The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4), C.J. Aaron [best novel books to read .TXT] 📗

the clearing, though they numbered few, worked diligently arranging the wounded inside the chambers of the closest trees to the disguised path they’d entered on.

The tributes made themselves comfortable in the interior of the adjacent trees. Their quarters were cramped, yet they encompassed the space within three of the five remaining trunks. With little to no belongings, they placed their meager possessions on the ground, staking claim to their earthen sleeping spots.

Cray had placed his light, threadbare pack down close to the entrance of the tree nearest to that of the injured. The interior chamber under the roots of the great tree was vast. The weary tributes squeezed themselves into the opening, though there were several more trees ringing the circle. The potential of greater personal space was dwarfed by the collective mentality of the beleaguered tributes to err on the side of security and safety in numbers over personal comfort.

The last few days had been a whirlwind of fervent activity. They had prepared with morose necessity to bid farewell to another group of their peers. The Harvest was a somber occasion that repeated cycle upon cycle.

The sudden interruption and appearance of the black-cloaked guard and wagon was unsettling. The animosity and hatred that poured from them were palpable. Strangely enough, Cray felt it wash over him like a wave. Without warning, the sensation shifted.

It was hope that spread over the crowd.

Strange was a grossly insufficient word to describe what transpired after that.

A tribute from last cycle’s Harvest had returned.

Ryl had entered The Stocks at the head of a force that had defied the will and strength of a kingdom. Their flight had been rapid. They had been pushed hard for days on end. They were attacked time and time again. The sheer strength of the mysterious phrenic’s power was overwhelming. Unlikely allies were mustered to their cause. They fought, they bled, and they died to ensure the tributes reached their destination virtually unscathed.

It was a different man who’d returned to set them free. They had shared few words since his sudden reappearance, yet the differences were evident. His exit from The Stocks, only one cycle past, had been startling.

The entirety of that Harvest had been shocking.

Ryl had stood his ground against the vile sub-master, unwittingly bringing a permanent end to his reign of terror and inhumanity. Rumors swirled that he’d survived multiple assassination attempts. Buildings and settlements throughout The Stocks, closest to his path, had been razed to the ground by suspicious fires.

The most shocking, though entirely welcome occurrence happened only moments before the annual Harvest. The corpses of Master Delsith and his henchman were found in various stages of undress. Sarial’s bruised body was removed from the same room. It was moons before she regained full control of her capacities. Rumors again spread that it was Ryl who had sought vengeance for a lifetime of wrongs, yet at the time it was an impossible thought.

After learning what they’d planned for Sarial, Cray would have willingly stood in line for the chance to enact a similar fate. He’d have walked with his head held high.

Seeing Ryl’s power firsthand gave new weight to the popular theory. None knew what had transpired in the cycle since he’d strode through the Pining Gates. In his reemergence, Ryl had returned with an aura that commanded respect. Only a cycle had passed, yet he exuded a frightening maturity, one that was far greater than his age.

His presence was potent. Cray could feel Ryl’s sensation as he walked among the tributes. It was a confusing aura; it drew the tributes to him with an undeniable magnetism. Cray felt caught in its uncontrollable pull.

He wandered the expansive clearing, his eyes roving over the massive trees that ringed the area. His gaze scanned the silent woods that surrounded them. The growth was far thicker here than he was accustomed to seeing on the pathway through the Erlyn’s midst. Though his wandering was random, it was of little surprise to him that his path ended at the base of the tree where the wounded had been off-loaded.

Where they had taken Ryl.

Cray’s curious eyes peered into the interior of the dimly lit chamber. A small fire burned in the center of the cleared dirt floor. Several lanterns along the walls provided ample illumination for the room. The temperature inside the hidden confines of the woods was ideal. The added heat from the small blaze was unnecessary, though it certainly wasn’t unwelcome. Surviving as a tribute, Cray had grown accustomed to being cold. It was an expected product of poor quality clothing and even more lacking nutrition.

Mender Jeffers was at the helm of a large gathering of men and women. Both tributes and guards alike, anyone with any semblance of skill as a mender, were in attendance, tasked with seeing to the needs of the growing number of wounded. The activity in the hollowed-out base of the tree was dizzying, though coordinated in its underlying care.

A group exited the interior with haste. Cray backed a step away as the captain hastened from the chamber. He walked with purpose, directing orders to another of his soldiers who walked at his side. Close in his wake, the two cloaked warriors followed silently.

Their faces were hidden beneath impenetrable shadows that revealed only a fraction of their lower lips and chins. They were phrenics, a name that had been erased from the history of Damaris. As a boy, Cray had heard of the mythical prowess of the legendary Taben and his army. So few had pushed back the tide of the Outland Horde that threatened to exterminate all life in the kingdom over one thousand cycles in the past.

His eyes followed them with a rapt interest that was impossible to disguise. They walked with a confidence that was unfaltering. Though they were likely far superior in skill, they had never taken any steps to assert their dominance over their charges. They had remained tight lipped, conversing in but a few words. The hoods that