by C. J. Aaron
Her passage was a balm to the agitation and tension that had overwhelmed the square. She tempered emotions as she passed, like water poured upon fire. Ryl felt the raw, yet shockingly focused waves of emotion pulse from her body, soothing as she moved forward.
Her influence was felt at the gate before they had crossed half the distance to the center of the agitation. Both soldier and guard seemed to lose the fight that had swelled within them within an instant of each other. Their attentions turned from the armed foes at their sides to the gleeful approach of the child from within Cadsae.
Ryl noted the smile grow upon the face of the mender as his attention was drawn to her approach. His companions’ defensive postures faded though they watched the guards around them with wary eyes as their charge stepped forward.
Faya stopped her approach a few meters from the opening of the gates. Ryl and Rolan flanked the child, her father’s arm draped around her shoulder as she leaned into his leg. Andr moved to their left, cautiously circling to the side of the armed newcomers.
The sun was high in the sky; only scattered clouds marred the pristine azure firmament, though there was still a gloom to the space under the gates. Faya stood in the clear daylight. There was a noticeable apprehensive feeling that seemed to radiate from that darkened maw. The mender stepped forward, falling to his knees before the tribute.
His eyes welled with moisture as he observed the child. His head tilted to the side slightly; his eyes squinted as he gazed into the sightless eyes of the child before lifting to meet Rolan’s gaze.
“You made it,” he whispered, more to himself than those gathered before him. His voice wavered and cracked as the outpouring of emotion threatened to overwhelm his words. “I don’t know how you did it, but you survived.”
His voice trailed off as a tear streamed down his face. Ryl, hesitant to interrupt the moment, took the time to observe the mender in detail. His clothing was plain, showing the definitive signs of age and travel. A fine layer of dust seemed to cover the entirety of his body; a single pack was slung over his shoulder. He was well aged, likely past his sixtieth cycle, his skin showing the natural ravages of time. His head was topped with a thinning covering of hair, greyer than the brown that poked through underneath.
The mender rose to his feet, extending his hand to Rolan, clasping both hands over his as they shook. The tears flowed freely.
“There is nothing I can give to thank you enough for her life.” Rolan choked through the words. He fought back the water that threatened to flow freely from his eyes as well. “They caught up with us outside Milstead. If it weren’t for the timely arrival of our friend here, our journey would have ended in those woods.”
The eyes of the mender tracked to Ryl as Rolan noted his assistance. For a moment, his calculating eyes catalogued his features. A strange sense of nostalgia accompanied the inquisitive gaze. He had borne the brunt of this same look from the man’s counterpart, Jeffers, on more occasions than he could count. There was no animosity in the look; for the moment, pure scientific curiosity overpowered the raw emotion that flowed freely.
His eyes paused, widening with apparent shock as they found the brands on Ryl’s neck.
“It’s you,” he gasped. “That is a brand I’d never forget. It’s a name that has been held in high regard, whispered in secrecy among the small network of those in the know. You’ve done well, Ryl.”
The statement, though benign, found root in Ryl’s heart, churning the emotion that rushed through his veins. The mender’s voice dripped with gratitude, sincere and heartfelt, though it was thankfully lacking the reverie that turned his stomach.
“Thank you, my friend,” Ryl responded, changing the subject as the discomfort of the added attention began to swell. All eyes in the square were locked onto their impromptu reunion and conversation. He was reminded that all those in earshot did not necessarily share the same sentiments as he and his companions.
“The road does not appear to have been kind. You look weary from your travels,” Ryl noted. “Come join us inside. You no doubt have a story to tell.”
Ryl ushered the group toward the master’s house and clinic, breaking the all-encompassing attention on their gathering. He nodded to the guards at the gates, issuing a brief wave of dereliction. Chastised by the sudden onslaught of emotion, the soldiers hastened back to their assigned positions. As they moved toward the master’s house, the mender leaned in close, whispering into Ryl’s ear.
“Fate smiles on you and those around you again, my friend.” His words were hushed so that only Ryl could hear. “It seems appropriate that I find you here, he who’s already saved so many. There is another yet to be saved.”
Ryl felt a sudden chill roll through his body as the mender continued his tale. The sensation was preceded by a wave of heat that coursed through his veins as the anger churned inside him.
“They’ve found another tribute,” he whispered. “The Deliverance is only days away.”
Chapter 25
The sparsely furnished room, a room built for entertaining a very select few, was cramped. All the seats at the large table were filled, leaving many to stand along the borders, their backs against the wooden walls. The gathering likely represented the most diverse collection The Stocks had ever seen.
The Vigil, the defenders of Vim, stood with their phrenic counterparts. Tributes stood shoulder to shoulder with the very guards who had overseen their imprisonment. A lord, disgraced for his moral treachery, sat comfortably alongside a fabulously wealthy elderly man who was known as eccentric in the politest of terms.
The newcomer was a man who had been unknown by all in the room aside from the discreet deed that had allowed for the saving of a tribute’s life. His eyes were still red and puffy, though the moisture had only recently subsided.
“I apologize for my blubbering.” More apologies streamed from his mouth than substance as he fought to relay the message he’d intended to deliver.
“In all of my cycles, circumstances have prevented me from warning all but a few of those unfortunate souls. I never thought I’d live to see the day when one made it. I’ll never forget the faces of those I’ll never see again,” he added. The mender quivered as a subtle chill ran through his body. Though the temperature in the room bordered on stifling, the gooseflesh rose across his arms. He rubbed his hands over them as if to warm them from the cold.
“You’ve done right by them, Mender Brahn.” It was Averine who voiced his support to the newcomer, who grieved as much as he rejoiced. “Some have paid a far greater price for the risk, for the sacrifices made.”
The two shared a moment, their gazes locked onto one another’s. A small smile crossed the mender’s face. He nodded in appreciation.
“The Deliverance will be held ahead of schedule this cycle,” the newcomer continued with a sigh. “The bidding will be among those who’ve suffered the most in light of the present circumstances.”
Ryl felt the outpouring of emotion, hot and angry, from Cray, who stood along the wall to his rear. The hiss of air forcing through his lips was the only sound the incensed tribute uttered before Ryl hammered him with a chilling sense of patience and calm. Chastised, he sank back to the wall; his apologetic gaze met Ryl’s for an instant before drooping to the floor.
The mender looked sympathetically at the tributes standing against the wall.
“I forgive you for your animosity. The suffering heaped upon you has been unfair. Nothing compares to the abuse that you’ve suffered for far too long at our hands. Your forgiveness is something that I … that many of us do not deserve.” He paused to collect his thoughts before continuing. “For ages, we’ve carried on the charade; it has become who we are. We’ve given up nearly all shreds of our morality, forced to seek little trivial good discreetly from the shadows.”
“How long do we have before the Deliverance?” Lord Eligar asked, breaking the somber atmosphere before it fully engulfed the room.
Mender Brahn’s gaze held
on the tributes for a moment. He offered a smile before turning his attention to the lord seated at the head of the table to his right.
“We were delayed bringing the message to you,” he continued. “There is a contingent of several thousand camped just over half a day’s ride by horse. They control the intersection of the Kingsway and the Bredth. No travel moves without their blessing. We were lucky to purchase our way through under a humanitarian guise. This corner of the kingdom has seen too much death to deny the cause. Whether it was pity, or a measure of gold, they let us pass, though they confiscated our horses in the process. The Deliverance begins in seven days’ time.”
Subconsciously, the mender rubbed his legs, massaging the soreness that had likely set in after the unanticipated miles on foot.
“Our response is due to the lords in Leremont in nine days’ time,” Le’Dral hissed. There was no need to disguise the animosity contained within his voice.
“Aye, there is meaning in the timing,” Brahn acknowledged with a quick shake of his head. “Conversations have been less than subtle. Lord Kagran aims to shore up his power and influence, tying the Deliverance and the acceptance of bidders into the campaign. The fact that we are all here today shows that you all understand that the army marches regardless of your decision. He forces the houses to jockey for position among the forward ranks. He dangles the reward of tributes, of the Blessing of the King for those who are most loyal. For those who lead the charge.”
“Will they hold the Deliverance as they usually do inside the Hall of the King in Leremont?” Ryl inquired. He felt the anticipation mount, as the opportunity presented was advantageous.
“Aye. The Hall will witness the Deliverance, as always,” the mender intoned. “Rest assured, there will be very few of the lords or nobles who will march with the army to your doorstep. They fear the fate that befell that king when he led his army, the army of the Horde, before these gates.”
This message surprised few around the table. The lords, corrupted by the taint of the nexela, craved power, yet in the vacuum created by the king’s death, they would not likely put their lives at undue risk for the sake of the campaign.
“Is there a consensus among the nobles, I wonder,” Ryl posed the question to the room. They were able to glean little information as to the disposition of the armies, as their spies rarely returned. “Do they all seek to bring The Stocks back into the fold? There are surely divisions that can be widened when the correct pressure is applied.”
Fay cleared his throat, nodding his head in response. “In politics, there are always divisions, my friend.” The young lord grinned. “Many of the smaller houses, though certainly corrupted by the greed of the Blessing, do not have the strength or security of position to send the bulk of their armies as demanded by the regent. They risk being enveloped by the greed of neighbors as they’re off waging a foolish campaign against an enemy they have penned into a single area.”
Fay leaned forward, folding his arms before him on the wooden table. “I know Lord Kagran. I’ve had the misfortune of dealing with him on thankfully few occasions during my abbreviated time at court,” Fay continued with a sigh. “He is a vile and devious man. He enters into no equal arrangements. The benefit to his own power always outweighs the value of the dealings.”
A light seemed to bloom in the mind of Mender Brahn. His body went rigid as he sat back in his chair. The weariness from the road seemed to vanish with the thought.
“His actions along this front have further sown the seeds of distrust among those who consider themselves his peers,” he expressed; the excitement in his voice grew steadily as he continued. “There is a growing dissatisfaction amongst the nobles. A mounting concern that his actions have done more to stoke and little to address. For ages, the kingdom has manned but three processing facilities. One near Martrion, one near Evastura, and the other in Leremont.”
His eyes met with those seated around the table, pausing for a moment as they again met the tributes. They were apologetic as he continued his explanation.
“The volume that they were able to produce has always been sufficient enough not to justify opening additional locations.” His voice was measured, his words cautious as he aimed not to further incense the tributes, who glared at him from across the room. Though they made no attempt to move, Ryl noted the fists of all clenched tightly at their sides.
“Without consent of the nobles, Kagran shuttered the remaining facilities, instead consolidating the Blessing within the palace that he’s assumed for his own,” Mender Brahn informed the group. “The rumors, though unsubstantiated, speak of only empty tables that remain in the processing facility, though none have noted any bodies being transported. Movement throughout the capital city has been considerably more difficult as Lord Kagran’s soldiers patrol the gaps separating the rings of the city, yet I’ve seen the facility from afar before and after his actions.”
All eyes in the room were intent on his description. Aside from Andr, Nielix and Dav, there were none who had experienced the horrors of the processing facility firsthand. The fires of anger that burned in them dwarfed the revulsion written across the faces of the remainder of those in the room.
“The facility, by all accounts, is nothing more than a nondescript, ancient warehouse set deep within the more destitute industrial area of Leremont’s second ring,” Brahn described. “Set well back from the water and away from the operational industry, the location presents little justifiable reasoning for any passerby. For as long as I can remember, there has always been a heavy force roaming the grounds. Though rarely seen in the complex, Lei Guard, travelling in several groups, frequented the facility. Every moon they would enter the walled compound, only to leave moments later. I have no doubt that they were merely changing shifts. Since Lord Kagran has assumed control of the throne, the Lei Guard answer directly to him. The facility today is by all accounts deserted. Though I’ve never ventured close to the building, the area has a different feel to it. The sense of impending doom and dread that has always clouded the area has cleared.”
“Pardon my interruption.” Le’Dral interrupted the mender before he could continue. “You said it had a different feel to it? We must be careful not to make assumptions without concrete facts.”
Ryl smiled at the captain. His dedication and loyalty to their cause had been unexpected, yet he welcomed it completely. Through honor and respect commanded by him and the lieutenants who faithfully served under him, he’d maintained a force far beyond what Ryl had anticipated. Yet with as much as he’d seen in the little time since their reunion, the reality of the phrenics, the Lei Guard were still a complex situation to grasp.
“Your assessment in normal situations is valid, Captain,” Ryl acknowledged. “For those who can understand the call of the alexen and the counter of the nexela, the feeling could represent a potent sign that the Lei Guard no longer inhabit the facility.”
Ryl stopped himself, thinking for a moment before continuing the statement. The phrenics’ use of their feelings was not a situation he was willing to discuss at depth.
“You were here when the Lei Guard descended upon the city. You experienced the crushing depth of the emotion that suffocated our hopes of survival.” Ryl recalled the overwhelming power of the nexela. The strength that Leiroth commanded was as impressive as it was terrifying.
“Though I have no doubt it was intentional, without effort, they radiate the emotion,” Ryl explained. “Fear, despair, and the dread that you felt enveloping the area would be a likely sign of their presence.”
Ryl’s curiosity was piqued as the greedy consolidation of power provided an unexpected opportunity.
“What of the Lei Guard? How many remain in the capital?” he quizzed the mender.
Mender Brahn suppressed a shudder at the mention of the black-cloaked soldiers. They had for time out of mind been the silent enforcers of the king’s will. Few survived a direct encounter with their number.
“Their numbers have
been severely depleted,” he added, though his estimation remained cautious. “To my knowledge, there has never been a true count of their number. As far-reaching as our brotherhood has managed, we were never able to gain an accurate understanding of their strength. As with the upper echelon of the Menders’ order, we have been blind. Existing on merely shreds of rumor, though most likely contain far more fiction than fact. By all accounts, from the information we’ve pieced together, several hundred remain of the original force.”
Ryl nodded his head, turning to meet the eyes of Paasek at his side.
“That number still represents a daunting proposition,” the elder phrenic acknowledged. “We’ve all seen the power you command to mitigate the effects of the nexela, yet the risk to your own health poses too great a threat. You’re no help to us unconscious.”
The mender’s eyes went wide at the admission. He opened his mouth to question the phenomenon, yet Ryl interrupted the thought.
“It is a story for another day, I’m afraid, my friend.” His voice was stern, yet there was no animosity in his voice. There was precious little time before the last of Lord Eligar’s ships were ready to depart. Time, as it always seemed the case, was not on their side. Mender Brahn begrudgingly accepted the answer.
“I’ve come to terms with the fact, I’m afraid,” Ryl answered the phrenic though his eyes lowered to the table, tracking the lines of the grains as they weaved across its length. “I understand that we cannot save them all, that some will likely die in the process. It is a sad reality, a twisted fate that they’ve been dealt. Still, I have no intention of giving up on them. There may yet be a way, though we can see it not. I’ll trust in the alexen to guide the way.”
