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

Ryl. Ramm threw himself to the ground. The hulking phrenic grunted in pain as his body hit the earth. From their rear, he heard the telltale cries of pain as arrows found their marks among Le’Dral’s men.

“Light,” Ramm growled at his companion as he jumped to his feet.

Andr’s dive had been premeditated, though only by an instant, allowing him to regain his footing almost immediately. Without thinking, he charged toward the opening in the woods. A wicked, slightly curved sword of the Lei Guard stood, point buried in the earth, less than a meter from Ryl’s body. A compact, fist-size blazing ball of white fire rocketed past his shoulder, screeching as it streaked into the air. The orb detonated with a blinding light, leaving miniature remnants, no less bright, that fluttered slowly toward the ground. Andr wrenched the blade from the ground with his free hand as he passed, scattering a shower of dirt into the air.

A second volley of arrows was released moments after the light swelled over the area. The sudden blinding glow wreaked havoc on the accuracy of the deadly projectiles. The mistimed shots sailed harmlessly past Andr and Ramm, careening harmlessly into the darkness.

Two staggered lines of archers stood in close quarters just outside the mouth of the woods. Behind them a force of almost twenty soldiers remained, swords bared, prepared for bloodshed.

Though he’d found his footing after Andr, Ramm rushed past him in a moment. The massive war hammer was cocked back behind him, his torso twisted, primed to launch a devastating strike. Blood soaked his tattooed right arm, from where an arrow had pierced the skin. The shaft protruded through the muscle, exiting through the other side. The metal point dripped crimson; the fletching was only a hand’s width from the opposite side. The mountain of a man rumbled forward, unfazed by the wound. He would be an avalanche of death when he met their lines.

There would be no prisoners here.

They had been warned.

Those who stood the line before them had come with vicious intent. Theirs would be matched with a fury they couldn’t anticipate.

Ramm screamed in rage as he swung his weapon into those unlucky enough to be standing in the front row. The crunch of bone as the hammer connected with the first body was sickening. It overpowered the screams of pain as the force continued its devastating path through the archers. The shattered bodies in the arc of Ramm’s initial swing crashed into those behind them. Together they careened into the edge of the forest. The cracking of broken branches mingled with the snapping of bones as the bodies collided with the trees and underbrush. The disturbing lack of agonized moans hinted at the devastation the blow had wrought. Few, if any, would move again.

With both swords in hand, Andr barreled into the opposite end of the line. He snarled; a feral growl inadvertently escaped his lips as he slashed through the first pair of unprepared archers. A stream of blood spurted into the air as one of his blades severed a neat line through his opponent’s neck. He felt the warm splatter of the crimson droplets on his face.

To his left, the phrenic and his deadly hammer hewed another vicious arc through the attacking guards. With less time to prepare his assault, the strike yielded less power than the first, yet the results were still dramatic. Bodies were broken, tossed into the air by the excessive force.

A sudden wave of heat washed over him as a fireball arced into the rear group of the incoming guards. It exploded with a vicious crack amongst the sword-bearing warriors. Sparks and flames spread outward from where it detonated, and Andr felt the impact of the errant embers. The heat singed the exposed skin on his cheek.

Though it was only he and Ramm who made the initial contact with the line of soldiers, he could hear the anxious war cry from Le’Dral and his men not far behind. The authoritative tone of the captain ordered his men onward in defense of their lives.

Andr had little time for contemplation. His body reacted instinctually, a product of cycles of training and armed conflict. He took a quick step to the right, blocking an incoming attack with ease, pushing the offending blade to his left. The move forced his attacker to overextend his thrust, leaving his flank woefully unguarded. Andr’s sword plunged into his side. With a wet gurgle, the man’s body crumpled to the ground as the blade and life slipped from his body.

Cutting his way forward, Andr moved further into their line. Though he was grossly outnumbered, he hacked his way into the midst of the sword-wielding foes with little fear. Working among the guards for cycles, he’d witness firsthand the green nature of most of those who served under arms. Few had any experience in open conflict. Their combat training had come as a result of carefully controlled exercises. They were unprepared for the inherent, vicious unpredictability of true battle.

His blades never paused, flashing from one opponent to the next. He felt the slice of a blade across his skin in several places on his legs and arms. The errant cuts bothered him little. He didn’t grant them a look, as his attention was focused on avoiding a lethal strike. Behind him, the clang of steel against steel and the furious shouts of men signaled the addition of Le’Dral and his rebel guards to the fray.

Andr pivoted slightly to engage a warrior to his right. The man looked younger than he, his smooth face was unmarred by the marks of war, yet the rage, hatred and disdain that burned in his eyes was telling. Here was the kingdom’s finest. A product of generations of fallacy and corruption. This one had been steeped in the hatred of the tributes, a willing accomplice in the denigration of those who by no fault of their own were born different.

Born with cursed blood.

Reacting to a low slash from