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

renewed vigor. His cloaks shifted violently as the breeze pulled them to the side. His face was shrouded in shadow; only his chin and lips were lit by the diffused light of the morning. Ryl's eyes churned with the intensity of a seething fire. They flickered with rage from under the shadow of his hood.

Ryl glanced at the parchment in his hand, quickly skimming the document.

Joem, the bearer of this missive acts under the direct authority of the honorable King Lunek III. His commands are to be followed as if they are orders from the lips of the King himself. His authority is boundless and incontestable.

Any in defiance to his wishes are to be treated as traitors to the crown. Outlaws to the Kingdom of Damaris and executed on the spot.

His noble majesty,

King Lunek III

Ryl shook his head slightly as he skimmed the words. The hunters, whether truly sanctioned or not, were given ultimate power and authority over the lives of all they encountered. Justification for their crimes was granted in advance. They could kill with impunity.

The blood in his veins begged for action.

Ryl casually folded the letter before tearing it in half. He let the pieces slip from his hands. They fluttered slowly to the ground at his feet.

Chapter 11

Joem took a step toward Ryl as he ripped his sword from its holster.

“You,” the hunter snarled. “The one from the road. You've just sealed your fate.”

Ryl inhaled a deep breath of clean forest air. The sound of the river in the distance quieted. His focus was on the hunters at his front. With a casual ease he folded his arms across his chest.

The simple action had its desired effect. The lead hunter bristled with anger. Ryl watched the muscles on his face clench and release as he squeezed his jaws together. His left eye twitched ever so slightly. He turned his head slightly casting a devilish glance at his companions behind him.

“Must be our lucky day, boys,” he sneered, the corner of his lips turned upward into a wicked smile. “We'll be paid extra for the death of the traitor. This one will be a pleasure!”

Ryl remained still, his body rigid like the trees that bordered the clearing around them. The only motions were the slow rise and fall of his chest and the billowing of the cloak at his sides.

“Kill him first,” Joem ordered. “Then we'll deal with the runaways.”

From the right of the line of hunters came a cry of pure bloodlust as the first lunged forward. A few steps behind from the opposite side of the line, the second rushed ahead as well. The intent was clear. There was a competitive jealousy. They were racing to be the first to draw blood. Innocent blood.

This was nothing more than a twisted game for them. The coveted prize at the end came in the form of carnage. It came from stealing the lives of others. They were eager to be the first to collect the kill. To claim their victory.

Their game would end today. They would be the first to die.

The speed was at his command. Ryl tapped into a portion of the power as the first attacker closed in, his sword swinging in a vicious arc towards Ryl’s neck. The men before him were murderers, butchers of innocent men, women and children; their deaths would be justified. Even so, Ryl suppressed an overpowering wave of revulsion at the task he was about to complete.

The alexen in his blood washed any trace of the feeling away as he easily ducked under the lethal slash. The woodskin hardened on his left hand as he smashed it upward into the sword arm of the hunter. A sharp snapping sound tore through the clearing as Ryl's hardened fist shattered the bones in his arm. His forearm went limp as it flopped lifelessly downward at an unnatural angle. The hunter screamed in agony as his sword stabbed harmlessly into the ground.

Ryl exploded upward—his right shoulder came up underneath the armpit of the hunter, lifting him from the ground. His right hand latched onto the fabric of the man's tunic. Ryl used the momentum of his movement along with the force of a blast of wind from his hand to throw the wounded guard forward.

The second charging hunter was running with his sword drawn. Ryl saw his steps in slow motion, timing the release of the broken hunter when the approaching sword was pointed forward. The two slammed together; the sword punching through the back of the wounded guard’s chest in a spray of blood and gore.

Ryl wrenched the discarded sword from the ground, closing the distance between the staggered pair in a flash. The approaching guard was bent backward, supporting the weight of his doomed companion. He braced himself against the dead weight of the body, struggling to free his blade from the man's chest. A single slash from Ryl nearly severed the encumbered hunter's head from his torso. The blood sprayed outward in a slowly growing stream of crimson particulate.

Joem and one of the remaining two hunters charged him simultaneously. The man whose arm had been broken by the horse the previous day froze in place. His mouth fell open, the color bleached from his face as the as the urge to fight abandoned him. Without a second thought, he turned away from the fray, sprinting toward the edge of the woods. Their movements were sluggish, yet Ryl had far from tapped the full power in his veins. He wanted this over quickly.

Joem would be the last.

The bodies of the first two hunters were still in motion, toppling lifelessly to the ground when Ryl darted toward the remainder of their doomed group. In one fluid motion, he ducked under the sword arm of Joem. Ryl’s sword was held down, its tip just glancing the blades of grass that grew from the forest floor. As he passed under the hunter’s arm, he flicked his wrist outward, snapping the