by C. J. Aaron
“That I understand,” Ryl said. “If we time our entrance with the annual Harvest, there will be no need to round the tributes up. All will be delivered to one location, in Cadsae, only steps from the Pining Gate. As for escape, I had another idea entirely.”
The council as one sat forward eager to hear Ryl’s next thought.
“The Erlyn,” he stated plainly. “Unlike here, there is still power in her branches. We will use her for shelter, as did the phrenics of old.”
“And the wall?” Paasek questioned. “What do you intend to do about that?”
Ryl smiled at the phrenic.
“Walls can be broken, or walls can be scaled,” he said. “Where the Erlyn meets the western palisade, there could only be resistance from the top of the wall, or the border of the forest. No guard would dare linger beyond the western side. The Outlands maintain domain over that side. To them, only death resides there.”
The vision of what truly lurked beyond the western palisade was now shockingly clear. The lingering hint of the putrid smell of death and rot assaulted his senses. Andr spoke up as images of the Horde gave Ryl pause.
“The walkway that stretches the width of the east and west palisades are only matter of meters wide,” Andr added. “It would take very few to hold the wall while the others climbed up and over.”
Ryl turned his head, flashing a thankful smile to his friend. He knew Andr out of all those assembled would need no convincing.
“Who will help pull off this foolhardy plan of yours?” Nielix scoffed, surging to his feet. “You can’t think that Vim will willingly send any of its sons, its daughters? Or is it our phrenics you seek to assist you in what will amount to nothing more than suicide?”
“Nielix, your input is valued,” Councilwoman Irie snapped. “Yet you far overstep your place. This is a decision for the Council. Not you.”
Nielix opened his mouth to retort. Councilwoman Lenu, the Council representative to the Vigil slowly rose to her feet, crossing her arms across her chest. Her rigid jawline was pronounced as she gritted her teeth together. The muscles of her arms flexed. Her posture and the slow shake of her head stole the fight from the incensed Vigil. He fell back into his chair with a groan. He continued, in a thankfully more respectful, even keeled tone, though the venom was still present.
“With the darkness at our borders we can ill afford to lose the fighters whose skills have been denied to us for cycles,” he cautioned.
A moment of calm fell over the room as his statement settled in.
“In one breath you rage about the phrenics. You challenge their value and their trustworthiness,” Andr broke the momentary silence that had befallen the cramped private audience. “In the next you place them on a pedestal, crying about the devastation should any be lost. Any life lost is a tragedy. Phrenic or not.”
The statement took but a moment to register. The pain in the eyes of all in the room was evident. All had suffered a terrible loss, just days old. The wounds were still fresh.
“I’ll admit, the plan is rash, yet the logic behind it is sound,” Ryl remarked. “There is one aspect I had yet to take into consideration. That is the treatment. Mender Brasley, can a remedy be made to travel?”
The mender was unprepared to be called upon, stumbling over his words as he spoke.
“I’m afraid that the remedy must be brewed in close relation to when it is ingested, or the efficacy will see a significant reduction. You’d need to travel with a cart to carry enough of the supply to effectively treat all the tributes.”
The mender’s eyes lit up, as he solved the problem in his head.
“Ah, but all you need is the leaves to make the treatment,” Brasley beamed. “Multiple doses could be prepared with one leaf. Those can be dried and stored to make ready to travel. This would add only a small burden in terms of weight. Though multiple doses can be brewed from each leaf, it would be wise to travel with more than needed. How many tributes reside in The Stocks?”
“At last count, three moons prior, The Stocks were home to just under three hundred and fifty tributes,” Andr answered.
Mender Brasley made an audible sucking sound as he inhaled through his teeth. His face scrunched up into a look of thoughtful calculation.
“Our lone blighted rose won’t provide enough leaves in time,” the mender sighed. “We will need an additional one or two plants.”
“How much time will that require?” Ryl asked cautiously.
“With the time it would take to establish a new area to plant them and without any setbacks, perhaps seven to eight moons,” Brasley answered.
“Then there is still time,” Ryl whispered.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he sat back in his chair. He’d made his case. It was now time for the Council to make its decision. His plan would assuredly come under great scrutiny, as the details were still vague. Nearly nine moons remained before the next Harvest. The decision would need to be made soon, leaving only a moon or two to make the trek to The Stocks.
There was still plenty of time to plan.
Time to train.
“You’ve given us much to think on, Ryl,” Councilwoman Irie stated bluntly, interrupting his thoughts. “Your proposal would be costly, and there will be no judgement made this day. Let us adjourn this meeting so we may have time to debate. You can expect our decision to be made in the coming days.”
With a mild salute, Nielix was the first to leave the room. The sound from his rapid, heavy strides had vanished before Ryl bid the council farewell. With Andr and Mender Brasley in tow, he limped from the room. They’d no sooner left the chambers, when Brasley continued his chiding from earlier.
“The wound on your leg needs time to heal, young man,” Brasley scolded. “You will need to stay off it until it has completed this process. As it is, I will most likely need to suture you closed again. I spend far too much of my day tending to your seemingly endless injuries. You know I have other tasks that need accomplishing? You will rest, until I say you’re ready to move again, even if I have to tie you down to do so.”
His tirade over, Mender Brasley softened his stance. He moved to Ryl’s left side, sliding under his shoulder, Andr pulled up under his right.
“Come, let’s get you back to your quarters,” Brasley settled.
With the weight off his leg, Ryl hobbled back to his quarters with little pain. The avenue was still crowded, though the throng of citizens had diminished since his previous trip though. Without a word, the crowd parted, opening a lane to the Hall of the Phrenic. Conversations seemed to cease as the trio ambled by. Hushed whispers carried on in their place, through Ryl paid them no heed, his mind lost in thought.
In a matter of a few days’ time, the Council would render its decision. Confined to his chamber, Ryl knew the anticipation would build to the point of becoming unbearable. There was much riding on the decision, one that could forever change Vim.
Would the city be willing to give up any of their precious own for a chance to free the tributes?
To recruit an army?
Regardless of the council’s decision, his mind was made up. He knew Andr would follow. If he had to storm the fortress of The Stocks single handedly, he would.
Chapter 37
Ryl wiped the sweat from his brow after what had become an exceptionally grueling sparring session. He tipped back his water skin, drinking deep from the chilly, refreshing water, before splashing it on his face.
Any session that Andr participated in was demanding. The experienced mercenary always seemed to have a better idea what Ryl was doing next than he did. Andr’s undiminished cunning readily found ways to disrupt even his best laid plans. He heard the mercenary’s mantra repeated incessantly as he ‘d trained the Vigil. The saying still rung in his ears.
“The one constant in every fight is its unpredictability. Be the unexpected. Sometimes the more rash, the more foolhardy the plan, the greater the chance of survival.”
“I think that’s enough fo
r today,” Andr said as he caught his breath. The four Vigil that had served as his additional sparring partners bent at their waists, hands on their knees, chests heaving to catch their breath.
“We have to release our young friend here to training of his own,” Andr joked before turning to the rest of the Vigil assembled in the outdoor training grounds. “Split off into pairs, let’s see if the rest of you were paying attention.”
He smiled and nodded at Ryl before he hastened off to train with the Vigil.
Ryl spent a moment stretching before strapping on the custom holsters for the Leaves that Deyalou had made him. His next destination was The Hall of the Phrenic. The morning had slipped away, and the sun overhead now pushed past midday. The city was abuzz with activity, as was the new norm.
Three moons earlier, the Council had rendered their decision. Though the deliberations were contested, they had approved the venture to free The Stocks. With the announcement, life in Vim had been altered dramatically. In less than five moons, Ryl and Andr would be departing the relative safety of the city with a group of eight others. An additional four phrenics and four of the Vigil would comprise the party. All positions had been filled voluntarily.
The entirety of his scout detail, Kaep, Deyalou, Ramm and Vox eagerly offered their support to the campaign. Andr had coaxed three Vigil, Dav, Soldi, and Ceado to volunteer for the mission. All were trusted and competent fighters. To Ryl’s surprise and displeasure, the final position was filled by the insufferable Nielix.
The outspoken Vigil had been adamant when volunteering, though his words further highlighted his unflappable distrust of Ryl and the phrenics. He voiced his displeasure, yet accompanied the group to hold them accountable, to ensure that the phrenics returned to Vim instead of disappearing into anonymity in Damaris. His presence would be an annoyance that Ryl would have to accept.
With the secret of the phrenic’s talents now come to light, the training regimen for all of Vim’s defenders had been adjusted. The shadows of hatred that lurked in the desolate terrain outside the walls of the city were far faster than an average human, though their speed was marginally less than that of the phrenics. As a part of the daily training, Ryl and the other phrenics had been conscripted to spar with the Vigil. Dulled training weapons, some no more than flattened sticks were required by all.
The phrenics were permitted access to only a sliver of their power and speed at first. They were assailed by the Vigil individually or in groups, sometimes numbering in excess of ten. For the first few weeks, the hint of power was more than enough to hold their ground. Their Vigil sparring partners were sent home sore and bruised.
Through consistent and constant training, in a matter of weeks, the tables began to turn. Though they were by no means accessing their full complement of skills, hits on the phrenics grew steadily in numbers. No longer would it require sheer numbers of assailants to score a strike on their phrenic sparring partners. The Vigil were rapidly gaining confidence, growing more skilled, faster and cunning with their deception.
After Andr, sparring with Nielix was consistently among the more insipid exercises. The man proved hellbent on inflicting harm on Ryl at all costs. His inherent and practiced talents were incredible. As a result of Andr’s cunning, his new ruthlessly dirty fighting style employed any and all means to score a hit.
Ryl was allowed the same access to his speed as his phrenic counterparts, yet his training was supplemented with the use of a varying assortment of weaponry. Rarely was he permitted to spar with small weapons, analogous to the Leaves. Long swords, two-handed greatswords, bows, spears, axes or even his bare hands were the weapons provided to him. Ryl took to the differing styles with little hesitation, albeit not as readily as with the small blades. He felt as though the instruction was a mere refresher of that which he’d known for cycles yet hadn't maintained in practice.
From the time the sun crested the top of the mountains, to its fall, Ryl was thrust into rigorous training. The mornings were reserved for his work with the Vigil followed by a short break for food. His studies of the histories and teachings of Vim were squeezed in during a short period before his training with Paasek would begin. He was running far behind schedule today. A quick bite to eat would be all he’d have time for before his more rigorous training began.
Though Ryl was assigned to and trained with his scout detail daily, his trips outside the walls of Vim had been remanded. The volume of massing Horde lurking outside the boundary of the woods seemed to swell with his presence. It was a subject of debate among the phrenics and the councilors, though no concrete correlation could be determined. It was decided, however, that in the best interest of the phrenics and for Vim, he would remain within the city limits at all times.
Ryl's pace covered the distance between the training grounds and the Hall of the Phrenic in no time. He looked up at the artful facade of his new home. The architectural wonders of Vim never ceased to amaze him. He was in awe of the detail that had gone into the construction of the hidden city. He stepped through the entrance, letting the familiar feeling of welcome soothe his tired muscles.
The Hall of the Phrenic was a three-level structure. The entry hall served as a meeting place and dining room for the phrenics. The suite Ryl shared with Andr was among the three such suites on the ground floor. Members of his scouting party, Ramm and Deyalou, occupied the suite across from his. The two others, closer to the great hall were home to the members of the second scout group that had arrived to effect his and Andr’s rescue several moons prior; Paelec and Ghen, and Rhoane and Taq.
Of the remaining ten phrenics of Vim, only four resided on the level below. Kaep shared a suite with a phrenic named Eria, the youngest phrenic in the city, though only four cycles her junior. In addition, Paasek and Saldaria maintained their own suites on the level below. Saldaria was the eldest of the phrenics, at just shy of one hundred cycles old. She maintained a permanent residence within the city limits as her daily tasks were crucial to their survival. Her hands had a connection with the earth and plants that none could understand. She had nurtured the crops to new heights, producing far greater yields than what nature alone provided, easily outpacing the needs of their swelling population.
By appearance and action Saldaria appeared to be in the range of thirty cycles. Her hair was still unmarked by the slightest hint of grey, and her energy rivaled any. Such was the wonder and the power of the alexen that flowed through her veins. The remaining six phrenics, as was their choice, had remained with their families or loved ones throughout the city.
The hall was quiet as Ryl entered. He quickly made his way to the kitchen, tearing off a hunk of this morning’s bread and a small piece of cured meat. The majority of the sustenance provided to the citizens of Vim consisted of fruits and vegetables, harvested from the crops that covered over half of the city’s protected interior. The city also maintained a large pen for livestock, providing meat, milk, and leather as well as two enclosed fishponds set alongside the river that circled half of the city.
The river flowed from the waterfall that spilled from the mountain heights on the eastern edge of Vim. At its base, a small pool collected before traveling north then west along the border of the rectangular valley they called home. In the northwestern corner, the river ended in a second, smaller pool. Here a powerful eddy pulled the water downward, draining into the depths of an underground river. The wall was built high around the pool. A metal grate had been constructed ages ago just to the east of the eddy, a safety net in place should any fall in the lazy river before that point. To fall in the water past there was certain death.
It was also at this location in which the city buried their dead. The bodies, staged on small rafts were set loose, committing them into the depths of the swirling waters. Etched into the flattened stone face of the wall was a list of names, a memorial to those who’d passed on from the land of the living. The last sixteen additions to this list had been made all too recently.
Ryl ate whil
e he walked, exiting the great room through the doorway to the right of the roaring fireplace. The door opened to a staircase leading downward to a small landing. The light from a lantern mounted to the wall illuminated the rough stone steps. From the landing the stairway turned to the left before heading further down into the mountain.
At the next landing, a long hallway led straight ahead serving as the residences for the phrenics. The first three suites were the only ones occupied on this floor. Space for another forty phrenics was built into the rock of the mountain.
Ryl’s destination led him further downward. He followed the descending staircase as it doubled back. At the base of the stairs the light from the room beyond flickered up the stairwell. A gentle breeze flowed up the stairs bringing with it the mild aroma of earth, sweat and smoke. Leaving the stairwell and brief hallway, the room opened into a massive circular chamber.
The ceiling was nearly ten meters high while the diameter stretched to a distance of twenty. Lit by the light of several burning torches, the temperature of the room was warm. A single hallway led off the far end of the chamber, though it ended abruptly in a solid stone wall. Its purpose was a mystery to Ryl.
To his right, a long row of varied weapons stretched out along the wall. Over the last several moons, Ryl had handled each of the weapons on the racks. His memory jogged by simply holding them in his hands. Though there was a recent familiarity, and his learning rapid, he felt the cycles of training—the knowledge of ages spent in practice—lurking within him, just beyond his conscious grasp.
Paasek awaited him along the far wall of the chamber. Running the circumference of the room, a stone step jutted out a pace, before giving way to the earthen floor of the indoor training grounds. How many phrenics had trained here before him? What secrets did they understand? In places, the walls were marred with scars from blades, dented from the impact of solid objects or charred from fire.
