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

a matter of days earlier. A contingent of cavalry marched in the lead, followed by a host of foot soldiers, who accounted for the vast majority of the total. Behind the warriors, a host of bowmen strode with a casual gait. At their rear was a single large carriage pulled by a pair of large dray horses. The sight of the wagon made Ryl cringe. It was painted all black, while trappings of red accentuated the malice that oozed from it like blood from a wound. No rear guard protected their backs. The approaching army had little concern that any resistance would fall upon their rear.

A grin tugged up on his lips as he finished his initial survey of the incoming host. The sounds of laughter and conversation drifted to his ears. They moved at a casual gait. None were seemingly in a hurry, marching only fast enough to avoid a tongue-lashing from their superiors.

The sight of the army charged Ryl with a vastly confusing array of emotions. The anger was justified. The systematic persecution had extended for a millennium. He would defend his freedom and the continued freedom of the tributes with his life if necessary. The alexen in his blood jostled with excitement and anticipation.

Justice would be served.

Ryl understood the emotions as the pent-up rage for cycles swelled. He struggled to contain the call. His slow and steady breath momentarily satiated the urge to explode. The time was coming, he thought. He was prepared for bloodshed. Mercy would be extended sparingly. Those who bore arms against him would learn the fateful lesson of a phrenic’s rage.

They were a precious few. Already one had fallen since they’d left the comforts of Vim.

One was already too much.

The emotions that surged through him were largely unsurprising. Disturbingly, a solitary voice, low and gravelly, prodded the innermost recesses of his mind. It was a call that was foreign to his memory. The language was unrecognizable, yet he understood every word, comprehended each meaning, reveled in every ill intent.

It spurned mercy.

The craving for bloodshed was desperate.

It urged him to bathe in the blood of those who’d wronged him.

Pure, unadulterated hatred and malice seethed from its call.

The raw agitation and the animus were extrinsic. His revulsion at the vile deeds and depravity of the previous master and sub-master wallowed in comparison. The sight of Sarial’s battered body had ignited the pure anger inside, melting away the bonds restraining his power. The flames that had been born of vengeful revulsion couldn’t hold a candle to the blaze of hatred that sought to overtake his actions. The serenity that had washed over his body felt charred by the heat of the animosity. The light seemed dull, clouded by a thick blackness that oozed as it sloughed off the calm that had coated his being.

His stomach churned as it recoiled over his own malevolence.

The feeling was startling. Sickening. He closed his eyes, focusing again on the sensation of the alexen in his veins.

Inhale.

Hold.

As he exhaled, he could feel the voice subside. The unmitigated lust for bloodshed faded and with it the nausea. The call was unanswered, though it remained a distant grumble in his mind.

Ryl made a closer survey of the troops. Kaep and Elias were nowhere to be seen. His roving gaze had catalogued much of the incoming army. His phrenic mindsight displayed no hint of either phrenic or Lei Guard to his front. The blood in his veins boiled with anger as he looked upon the host. Elias and Kaep had passed through before his arrival. He was certain that there would be knowledge of their presence. The truth of their eventual destination was hidden somewhere among the army.

The wind swelled around his right arm, whipping his cloak out to the side. If necessary, he’d would work his way through the entirety of the force until he found his answer. His eyes squinted, burning with the intensity of an inferno as he glared at the carriage at the rear.

Ryl knew where he’d start.

The heat that coursed through his veins, coating his body in flames, led to a serene calm that followed swiftly in its wake. Ryl was at one with his powers. He balled his hands into and out of fists as he looked down upon the troops.

A cry went up from somewhere within the front ranks as his presence was finally noted. After a moment of stunned silence, a frantic surge of activity rolled over the army. Horses, soldiers, and archers scattered to assume their prescribed positions. Order was dismissed first. It was a frenetic rush to array themselves in some semblance of a line. The struggle reverberated among the army as comrades jostled against each other to be the last to the muster. It was apparent that few desired to be the initial face the assault.

Whatever it may be.

Throughout the ranks, Ryl noted the collective body language detrimental to their victory. Though some itched with desire, weapons at the ready, eager to draw first blood, most stood on wavering legs, their weapons, if drawn, were pointed toward the ground. Bows were in hand, while the arrows remained stacked in their quivers. Shoulders were slumped.

The first time he’d faced the soldiers, he stood among a unified front of phrenics and men. The kingdom’s guards charged, expecting to bowl over the meager force with nothing more than the force of sheer numbers. The earth-shattering defense from the heavens and the woods was as unexpected as it was terrifying. In the eyes of the attacking guard, they had been set upon by forces out of myth. It was astounding in its ferocity.

Now they looked up the low rise before them at one man. Either supremely confident, or unquestionably fool hearted. Nothing could be seen of the terrain beyond the hill to his rear. What unseen horrors awaited his call?

Order was loose among the troops that scrambled to attention. The regimented attention to detail that had been instilled under Captain Le’Dral’s watch had been allowed to lapse.