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

anguish never more potent than the final image of Elias. The crooked smile and wink of his best friend, his brother, were etched into his mind. The sudden absence had left an irreparable wound in his heart.

The alexen that flowed through his veins had robbed him of his biological family, casting him aside as an outcast of society. The mysterious compound had been used to segregate him, yet within those walls it had accepted him with an all-encompassing welcome. He and all other tributes, despite being strangers before their delivery to The Stocks, were bound by a tie that was unbreakable. He felt the warmth of Sarial’s motherly embrace as if she was at his side at that very moment.

Then there was hope. The guards, the Kingdom, the Master; they had failed in their attempts to snuff out the flame. Though it had faltered, it had now been rekindled, nurtured into the inferno that raged inside him. The lost history entrusted to him from Da’agryn. The boon from the ancient woods herself. The understanding of the powers lurking within his blood. Within the Palisades’ walls, all had aided in constructing the hope that had brought him to today.

Ryl looked on, lost in the tormenting array of thoughts that accompanied the sight of the wall. The gentle brush of a hand on his right arm would likely have been overlooked had it not contained a startling jolt of energy that rushed up his arm.

He swung his head to the side, his eyes traveling upward from the delicate features and smooth skin of the bare hand on his arm. Kaep's eyes were wide with surprise and uncertainty, though her face held a consoling expression. He watched as her startled look darted from where her hand rested on his tattooed arm, returning to his face once more.

As her hand lingered, their gazes locked, each delving into the depths of one another’s eyes. Her touch had washed away any trace of the lingering tormented emotions that had returned unbidden at the first glimpse of the palisade.

Where there was the oppressive weight of agony and torment, now there was … an entirely new sensation. A feeling rooted more deeply to The Stocks than all the pain, humiliation and heartbreak combined.

Hope.

Ryl felt the fire burn in his veins. His dogged determination boiled over as it coursed through every inch of his body. He watched the corner of Kaep's lips slowly turn up into a steadily growing smile.

She seemed to struggle momentarily as if her body fought her attempts to remove her hand from his skin—that she felt some semblance of the same magnetic energy, he was certain.

“The look in your eyes speaks volumes, Ryl,” Kaep whispered. “Never fear. The walls will crumble in your path.”

“The Stocks will fall.”

Chapter 4

Ryl remained with the lead scouting party ahead of the staggered caravan. Andr remained at his side as they resumed their trek toward Milstead. Even in the low light of the early morning, from his position atop the hill, he'd noted the thin wisps of smoke rising from the chimneys of the small town to the south..

The distance was still great, and they'd need to push hard to make Geshill's farm before dark. The rugged, winding and narrow path was not built for speed. The unchecked advance of the forest choked the roadway tightly and the wagons scraped against the branches above as they plodded through its midst.

By midday they were thankfully free from the torturously slow procession through the trees. Ahead, the river narrowed, though the banks along its sides increased their slope. A rickety looking wooden bridge spanned the distance between the two banks.

There was uncertainty written across their faces as they came to a halt before the structure. Barely wide enough for a wagon to pass, the bridge had a telltale look of age. The crossing was in truth nothing more than a simple walkway of close-fitting boards supported by large timbers that ran the length of the gap underneath. On each bank two weathered ropes were fixed to wooden poles that had been hammered into the ground. The twin ropes stretched across, forming sagging guardrails that delineated the edges of the bridge. The road had left them no choice but to make the crossing. They would have neither the time, nor the supplies, to retrace their steps to the north. Their timeline was finite. They must reach Milstead, and then The Stocks, with haste.

Ryl and the remaining riders dismounted before hesitantly leading their mounts across the bridge. One horse at a time they inched forward, careful to avoid the more dilapidated looking lumber. The creaks and groans from the aged timbers were alarming, but thankfully each rider crossed without issue.

The wagons were up next for the crossing. Aldren's was the first to make the attempt. The stubborn mounts at the lead were less enthusiastic about their intended course, yet with a moderate amount of coaxing from their experienced master, slowly eased onto the wooden span over the divide.

Halfway across, there was a sickeningly loud snapping of wood. A shower of splinters rained down from underneath the bridge, splashing into the water below. A large chunk of one of the beams running parallel to the river's path swung free, waving back and forth like a pendulum under the walkway.

Aldren spurred his horses forward at the sound. His wagon was several lengths from the crossing on solid ground before he reined in his mounts. The merchant was visibly shaken by the ordeal; the color of his face had faded to white as he looked back over the bridge. His hands were trembling as he clutched them to his chest. His shoulders rose and fell with every rapid, pronounced breath.

Andr had volunteered to drive the remaining wagon, the black wagon of the Lei Guard, across the gap. From his position on the far side, his eyes clouded with a trace of concern as he examined the timbers of the decaying bridge.

“We need to