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

encountered earlier in the day. Would they have traveled back to Milstead to tend to their wounded companion, or were they lying in wait somewhere in the surrounding countryside?

“You can remove your hood now,” the farmer said as he turned his gaze back to Ryl. “If Aldren vouches for you, you’re welcome in my house and at my table.”

“Thank you, sir. We welcome your hospitality, yet all the same I prefer to keep it on for the time being,” Ryl admitted politely.

Geshill stared at him for an extended moment before shrugging his shoulders.

“Very well,” he said. “Ah, where are my manners? You must be thirsty from your travels. Will ale suffice?”

Geshill hustled from the table to the kitchen, retrieving three large mugs from the cupboard. He filled them from a cask that rested on a table near the far corner of the room. He placed a mug in front of each of his visitors before returning to his seat.

“You said your need was dire,” the farmer reiterated, sitting forward in his chair. “What madness drove you to my doorstep unannounced so late in the evening?”

Aldren smiled at his friend before quickly taking a sip from the mug in front of him. Ryl did the same. Ryl had experienced few brews in the entirety of his life. The swill that his friend Quinlen brewed in The Stocks was an admirable attempt for what little resources he was provided with. His second batch, while still caustic, had been a major improvement over his maiden attempt. On several occasions he’d partaken in a mug of two at the brewery in Vim. The perfection of the craft was on fine display, and the results delicious, though Ryl’s time was consumed nearly exclusively with his training.

Ryl took another probing sip of the ale in front of him. Though a far cry from the wonders of Vim, the drink was more than palatable. Quinlen could take note.

“Several days past, Lord Relensier sent his assassins to collect us. Caught us just as we were leaving,” Aldren began his story.

Geshill’s eyes went wide. He looked from Aldren back to the windows that were spaced out across the wall overlooking the courtyard. The farmer shot to his feet, nearly toppling his mug in the process.

“Cade. Aldren, where is your boy?” the farmer pleaded.

Aldren raised his arms calmly in front of him pacifying his agitated friend.

“Fear not,” he said confidently. “Cade was not harmed. Though it pained me to see him go, he was sent on a task of the utmost import.”

Geshill breathed a sigh of relief as he sunk back into his chair. His hand quickly reached for his mug, shaking slightly as he brought it to his lips.

“If it weren’t for the timely arrival of the pair sitting beside me and their companions, we’d have both been dead,” Aldren admitted. “My home is no longer safe for Cade and I.”

Geshill offered Aldren a pained smile before turned his focus to Ryl and Andr.

“For the lives of my friends, you have my word that I will assist you in any manner that I can,” he said. “So, you’re on the run then. What do you need of me?”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Aldren stuttered nervously.

“Thank you again, sir,” Ryl took over for the merchant. “Though we do have needs, we ask for no charity. You will be well compensated for your troubles, your assistance, and your silence. We ask for shelter for a few days and a place to conceal a pair of wagons. We have injured companions that will need to be cared for. We are also in need of tools to manufacture several articles of clothing.”

“What you ask for is no trouble at all. There is ample space for your wagons in the stables,” the farmer offered waving his hand toward the courtyard. “The work is slim now, I can easily make do without the extra help from Milstead as long as you or your companions can help with a few minor tasks around the farm. As for the tools to manufacture clothing, as Aldren has no doubt told you, though ill-used, I have that here as well.”

“As Aldren said, unfortunately it is not quite that simple,” Ryl inserted. “Between the two wagons, we number twenty in total. Just over half of that number remains incapacitated though stable.”

Geshill let out a low whistle.

“Shall I summon the mender as well?” He offered.

“That will not be necessary,” Ryl said emphatically. “Herein lies the root of the problem. The second wagon that waits under the cover of darkness as well as the identity of those we are tending to must remain a secret.”

The farmer leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“Aldren, what have you gotten yourself into?” Geshill quizzed.

“It is a cause I willingly volunteered for,” the merchant spoke quietly as he shook his head. “It is one which we’ve long since whispered and a sentiment that we share.”

Geshill sat forward, leaning his elbows on the table in front of him. His eyes squinted with questioning curiosity.

“Who are those in the wagons that need tending?” he breathed.

The room fell silent as the merchant deferred the answer to the question. Ryl turned his head slightly looking toward Andr. The mercenary blinked his eyes while nodding his head subtly.

“Know that the information will likely put you in jeopardy should it be revealed outside of this room,” Ryl warned. “Whether you choose to aid us or not, the word of your silence is required.”

“My silence you will have,” Geshill replied. “Now tell me who are they in the wagons that need concealing?”

“Very well,” Ryl stated plainly.

“They’re tributes.”

Chapter 9

Shock registered across the whole of the farmers face. His eyes went wide, his mouth fell open.

“You must be joking,” Geshill gasped, his voice a mix of shock and jest. “Where did you come across nearly a dozen tributes?”

“I assure, every word I spoke was truth,” Ryl stated emphatically. “They were spared from enduring the cruel fate of their lives