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

“Aye, Ryl,” Ramm responded.

“Let us make haste,” Aldren said anxiously. “I long for a warm meal and a comfortable seat.”

The group quickly bade their farewells after their brief reunion. Ryl, as he was sure they all did, shared the same sentiment as the merchant. A warm meal and a night spent out of the confines of the wagon was a welcomed proposition.

Ryl rode next to Aldren as they spurred the wagon forward. Andr led the caravan until they reached the turnoff that would lead them to Geshill’s door. He waited, alert at the intersection, nodding silently as they passed. He would resume his vigilant watch at their rear with Dav. The pair would remain unseen, yet within sight of the wagon as Aldren made his introductions and pled for his friend’s assistance.

The track that led from the main road was rough. Its surface was well traveled yet lacked the smoothed contours of the main road they’d just exited. After leaving the seclusion of the tree lined ridge, the woods around them grew sparse. Tall, wild grasses swayed in the breeze to either side, and short shrubs dotted the landscape. Ryl’s attention was focused on their surroundings. There was still ample cover should the hunters, or bandits, be lying in wait.

He studied the surroundings with all his senses, thankfully finding nothing out of the ordinary.

It wasn't long before the natural grassy boundaries on either side of the narrow road were replaced by ones of stone and wood. The enticing lights from the farm flickered in the distance, drawing the road weary travelers onward. The scattered bleating of sheep echoed through the night.

Ryl pulled his hood up over his head. The brands on his neck, though he'd accepted their appearance, were sure to cause undue reaction in Damaris.

Fenced off fields spread out on either side of the road, stretching off into the black of the night. Ahead of them, the houses of Geshill's farm grew steadily closer.

The farmhouse was a wide, single story building. A long, covered porch wrapped around the front and side. Small lanterns were hung from either side of what appeared to be the main door. Ryl could see light spilling out from the shuttered windows along the front of the building, though he saw no note of movement from within.

To the left of the house, a large barn connected with the fence of the closest pasture. A grand set of sliding doors dominated the front of the stable. A pair of empty wagons rested alongside the fence beside the massive doors.

“This property seems immense,” Ryl broke the silence of their travel. “Does Geshill live here alone?”

“Aye, Ryl. That he does,” the merchant replied. “His wife's long since deceased and his children are full grown. He has two daughters, the youngest of which was married last cycle. Both work as seamstresses in Milstead last I heard. He brings in hired labor from the town, but they don't reside here on his property. He'll hire an army when it comes time to shear the sheep, but that won't happen for moons.”

They exited the confines of the path into a wide clearing that spanned the distance between Geshill's house and the stable. Aldren drove his wagon into the area, pulling it sideways ten meters or so from the side of his house.

“Come now, let's go meet my friend,” Aldren said as he stifled at small yawn. “The hour’s not yet late enough that we shouldn't still be greeted with a warm welcome.”

Ryl heard the noise before he saw it. For the briefest of moments the high-pitched song of an arrow broke the quiet of the night. His body reacted instantly, calling on the power that lurked within.

He dove to his left, away from the house, grabbing ahold of Aldren. Ryl hardened the woodskin on his back and side as they pitched from the side of the wagon. The murderous projectile bit deep into the wood of the driver’s seat.

Chapter 8

Ryl and Aldren spilled over the edge of the wagon as the arrow buried itself into the wood. The solid thunk of the impact echoed through the quiet night.

The merchant hit the ground hard with a groan that was more shock than pain. Ryl landed in a controlled roll, rapidly gaining his feet, dragging the writhing body of Aldren back behind the relative safety of the wagon wheel. A second arrow slammed into the wooden side of the carriage.

Ryl heard Kaep moving quickly inside the cramped confines of the interior. In the distance the thunder of hooves heralded the rapid approach of Andr and Dav.

“Curse you, you butchers,” the voice screamed from the shadows of the houses. “I thought I made it perfectly clear. I want no part in your murders.”

The third whistle of an arrow ended with a resounding thud as it buried itself in the wood of the wagon. Kaep slipped from the rear flap, bow in hand, arrow knocked ready to be fired.

“What happened to a warm welcome?,” Ryl hissed. “Is that Geshill firing on us?”

Aldren struggled to his feet, gingerly rubbing his left arm. He'd landed hard after Ryl had dragged him from the wagon.

“Aye, that's him,” the merchant admitted.

He shuffled to the end of the wagon, peering around the corner waving his hands in surrender.

“Geshill, you old fool!” Aldren’s frantic call sounded through the quiet night. "Lay down your weapon. You're shooting at friends.”

Ryl saw the reflections of moonlight flash off the steel of their naked blades as Andr and Dav reached the courtyard.

“Aldren?” the faceless archer called out. “Is that you?”

“That it is, my friend,” the merchant said as he stepped out from behind the wagon. Both his arms were raised in the air.

Kaep followed in his shadow, her hood up, an arrow drawn back ready to loose at a moment’s notice. Ryl followed close behind her. Andr and Dav were both off their horses, crouching carefully behind their flanks for protection.

From the shadows of the right side of