Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3)

by C. J. Aaron

  Along the wall to their right a small group of musicians played feverishly on their instruments. Their sounds, though harmonic and loud, were largely ignored by the revelers in the tavern.

  Ryl followed Andr through the throng of people, weaving a path along the left wall of the room. A balcony circled the room on the second floor; occasional bits of food and errant sloshes of ale dripped down from above.

  The convoluted path they traced led to the left end of the crowded bar. Andr slapped a coin down on its surface. The metallic thump drew the attention of the surly barkeep who looked mildly annoyed, yet ambled over in their direction nonetheless.

  “What'll ya be having?” The raspy voice rang out loud over the din of the crowd.

  Andr slid the coin across the bar.

  “I'm here for one of your finer vintages,” he replied.

  The barkeep greedily snatched the coin from the surface of the bar, moving quickly off to their left. Just beyond the end of the bar he stopped, pausing long enough to whisper into the ear of the stern faced worker who stood at its end. Past this point, the remaining corner of the wall, only a space of a few meters, was nearly lost in the gloom of the shadow from the balcony above. Ryl noted the presence of a discrete, closed door.

  The barkeep glanced over his shoulder, shaking his thumb in their direction. Ryl could feel the cold eyes of the man along the wall landing on them. He squinted slightly, before crossing his muscular arms across his chest.

  It was clear to Ryl the man was no ordinary servant. At almost the same stature as Ramm, he was a veritable giant. Like the men in the stable, his appearance and demeanor were those of an experienced soldier. After a moment, the barkeep returned, leaning forward close enough that his voice wouldn't carry past its intended ears.

  “We have a private room for the vintage you seek,” the barkeep muttered waving his hand toward the closed door.

  Andr replied with a nod before pushing back off the bar. Ryl followed a pace behind as they forged a direct path to the hulking man by the closed door. The guardian of the door made a brief visual inspection of both Ryl and Andr. His face scrunched into a disapproving scowl as his eyes fell on Ryl’s hooded face. His eyes squinted as they attempted to peer through the veil of darkness. After a moment of scrutiny, the man grunted, unfolding his arms and opening the door at his side. He ushered the pair inside with a wide sweep of his free arm, following them, closing the door behind them with an audible click.

  The room they entered was nothing more than a dimly lit, shallow entryway. The walls on either side were close, barely wider than the span of his arms. Both were lined nearly floor to ceiling with narrow, individually numbered doors. The edges were trimmed with an ornately decorated border, the center appeared to be covered in a deep red fabric. Each was identified only by a thin numbered, silver plaque tacked into the wood of the upper edge. Several held keys hanging from the lock build into the lower trim; the majority did not.

  “Remove your blades,” came the authoritative voice of the man from behind them. “Into number twenty-four.”

  Andr was already in the process of removing the belt that held both his swords. Ryl followed suit, removing the sword at his hip, sliding it into the like numbered opening in the wall. The interior of the lockers was cushioned with a thick, padded cloth, similar to that on the doors. The fabric was soft to the touch and likely cost a fortune. Ryl pondered the necessity for the trivial expense. The thought of being separated from the Leaves that were still concealed behind his back was daunting. Andr must have read his expression, nodding subtly to signal the necessity The bouncer eyed them impatiently as Ryl removed and stored his custom leather holster. Once satisfied that both were unarmed, he removed the small key with a slight twist of his hand, sealing the enclosure, disguising its contents from prying eyes.

  The brute rudely pushed past, turning as he reached the door opposite that which they entered. He wheeled back toward them, interlocking his fingers and cracking them as he stretched out his arms, flexing his bulging muscles. The sound echoed through the tiny chamber like thunder.

  “I don’t think I need to discourage you from causing any trouble inside,” he grumbled. “There will be no warnings.”

  He held out his hand, dropping the key unceremoniously into Andr’s palm.

  Without waiting for a response, he lowered his hand, balling it into a fist and hammering it against the door behind him. He rang out a pair of solid thumps before pausing for a moment, adding a second set.

  A moment later his call was acknowledged by the sound of keys turning in the lock from the opposite end. The brute stepped aside as the door opened to the sight of an equally powerfully muscled man.

  “Enjoy,” was all the first bouncer grumbled, his face contorting ever so slightly into a pathetic attempt at a forced smile.

  Without a pause, Andr stepped forward, Ryl followed in his wake. The man who’d opened the door moved from their path, revealing a room that was a world apart from the seedy tavern they’d just left. He motioned for them to follow.

  The interior of the large room was immaculate. The walls were painted white with swirling silver designs etched onto their canvas. The delicate patterns formed symmetrical floral scenes on both sides of the room. The ceiling stretched two floors high, and in the corners, long folded curtains reached down to the floor. The deep red fabric shimmered in the low light of the lanterns, glistening with a metallic quality. There were comfortable looking couches arranged in perfect order along the walls. Between them stood artfully carved tables, each holding a beautifully adorned vase teeming with flowers.

  Inset into the large, polished tiles of the floor and dominating the center of the room was a square pool. Petals of red flowers floated gracefully on the surface of the crystal-clear water. A pair of gently curving staircases on either side of the room led up to a balcony on the second floor. Their surface was covered in a carpet that matched the red of the curtains and upholstery of the couches that rested along the walls. A large ornately decorated desk sat in the center of the room beyond the pool; behind it sat an exceptionally well-dressed woman. She smiled warmly as they entered.

  Gone was the overwhelming stench of the tavern. In its place was a soothing floral aroma.

  Gone were the noises. The din was replaced by an unintelligible whisper of hushed conversation. There was a quiet splashing and a gentle lapping of water on the side of the pool.

  Gone were the boisterous crowds. In their place, a score of women lounged around on the comfortable cushions of the couches or reclined easily in the clear waters of the pool. All were either completely nude, or draped seductively in sheer clothing that left very little to the imagination.

  Ryl was immediately thankful for the cloak that shrouded his face in shadow. He could feel the heat on his cheeks and was sure the redness would have betrayed his immense surprise. His heart raced at the unexpected newness of the situation. His short life had so far afforded him no time for love, or carnal pleasures. He had rarely seen more of a woman's skin than the extremities which showed beyond the extent of her garments. Caught off guard, he nearly stumbled as he stepped forward following Andr and the bouncer. It was with effort that he averted his eyes, maintaining his focus on the back of the mercenary in front of him.

  Without a word, the man led them around the pool to the stairs on the left side of the room. He could hear the soft giggles and coos of the women as they passed by. He could feel their eyes following them as they ascended the stairs to the second floor.

  In the center of the balcony above, there was a small lounge adorned with similar furniture to that of the lower level. From either side of the lounge a dimly lit hallway led deeper into the brothel’s interior. The floor was covered in the same soft red carpet that had blanketed the stairs. Their feet made barely more than a muted thump as they continued down the hallway.

  Evenly spaced, numbered doors lined both sides of the long hallway; all were shut. Though he tried not to focus on the
noises, the unmistakable sound of flesh slapping against flesh and moans of pleasure filtered through the doors.

  Nearly halfway down the hallway, the bouncer stopped, turning to the door on his right. The dark wood featured an ornately scripted “Eight” carefully etched into its face. His gentle knock on the thick wooden door belied the strength of his bulging arms.

  A moment later, a muffled, coarse female voice bid them enter.

  He opened the door, moving a step across the threshold. The bouncer held the door ajar, waving his arm forward, beckoning Ryl and Andr into the room. His eyes followed them as they shuffled past, and he stepped inside after, closing the door behind him.

  Ryl took a moment to survey the new room they’d entered. Thankfully, it was not a bedroom, but a stately adorned office. The lush red fabric covered the corners of the walls, leaving ample space for the large pieces of artwork that hung between them. Most images were scenes of serene natural settings, though a few were of women posed confidently in the nude.

  To their left, a small circular table sat in the middle of the room. Four high backed chairs ringed its perimeter, and four sets of silver waited eagerly on either side of glossy white plates. At the end of the room was a massive desk, seemingly too large for the room it inhabited. A wall of pleated red fabric hung from floor to ceiling a few meters behind.

  Sitting with her head down, a plain clothed woman readily scratched away on the ledger spread across the table in front of her. It was a few moments before she finished her writing, carefully placing the pen down, closing the large book, sliding it to the side. A single coin remained on the table in front of her.

  She leaned back in her chair, tilting her head to the side, appraising them from afar.

  “Step closer. These eyes don’t work quite as well as they used too,” her scratchy voice was hushed yet seemed to reverberate through the chamber.

  Andr stepped forward, Ryl followed a pace behind just off the mercenary’s right shoulder. Something felt off about the room that he couldn’t place. His eyes rapidly studied the entirety. The woman had her hands folded comfortably on the table before her. She was small in stature, her face wizened with age yet kind. Her long silver hair was tied up casually into a bun that sat atop her head.

  The curtain behind the desk, closer to the right wall shifted ever so slightly at its folds. He picked up the unmistakable creaking of a bow stretched to its peak.

  The alexen in his blood coursed through his veins. He readied the speed and the wind should they be needed.

  He stopped alongside Andr a few meters from the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the grin from the mercenary standing at his side.

  Behind the desk, the woman collected the coin that remained on the surface. Her attention shifted from them to the gold in her hand. She examined it with a reverent care that was curious.

  “There are few who would offer their gold to the Maiden. Few who knew the words you spoke,” she said questioningly as she carefully placed the coin down on the desk. “The last I heard, all had been dead for cycles.”

  The woman rose slowly to her feet, rounding the table and stopping in front of Andr. She moved gracefully, with a lithe gait that belied her apparent age. Her eyes catalogued Andr curiously for several moments.

  “I can clearly see my information was wrong,” she said with a smile.

  “Aye, that it was,” Andr said quietly. “Hello, Breila. It’s been too long.”

  Chapter 17

  Ryl watched as the smile spread across the woman's face. An unseen weight seemed to peel from off her shoulders; she stood taller. Her posture straightened. Her eyes sparkled with the added moisture that welled in their corners. She took a quick step forward folding her arms around the mercenary.

  Ryl stood silent, his eyes carefully observing the room suspiciously throughout the exchange. After what seemed like an eternity, the woman broke from the embrace, stepping back, eyeing the mercenary. Her amber colored eyes catalogued Andr, moving from head to toe, then back again.

  After a moment, her gaze traveled to the bouncer still standing guard a few steps behind.

  “Thank you, Findel. You and your men can stand down,” she said calmly.

  Ryl heard the distinct creak of the bows as the tension was released from their limbs. A pair of muffled footsteps hastily moved behind the curtained false wall. He tracked the wave of motion as the curtains shifted from the wake of their movement. The soft click of a door announced their exit.

  “Please, fetch us food,” Breila called to the bouncer, who'd yet to move from his station. “And a bottle of wine from my private cellar.”

  “Yes, ma'am,” was all he replied with a shallow bow as he retreated from the room.

  The tension Ryl felt hanging in the air diffused immediately. He exhaled a long, slow breath of relief as he relinquished his tentative hold over the powers at his command.

  “Let us sit,” she said eagerly. “For I am anxious to hear the tale of how you've arisen from the dead.”

  She moved to the table. Andr was a step ahead, pulling her chair out for her, waiting patiently as she gracefully eased herself into its comfortable embrace. The chair slid noiselessly across the tile floor as he eased her closer to the table. She leaned her elbows on the wooden surface, interlocking her fingers.

  “Does your friend have a name?” Breila asked rhetorically. “Or a face?”

  Andr chuckled as he rounded to his chair. He nodded at Ryl as he motioned for him to sit.

  “Fear not, Ryl. We're in the company of a trusted friend,” Andr assured him.

  Ryl was reluctant to remove his hood, though at the urging of Andr he obliged. He bowed slightly as he greeted Breila.

  “It's a pleasure to meet you,” he announced politely, letting a wave of sincerity flow over the woman seated across from him. She shifted slightly in her chair, and her smile grew wider. He cringed in discomfort as her appraising eyes roved over the entirety of his body, stopping on the bloodied bandage on his neck.

  “He's young, Andr,” she paused mid-sentence. Ryl watched the expression on her face shift as her words triggered an uncertain memory.

  “Could it be?” She gasped.

  “No, Breila,” Andr said shaking his head. “I'm afraid that part of the story contains the truth. Cray tested positive for alexen. His mother gave him up while I was away.”

  She leaned forward, reaching out her hand, placing it delicately on top of Andr's.

  “I'm sorry, my old friend,” she lamented as she squeezed his hand. “It's curious timing for your arrival. Or should I say, rise from the dead? His Harvest wouldn't be in a matter of days, would it?”

  “No, his won't be for several cycles,” Andr spat at the thought.

  A knock on the door heralded the return of the bouncer with food and wine. Ryl quickly replaced the hood over his face as Breila beckoned the man into her quarters.

  The bouncer entered with a server in tow, a large silver platter balanced carefully on his hand. Steam wafted off plates laden with heaped portions of food. Breila was served first, with food then wine, followed by Andr and Ryl. She lifted the crystal goblet in front of her gently, swirling the deep red wine before inhaling the appealing aromas. She took an approving sip before leaning her head back with a visible sigh. With her endorsing smile, the bouncer and server nodded, leaving the large tankard of wine on the table politely before hastening from the room. Ryl again removed his hood once the click of the latch signaled their exit.

  “Though I'm overjoyed to see you alive and well, the timing of your reappearance and your company is peculiar,” she stated. “I must admit that my curiosity is piqued. I'm eager to hear the telling, for knowing you, the story will be interesting."

  Andr chuckled as he raised the wine to his lips, taking a liberal sip. Ryl indulged in a small sip of the red liquor, letting the mild burn of the alcohol warm his insides.

  “And the story is unusual. Even for my standards,” Andr admitted with a gr
in.

  His face quickly changed back to a stern seriousness.

  “Though I'm sorry that there are details that I cannot elaborate on,” he added.

  Breila leaned back into the soft back of her chair, her smile warm. Her face shone with an uncompromising understanding.

  “Andr, has it been so long, that you've forgotten the commitment that we share?” Her voice was calm and unassuming. “Our secrets will accompany us to the grave. Yet your discretion is neither unwarranted nor requires apology.”

  The mercenary seemed disarmed by the statement. Ryl’s steadfast defender—who in the history of their friendship had remained in a state of perpetual alertness—seemed to let his guard slip. What secrets did these two share?

  With a deep breath, Andr embarked on an abbreviated tale of the life he'd lived since his disappearance many cycles earlier. Between bites of the delectable fare, he recounted the abridged tale of his wife's ultimate betrayal. After Cray was condemned to The Stocks she had abandoned their relatively simple life. Her station was raised; she willingly embraced the decadence of her child's sponsor. While his wife enjoyed her life of excess, his had revolved around the bottle. All the alcohol that he could consume did little to quench the burning agony of loss that seethed inside him.

  He told of his disgruntled service in the guard and his employ with an unnamed lord. His current assignment had taken him to the end of the world and back. Andr omitted all references to The Stocks and Lord Eligar. Thankfully the phrenics, Vim, and the Outlands were removed as well.

  Breila had sat attentively listening throughout Andr's recounting of the last several cycles of activity. She interrupted politely on a few occasions, seeking clarity on a few points. Her questioning was genuine, her words kind. Ryl felt no indication that she was probing for the sensitive information that the mercenary had omitted. Though she knew there was far more to the story, she accepted the answers given without complaint.

  They had all picked away casually at their food, and by the end of the tale, their plates were still half full. Ryl took a small bite of the flavorful, roasted white meat. Though nearly cold, the meat was juicy and tender. He washed it down with a small sip of the surprisingly refreshing wine.