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

all soldiers of the king,” Maklan shrieked. His face reddened. Spittle flew from his mouth as he fumed. “It is to King Lunek you answer. Until he arrives, I speak for him. You will answer to me, or you will die the same traitor’s death as those who disrupted the Harvest. Who allowed the tributes to be moved. Who’ve made a mockery of an event that has held the kingdom enthralled for a millennium.”

Ryl saw Aelin’s hands, which had remained limp at his sides, flex with intention.

“Seize him,” the councilor cried. “Now.”

The enraged man emphasized every word with an air of superiority. Of unquestionable authority. His hand thrust outward; the knife point aimed squarely at Ryl.

The grin on Ryl’s face was uncontrollable. His peripheral vision marked subtle movement from his sides. His ears heard the crunch of footsteps as they crept from behind.

He hammered Aelin and the councilor with a wave of emotion, one powerful enough to rock an unprepared man from his feet. It was the most potent sensation he uncovered. It had kept him alive for cycles. Had brought him back from the darkness when the light seemed to fade to black.

It was hope.

The sensation washed over Maklan. His sneer turned into a wicked growl as the emotion passed by uninhibited. Ryl readied the speed in his blood that begged for release.

Aelin’s eyes abruptly opened.

Ryl met eyes with the young tribute. The recognition within their depths was vast. Panic that had clouded his face cleared like fog in the light of the sun. Aelin winked.

Before Ryl could move, the young tribute lifted his left leg. Maklan failed to note the seemingly innocuous, involuntary motion of the wounded boy. The vile man’s attention, his animosity was directed toward the guards who failed to react with enough willful abandon. To follow his orders without question or pause.

Aelin’s left heel hammered into the top of his captor’s left foot. The violent crack, the snapping of bone tore through the air. The councilor shrieked in agony. The wild, pain-filled wail was sapped of every shred of confidence and superiority that had dripped from his voice only moments earlier.

As Maklan crumpled, Ryl darted forward. Less than twenty meters separated them from each other; the gap closed rapidly. Aelin twisted his body to his left, his hands closed like vises over the arm of the councilor who had held him in check only moments earlier. He tucked his body, using the momentum and his strength to heave Maklan’s figure over his back.

The councilor wailed as his body went airborne. The knife that he’d held so intently against Aelin’s neck slipped from his fingers, spinning harmlessly to the ground.

Ryl had almost closed the gap as Maklan’s uncontrolled flight reached its apex. He was astounded at the sheer strength of the youngster. He’d tossed the man, easily more than twice his size, meters into the air with little effort.

Maklan’s eyes bulged in apparent fear. The moment that he’d thought to control had slipped irrevocably through his grasp. Ryl dipped into the speed as he reached the airborne body of the councilor.

The man was nearly prone in the air, though his body angled slightly so his head was above his frantically churning feet. His legs spun out of control as if searching for the ground to dispel the weightlessness of the sudden, unexpected flight.

Maklan’s body was suspended chest high from the ground. Ryl collided with the helpless man, catching him with his right hand hooked underneath his chin, his left hand on the collar of his shimmering black tunic. The resistance of the man’s weight as Ryl reversed the direction of his flight was inconsequential.

He carried him backward a few steps. As he did, he spun him around, head over heels. With a final lunge he planted Maklan’s body on the ground with a force strong enough to sink him a finger’s width into the recently churned earth. The breath escaped from the councilor’s lungs in a rasping gasp.

Ryl left the speed again fade. His cloak snapped past him as he wheeled to face the army, which was now at his back. His left hand slowly but menacingly slid behind his back. The refreshing jolt of excitement coursed up his arm as his fingers wrapped around the worn wooden handle.

The approach of the soldiers, the footsteps he’d heard from behind had now ceased. Around him, guards stared at him with a mix of utter horror and awe.

The silence was broken as Maklan gasped, his body frantically scrambling to regain the air that had been robbed from his lungs. He sucked in a desperate breath, with a raspy, high-pitched gurgle.

Ryl turned his head, glancing down at the writhing form of the councilor before raising his gaze to Aelin. The young tribute’s chest heaved as he inhaled breath after deep breath. The fury still swirled in his eyes. His hands were balled into fists as he glared down at the councilor.

The look was dangerous. Ryl feared that the boy, stubborn as he always was, had been overtaken by emotion and the call of the alexen. Having been freed from the poison in his veins, emotion and unrestrained powers were an ill-begotten mix. He forced a wave of calm over the boy. The tension in his shoulders seemed to fade as the sensation rushed through him.

Aelin’s eyes cleared. The pained gaze was that of a frightened child, fearful of what he’d done. His expression reminded Ryl just how young he truly was.

No child should be forced into this situation. The kingdom had forced it upon him. With little self-control, the alexen had compelled him to act. Both had taken advantage of the weakness of his youth. Ryl pitied the boy, who’d aged far beyond his cycles.

Ryl nodded to Aelin. The young tribute slowly paced to his side. Ryl took a knee at the left side of the squirming councilor while keeping his eyes locked on the army that waited less than ten meters away.

He placed his right hand on Maklan’s