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

porch that wrapped around the building the figure of the archer materialized as it stepped into the low light of the lanterns. An arrow was still nocked though the bow was pointed casually toward the ground.

Ryl saw the man tense, his body freezing in place at the scene in front of him.

“What's the meaning of this, my friend?” the archer inquired.

“I could ask you the same thing, Geshill,” Aldren replied. “I know the hour is getting late. I hope this isn't how you greet all visitors who come knocking on your door.”

Aldren lowered his hands to his side, striding forward toward the armed farmer. Ryl watched as the man's deadly resolve faded. He laid the bow down on the steps, approaching Aldren with a steady stride.

The two met with a firm, lengthy handshake. Geshill's eyes roved the courtyard, pausing briefly as they came to rest on the pair of armed soldiers and two cloaked and hooded figures that trailed in his wake.

“Tis an unusual hour for a visit, and even more unusual company you keep,” Geshill said suspiciously.

“That's the second time today the company I keep has been questioned,” Aldren relayed. His hand fell as he inadvertently rubbed at his left arm. “I apologize for the late hour. I assure you; I wouldn't have come if the need wasn't dire.”

The suspicion written across the farmer’s face seemed to evaporate with the statement. His demeanor changed to that of worry as he noted the merchant wince in pain as he massaged his left arm.

“Come, friend. We'll talk inside,” Geshill announced. “Let's have a look at that arm of yours.”

The farmer gently wrapped his hand around the back of Aldren, carefully ushering him toward his house. He turned his head back, briefly back catching the eyes of Ryl and his companions.

“Your friends are welcome too,” Geshill announced sympathetically. “The misunderstanding was mine; you'll need no more weapons here. Any friend of Aldren's is a friend of mine.”

With a nod of her head, Kaep lowered her bow.

“Stay with the wagon,” Ryl whispered as he followed slowly behind the merchant and farmer.

Ryl watched as Andr slid his sword back into his sheath, giving a hushed command to Dav before leading his own horse quickly in his direction of the house. The Vigil mounted his horse, quickly melting into black of the night beyond the light of the lanterns.

Ryl and Andr followed Geshill and Aldren into the farmhouse. The heat from the interior washed over them as they crossed the threshold. Ryl cautiously investigated the room, finding it unsurprisingly unoccupied. It was a wide main chamber that served as both dining room, lounge and kitchen.

To the right, the kitchen was set against the left wall. Immaculately arranged cupboards were lined with all manner of plates, pots and glassware. A momentary sad smile flashed across his face as he noted the meticulous organization found throughout the room. The attention to detail reminded him of a friend he'd not seen in just under a cycle.

He hoped Mender Jeffers would still remain in The Stocks when he returned.

In the center of the far wall, a roaring fire was crackling away in the large hearth. A pair of comfortable looking chairs were set back a few meters from the heat of the blaze. The center of the open room was dominated by a large wooden table surrounded by six chairs. All were neatly pushed in and absent of any place settings save one. Their unexpected arrival had apparently caught the farmer in the middle of his late dinner.

“Please, do sit,” Geshill said, gently ushering Aldren to the seat directly across from his. He pulled the chair out, assisting the merchant as he sat.

“I’m no mender, but I can take a look at that arm of yours if you’d like,” Geshill offered.

Aldren gingerly rubbed his left arm with his opposite hand before rotating it slowly in a small circle. He winced slightly in pain, yet on the second rotation, the discomfort seemed to diminish.

“No. Thank you, my friend,” Aldren responded politely. “It’s just sore from earlier. I can’t remember the last time I’ve taken a fall from the wagon like that.”

Geshill nodded as he rounded the table sliding comfortably into his own chair. Ryl and Andr pulled out the seats on either side of Aldren, sitting as the merchant continued.

“Have times changed so much that you greet all strangers with arrows?” Aldren asked, his voice a mixture of concern and sarcasm.

Geshill lifted his mug from the table, swirling the contents absently as he peered into its depths. He took a large swig, swallowing audibly before cradling the mug in his lap. He looked up at the three newcomers he’d welcomed into his house, his eyes lingering on Andr for a long moment before travelling to Ryl. His gaze ran a cursory investigation over his body before resting on his face. Geshill squinted slightly as he attempted to make out details hidden in shadow beneath the hood.

His questioning eyes turned back to Aldren.

“Thankfully, the cycles still have been profitable, my old friend,” Geshill admitted, his eyes darted back to Ryl’s face. He could tell the presence of the hooded figure sitting across from him was disconcerting to the farmer, yet Ryl wasn’t ready to reveal his true identity.

“You’re the second set of unexpected visitors that have come calling today,” Geshill announced. “In truth, I thought it was the first that had returned with greater numbers. My apologies for the arrows.”

“Who was it that visited this morning to cause you to think that you’d need arrows?” Aldren gasped.

Geshill took another large sip from his mug.

“The blasted hunters,” he revealed. “Five of them came pounding on my door. Seeking a father and his young daughter on the run. Seems they were last seen near Milstead. My words to those butchers were less than kind, yet I spoke no untruth; I haven’t seen the pair. If I had, I’d have them hidden away anyway.”

Ryl was convinced that it was the same group that they’d