by C. J. Aaron
Moyan, like his mentor, was the epitome of regimented military style. His uniform was clean and neatly pressed, his face clean shaven and his hair cropped close. His brows were locked in a permanent expression of displeasure, while his large observant eyes scanned the surroundings. All of these, along with his chiseled cheekbones, jaw, and thin unsmiling mouth combined to give him an overall intimidating appearance.
The tributes, now under guard of a significantly larger force, ambled forward. With the added feeling of security that the increased guard provided, the pace grew steadily throughout the day, although Millis allowed for several extra breaks along the way. His troops, many of whom hadn’t slept since the day before, were spent by the time the camp at Thayers Rest came into view.
The small community of Thayers Rest was nothing more than a boarding house and a well set back from the main road. The guards had a fire going within minutes. The sun had yet to set, however, the first few shifts who’d yet to rest from the evening before were already fast asleep. The remainder of the guards had fanned out forming a circle around the small building, with an outer ring of sentries posted further out afield.
Many of the tributes exchanged worried looks as they entered the small common house. Those who’d been dragged out unconscious from the fire at the Stillwater camp jockeyed over positions closest to the door. Ryl and his friends, having been closer to the rear of the procession, found spots near the back wall of the building, in what could be roughly considered the kitchen.
Luan had fallen fast asleep almost immediately, sandwiched between the protective twins. Looking at their relationship from afar, one could be easily convinced that they were all siblings. Her energy had been lagging severely toward the end of the march. She stumbled over her shuffled steps so frequently that sub-master Millis had climbed down from his horse, hoisting her up into the saddle, walking with reins in hand the balance of the march. Ryl continued to be impressed by the actions of the kindhearted sub-master.
Ryl hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep in a sitting position, his back leaning against the rough wood wall until a gentle shake awoke him. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he saw the face of Cavlin leaning down before him. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep. Scanning the room, it appeared that everyone else was asleep as well.
“Quietly. Grab your things,” Cavlin whispered. “Follow me.”
Ryl nodded, sliding up off the wall, carefully tossing his pack over his shoulder, silently following Cavlin as he tiptoed out of the common house. The guards at the door looked away as the pair disappeared into the dark.
Skirting the outside fringe of the fire’s light, Ryl trailed a step behind as they moved silently and quickly toward a tent that had been erected sometime after Ryl had entered the boarding house. Cavlin entered first, holding the flap as Ryl ducked inside.
The interior of the tent was small, lit by a single lantern that sat on the ground in the center of the space. The angled ceiling was barely high enough for Ryl to stand in the middle. Sub-master Millis and Lieutenant Moyan were sitting on their bedrolls on opposite sides of the enclosure. They paused their hushed conversation as Cavlin and Ryl entered.
“Have a seat, Ryl,” Millis said quietly, pointing to the ground at the end of his bedroll. Cavlin sat opposite him.
“I apologize again for pulling you away like this, but the lieutenant and I both agree this is the best decision,” Millis said. He paused looking at Moyan.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Ryl.” Lieutenant Moyan’s deep voice broke the silence. “I’ll keep this brief as we don’t have much time. My patrol was organized last night by Captain Le’Dral after the fire was reported by the guards on the palisades. We were about halfway to you this morning when we were joined by another two riders. They claimed to have been sent by the captain as well.” He looked over at the sub-master, who nodded slightly.
“I’ve known the captain a long time,” Moyan said. “Granted, not nearly as long as I’ve known the sub-master, but long enough to know how he works. He’s a meticulous man, a man who believes in details, who doesn’t second guess himself. He’d not have sent a second group to meet us on the road.”
“Then the rest of the tributes are in danger,” Ryl interrupted the lieutenant.
Moyan straightened his back, sitting up to his full height. His imposing figure towered over Ryl.
“Not at the moment,” Moyan continued. “The four were paired with a group of guards I trust. Their patrol just left and is set to relieve the furthest sentry north.”
“We’re going to borrow their plan from last night,” Millis took over the explanation. “Only tonight, you die in the fire.”
Ryl was horrified by the plan. The tributes had been traumatized by the attack last night. He was terrified about the mental toll the fire, not to mention his alleged death would add to their already overburdened minds. He opened his mouth to protest the plan, but Millis held up his hand halting him prematurely.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Millis said compassionately. “The tributes will be in no danger and some, especially your friends, will note your absence. The building will be rubble by the time the northern sentry can make it back once we sound the alarm. The men that were sent to look for you won’t know, however, that you were never in the fire in the first place. I suspect word will make it back to the master tonight heralding your death.”
The sub-master shifted his position, finding a more comfortable spot on the ground.
“This ruse should ease whatever plan the master had in store for your arrival,” Millis explained. “You’ll be heading out with Cavlin, dressed as a guard again. I hope your legs are rested. You’ll need to travel fast. If all goes well, you’ll be able to slip into Cadsae in the middle of the night when the patrols are the most lax in their watch.”
The sub-master passed a uniform to Ryl, who started donning the costume immediately.
“And what if this is all just an overreaction, sir,” Ryl asked meekly.
“Good question, Ryl,” the sub-master laughed softly. “If this is just the overworking of our paranoid minds, in the grand scheme of things, there’s really no harm done. The boarding houses here and at the Stillwater camp were barely inhabitable in the first place. If I’m not mistaken, the workload will be rather light with the cold moons upon us. There’ll be plenty of time and labor to rebuild them before returning to the fields.”
Ryl let out an involuntary chuckle at the sub-master’s logic. He’d finished dressing, layering the standard issue guard uniform over his light clothes, then carefully strapped the splint back onto his arm.
“One last thing before you go,” Millis said, the official tone gone from his voice. “This will most likely be the last conversation we’ll have before the Harvest.”
The sub-master paused, collecting his words. His eyes locked onto Ryl’s.
“There is more to you than meets the eye, of that I’m sure,” Millis continued honestly. Ryl swallowed nervously, the palms of his hands started sweating immediately. “Whether it’s luck or something more, I pray that it stays with you for whatever life throws your way once you leave this place. For what it’s worth, Ryl, I wish situations were different. Stay safe. Travel well, my friend.”
Ryl was again blown away by the sentiment from the sub-master. Friendship between a guard and a tribute was all together unheard of.
“I trust Millis with my life,” Moyan interjected. “His judgement is rarely wrong. If he vouches for you, I wouldn't argue.”
The sub-master did his best to rise to his feet without slouching too much, extending his hand to Ryl. The lieutenant rose to a knee extending his as well. The men clasped hands. In any other situation, purely an innocuous formal greeting, however, in this situation it symbolized so much more.
It symbolized hope that the spark had truly taken to flame. A flame which was now ready to spread. All it needed was a catalyst.
46
Cavlin and Ryl slipped o
ut of the tent into the darkness. The night was quiet, only the hushed crackle of the remains of the guards’ fire could be heard through the still air. Cavlin stopped, grabbing a spare baton leaning against the tent.
“Just in case,” he whispered. “Just don't get any ideas. I'd hate to have to actually kill you tonight.”
Ryl wasn't sure whether to laugh or cringe. The man had been nothing but honest, treating him with respect that was not normally given to a tribute. Millis had said he was one of the best. While not openly cocky or headstrong about his proficiency, he had a noticeable, confident air that bespoke his lethality.
Ryl went to slide the baton into the holster on his uniform, Cavlin stopped his hand.
“Your pack will be fine over your shoulder,” he whispered. “Carry the baton in hand. It'll make too much noise slapping against your leg. While you’re at it, take off that splint and stow it in your bag as well. Don’t want it to draw any undue attention.”
Ryl did as he was ordered, removing the splint, carefully placing it in his pack before slinging it over his shoulder.
“Hope your legs are feeling strong,” Cavlin chuckled softly. “Let's go.”
Without waiting for a response, Cavlin began jogging down the road. Ryl followed closely in his wake.
They traveled quickly, eating up the ground heading south. Navigating the road was fairly simple with the assistance of the light of the moon. The flat road made for easy travel as the pair increased their distance from the camp.
They’d covered a few miles when the unintelligible distant cries of alarm split the quiet of the night. The two slowed to a walk, looking back over their shoulders in the direction they’d just traveled from. The horizon was lit by a flickering bright orange-yellow glow. The shouts of the guards grew in volume as the camp came alive in response to the fire.
“We need to hurry,” Cavlin said with a sense of urgency to his voice. “We need to take heed on the road. My guess is that we'll run into a rider reporting the news of your demise to Cadsae before long.”
“Yes, sir,” Ryl responded quietly, following the guard as he restarted his measured jog.
Every few miles, Cavlin broke from his easy stride, walking for a short distance. Ryl, whose legs were beginning to scream in protest, reveled in the short stretches of easy walking. Since the fire had been lit, Cavlin had been frequently casting glances behind them searching for any hint of pursuit. Ryl took up the periodic watches as well.
By Cavlin’s estimation, the unlikely pair had covered more than half the distance to Cadsae when he again slowed to an easy walk. The night was quiet, the continual gurgle of the river running alongside the road and Ryl’s heavy breathing were the only sounds to be heard. Ryl turned around walking backwards. The short, wild grass of the fallow fields to the side of the road swayed gently in the light breeze. The flickering glow of the fire could barely be seen in the distance.
Closer to the ground, a small pinpoint of light tracked slightly from left to right along the horizon.
“Cavlin,” Ryl asked quietly. “What is that light?” As he watched the light spit into a second glowing orb.
The guard stopped in his tracks spinning around in the direction of Ryl’s inquiry, his body tensed.
“Riders,” he said urgently. “There’s no shelter here. We need to make it to the grove that borders this field. Run. Now.” Cavlin pulled Ryl around as he broke into a sprint.
Ryl ran as fast as his legs would take him in pursuit of the guard. In the distance, the tiny flickering lights of the southern palisade winked into view, suspended ominously in the air. From their rear, they could clearly make out the hoofbeats of the rapidly approaching horses.
The growing dark smudge against the night sky signaled the approaching copse of trees. Ryl surged forward using the every ounce of speed he could muster. Just ahead of him, Cavlin slipped silently into the trees. The noise of the approaching riders grew steadily in his wake.
Ryl broke into the small grove as soon as he’d passed the first tree. His eyes had grown accustomed to the night, yet the blackness under the wooded canopy caught him off guard, he stumbled over an exposed root, sliding to the ground, breaking a low hanging branch with an audible snap that reverberated through the night.
Before he could rise, Cavlin grabbed him by the collar, dragging him behind one of the large trees that dotted the small copse. The guard’s arm wrapped around his head, covering his mouth, pinning him to the ground with the weight of his shoulder.
“That was careless,” he whispered. “Now don’t move a muscle.”
Rly was pinned on his stomach, he nodded his head as best he could, scraping his chin against the cold ground stirring up the scent of earth and decaying leaves. Cavlin slowly removed the arm from around his face, propping himself up on his elbows, baton at the ready.
The lead rider slowed to a stop as they reached the edge of the trees where the pair hid, his partner reining his horse in beside him. The rider held his torch out toward the grove sweeping it side to side, spreading its unfocused wash of light through the trees. Ryl could feel Cavlin’s body tense in expectation.
“What’s gotten into you?” the second rider questioned his partner.
“I thought I saw movement on the road ahead of us,” the rider responded. “Heard what I thought was snapping branches. Didn’t you hear it, too?”
“Look at the mighty Edmar,” the second rider laughed. “Afraid of a few deer running in the night.”
“It’s not the deer I fear, Gerall,” Edmar responded with a growl. “It’s Moyan. I tell you, he was suspicious from the start. He’ll notice we’re gone before long.”
“And by then, we’ll be out of The Stocks,” Gerall interrupted. “They’d be chasing us, not running from us anyway. Let’s get back to Cadsae, report to the master, get paid, and get out of this place.” He drove his horse forward into a canter.
With a grunt, the first guard spurred his horse forward, following his retreating companion. Cavlin and Ryl remained motionless, watching as their retreating torches moved into the distance.
“Well, there’s your answer,” Cavlin stated quietly, brushing himself off as he rose to his feet. “I have half a mind to go pummel that worthless excuse for a man that calls himself the Master of The Stocks.” He reached down, offering his hand to Ryl, hoisting him up to his feet.
“Get in line,” Ryl snarled.
“Atta boy,” Cavlin laughed, “Knew I liked you for a reason. Just stick to the plan though. You’re already dead, remember? Can’t have you causing any more trouble now.”
Cavlin watched the torches of the retreating riders for a moment.
“Let’s walk for a spell, then make haste,” Cavlin explained. “We need to sneak you back into your common house, and I need to report to the captain. Don’t want to let those two get too far ahead though. Let’s go.”
Cautiously, the pair exited the copse of trees, walking in the direction of Cadsae. The darker shadow of the palisade grew with every passing step, as did the dread. He was coming home for the last time.
The adrenaline that had built up in his body gave him the surge of strength he needed to keep pace with the older, stronger guard as they jogged on toward Cadsae. The silence of the night remained intact for the duration of their trip, broken only by Ryl’s labored breathing and the sound of their feet on the hard-packed road.
It had passed the middle of the night when Cavlin and Ryl ducked into the tall grass of the fallow field bordering the road, just to the north of Cadsae. They rested, watching the slow patrol of the guards along the top of the palisades. The guards would make the short circuit of their patrol before meeting at the middle, conversing for a few moments before separating to make another round.
The plan was to time their entry as both guards started outward from their impromptu meeting. They had little to fear from the guards on the palisade, however, neither was likely to raise an alarm at another pair of guards walking through the small plaza,
no matter the hour of night.
It was the guards on the ground, undoubtedly those most loyal to the master that were to be feared. True to the sub-master’s estimations, the patrolling guards were lax in their efforts. The only visible pair looked to be in the middle of a game of cards, sitting in front of the warehouse bordering the gate.
The guards on the wall split from their conversation, their torches highlighting their movement along the top of the wall.
“It’s now or never,” Cavlin whispered to Ryl. “Sheath that baton and follow me. Keep your head down, collar up and walk with purpose. Let’s go.”
They rose together, Ryl walking a pace behind his companion. He could feel the thunder of his heartbeat in his chest. He feared the sound was audible as it echoed in his ears. The guards on the palisades gave no indication of alarm as the two materialized from the darkened road into the torchlight of the square.
Keeping a steady pace, Cavlin and Ryl quickly made their way to the small smithy, sticking close to the shadows along its side. The smithy was their last means of refuge, past its shadow all that remained was an open walk through the square to the first common house.
Without pausing, they stepped out into the well-lit square. The ever-present feeling of eyes watching him intensified to a nearly crippling weight as they closed the distance, step by step.
“Wait there,” came the call from behind. Ryl felt his heart skip a beat, his stomach sunk. They were so close.
Cavlin stopped in place, putting his arm on Ryl’s back, gently pushing him past him as he turned to face the unknown voice, partially blocking Ryl from view.
A single guard approached the pair. His uniform shirt was untucked on one side, partially covering his baton, the sleeve of one arm stained from the elbow down. He staggered as he approached, sluggishly correcting himself before reaching the pair, stopping just shy of running into Cavlin. The overpowering smell of liquor and vomit carried onward. Ryl instinctually covered his nose at the offending smell.
