Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2), C.J. Aaron [e reading malayalam books txt] 📗

road from the bridge separated the inn from the merchant’s shop on the opposite corner. There were residences and stores lining both sides of the street following the small road to the west.

Ryl felt a chill rush through his body. He seen the village before, yet he'd never stepped foot in it. The village had materialized in his dreams.

The village that had turned into a nightmare night after night.

“We're ready, Ryl,” Kaep said confidently as she stopped beside him.

Vox and Ramm paused along his opposite side.

“Do you think they’ll be able to see us, like we can see them?” Kaep asked softly.

“That thought hasn’t left my mind since we met Aldren on the path,” Ryl admitted. “That tribute, tainted as he was, felt our presence. He had a vague sense of the direction, but we know not whether he could pinpoint our exact location.”

The realization dawned on him as he spoke the words aloud, as if hearing them sparked the understanding.

“They are like the Horde,” Ryl theorized. “They swarm when they feel the presence of the alexen, yet they require the visual cues and the rest of their senses to guide them.”

His head turned to the phrenics standing at his side. He met their eyes. All nodded in silent agreement with his assessment.

“We’ll draw them to the bridge then fight as one,” Ryl said. “The narrow path will make even their number; they’ll only be able to strike from one side.”

Their horses were tied off just inside the tree line, a last resort should their plan fall apart. A sudden fear ran through him. Were they too hasty in their planning? Should they have bypassed Serrate and not deviated from their schedule?

He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. The clean morning air filled his lungs. With a steady, slow breath, he released the doubt that had threatened to consume him.

“Let's go,” he said. “The tributes await.”

Ryl stepped forward, each footfall descending deeper and deeper into the morning fog. The mists swirled in their wake, forming small eddies behind their legs as they passed. He scanned ahead with the mindsight, but he was still too far to see anything of use.

The sounds of the morning seemed too quiet as they approached the bridge. The rushing of the water below, the singing of the birds in the trees all sounded muted. His foot struck the stone bridge, the sound echoed through the fog.

Step after step, they approached the village. Ahead in the distance the crumbling stone spires jutted out into the sky.

Ryl felt the magnetic attraction as if he was being drawn toward the ruins. He noted the foreign tingling sensation in his left arm. He’d never replaced his shirt where he’d torn it to cover the wound. The cut had all but disappeared; the tattoos seemingly reclaiming their lost canvas. He couldn’t understand the feeling, had no grasp of its meaning, yet now was not the time for contemplation.

Their presence was noted as they began crossing the bridge. The appearance of their four hooded figures materializing from the morning mist must have been disconcerting to the villagers. They walked slowly, purposefully toward the small village. Ryl watched a woman with a basket in one hand grab the arm of her child with her other, dragging the dawdling youth into the nearest house. The door slammed shut behind them. The fishermen on the docks froze in place watching their approach; their darkened, featureless silhouettes stood out through the thick mist.

They had just crossed the center of the bridge when the rapid thunder of hoofbeats rose from behind them. They paused in place, hands hovering over their weapons. Ryl scanned the area with his mindsight—the area was free of the dark stains of the unknown warriors.

A single rider appeared from around the corner, his horse barreling down the hill toward the bridge. As he drew closer, Ryl could see the terror written across his pale face. They stepped to the side as his horse thundered past. The rider screamed in alarm.

“They come,” his panicked voice broke through the quiet morning. “Lei Guard, they come.”

His voice trailed off as he continued through the village. Ryl frantically scanned the area, focusing with all his might, willing his mindsight to greater lengths. His heart skipped a beat at the scene the vision painted.

Approaching rapidly through the forest, a clustered dark mass surged towards their position.

From the other side of the village, a second group hastened toward them.

Two parties of Lei Guard. Fourteen black cloaked warriors converged on them.

They were outnumbered more than three to one.

“From both sides. They come,” Ryl breathed. “We are penned in.”

The phrenics swung their heads from side to side. In both directions the road was still clear. Through the morning mist, he could feel the darkness choking out the light as it approached. Their plan had unraveled.

They were trapped. There would be no escaping without a fight.

“Flee now,” Ryl demanded.

The others appraised him with worried eyes.

“We will be crushed between them, they are too many,” Ryl continued.

“We’re not leaving you, Ryl. We will fight as one,” Kaep demanded.

“I see no other way,” he hissed.

“They’ll kill you,” Kaep pleaded.

“No. They won’t,” Ryl asserted.

The subconscious determination flowed from his body. An antagonizing feeling of hope slammed over the phrenics forcing them back a step.

“Ryl, what are you doing?” Vox gasped.

“If they are drawn to the sense of a phrenic, I’ll give them a beacon they cannot resist,” Ryl vowed. His squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the feeling outward, pushing it past the limits of his vision.

He opened his eyes again; his friends now viewing him with wonder. His body was wrapped in a dim, pale golden light. The faint glow appeared to pulse from his very core.

“The mission still stands,” he whispered. “The tributes must be freed; The Stocks must be freed. They will come to me. Hide among the buildings along the roadside, fall on them from behind once they cross onto the bridge. Make your arrows count, Kaep.”

The phrenic archer nodded her