by C. J. Aaron
“This is the mark of House Villais,” Andr explained. “It's no coincidence that this path leads to their front door.”
A groan from the direction of the wagon interrupted their conversation; the Leaves flared to life as he hurdled the corpse. There were two bodies on the ground. One writhed while the other remained still. Bonds secured both their hands and feet and rags were wrapped around their mouths. Ryl approached cautiously, as the figure continued to squirm.
A few steps away, it became evident that the struggling captive was that of a man. His brown hair had a peppering of grey, exposing his age. His body, though not overly athletic, was by no means obese. The man's head turned toward Ryl, and his eyes went wide as he noted their approach.
Only a moment earlier, his captors had loomed over him. Now, a mysterious party of five approached while the bodies of those who had likely bound him lay in ruins behind them. The scene must have been utterly terrifying and simultaneously confusing. He frantically tried to work his way away from them, squirming closer to the second figure who remained face down and unmoving. Ryl let the glowing blades disappear, sliding them back into their holsters.
He stopped, motioning for the others to pause as well. Stepping forward, he kneeled a meter from the struggling captive. He sent out a wave of calm. The man ceased struggling almost immediately. His wide eyes blinked as he watched Ryl's every movement.
“Lie still, friend. We mean you no harm,” Ryl implored, slowly removing his hood. Relief flooded the man's face.
“We'll cut your bonds; we would just like to ask a few questions. Is that alright with you?” Ryl asked. The man nodded his head rapidly, and the corners of his mouth worked upward as if attempting to smile despite the gag in his mouth. He mumbled something unintelligible, and his eyes frantically turned toward the figure lying beside him.
Ryl carefully helped the man to a sitting position before motioning to Andr.
“Cut him free,” Ryl said.
The mercenary severed the rough rope that bound his hands and feet while Ryl removed the gag from the man's mouth. The man's newly freed hands immediately massaged his wrists that were rubbed raw from the rope.
The man looked to be nearing his fiftieth cycle. His hair had receded slightly from the front of his scalp. There was the beginning of a large welt swelling on the right side of his face. A small trickle of blood had nearly dried from another small laceration across his forehead. His face struggled to contain his relief and joy as the binding fell away.
“I can’t thank you enough,” the man said appreciatively, before his face flushed with worry. He twisted to his side, carefully rolling over the bound figure near his back.
Ryl’s heart skipped a beat.
The second bound figure was that of a boy.
The man tried desperately to pull the gag from the youngster’s mouth. The child appeared to be no older than his early teens. White, salty residue from lines of dried tears stained his face, and the hair on the right side of his head was matted with blood.
Andr was at the child's side in an instant, gently cutting the gag from his face before moving to the binds on his hand and feet. The elder of the captives leaned his head in close to the boy’s face. Ryl saw the steady rise and fall of the youngster’s chest. He could see the relief flood the older man’s body as he felt the breath on his face. He pulled the boy into a tight embrace. Tears streaming from his eyes.
Ryl and the others waited patiently as the man rocked back and forth, cradling the youngster in his arms. It was several moments before his tears stopped enough for him to speak.
“If it's answers you seek, I am more than obliged to assist. Mere answers alone will not be a sufficient repayment for the service you have done me.”
The man paused as his eyes traveled to the child in his arms. His voice was choked with unfiltered emotion.
"And my boy," he blubbered.
“We seek no reward, my friend,” Ryl responded politely. “Answers will suffice. Let's start with your name.”
The man nodded, releasing a single hand from the boy, holding it out to Ryl.
“The name's Aldren,” he said.
Ryl took his hand with a firm shake.
“This is my son, Cade,” Aldren stated. The tears threatened to fall once more. The man sniffed heavily before exhaling deeply, temporarily stoppering the emotion.
“Well met, Aldren. My name's Ryl. How did you end up in the hands of such poor company?” he inquired.
“I'm nothing more than a merchant. We live at the southern tip of the Fellwood. I purchased the plot of land for my son and I from the late Lord and Lady Felloc. Rest their souls,” Aldren explained. “Felloc was a good man, he was kind and fair to all. He was a close friend.”
The merchant’s eyes wandered the forest aimlessly for a moment, and the corners of his lips turned up subtly, as if invoking his friend’s name sparked some long forgotten pleasant memory.
“The heir to House Villais, the one that stole their lands in the wake of their horrific murders, couldn't be further from their mold,” he spat. “The Lord has worked for cycles to force us from our land, though I rightfully hold the deed. We had just left with a large, regular shipment of supplies due for a private customer to the south when they accosted us on the road.”
His story stopped as his eyes went wide. He frantically fought to gain his feet.
“We must flee now,” he pleaded, his voice desperate. “There was a group of eight that left not long ago, headed south into the forest. We tried to run after they left. Didn't get far though. They could return any minute.”
He turned to the side, gently lifting his son, making for his wagon. Ryl stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Fear not, my friend. They will pose no more threat to you,” Ryl said calmly.
“They're killers, cold-blooded the lot of them,” Aldren continued.
“Aye, that they were,” Ryl said.
He struggled to repress the raw emotion that surged through him. He hadn’t yet taken the time to fully process what had happened. To come to terms with the loss they’d just experienced.
“I assure you; all met a fitting end and punishment for their crimes,” Ryl hissed.
Aldren’s eyes went wide. He stopped to survey the mysterious group standing before him. Ryl was sure the spatter of blood still covered his body. The three phrenics at his rear remained hooded, motionless. Andr stood with arms crossed at his side.
“Tell me, how did they know where to find us?” Ryl asked.
“That one there,” Aldren said pointing to the body of the black cloaked tribute. “That one is the Lord’s newest councilor. He called us to an abrupt halt. I'm afraid I only overheard a portion of their conversation. Something about how he could feel the presence of fugitives in that direction, though he couldn't be certain of where.”
The merchant’s eyes wandered to Ryl’s neck as the comment escaped his lips. They lingered on the brands for an instant before darting back to Ryl’s eyes. He failed to hide the look of recognition and surprise that flashed across his face.
The implications of Aldren’s statement sent a chill down Ryl's spine. The shell of a tribute had been able to sense them. Was he able to pinpoint their location like the phrenics could with their mindsight? Was the overpowering signature that he gave off the reason for Deyalou's death? In thinking back to the attack at the tree of the prophet and his scouting trips outside Vim, had he been the reason, the inadvertent call to the Outland Horde?
The thoughts were sickening.
“Where will you go now?” Ryl asked.
Aldren sighed.
“I s'pose we’ll finish the delivery, then look for a new place to call home,” he said remorsefully.
Andr tapped Ryl on the shoulder.
“I'd like a word with my companions if you please, Aldren,” Andr said politely.
The merchant nodded with a smile, gently laying his boy back on the ground at his feet. Andr and Ryl spoke in hus
hed tones with the phrenics waiting behind them.
“He speaks the truth, Ryl,” Andr announced.
“How can you be certain?” Ryl asked.
“His is a name I'm familiar with,” Andr said quietly. “I prefer to never approach a job unprepared. It's a habit that saved my life more times than I can count. I know this land well, along with the political leanings of many of the prominent members. He was a true friend of Lord Felloc’s and a friend to the tributes.”
“Could we find shelter on his property?” Ryl quizzed.
“Possibly, though I can't be certain,” Andr admitted. “Either way, it gets us closer to our final destination.”
“If he's a true friend to the tributes as Andr says, it would be unwise to turn down any assistance he can offer,” Kaep added. “Though I will not leave without first tending to Deyalou.”
The phrenics hung their heads at the mention of their friend.
“Then it's decided. If Aldren will help shelter us, we will go,” Ryl said. “Let us clean up this area. Bury their bodies in the woods and fetch the Vigil. Deyalou comes with us.”
Chapter 49
Aldren was more than willing to accommodate Ryl and his companions. Though his curiosity was piqued, he knew better than to ask questions that needed not be answered. The scene of the battle along the path was quickly cleaned, returning the narrow forest road to as near its original state as possible, though the dark, wet pools of blood would take time to dry. The bodies of the black cloaked tribute and the soldiers that accompanied him were buried in shallow unmarked graves. The assassins in the woods were left to rot.
The group mounted the newly rider less horses. They collected the remaining ones, lashing their reins to the rear of Aldren's wagon as they followed closely in his wake. Growing up, Ryl had little experience with horses. He’d ridden atop an old dray that his father had led from the lumber mill on occasions, yet his experience ended there. He mounted with ease; with the natural, fluid motion of someone who’d grown up riding. The phrenics around him showed no sign of discomfort or trouble. The information, the knowledge, the experience inherent in his blood flooded his mind with startling clarity. The Vigil had more difficulty, yet they were soon situated atop their horses as they moved slowly from the clearing.
Deyalou had been wrapped in his cloak, his body carefully strapped to one of the unencumbered mounts. At seeing the loss of their friend, Aldren had expressed his sincerest condolences, volunteering a plot on his land alongside the resting place of his wife to bury their friend.
Ryl and Andr rode alongside the merchant conversing quietly while their watchful eyes scanned the surrounding forest. The noise of the insects had returned; the forest seemed to carry on as if nothing had disturbed the peacefulness of its slumber.
Cade woke shortly after they began their trek to the south. His eyes went wide as he took in their new riding companions. After a brief introduction and recounting of all that had taken place, he remained quietly by his father's side watching the newcomers with wonder.
It wasn't long before Aldren confirmed his feelings regarding the tributes without prompting. He still mourned the loss of his friend, Lord Felloc. He, like Andr, was convinced their deaths were a direct result of their vocal opposition to the king and the Ascertaining Decree.
“Curse the king. Curse the black hearts of the sponsors,” Aldren spat venom. “What right do they have over a child's life?” He wrapped his arm protectively around his son’s shoulders
His rhetorical question struck a chord with Ryl, as he was sure it did with Andr. The answer was simple.
They had no right.
“I have no desire to know your cause, though anyone with any sense of reason can guess it’s not a party built for peaceful negotiations,” Aldren said, keeping his eye fixed on the road ahead. “You’ve saved my life. You saved my son’s life. For that, I am bound by honor to repay you in any means I can. My lands run from the road ahead to the foot of the mountains. Use them as you like for as long as you like. I fear I will not be returning there again.”
His words were filled with sorrow. There was an obvious pain behind them. His life and the life of his son were to be yet another unaccounted casualty in the crimes against the tributes and the phrenics. Aldren’s home and livelihood were now likely forfeit. He was vocal in his support of that which was right and would have paid the ultimate price if not for the timely intervention of the phrenics and their companions. Ryl was encouraged by the sentiment coming from the merchant; a common freeman of Damaris.
Regardless, the time was rapidly nearing for the fires of change to be set ablaze. Would they catch alight, or be drowned under a wave of apathy?
Only time would tell.
“Where will you go, my friend?” Ryl asked the merchant.
“I’m not sure, to be honest,” Aldren sighed, pausing for a moment as he thought of his options. “I have an associate I’ve regularly done business with near Milstead. We have family near Leremont, though that may not be the safest place to reestablish shop given the present circumstances. The only other option is a cousin, though we haven’t spoken in cycles. He has a small shop in Cantros.”
Andr’s eyes widened for an instant. He winked as he met eyes with Ryl.
“That’s the home of House Eligar, if I’m not mistaken,” Andr commented. “I’ve done work for the good Lord Eligar in the past, we have a good rapport. If it’s work you seek, I’d happily send you with a written recommendation.”
A portion of the worry clouding Aldren’s face melted away at the statement. A smile tugged up on the corners of his lips.
“I am eternally grateful for what you've done already. You continue to assist me even though it is I that are forever indebted to you, my friends,” Aldren said excitedly. “I’ll head straight there after making this final delivery. Honestly, if I must admit, I’ll be happy to never see that place again.”
“Why is that?” Ryl asked curiously. “Where is your final delivery?”
“The shadows of the Martrion Ruins would be the last place I’d willingly set up shop,” Aldren shuddered at the comment, whispering as he continued. “Though they thankfully don’t make their presence known, there’s always the cursed Lei Guard watching from the shadows. You rarely see more than the flutter of black fabric. Don’t even have to see them to know they’re there. You can feel their devilish eyes stabbing you like knives.”
Ryl was stunned by the comment. What were the Lei Guard doing there? Would his presence in the area draw them to him? Was he putting the others at risk? He opened his mouth to speak, but Andr was quick to interrupt him.
“Excuse us for a moment, Aldren,” Andr said respectfully. “We have a matter to discuss with our companions.”
“As you will,” Aldren said, giving his horses a light tap with the crop.
Andr stopped, and Ryl reined in his horse beside him. They waited for the rest of their companions to stop with them.
“Our new friend let slip some information that might prove invaluable to our cause,” Andr explained. “The presence of Lei Guard anywhere outside the capital is more than just curious. When I was in the service of Ryl’s sponsor, he received a missive from the King, detailing the processing options for his upcoming tribute. It noted two options. The main facility near Leremont, or the quicker of the two due to a smaller backlog, a production facility in Martrion.”
Hope soared through Ryl at the statement.
“Martrion has been abandoned for centuries,” Andr continued. “If the Lei Guard are there, so too is the production facility.”
By best estimate, there were still close to two weeks before the annual Harvest. Martrion was only a matter of a day’s ride from their current course.
Ryl grinned at the thought.
Their mission to free The Stocks, to free the tributes hadn’t changed. They were just adding another stop along the way.
Chapter 50
It took no convincing to enlist the assistance of Al
dren in their plan. They had ridden for several hours along the forested path before exhaustion forced them to pause for the night. Sentries were posted in either direction and the group slept hesitantly, though thankfully undisturbed, through the remainder of the darkness.
They resumed their weary trek just after first light the following morning. Their progress started off sluggish as all were groggy, owing to the turbulant events of the previous evening. Adding to their discomfort, they’d learned from the merchant that their estimate of the remaining number of days had been slightly off. With the dawning of the days’s sun, there were now only twelve days remaining before the upcoming Harvest.
The sun had passed midday when the party veered off the narrow, wooded path leading to the Lord’s estate along the lake, merging onto a second, crudely maintained road that ran both east and west. As the hours passed the woods around them had grown sparser. Navigating Aldren’s cart, however, became a tedious operation owing to the increasingly rocky terrain. The sun had nearly disappeared as they arrived at the merchant’s modest home, set against the backdrop of forest and mountains further in the distance. The sky burned red, as the last of the sun's rays faded over the mountains. Their jagged peaks were silhouetted against the darkening sky.
Having lost his wife many cycles earlier to a tragic illness, Aldren had chosen to remain in their home, happy for the peace of a secluded existence for himself and his son. The thought of living in one of the cities, or even villages, left a sour taste in his mouth. The debauchery and depravity of the current society was frequently on show for all to witness. His excursions to the markets were enough to pacify all desire to remain for any extended amount of time.
The merchant had willingly agreed to postpone the start of his final delivery until the following morning, though he stressed that delaying further would only increase the risk of retribution from the ill-tempered lord. Once the councilor and patrol he’d sent to fetch him failed to return, others would come seeking answers.
