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

driving the wagon, as the sound of hooves thundered on the ground, fast approaching from the front. He was relieved as he heard Andr's voice announcing his presence.

Moments later, the flap to his wagon shifted apart as the mercenary poked his head through. He lifted the covering further to reveal the phrenic elementalist standing behind.

“Ryl, Vox will take over for a few,” Andr announced. “There's something I think you should see.” A small grin broke through the normally impassive look on his friend’s face.

Ryl regarded Andr curiously for a moment as he clambered carefully over the tributes. He hopped down with ease, stretching himself out with a sigh of relief as Vox climbed in to take his place. The feeling of the solid ground beneath his feet was mildly disorienting. Even after only a matter of hours riding in the wagon, the earth felt as if it was moving past him while his body remained still.

He followed Andr silently as they made for the pair of horses loosely lashed to a small tree along the right side of the rugged path. To their left, a steep bank careened downward for several meters to the waters of the sluggish, placid river below. The noise of the quiet gurgle of water now that he was removed from the wagon was soothing.

The air was fresh, far more pleasant than in the rear of the merchant's wagon. The heat was bordering on stifling; the interior had begun to smell with a funk that brought back a torrent of unpleasant memories.

Memories of his childhood.

Memories of his first trip to The Stocks.

Ryl had only been in the rear of the black wagon they had confiscated from the Lei Guard for a moment before razing the facility. Every second inside felt like an eternity, even though his situation had altered dramatically since then. He’d endured several torturous weeks locked within the black wagon after his parents had sold him to the Kingdom when his alexen was discovered. His fingers were scraped and bleeding from pounding at the unyielding boards of the walls. His voice was gone after days of screaming for help. His hope, destroyed.

He had no answers then. No understanding of what was to come.

Ryl shuddered as he fought back the emotions from the past. Much had changed since then, yet the destination was still the same.

The Stocks.

He’d be returning to where it all began. This time with answers.

This time with hope.

He mounted the horse with ease, following Andr at a canter ahead of their companions. To their right, the thinning remnants of a forest dotted the hillside along the path. Between the trees, scattered images of the jagged peaks of the Haven Mountains poked in and out of view.

Across the small river to their east, the landscape was marked by rolling hills; their tall, wild grasses swaying in the mild breeze. Occasional groves of trees were scattered among the hills. The sun was only a few hands into the partly clouded sky.

Ahead of them, the river cut a waving line through another small forest; the trees grew dense and close together again on either side. Andr veered his horse to the right at the edge of the woods, heading west ascending a small ridge.

Ryl's horse snorted in protest as it stumbled on the loose stones below its feet. He comforted it with a gentle pat and a wave of calm, easing it carefully forward up the loose incline. At the top of the hill above, he could see Kaep, sitting statuesque on her mount. The hood of her cloak was down and her hair cascaded out behind her. Her frame was silhouetted against the late morning sky, her attention focused to the southwest.

Andr stopped his mount along the right side of Kaep's horse. Ryl was only a few paces behind, coming to a halt on her left. She turned as he approached, greeting him with a quick smile before returning her gaze to the horizon.

From the top of the rise they had an astonishing view of the surrounding landscape. To their right, far to the north, the Haven Mountains began. Their impassable peaks materialized from the horizon, continuing their jagged course past their overlook to the south. Ryl followed their path until his view reached where Kaep's gaze had been trained. His eyes came to an abrupt stop.

So too did the mountains.

“I figured you'd want to see them at first sight,” Andr offered quietly.

To the southwest, the Haven Mountains’ southerly reach came to a sheer stop before turning west toward the sunset. Toward the Outlands.

Where the mountains ended, a second, unnatural wall of stone continued due south.

The Palisades.

Aside from the massive Pining Gate, he had seen virtually none of the exterior of the looming walls. The stone was the same drab, ashy grey as the interior’s surface. The oppressive feeling that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves was shockingly potent even from this vantage, more than a day’s ride away.

Ryl shuddered.

“Thank you,” he whispered, not taking his eyes off the dreaded wall.

The initial sight of the eastern Palisade elicited a potent visceral response. The emotions that rushed through him were overwhelming, accompanied by memories just as vivid. Fear. Agony. Heartbreak. Acceptance. Hope.

Ryl recalled the fear of his first moments inside The Stocks. Just a boy of eight cycles, he’d arrived battered and broken with no understanding of why. The hate-filled eyes and acidic tone of Master Delsith terrified him. The ominous, hollow thud of the Pining Gate behind him sent a shiver down his spine.

There was agony. Ryl felt the sting of fists and the hammer of boots as the guards beat him mercilessly. He’d stood up to the depravity of the wicked sub-master Osir. His body had paid a painful price for the decision, one that had nearly cost him his life.

At the culmination of every cycle the heartbreak returned once more. One after another, cycle after cycle, the Harvest robbed him of the tributes he’d grown to love. To call family. The