Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3), C.J. Aaron [book recommendations .TXT] 📗

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.

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