by C. J. Aaron
The seven donning the black cloaks would ride in escort of the wagon. All four phrenics would be clothed as Lei Guard along with Andr, Dav and Nielix. For the time being, Elias’ guard would be trusted to Soldi. Though he was a highly skilled, capable and trusted warrior, Ryl worried what would happen should Elias revert during their assault on The Stocks.
Rolan and Faya had been a fortuitous addition to their party. The father would drive the wagon, while young Faya had eagerly prepared for her part in the charade. The travel in the back of the wagon would be cramped, though the ride to the Pining Gates should only take a matter of hours from their current location. A section of black fabric had been secured from the ceiling of the interior of the wagon a step from the rear door. When lowered, it would prevent prying eyes from viewing the true contents of the wagon as the door opened to release Faya.
To the east, the sky was beginning to brighten from black to a stunning shade of deep violet, heralding the rapid coming of the day.
The Harvest was now upon them.
They took a moment to run through their plans as those riding as the Lei Guard quickly dressed in their black cloaks. All knew what was being asked of them. Ryl was hesitant as he slowly slid his arms into the sleeves. Though only carefully crafted fakes, the cloaks felt disturbing as they covered his skin. It was as if the fabric was tainted, exuding a hatred that he failed to comprehend. The sensation of its rough fibers rubbing over his tattooed arms was nauseating.
They had managed to secure only four of the wicked swords from their battle with the Lei Guard on the bridge at Serrate. A single shield was all they could salvage from the melee. Ramm easily hefted the heavy shield, choosing to continue carrying his massive warhammer. The Vigil, Dav and Nielix, as well as Andr, had claimed the confiscated swords in place of their current arms. Vox carried a short sword at his hip, though his hands would remain free for the use of his elementalist skills. Kaep wore her bow and quiver comfortably over her cloak, her small curved blades as always remained hidden from sight.
Having lost his previous blade during the battle with the assassins, Ryl claimed the last of the Lei Guard’s swords. The feeling of the weapon against his hip was ominous. Whereas the touch of the Leaves in his hands was exhilarating, the mere contact of this vile blade against his body revolted him.
The final task before leaving for the city proved to be difficult in its own regard. They all took a moment to bid farewell to the merchant who had traveled with them since chance brought them together in the woods south of the Sister Lakes. Aldren had quickly become a trusted friend and an invaluable companion.
Though his departure would be bittersweet, Ryl knew that the merchant longed to be reunited with his son. His boy, Cade, had ridden valiantly into the unknown with a clandestine message destined for Cantros, the seat of House Eligar.
The home of their friend, Lord Fay Eligar.
Armed with a letter of recommendation from Andr, he knew that Aldren would be welcomed with open arms in the home of the Lord. Ryl was the last to approach the merchant as the rest of their companions took their positions.
“Farewell, Aldren,” Ryl said graciously. “Your assistance has been invaluable. Your friendship has been unconditional.”
“It is you who I have to thank,” the merchant said shaking his head. A smile crossed his lips, though his face was a mix of conflicting emotions.
On one hand, his departure was premature. Though he knew not where their final destination lay, he would have followed Ryl and his companions to the end. Conversely, his departure was long overdue. Watching his son ride away, not knowing the fate of his dear boy, was a heart-wrenching experience. A permanent reminder that a monumental piece of his life was missing. His boy was a capable rider, and experienced traveler, from cycles of work with his father. But the uncertainty of his son’s current whereabouts must have weighed upon the merchant ceaselessly.
“Without your help, Cade and I would be no more. We are forever indebted to you,” Aldren continued, and his eyes began to water with the gravity of what had nearly befallen.
“There is no debt to be filled,” Ryl said. “You’re free to live your life as you choose. Please give our regards to Lord Eligar. I hope that fate will be kind enough to reunite us one day. Until that time, stay safe, my friend.”
Ryl reached out his hand to the merchant. Aldren grabbed his, squeezing it firmly before pulling him into a tight embrace.
The sound of hoofbeats behind them broke the heartfelt moment of farewell. Andr, adorned in his black cloak, walked his horse slowly toward the pair. In his other hand, he held the reins of Ryl's mount.
Aldren wiped a tear from his eye as he took a step back. Ryl took the reins from Andr, mounting the horse with ease.
“Until we meet again, Ryl,” Aldren choked out the words. His voice was dripping with emotion. “I believe the world will be a markedly better place the next time we meet.”
Ryl nodded, smiling at the merchant before raising the hoods of both cloaks over his head. With its escort of ebon riders, the black wagon rumbled by, heading south toward the main road.
Andr waited patiently by Ryl's side. With a final smile at the merchant, Ryl spurred his horse forward into the wake of the departing wagon. Their black cloaks flayed out behind them like a cloud passing over the land. At their rear to their east, the first sliver of the sun peeked over the horizon. Vibrant orange and yellow hues began chasing away the deep blues of the lingering night.
Ryl turned his head back a final time. Aldren was silhouetted against the backdrop of the brightening sky. The merchant stood with his hand raised in a slow wave.
Urging his horse on to a canter, he quickly rejoined the rest of his companions. Andr slowed, taking his place alongside Dav and Nielix as the rear guard of the wagon. The phrenics would lead the escort.
They would lead the assault on The Stocks.
The back door to the wagon had been left cracked open. He could see the brilliant blue eyes of Faya shining out from the darkness within. He felt a subtle wave of anxiety splash over his body. He smiled. An admirable attempt from the untrained, unawakened youngster. Ryl answered with a powerful wave of the most poignant sensation he could muster.
It was hope.
It was the same feeling of hope that had kept his head from drowning below the waters of desperation that he’d treaded through for cycles.
Faya smiled as he continued past.
Ryl slowed as he joined the vanguard of the escort. He slipped into the gap remaining between the hulking figure of Ramm, who formed the outer left flank, and the slender form of Kaep in the middle. To her right rode Vox.
Kaep turned her head in his direction as his horse fell in line. Though the cover of her hood darkened her face, he could see her eyes sparkling through the shadow.
“Today will begin the start of a new era for Damaris,” she noted quietly. “Are you ready?”
“Aye. I am ready,” Ryl answered with a smile. “It was to be my Harvest after all.”
The heat of burning determination surged through his veins. His anticipation dwarfed the nervousness that had threatened to overtake him. He longed to see his friends again. He desired above all else for them to taste the freedom that he had experienced.
The reunion would be sweet yet short.
There was much work to be done before any could truly relax.
“I wonder though ... is Damaris?” he whispered.
Chapter 22
The road leading to the southern gate of Cadsae Proper was eerily quiet as they thundered on toward the city. They had passed not a soul as they approached the city limits. The sun had just fully crested the horizon at their back; Ryl knew the Harvest would soon commence.
The even, earthen road converted to cobblestone after passing the fork that led toward the East Ward. The clacking of their horseshoes on the stone roadway along with the rhythmic cadence of the wagon’s wheels announced their presence to the unprepared city. He watched as the sma
ll contingent of guards manning the gatehouse shrunk back at their approach. The guards made no moves to arrest their progress. Their faces were wrought with undeniable expressions of fear.
Once inside the thin outer walls of the city, the volume of traffic on the road increased dramatically. They slowed for none as they plowed their way onward toward the Palisades looming high in the distance.
They were a black cloud; the front of a disastrous storm that spelled doom for those who dared stand in their way. The pathway cleared in front of them like water around a rock. The joyous faces of those that had come to revel in this cycle’s Harvest faded instantly as the shadow of their cavalcade blackened out the early morning sun. The would-be revelers shrunk away from the approaching riders and wagon, cries of alarm and panic traveled in their wake.
Their procession’s approach slowed as they reached the intersection with the main avenue leading north toward the Pining Gates. The street here was choked with foot traffic. Eager attendees craned their necks high, greedily seeking a view of the tributes as they exited from the imposing gate. Lining the right side of the wide avenue, a train of black wagons stretched from the intersection to the palisade.
Nineteen wagons lined the avenue. Nineteen young men and women were to be wrenched from the prison they’d called home for more than half of their lives. It was fitting that on the day of his own scheduled Harvest, Ryl arrived with the twentieth black wagon. Their pace slackened further as they made the turn onto the gently climbing street. Ryl could hear the panicked word of their arrival echo out before him, rolling like a wave toward the shore.
One by one the phrenics began unleashing a torrent of emotions over the surrounding revelers and wagons. Drivers tumbled down from their seats, desperately seeking shelter in the cowering masses from the rolling wave of hatred and terror that assaulted their senses.
Ryl’s repeated surveys of the area using his mindsight had to this point revealed nothing. As they neared the crest of the hill bordering the edge of the square, the signatures of the tributes appeared in his vision. It was a line of glowing golden orbs. He needed not count. He knew there would be nineteen.
The tributes for cycle 1351 were assembled. Ready for Harvest.
The number of guards in relation to civilians grew considerably as they moved toward the gates. Owing to the tension in the city, it was no surprise that armed guards blocked off access to the square and the barracks. Those aiming for a view of inside The Stocks were funneled along the eastern edge of the square between the stables and the mess hall to the single large staircase leading to the Palisade’s upper walkway.
By the time they’d reached the edge of the square, the wave of sound preceding their approach had already crashed against the mighty, wooden outer doors of the Pining Gate. Along the top of the palisade, heads were rapidly turning from the scene within to the growing commotion without. Lords and ladies, servants, retainers and soldiers alike pointed, eyes wide, mouths agape at the approach of the black cloaked warriors and wagon.
The guards forming the outer wall of the blockade parted without question as Ryl and his companions thundered past. Though their faces were shrouded in black, the guards shrank back, averting their eyes to avoid any chance of eye contact. To catch the eye of the Lei Guard was rumored to be certain death.
Of all their number that was visible, it was Rolan whose features were not covered by cloak or shadow. The father, who’d days earlier been on the verge of slaughter at the hands of the hunters, now wore the guise of a guard. Ryl marveled at his composure. His head was held high, and his attitude spoke of a haughty confidence and superiority over his peers.
The rows of guards standing along the edge of the Pining Gate were arranged two deep. The front row wavered, backing up a step, as the four phrenics came to a halt several meters from their line. A moment later the black wagon creaked to a stop. The rear riders reined in their mounts. One remained at the rear; the others took positions along the flanks of the wooden carriage. The frantic wave of sound that had foretold their coming was replaced with a terrifying silence that settled in their presence. The phrenics continued to pour the vile emotions over the area as Ryl let the silence permeate.
Not a soul in the square or on the walls moved as the moments stretched on.
With a drawn out, deliberate motion, Ryl swung his leg over the side of his saddle, alighting from the mount with an audible thump of boots against the stone roadway. The sound echoed through the noiseless square. The muffled crunch of dirt under the soles of his boots rumbled like thunder as he took a measured step forward toward the gate.
Ryl rapidly scanned the faces of the guards standing before him and throughout the square. He recognized none of the frightened men that hesitantly eyed his approach.
They were scared.
Ryl took another step forward before stopping. His hands fell to his sides. He stood like a statue before the anxious guards.
“Open the gate,” he commanded.
Though only a whisper, the force it imparted was beyond comprehension. His soft voice struck with a tangible weight that reverberated through the bodies of those with earshot.
For a moment, none before the gate moved.
With clear, focused intent, Ryl crossed his right arm over his stomach, closing his fingers over the hilt of the long, curved sword strapped to his left hip.
“Open. The. Gate,” he repeated the command. The emphasis of each word hammered into the gate like the drum of a blacksmith’s hammer.
“Do as he says,” came the feeble response from a guard now hastening from the mouth of the barracks to his right.
Confusion reigned along the line before the mighty outer doors of the Pining Gate as the guards scrambled to clear themselves from the swing of the massive doors. The officer from the barracks stopped as he reached the gate. He hammered a deliberate cadence against the outer panel. Ryl could hear the hollow echo from the chamber within.
“O-Open the gates,” he called to his counterparts inside the gate.
For a moment there was no sound of response from within. It wasn’t long before the unintelligible din of multiple conversations reached their ears. Finally, a voice broke free from the rabble. There were no visual cues required to understand its annoyance.
“What’s going on out there?” the voice from the interior hissed. “Have you lost your mind?”
The uncomfortable gulp from the guard standing in front of Ryl was unavoidable. The man now stood alone, crushed between the massive gate and the incomprehensible myth and hatred of the Lei Guard. The request, owing to the current circumstances of the Harvest, was unorthodox at best. The guard looked cautiously over his shoulder at Ryl before partially turning his head replying to the unseen voice within. His wide eyes never strayed from the blackened figure of Ryl.
“Sir. It’s the Lei Guard, sir,” he stumbled
The eyes of the guard flashed nervously between the gate and Ryl as he awaited the response. Agonizing moments stretched onward as the silence loomed over the square. Ryl tapped his index finger impatiently against the locket of the sheath.
With a thunderous groan the great wooden doors shook as they began their sluggish motion toward opening. The placating expression of the officer in charge of the outer gate was the first to materialize from the dimly lit interior chamber of the gate.
“I apologize for the reception,” his voice wavered as he worked himself into a pitiful attempt at a half bow.
“Your dereliction is noted and will be dealt with,” was all Ryl responded with a hiss. He redirected the outpouring of animosity towards the unprepared officer. The man’s knees visibly shook from the impact. He staggered back a step before turning his head side to side, issuing frantic orders for the guards lining the inside of the gate to make way.
Ryl and the phrenics pushed forward without waiting for the gates to open fully. They reached the interior as the black wagon carrying their charges began its slow entrance into the enclosed holding area.
The phrenics dismounted, spreading themselves out evenly a pace behind Ryl.
The confusion written across the faces of those inside the dim light of the wall was glaring. There was no hiding their uncertainty or their fear. It stood out like a blazing fire in the depths of the night. The line of guards that had formed the man-made wall along the inside of the outer gate had split, spreading out along their side of the wide chamber. A pair of guards stood in the far left corner of the inner gate adjacent the chains that worked the great bar that secured the door.
To Ryl’s right a small group remained near the doorway that led to the guard’s barracks. All were soldiers, save one. The other was dressed in finery that clearly highlighted the self-importance of his position. Jewels, carefully stitched into the silken thread of his black pants and shirt, sparked with an unnatural fire. He wore a long, ruffled blood-red robe that stopped just shy of the ground. There was a perpetual scowl across his hawkish face. He held himself tall. There was an uncompromising arrogance to his demeanor.
Ryl recognized the face.
It was Sir Maklan. The newly appointed councilor of The Stocks. Beyond the councilor, a large pile of fetters waited on the packed dirt floor alongside the door.
Nineteen. One for every tribute to be Harvested.
Ryl seethed at the sight.
The councilor’s eyes went wide as the wagon, followed by the final three black cloaked riders, made its way into the enclosed chamber.
“What is the meaning of this?” the nasal, antipathy laden voice of Sir Maklan shrieked, competing with the creak of the wagon’s wheels.
Ryl slowly turned his head, his blackened gaze purposefully sweeping across the guards lining the walls of the room. After what seemed like an eternity his glare landed on its target. He moved forward, overemphasizing each pointed step. Maklan and the others near the door rapidly gave ground, finding themselves quickly with their backs against its rough stone surface.
