Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3)
Page 17
“Welcome to the finest room in all of Cadsae Proper,” Andr spoke quietly in jest.
The room was cramped, but the space was of no concern to Ryl. The comforts of his finely crafted room in Vim had been more disconcerting for a time than that of the scene now before his eyes. An unbridled wave of nostalgia washed over him as the room was in truth more reminiscent of that which he’d survived in throughout the duration of his time in The Stocks.
“The rooms on the other side of the Palisades look eerily familiar to this,” Ryl whispered in reply.
“Aye, that they do,” Andr acknowledged softly. “We’d best get some rest. There’s little fear of discovery here. The door is thick enough to give us ample warning should anyone try and force their way in. There’s a trapdoor under the bed and a tunnel that leads to a false wall in the basement of a house not far from here.”
“Have you stayed here often?” Ryl asked.
“More nights than I care to count. Now get some rest,” he ordered.
Andr eased himself down against the wall across from the bed, leaving the pallet open. Ryl was hesitant to take the bed, but eagerly tossed his pack on the ground before stretching out on the hard, musty smelling pallet. The day had been long and eventful. He quickly slipped into sleep to the rhythmic sounds of Andr’s breathing.
When he opened his eyes, Andr was already on his feet, stretching silently on the opposite side of the narrow room. Several thick streaks of light filtered through the cracks in the wall, signaling the day had already begun. Ryl knew the city would be in full swing. Today was the last full day before the following morning’s Harvest.
Their plan was to visit the boisterous South Ward of Cadsae Proper as well as the docks. From there, they’d be able to simulate their steps for the next day, noting all positions of the guards as well as alternate routes should problems arise.
With nothing to pack, they abandoned the safety of their lodging, checking the alley was clear before moving quickly to regain their mounts. Ryl had flipped his outer cloak inside out owing to the blood splatter that had been liberally sprayed over its outside.
The intentionally unoiled hinges to the rear entrance of the stable squealed wildly as they entered. The stable hands on the other side showed no surprise at the noise, though one rose from his seat, marching quickly in their direction. The deadpan expression on his face gave no indication of his mood.
“Breila would like a word with the two of you,” he grumbled. “Follow me.”
Andr looked at Ryl and shrugged his shoulders as he followed the man toward the main entrance to the building. Instead of exiting through the front, he opened a door along the side wall, grabbing the small lantern that hung from the hook next to it.
The interior of the hallway was dark. The all-encompassing blackness ended with a dim flicker of a torch in the distance. Andr followed without hesitation; Ryl nearly jumped as the door slammed closed behind them. The shutters on the lantern suspended from the guard’s hand in front of them were partially closed, focusing its light straight ahead. There was no telling who or what lay on either side of the narrow pathway.
He could sense that they passed several offshoots, several sections where the darkness at their sides grew thicker. He noted the subtle gusts of the cross breezes as they passed the openings. The flicker of light grew steadily as they traveled down the discrete hallway. Before long, they reached the wall at the end of the straight path. A narrow, curving staircase, lit by a torch led off and upward to their right.
Their lead continued without pause, leaving Ryl and Andr to follow in his wake. Beyond the first landing the stairwell continued further upward, though they exited through a doorway along the wall. Ryl’s eyes had grown quickly accustomed to the darkness in the hall, and he blinked his eyes as the light that flooded in through the opened door momentarily blinded him.
Ryl recognized the hallway immediately. The plush red carpet on the floor. The silver and white of the walls. They followed the stable hand’s lead, approaching the office they had dined in the night before, this time from the opposite end of the hall. The young man knocked once on the door, opening it without waiting for a response. He waited outside as he ushered Andr and Ryl in.
The door closed behind them with an ominous thump.
Breila sat behind her desk on the far-left side of the room. Her arms were crossed under her ample chest. The look on her face was a far cry from the kindness he’d been a guest of the evening before. Ryl felt the heat and intensity of her glare from across the room. Her eyes followed them, boring through them in turn as Andr led the way past the table to the pair of chairs assembled on the near side of her desk.
They seated themselves in silence.
“I’ve never asked the true nature of your business. Nor do I honestly care,” she growled. “I thought we had an understanding that contracts were not to be carried out inside the walls of my house or in proximity to my businesses.”
Andr stared back at her, not breaking contact with the seething eyes that glared at him.
“That we do, Breila,” Andr responded. Her shrill voice cut him off immediately.
“Mere moments after you left my chambers a brawl broke out in my tavern. Shortly after that the bodies of eight men were found butchered just outside the square,” she hissed. Though her voice softened slightly the intensity remained as she continued, “We’ve known each other a long time, Andr; I understand your skillset. You appear without warning after cycles. Moments later the bodies pile up outside my door. Attention draws the guards. Murder on that scale draws an army of them, and that is bad for business. This has your handiwork written all over it.”
Andr let out an involuntary laugh. Breila’s stare turned to daggers.
Ryl was quick to react, forcing out a wave of calm as he broke the tension.
“And yet in all of it, he was complacent,” Ryl interrupted.
Breila’s eyes unfocused for a moment, when they turned to him, much of the anger had dissipated. She now wore a disapproving scowl of curiosity.
“Corpses in the street is bad for business, I’ll agree,” Ryl admitted. “Yet the assassination of a high ranking official, one who happens to be the right hand of the captain, inside your establishment would be devastating.”
Ryl leaned forward resting his hands on the table in front of him. He noted Andr lean back casually, crossing his right leg comfortably over his left.
“I assure you that none of our business concerns you or your interests,” Ryl said. “I could not sit idly by while eight men slaughtered one to send a message. So yes, it was I that started the fight in your tavern and for that I’m truly sorry.”
“And was it you who killed the men in the alley?” she inquired.
Ryl closed his eyes as he nodded his head slowly. At his side, Andr shrugged his shoulders, a small smirk grew on his face.
“Though I’m not proud, it is I who stand here before you today, while they rot for their discretions,” he said quietly.
Breila’s eyes remained on Ryl for a matter of moments, studying him with a look of wonder. Her gaze moved to Andr before returning to where they started.
“I’d say capable was an understatement, my friend,” she said, shaking her head. “These are strange times that we live in. So far, we’ve managed to keep out of the politics that have grown toxic, poisoning this city over the last cycle in particular.”
She rose from her chair, pacing behind her desk. Breila rubbed her hands together as she walked.
“From all accounts, the Captain is a good man,” she admitted. “I’m afraid I can’t say the same for the sycophant sponsors that slink their way into this establishment. The vile stench of those tainted lords that come here singing the praises of the King doesn't easily wash off. There is a blackness to their hearts the likes of which I've never encountered.”
Ryl was intrigued the statement. His mind traveled to the nexela, the taint of the Horde that corrupted the shells of the tributes.
She stopped her pacing, turning slowly back toward Ryl. Her eyes quickly ran their course over his body, ending on the shadow over his face. Breila tilted her head slightly as if looking from a different angle would reveal the features of the guise beneath.
“Ah, the optimistic words of a dreamer,” she laughed quietly though her eyes glistened with an unmitigated sorrow. “Would that all dreams hold true and be granted the opportunity to stand the test of time. You have the skills. Do you have you the conviction to see them through?”
Ryl stood slowly from his chair, raising himself to his full height. The fire inside raged at the challenge. He would complete that which he’d dreamed of relentlessly since washing ashore on the desolate shores of the Outlands. His eyes burned with the strength of an inferno. He laced his words with an unrestrained feeling of hope.
A hope that had endured throughout his tortuous tenure in The Stocks.
The hope that would see them free.
Breila gasped aloud, covering her mouth with her right hand. She sunk back down into her chair.
“There is no stopping the events that will be,” Ryl whispered, though his voice carried with the force of a shout. “I will see this through to its completion.”
Beside him, Andr stood, bowing his head slightly to Breila.
“And I will be by your side until the end,” Andr added.
Breila’s eyes were wide as they stared at Ryl. The expression on her face was a mixture of both fear and excitement.
“And for what it’s worth,” she stumbled through the words, her normal refined pose temporarily shattered by Ryl’s display of emotion. “You will have my support.”
Ryl smiled, bowing his head slightly. Breila used the moment to collect herself from the unexpected forcefulness of his conviction.
“Thank you, Breila,” he said genuinely.
She leaned forward; her posture straightened. She placed her forearms on the table, interlocking her fingers.
“First, let us break our fast together,” she added with a kind smile. Her eyes traveled the length of Ryl’s body. “Then we’ll see about getting you a new cloak. Can’t have you walking about the city covered in another man’s blood now, can we?”
Chapter 20
The metallic clop of the horseshoes as they struck the cobblestone alley echoed in the narrow gap between the buildings. The sound was amplified; the consecutive hoofbeats created the illusion of a group far larger than what was present. For the second time today, Ryl and Andr retraced their steps, following their carefully planned path. Should unforeseen difficulties arrive the following morning, their escape routes would be known.
The afternoon sun was now falling rapidly through the western sky. Its beams illuminated little more than the top few meters of the buildings, shrouding the rest in nearly perpetual shadow. They paused at the intersection with the main avenue leading from the port to the Pining Gate. To his right, sunlight sparkled off the rolling blue waters of the Sea of Prosper. The day was uncommonly still for the coastal city. Inside the breakwater the sea was as smooth as glass. The lengthy masts of the ships moored in port stretched high into the air, absent was the gentle rocking caused by the churning waters below.
To their left, the avenue rose as it traveled away from the coast. At the top of the hill, the massive southern palisade loomed above the tops of the buildings. The thick, double panel wooden doors of the Pining Gate sealed the view of the interior.
It had been a strange feeling for Ryl as he first glimpsed the dreaded gate. He still remembered his first encounter. Within a moon, he’d been taken from his family, branded and abused before being deposited here. He’d understood neither the reasoning nor the why of what had happened. A host of feelings—the fear, the hate, the confusion—surged through him simultaneously. For a few moments, the tears that had welled in his eyes flowed unchecked. He buried his head in his hands, begging for the unbridled assault of emotions to cease.
He regained his composure rapidly. Time had changed him. His experiences had changed him. Ryl now studied the gate with an open defiance for all that it stood for. He looked at the massive panels of wood as nothing more than kindling.
Firestarter.
Under the weight of his glare, the gate became less sinister.
Though they were close enough for observation, they dared not venture too near to the Pining Gate and its considerable volume of armed guards. The top of the Palisades bristled with warriors armed with bows and arrows. Ryl counted no less than one hundred guards standing their posts in the courtyard before the wall.
How would they react on the morrow?
Would they run? Would they stand and fight?
For Ryl, on seeing Cadsae Proper, seeing the Palisades, seeing the Pining Gate, the acceptance had set in. Acceptance that the reactions of the men and women who were to be witness to the activities was out of his control. He could convey emotion—to a degree he could hold sway over their feelings—yet he could not control their hearts. They would have to choose for themselves. Some would come to their decision immediately. Others would let it fester until they could stand it no more.
He would provide them with the truth.
What happened next would largely be up to them.
In his heart, he dreamed that all would throw down their weapons, that the day would be won without bloodshed. In his head, he knew the folly of the notion. Blood had already been spilled. The vile poison that infected the tainted lords, ladies and nobles was infectious. Their attitude toward the tributes was a blight. It was a disease that had been passed down from generation to generation.
The city was already rent in two by the divide. The air was ripe with a seething animosity that had been stoked since he last set foot on its soil. For some, there would be no reasoning, no truth, no logic potent enough to cull the disease. They would fight.
And they would die.
Andr cleared his throat quietly. His horse stomped anxiously on the stone street below its feet.
“We shouldn’t linger here,” the mercenary stated gently. “The streets will fill quickly as the revelry begins.”
Ryl closed his eyes for a moment as he nodded his head.
The festival that was the annual Harvest had already begun. Colored banners bearing the crests of the houses and nobles were displayed proudly from buildings throughout the street. The main avenue leading to the Pining Gate was the most prolific display of color he’d seen to this point. From every window flew a colored flag. Long ropes stretched across the avenue overhead, and from the ropes suspended insignias hung down low enough to brush the tops of the passing carriages.
Tomorrow, would the drab streets too be painted with color? Would crimson blood stain the cobblestone?
Ryl scanned the area using his mindsight incessantly. Their careful circuit of the city had brought them no closer than their current point to the village beyond the gates. It had brought them no closer to the tributes behind. He knew for certain that they were there. At this range, he could only make out the golden, glowing orbs in his vision. Their numbers had swelled throughout the afternoon. He could almost feel the anxiety and the heartache pouring from them.
It was only a cycle past since he’d experienced firsthand the emotion that now ran rampant through the tributes.
While they were only a few hundred meters away, he felt separated from them by miles. From his current distance, the familiar feeling—the feeling he’d come to understand, to cherish as that of the tributes, that of the phrenic—was still just a memory. He longed for the moment when he would again feel its welcoming embrace.
Thankfully no sign of the Lei Guard, the blackened stain on his mindsight, was present. He was cautiously optimistic that would remain the case.
“Aye, Andr,” Ryl acknowledged. “I’ve seen all I need to s
ee.”
With a final glance at the gate in the distance, Ryl spurred his horse forward, easing it into a slow walk. Andr followed a length behind, slowly increasing to a canter as they moved through the city.
They followed the main cobblestone street to the east, plodding their way back toward the main entrance to Cadsae Proper. Traffic heading out of the city at this point was nearly nonexistent, yet they were rapidly slowed by the unregulated throngs of citizens moving inward toward the center; toward the festival that would soon be commencing.
With difficulty, Ryl and Andr exited the main avenue, forcing their horses through a stubborn line of well-dressed citizens. The narrow roadway they entered, leading north along the eastern edge of the palisade, was virtually deserted. Few moved along the entryway to the East Ward. Not far from the main avenue, Ryl pulled back on the reins, urging his horse to a stop.
“Here’s where we’ll part ways, my friend,” he said quietly.
“Ryl, are you sure?” Andr asked again. “I don’t like the plan. I don’t like you going alone. It risks too much.”
“Aye, it is a risk,” Ryl admitted. “But a risk I’m willing to take nonetheless. The captain is an asset that we can use to our advantage. Who knows the sway he truly holds over his subordinates? The few I’ve met would follow him to the ends of the earth.”
Andr opened his mouth to argue yet closed it before the words escaped his lips. They’d had this conversation several times. It always ended the same.
“And if you’re killed, Ryl, what then?” Andr said. He couldn’t help but note the fatherly concern that inserted itself into the mercenary’s voice.
“Then I fear for those standing before and upon the Palisades tomorrow morning, for they are doomed,” Ryl stated bluntly. “Fear not, my friend. We’ve not come this far for me to willingly sacrifice all that we’ve worked for. We share the same dream, Andr. There will be a reunion tomorrow.”