Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3)

by C. J. Aaron

  The race to the Erlyn was on.

  If they could make the woods before the army descended on them, they would have a chance. Ryl had yet to share his connection and the powers of the woods with any but the phrenics and Andr. Yet, in their minds, the border to the ancient trees represented hope. The prospect of defending a narrow gap of road would negate the disparity of their numbers; allowing only a few of the enemy to attack at once.

  The heat of the excited alexen rushed through his veins as the power begged for release. The feeling was familiar, yet at the same time contained an unusual hint of apprehension. Though abnormal, he understood the sensation that whispered through the churning of his blood.

  It pleaded for mercy.

  It cried for restraint.

  Ryl had no intention of letting the army reach the tributes or the guards who had awakened to their cause, yet he was loathe to unleash the full complement of his powers. He alone, even without the assistance of the other phrenics, could wreak devastation on a disastrous level.

  Together, the results would be catastrophic.

  They needed to slow the approach.

  The phrenics jogged alongside the remaining riders and guards as the bulk of the caravan raced forward at a frantic pace. Apart from a paltry few, all able-bodied soldiers now remained at the rear, however, no tributes accompanied them for this fight. At Ryl’s pleading, they’d reluctantly acquiesced. His words along with a heavy dose of conveyed emotion had convinced them that making the woods was their only hope. No matter what happened outside, he knew in his heart the Erlyn would protect them.

  They were losing ground too quickly. The distance between the forces closed to less than a few hundred meters. Ryl could make out the faces of the army that charged in their pursuit. His heart sank as his eyes took stock of the rapidly spreading line of attackers. The faces of those in the front were marred with the hateful visages he’d grown so accustomed to during his cycles under guard in The Stocks.

  Those leading the charge likely shared the sentiments of the late Master Delsith, sub-master Osir or the others that thought nothing of the lives they persecuted. The people they’d tortured from the age of a child were nothing to them. They would show no compassion to tribute or guard. They sought only blood and death.

  The forward line of the wagons and horses had crossed the edge of the orchard; nearly a half-mile remained before they reached the woods. Ryl, the phrenics and their meager force had fallen nearly a few hundred meters behind. All ran with their weapons at the ready save the phrenics.

  Ryl was confident the phrenics could easily reach the safety of the woods in time. The rest, however, would never make it. The thought of leaving behind those who’d taken a stand, throwing away all in the defense of the tributes, to die senselessly, turned his stomach. The words of Nielix echoed in his ears.

  You do not fight this battle alone.

  He looked at the group that ran alongside him. Some were strangers. Some were friends. Others he considered the closest thing to family as he had left in this world. They all wore the determined faces of those who were ready to stand and fight. To give their lives, if necessary, for what they believed in. From his right, Andr made his way through the guards to his side.

  “There’ll be no outrunning them,” the mercenary said between breaths. “We were close.”

  “Aye. Form a line at the edge of the orchard,” he announced loud enough for all to hear.

  Le’Dral, who was mounted, slowed his horse, trotting along Ryl’s left side.

  “Captain. The archers are under your command,” Ryl ordered. “Hold your line and don’t fire until I give the signal.”

  “Understood, Ryl,” Le’Dral answered. “What is it you intend to do?”

  Ryl remained quiet for a moment as they neared the edge of the orchard. They slowed their approach as they formed a thin line. The thrumming march of the approaching army slowed with them as they spread out, forming into ranks, readying their charge.

  “I intend to finish what we started, my friend,” Ryl said bluntly. “The Stocks will fall. The tributes will be free.”

  Le'Dral squinted, angling his head slightly to the side as he studied Ryl.

  “They have been warned,” Ryl added before the captain could respond. “If they cannot be convinced otherwise first—those who attack us will die.”

  Le'Dral closed his eyes for a long moment, his head drooping slightly. When it again raised, his eyes were alight with a fierce determination Ryl had never before seen in the normally stoic officer.

  “It will be an honor to fight side by side with those who have the skills only spoken about in legend,” the captain added. His eyes traveled to the statue looming over the forest behind them. “And to call you my friend.”

  Ryl was touched by the sentiment. The joy that should have resounded through his body at the admission was diminished under the tidal surge of energy that raced through his veins.

  His eyes traveled beyond the captain, running slowly along the forest that erupted from the ground less than half a mile away. He could feel the pull of the woods. He could hear her call clearly now; there was relief in her voice, though it was tinged with something more. Something potent, something he'd never felt from her before.

  Something powerful.

  “We'll make it through this, Le'Dral,” Ryl added confidently, though his eyes never left the edge of the Erlyn.

  He watched as the first of the wounded riders from their caravan entered the blackness of the yawning mouth of the woods. Ryl breathed a pent-up sigh of relief knowing the rest would follow shortly.

  His eyes closed for a moment, and he struggled to quiet his raging mind. He focused his thoughts on the woods, pleading for succor. Her limbs were so close, yet from where he stood on the outskirts of the orchard, they may as well as have been separated by an eternity.

  A confident cheer erupted from the massed soldiers from the city. As the revelry faded, he heard the chilling call of a single voice boom over the army.

  “Forward, march.”

  He turned his head quickly to witness the advance of the marching army. The Erlyn seemed to shudder from the sound; a vague ripple passed along the trees.

  With a grunt, Le'Dral spurred his horse back to the line. Ryl placed his hand on Andr's shoulder, locking eyes with his friend. A foreboding sense of apprehension covered his body. He offered him a weak, forced smile.

  “Please don't judge us too harshly for what will befall,” Ryl whispered to the mercenary.

  Andr smiled back, placing his arm on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

  “Leave it to history to judge our actions today,” Andr responded. “You've freed a people from an existence worse than death. You've shown compassion when none was warranted. I made a vow long ago that I intend to keep. I will stay by your side until the end, my friend.”

  Ryl struggled to hold back the moisture that threatened to well in his eyes. With a subtle nod, he turned from Andr, crossing the few meters to where the phrenics stood.

  He stopped alongside the line of his peers. They remained motionless; eyes locked on the army approaching across the narrow expanse.

  The enemy force had fanned out into a wide, slightly concave line that stretched across The Stocks for several hundred meters. Ryl estimated that there were over one thousand guards making up the lead line. Behind that, row after row of armed soldiers receded into the distance. Flanking both ends of the line were the remnants of the cavalry they had repelled the day prior, though their approach lagged behind the charge of the infantry.

  The ground thundered with the footsteps of thousands of heavy boots on the hard soil.

  The line of phrenics stood a few meters ahead of Andr, the Vigil and guards. Less than ninety stood in the face of a charge of overwhelming numbers, yet Ryl was less concerned about their own safety.

  How many thousands would he have to kill before they gave up their charge?

  Ryl’s force stood shoulder to shoulder,
stretching from the edge of the river to the edge of the orchard. The branches of the evenly spaced trees would no doubt slow the initial approach of much of the line, yet the benefit wouldn’t last. Once they crossed through the first rows, their miniscule force would be quickly surrounded. If their initial defense didn’t work, if it failed to persuade the army to abandon its conquest, Le’Dral and the guards were to fall back into the entrance to the Erlyn.

  The steady cadence of the approaching march quickened as they neared. Ryl looked to his left, forcing a wave of hope over those standing with him on the line. The heads of the phrenics to his right turned as one, acknowledging him with a nod. Kaep pulled an arrow from her quiver; the bow creaked as she stretched back the twine. Fire swelled around Vox’s left arm. Ryl felt the heat wash over his left side.

  Scattered cries of bloodlust rang out across the massive line of the incoming army. Ryl could feel the animosity, the excited anticipation, ripple forward like the waves of the tide. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, sucking in a volume of fresh air. He savored the crisp smell of the earth and the lingering, sweet scents of the recently harvested orchard before it would be tarnished by the oppressive stench of blood and death.

  Ryl flinched, as did the rest of those assembled on the field that morning, as a deafening peal of thunder tore through the sky. The attacking guards slowed; their weapons lowered slightly toward the ground, and the focus of their confused stares moved upward toward the skyline and the jagged mountains that loomed over the Erlyn.

  He risked a rapid glance just as the shadow that obscured sun passed overhead. The sky had been cloudless only moments earlier, yet now it rolled with the turbulence of a storm front. The billowing mass of the black cloud seemed to sprout from the center of the woods, spilling outward as it covered the sky and land below in an unnatural darkness. Brilliant flashes sparked through the interior, momentarily lighting the churning depths of the storm cloud, giving warning of the fury that raged inside.

  The last of the tributes disappeared into the blackness of the entrance to the woods.

  The forest shuddered. This time, the ripple that raced across its face was visible to all. The effect was harrowing. The approach of the guards slowed to a crawl as they stared with open mouths at the unsettling phenomenon unravelling before their eyes.

  In the wake of the thunder, the steady, rhythmic drum of coordinated feet rumbled from the depths of the woods.

  The eyes of all now locked onto the forest as the sound steadily increased.

  “Captain,” Ryl spoke quickly. “Have your men slowly fall back toward the woods.”

  Ryl knew not what was happening. He would not refuse the succor, no matter how unlikely, or unexpected.

  Had the Erlyn heeded his call?

  The sound of marching was drowned out by a second roar of thunder from the sky above. A blinding bolt of white light struck the ground just south of the orchard. A shower of dirt and sparks exploded outward, sizzling as they reached the ground. The front line of the guards wavered, their practiced uniformity faltering.

  From the gloom of the Erlyn’s entrance, a single figure appeared. It materialized like a ghost from the darkness, its grey cloak pulled to the side in the wind that streamed from the entrance of the woods. The hood was pulled up shadowing the features of the face beneath. The tip of a long, grey, wiry beard extended out from the darkness that covered his face. His right arm was wrapped in an elaborate tattoo, though from the distance, its details were obscured.

  “The prophet,” Kaep whispered reverently.

  Chapter 36

  Ryl squinted his eyes to get a better view of the phrenic from afar. This was a figure he recognized. Though he’d seen the man only briefly, the impression he’d left was permanent. His image was forever ingrained in his mind.

  The thrumming of footsteps from the forest grew to a deafening crescendo—then abruptly stopped.

  In turn, the advance of the thousands of soldiers from Cadsae Proper ground to a halt.. Confusion reigned upon the faces of many. They cast questioning glances from side to side, searching for answers from their superiors. The silence that settled over the area was ominous. The babble of the river at their sides stilled. For an instant, the rustling of the wind through the trees of the orchard paused as if holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come. Without warning, Ryl felt the distinct pull of the air back toward the Erlyn, like the surf withdrawing to the sea in preparation for the next wave.

  There were unveiled signs of movement throughout the woods.

  Without warning, the lone figure standing in the gloom of the woods cried out in a sound that was nothing like Ryl had ever experienced before.

  It was defiance.

  It was rage.

  It was terror.

  It echoed through the churning clouds of the sky like thunder.

  The figure threw his arms out to the side before slamming them forward as the voice issued from his mouth. The rolling of the storm overhead drove forward with the motion.

  “For the phrenic!”

  Ryl felt his heart skip a beat as the voice confirmed that which he already knew.

  “Da’agryn!” he spoke aloud.

  As if the motion of his hands had set them free, from out of the great opening of the forest, from between every tree and bramble, an army of warriors streamed. They were hooded, clothed in billowing grey cloaks with a single arm bared, revealing intricate tattoos.

  Most bore themselves on foot, though many rode atop heavily armored horses. Each rider was equipped with a tall spear. Every warrior that streamed from the line of the trees was armed with a blade.

  Each cried their personal tone of rage, defiance, revenge. The accumulation of suffering of over a thousand cycles of tributes who languished in The Stocks poured from their mouths. The sound coalesced into a song that spoke of one message.

  Death.

  The outpouring of bodies from the woods was ceaseless. The cloaked phrenics raced down the open road, moved through the trees with a speed that defied explanation. The glow of their blades and the fire that grew along their arms intensified until it shone with the burning fury of the sun. From overhead, the clouds erupted with blinding bolts of lightning. The dazzling, heavenly spears rained down on the ground between Ryl and the army from Cadsae Proper.

  The front lines of the guards had now fallen into complete disarray. The terrified horses neighed and wheeled in protest, unseating their riders as they fled toward the south and west. A few plunged into the icy river, churning their powerful legs through the still, yet deep waters, desperately seeking the freedom of the opposite banks.

  “Vox, now,” Ryl cried over the howls of the warriors.

  The phrenic elementalist added his own fire to the storm. Ball after ball of burning embers pulsed from his hand, raining down at the feet of the scattering forward lines. Ryl blinked his eyes, focusing his own attack on the already panic-stricken army. Pure, uncontested fear slammed into them with a physical force that sent many staggering. He felt searing waves of emotion from Kaep and Ramm crash into the army.

  From behind, the seemingly endless phrenic army screamed down the road. From under the trees of the orchard they raced. As the runners leading the charge passed through Ryl's lines, none made eye contact, none moved their singular focus from their objective: the army of guards. The orchard erupted as a wave of fighters pushed unimpeded through the branches.

  To his right, Vox released another pair of fireballs. Their arching, smoldering paths ended harmlessly in the dirt, far before the army. They crackled as they fizzled out on the ground long before they could harm the heels of the enemy who now in full retreat. Many screamed in terror as they threw their weapons down, clawing over each other to flee the coming doom.

  As they streamed past his position, Ryl could tell that there was something off about the warriors. From afar, they were fearsome, ominous harbingers of death and destruction. As he studied their charging figures from up close, the
details became blurred. Their bodies were partially transparent, outlined in an eerie light green glow.

  He held out his arm toward the closest apparition. The lack of any sensation as his finger slid through the moving form was unnerving. The figure wavered slightly, like a ripple spreading out across water before reforming again. His mouth gaped at the realization.

  They were illusions.

  They were ghosts.

  Ramm caught Vox under his shoulders as the phrenic slumped down to his side. The seemingly endless army now spread out rapidly, slowing as they filled the space between the orchard and the retreating guards.

  “Fall back to the woods,” Ryl ordered as the lines of ethereal phrenics paused their advance.

  To their defense, the guards and Vigil alike had stood their ground in the face of the unnatural army that had washed over them. However, they now eagerly hastened toward the mouth of the woods.

  Ramm hoisted Vox onto his shoulders, carrying the unconscious elementalist with ease. Ryl and Kaep backpedaled, watching the army scatter across the fields to the south. Here and there a few pockets of resistance remained. Eagerly waiting for their chance to attack, desperately pleading with their fleeing comrades to rally to arms.

  Their efforts were valiant, yet utterly fruitless. It was like moving the sea, one bucket at a time. The panicked stampede of a retreat eroded their numbers one by one, dragging the rest along until none remained.

  The ghostly phrenic army that had been primed, ready for battle receded slowly backward into the trees of the orchard though their focus never strayed from the south. As the threat of attack diminished, so too did their number as they melted back into the trees as quickly as they'd come. The black clouds overhead continued their assault of scattered lighting, though the intensity and frequency diminished quickly.

  As Ryl moved toward the woods, the blackened clouds overhead seemed to withdraw with them, receding back to where they had blossomed above the Erlyn’s core. By the time the phrenics caught up with the guard and Vigil there were less than one hundred meters between them and the woods. The black clouds and storm overhead were gone. The last of the ethereal warriors had disappeared, melting back into the trees.