; at his side, Cavlin rested comfortably. The guard’s healing had progressed rapidly over the last moon. The mender had feared for his life, and rightly so. Had Ryl not intervened, his death would have been certain.

  A smile graced Lord Eligar’s noble face though the emotion failed to match the look of concern in his eyes. To his side, Old Man Averine was perched on the edge of his chair. He leaned over the table, eyes locked onto Ryl in unveiled anticipation. His bony fingers rubbed together idly.

  The pair at the other side of the table needed no introduction. Ryl had sensed them far before he’d entered the copious interior of the master’s house. Paasek and Ramm dominated their corner of the room. The gargantuan Ramm stood, while Paasek, not much smaller than his counterpart, sat with his arms crossed at the head of the table. Behind them, two additional phrenics stood stoic, hands crossed in front of their bodies. He recognized the tattoos, Taq and Rhoane, the elementalist and the archer.

  “Welcome, Ryl. You’re late,” Le’Dral greeted. “I know you well enough to understand that your tardiness paired with the smoke and signal fires is an ill omen. What happened?”

  Ryl sighed as he slowly removed the hood that covered his face. Though the veil of darkness that covered his face was a constant when in view of the public, he had grown accustomed to doffing the cowl that shadowed his face in private conversations or meetings with his confidants. The other phrenics unsurprisingly remained cloaked at all times.