by C. J. Aaron
Though Ryl’s face was still shrouded under the shadow of his cloak, their eyes met. He held his friend’s gaze for several moments before inclining his head slightly. With one coordinated motion, he leapt from his horse. He patted the beast as he gathered the reins in his hands, passing them to Andr.
“Be safe, Ryl,” the mercenary said quietly. “Stay out of trouble.”
“Aye, Andr,” he acknowledged. “I’ll see you shortly.”
Andr nodded briefly before spurring his mount onward. Ryl’s riderless horse followed unquestioningly in his wake. He watched for a moment as the mercenary faded into the quickly lengthening gloom of the East Ward.
Ryl wasted no time rejoining the busy street, working back toward the port and the Pining Gates. The sun ahead had nearly disappeared below the top of the palisade. The last rays of the day’s light glowed a brilliant array of reds and oranges that stood out in stark contrast to the darkening blue sky.
HIs eyes and mindsight were alert as he merged with the foot traffic on the road. The new cloak he’d received from Breila, an article left by an unknown patron, had fit his needs perfectly. The fabric was of poor quality and in poorer condition; there were patches that showed crude repair and the ends were frayed and tattered. Stains abounded over the entirety of the garment. The smell was off-putting; a nauseating mix of rotting garbage, mold and sweat. Why Breila had saved it was a mystery, but he was thankful for her unintentional foresight.
The restaurants that lined the avenue were steadily filling as Ryl passed. The aromas of freshly prepared food were a pleasant addition as they fought to overpower the stench of his outer cloak. The sounds of merriment escaped through the open windows. Laughter and cheerful conversations assaulted him from every direction.
Had the situation been vastly different, had the celebration been less ill-timed, Ryl questioned whether he’d have partaken in the festival attitude of the revelry. Did the majority comprehend what they were celebrating for, or had the celebration itself replaced any inkling of its meaning or purpose?
Ryl mindsight again colored the image of his surroundings as he reached the inclining avenue toward The Stocks. At the extent of his inner vision, the mass of glowing tributes was barely visible. His path carried him northward, moving slowly along the edges of the buildings lining the western side of the avenue. The shadows here were long, leaving ample shade available to remain undetected.
He quickly passed the alley where he and Andr had scouted from earlier in the day, approaching the gate cautiously as if it had eyes of its own. Once he reached the point where he could see not only the gate, but the barracks along the right side of the square, he stopped. Ryl leaned back against the wall, sliding down into a seated pose, discreetly positioned to the side of a large wooden flower planter.
Ryl studied the movements of the guards stationed in the square and along the Palisades above. Any coordinated response from the elevated guards on the morrow would be sluggish owing to the volume of spectators who were allowed to invade the walkways above.
Unsurprisingly, the attention of the guards along the base of the wall was focused. Ryl knew the captain and by extension his commanders to be fair, yet firm with their subordinates. They tolerated no idle or lax behavior, enforcing a regimented conditioning protocol and frequent training.
Time stretched by sluggishly as he maintained his attention on the activity surrounding the Pining Gates. People moved about freely, though the majority wisely avoided approaching the armed soldiers. He could hear muted cheers from the impromptu celebrations that had sprouted toward the water’s edge. Earlier that day, he and Andr had passed through the growing tent encampment which had taken up much of the sprawling market square a few blocks inland from the port.
Ryl could only stomach remaining in that area for a short time. The atmosphere there was sickeningly festive. There were sizable contingents of guards stationed at the corners of the market, and small roving patrols moved throughout the tents maintaining a tolerable semblance of order.
Movement from one of the windows on the second floor of the barracks drew his attention. The shutters were thrown open, and a figure paused, resting his hands on the sill, looking out over the city that blossomed around him. The lingering pitch of a jubilant cheer rose from somewhere off to the west of Ryl. The man’s attention was pointed in the direction of the noise. The look of annoyance written across his face was unmistakable even at this distance.
Ryl knew the face well.
Captain Le’Dral.
The captain shook his head, closing the shutters with a renewed vigor. It was only a matter of moments before Le’Dral emerged from the front door of the barracks. The sentries standing guard saluted as he exited. He watched as the captain barked out orders to a group of guards standing at attention. With a final salute he wheeled to the south, heading down the avenue in Ryl’s direction.
Ryl remained in the shadows watching as the captain walked briskly past. Disguised as a beggar, he garnered no extra attention from Le’Dral, though he was certain the roving eyes of the experienced soldier catalogued his presence. Though not overwhelming, beggars, paupers and the generally less fortunate of society were frequent visitors in all wards of the city.
Giving the captain plenty of space, Ryl rose, ambling slowly through the darkening shadows, surreptitiously following him further into the city. The path the captain traveled forced him from the beaten track of the rapidly crowding main avenues. Ryl stumbled slowly, maintaining a wide berth from the observant captain. It wasn’t long before he noted his mark enter a tavern, set secluded in a back alley well off the main avenue. A faded wooden sign hung motionless above the door; the painted details had been long lost to the elements.
A small patio outside the door featured several tables; every seat was occupied. The raucous clamber spilled out as the captain opened the door. The brief glimpse of the inside as well as the noise that poured out convinced Ryl that there would be no chance for a discrete meeting with the captain there.
How long would the captain remain inside? Ryl was content to wait. The hour was still early enough though the darkness of the early evening was rapidly descending over the city. There was still ample time for him to wait before he needed to return to Andr. Together, they would slip quietly from the city in the still of the night, meeting their companions with the wagons along the northern avenue before dawn.
They would ride on the city just after first light.
Ryl hadn’t long to wait before the captain again emerged from the tavern. The volume of people on the streets had now made a clandestine meeting in the open nearly impossible. Though there were few choices left.
An idea dawned on Ryl. Under the shadow of his hood, his lips curled into a grin. Leaving the captain, he hastened back through the city bound for the barracks at the foot of the gate. He weaved through the back alleys as he steadily made his way toward the main avenue leading to the gate.
Ryl poked his head out from the shadows as he reached the intersection. Though there was still light in the sky, the lanterns that lined the street had been lit, casting the area in an unnatural glow. On the opposite side of the street, slightly downhill from his location, a narrow gap opened between the buildings. He could see that the light from the lanterns would dissipate rapidly once inside. The area beyond was cloaked in an overwhelming darkness.
There were scattered groups moving along the street. The celebration had already reached an intoxicating level with some. A boisterous group stumbled by his location as he slowly hobbled from the concealment of the shadows. He noted a pair of men across the street, surveying the products displayed inside a store window.
Something about the duo looked immediately out of place to Ryl. They both wore similar nondescript articles of clothing. Their eyes, while using the cover of the goods inside the shop window, too frequently scrutinized the faces of the traffic moving about on the avenue. There was no interest in the wares behind the glass.
They w
ere waiting. They were watching for someone.
Ryl studied the pair as they continued to show feigned interest in the store’s goods. He noted the eyes of one go wide with recognition as they landed on something down the lower reaches of the avenue. The man tapped his partner on the shoulder whispering into his ear. His hand slipped nonchalantly under the folds of his cloak.
Ryl followed their eyes down the avenue, cataloguing the faces of the citizens milling about. His heart skipped a beat as he noted the target of their attention. Approaching rapidly from the south, Captain Le’Dral walked with measured gait back toward the barracks.
Ryl chided himself for his careless oversight. The route the captain originally forged to the tavern was intentionally circuitous. It was no surprise that with the current animosity between the fundamentally differing opinions that prevailed, his routes would vary. The comments from Cavlin’s failed assassins rang through his ears.
The captain and his cronies are as good as dead.
There was no doubt that his movements were being watched. His predictability would be a fatal oversight.
The path that the captain walked unintentionally placed him closer to Ryl’s side of the avenue. The dutifully watchful eyes of the captain were surprisingly absent. His casual gaze was lazy, as if he was lost deep in thought. The pair on the other side of the alley, a few dozen meters to the north, began slowly walking back into the street, angling toward the approaching captain.
Ryl acted on impulse; stumbling out into the avenue. He’d waited long enough until his movements would seem random, coincidental. He staggered out from the shadows. The haggard and hunched pose he’d adopted made him look frail and weak. He noted the surprise on the captain’s face as he braced for impact.
Le’Dral had done his best to stop, pulling up partially as they collided. Ryl lowered his shoulder, spinning the captain around. He turned his head back to look at the man as he hastened to put distance between the two of them. From the expression on Le’Dral’s face, he was shocked by the force of the contact.
“Mind your surroundings, Captain,” Ryl whispered.
The pair on the other side of the street staggered their steps at the unexpected impact between the seemingly innocent beggar and the captain. Ryl capitalized on their momentary indecision, forcing out a brief wave of warning over the unexpecting captain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the captain wheel quickly about, his hand subconsciously falling onto the hilt of the sword he wore on his hip. The incoming pair nearly tripped over themselves in an effort to alter their direction as the eyes of the alerted captain fell squarely on their approach.
A few steps later, Ryl disappeared into the darkness of the alley. What Ryl had truly prevented he couldn’t be sure.
There’ll be a culling soon.
The final, sinister message from Cavlin’s doomed assassin spoke of the captain’s fate after the Harvest, yet one final night remained. Was their intention to merely send a message? Were they simply innocent bystanders misidentified by Ryl’s justified paranoia?
Another thought crossed his mind. The deaths of those who’d been sent to kill Cavlin the night before surely had been noted by the party that had sent them. Was this retribution? Had Ryl inadvertently accelerated their deadly plan?
The answer was largely immaterial. Covered by the shadow of the alleyway, Ryl hastened eastward, before turning into another narrow passage heading to the north. The looming top of the southern palisade was silhouetted against the deep blue of the early night sky.
The top of the palisade was still brimming with activity. Soldiers with torches patrolled along the top of the wall. Guards and workers alike moved with speed, hastening to complete preparations for the upcoming Harvest. Torches and lanterns were planted every several meters, illuminating the work area with a day-like light. Vision from the height of the brightened wall into the shadows of the alleyways and narrow grounds surrounding the barracks would be poor at best.
Ryl grinned at his good fortune.
The alley provided no obstacles, allowing him to reach the border of the military compound with haste and ease. There was a gap opening between the buildings and the thin, head-high wall that cordoned off the barracks. The guards positioned in the square were lined in evenly spaced ranks, spread several meters out from the outer doors of the Pining Gate. They had no direct lines of sight to his position near the wall.
After listening for sounds of movement from the narrow courtyard within, Ryl was convinced that no one patrolled the interior. He carefully pulled his head up over the wall, and rapidly inspecting the area, confirming his initial estimation. A moment later, his feet landed silently on the soft grass of the narrow courtyard.
The strip of green grass ran along the southern face of the barracks. There were several benches lining the wall he’d scaled, with small neatly manicured bushes distributed between them. It was only a matter of a few meters from the wall to the edge of the barracks. There were no windows on the first floor, though the second had several evenly spaced across its expanse.
The window Ryl sought was thankfully near the center of the building. Its shutters were closed, though the locking mechanism behind was likely poor. Prior to recent events, guards in Cadsae Proper had little to fear. The possibility of someone entering through an exterior second story window of a heavily guarded barracks was not likely given much thought.
Ryl silently removed the spare cloak, placing it discreetly beside the nearest bench across from the window to the captain’s room. He felt dramatically less restricted with the absence of the borrowed cloak; the soulborne wind was again fully at his command without the fear of tearing the fabric from his right arm.
Checking that no one was watching, Ryl took a step back, priming his leap. He focused on the power within, drinking deep from the speed that flowed through his veins.
Time ground to a stop.
With the aid of a quick downward blast of wind from his right arm, he reached the ledge of the second-floor window in a flash. With his feet perched precariously on the windowsill, he wasted no time pushing inward on the center of the shutters. The narrow metal slide of the small latch in the center of the panels was wholly unprepared to stop the sudden force. Ryl shifted to the side as the panel now freed of its catch sprang back open.
He slipped into the room without a sound, letting the speed snap back to normal. The process of gaining entrance to the captain's room had taken but a moment. In the deep gloom of the early night, his actions would have likely appeared as nothing more than a fleeting moving shadow—if noted, likely written off as the figment of an overactive imagination. Still, Ryl paused, motionless, listening as the moments ticked by.
No calls of alarm from the guards outside reached his ears. Ryl concentrated as he keyed in on the casual sounds of muted conversations, footsteps of the occupants within, and scattered cheers from the revelers without. Inside the barracks, the air was still. Over the array of the noises around, the sound of his heart thundering in his chest was overpowering.
The captain’s quarters were dark, lit only by the dwindling remains of a small lantern burning on the large desk to his left. To his right, a doorway led to a second room. He could see the foot of a small bed as well as a chest and a narrow wardrobe against the far wall.
In every way, the room he’d entered had the feel of an office. The desk was neatly organized with stacks of nondescript papers arranged in regimented order. A small inkwell with a pen sat at the furthest edge of the table. Behind the desk the wall was lined with shelves of books, though he struggled to make out the names in the dim light; the ones he did scan were all military in nature. In the center of the wall opposite the desk a single door remained closed. A thin stream of light crept under the gap between its base and the wooden floorboards below. To the right of the door a small end table was set between two high-backed wooden chairs.
The sound of approaching footsteps from the hall interrupted his casual investigation of the captain�
�s office and quarters. Ryl moved silently to the left corner of the room. From there his position would be blocked by shadow and the inswing of the door. He listened patiently as the steady cadence of a single pair of heavy boots on the wooden floor grew closer. The procession stopped as it reached the entrance to the captain’s office.
Ryl heard the muted jingle of keys and the click of the lock disengaging from its catch. With a quiet groan the door opened. The light from the hallway illuminated a fine diagonal line across the room. Le’Dral entered, continuing inward, closing the door behind him without affording it a look.
The captain paused as he reached the desk. His attention drawn to the open window from which Ryl had gained entrance. He cautiously moved forward, closing the panels, securing them with their ineffective latch. Le’Dral slammed the curtains shut as another cheer rose from the celebration outside. Ryl could see his shoulders slump now that the public weight of his position was hidden. He crossed to the desk with a slow, dejected walk. He removed his sword belt, hanging the weapon over the back of his chair.
Ryl stood silently studying one of the few men that had shown him unwarranted kindness in a world that had been bent on doling out nothing but pain. The captain had treated him, had treated all the tributes, with respect. He had the realization that he was watching what could possibly be the man’s last night. The captain was unaware that his death was coming. His life was forfeit.
And for what?
He had been found guilty of simple, human compassion. He had been judged by the corrupted, black hearts of the elixir-addicted nobles. Their compassionless sentence shed light on their true nature. Ryl felt a chill sweep through his body, raising goosebumps on his arms. In them was the birth of the new Horde. To an extent, the impenetrable walls of the Palisades had been built to keep the demons out of Damaris; yet within the Kingdom, abominations were given free reign.
