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

would have painted the surroundings in a spray of crimson. It now hovered a finger’s width from Andr’s skin. The snarl still remained as it tugged up on the corners of his lips, yet, it had softened, releasing ever so slightly. His head tilted a degree to the side as if out of curiosity. The emotions held in his eyes were the most telling.

Swirling in his blackened orbs was a look that was starkly incongruous to the sheer hatred still written across his face. The depth of his eyes spoke of sorrow, pain, and an innate fear that dwarfed any emotion he’d projected thus far.

The blade in his hands wavered. The hints of movement reflected flashes of light from the lanterns and fire spread throughout the room. Cray felt the sudden shift in the atmosphere as the paralyzing dread slowly withdrew. There were muffled sounds of motion from all sides of the chamber as guards and tributes alike struggled in their fight to rise as the crushing weight subsided.

Elias let his blade lower. His hand moved slightly to Andr’s side, though his grip remained firm. Cray, following suit, lowered the angle of his sword, the point falling toward the floor. He locked eyes with the man, the tribute he had known for cycles. For a fleeting moment, he registered the unmistakable look of familiarity. There was a flicker of understanding, the sparkle of life in Elias’s eyes.

With a jarring suddenness, much like fingers snuffing out a candle’s fragile flame, the flicker of humanity vanished. The deep, chilling orbs once more viewed him with disgust, disdain, and pure, unrelenting malice.

Elias growled, a roar that sounded like the shrieking of an injured beast. The surge of dread that exploded from his core was unrelenting. Any will that Cray possessed to stand, to fight, faltered as he was forced to the ground. A wave of blackness crashed outward, coating the room in its entirety.

Elias raised his sword. With one fluid motion, he slammed the pommel into the side of Andr’s head. The mercenary’s legs went limp as he was tossed forward. Cray had no time to move.

Andr slammed into him, toppling him to the ground as the darkened wave of hatred blotted out the light in the room.

Chapter 8

The dim, flickering torchlight momentarily wreaked havoc on Andr’s vision as he blinked his eyes open. His hand rose gingerly to his head. He winced aloud as the bump and wound protested his touch. He gently traced his fingers across the gash on his head, counting the fine lines of the sutures that held the wound closed. Around the area his hair was matted, still sticky in places.

With little effort, he raised himself to a seated position. The room spun halfheartedly before calming. He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on stopping the errant swirling of his surroundings through steady, rhythmic breathing. The heavy scents of earth and smoke mingled with a potent, unmistakable stench of dried blood.

His ears caught the notes of a commotion in the distance. Voices were animated. There was shouting though the words were unintelligible.

“You’re lucky he didn’t kill you,” a quiet voice intoned. It’s monotone timbre spoke matter-of-factly. Andr blinked again as he focused on the worried face of Mender Jeffers at his side. The diligent healer looked weary. Bags of darkened skin under his eyes showed his fatigue.

“Aye, that I am,” Andr grumbled in response. He quickly surveyed the room. A few guards tread quietly among the wounded and recovering. The muffled crunch of their cautious steps on the hard earthen floor and hushed voices whispered throughout the chamber.

Andr found little difficulty gaining his footing, though the steadying arms of the mender assisted him nonetheless. The throbbing of the wound on his head increased as he rose to his feet. Squeezing his eyes shut again, he inhaled a deep breath as he gave his body a moment to adjust.

Images of the attack flashed to view. Andr snapped his eyes open, roving the room with his gaze. His inquisitive looks darted from body to body as he pivoted rapidly. He felt the instantaneous cold sweat of nervousness as his heart skipped. His breath caught in his throat.

“Where’s Cray?” he blurted out.

Andr scanned the room with renewed vigor. His voice was harsh. The mender regarded him with a strange look for a moment before replying.

“The boy is fine. He’s out with the others,” Jeffers intoned. “He was reckless, nearly finding himself impaled in the process. He stood his ground. Thankfully he never needed to use that sword. I doubt his training would have lived up to yours.”

Andr felt his body release the breath it had inadvertently been holding as his visual search had continued.

“What of the others?” the mercenary inquired. His gaze stopped on Ryl. His still form looked peaceful resting where it lay. The rise and fall of his chest were apparent from beneath the dark grey phrenic cloak that covered his body. Andr knelt, retrieving his sword belt that had been removed, and placed aside his makeshift cot on the floor.

Jeffers sighed as he continued, “Three guards are dead. And …”

Andr’s eyes widened. The expression on his face went slack.

“Kaep,” Andr interrupted.

Jeffers’s eyes fell to the floor. He exhaled deeply. The height of his shoulders seemed to settle deeper than they had been moments earlier.

“He was a man possessed,” Jeffers stated wearily. “I’m afraid I saw but little of what happened. The fear. It was paralyzing. Sarial called to him. It seemed for a moment it broke the spell.”

“That it did,” Andr acknowledged. “I owe her my life.”

From his helpless position in Elias’s arms, he had no way of viewing the response that had played out across the shell of a tribute’s face. The wave of emotion that had surged from her body and rolled through him was profound. It was powerful yet unrefined.

It was raw.

Andr was well aware of the strength of a phrenic’s natural ability. Training with Ryl and the others in Vim had