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

be said, this must be done without the assistance of lanterns or torch.”

Ryl nodded his head in agreement. He turned his gaze back to Millis once more. He clapped the guard on the shoulder, smiling as he turned back toward the camp. Kaep followed in his wake, like a shadow through the dark of the night.

It was moments before the camp was alive with a flurry of activity. The uncertain, weary tributes crowded together in a tightly packed group. Wide yawns marked the faces of many. They were tired. They would be pushed much farther before this journey was at an end. They'd be tested beyond what they had ever imagined possible.

Ryl surveyed the group as he made his way past, toward the head of the column to where Le'Dral waited beside the wagons. The expressions on their faces were painfully clear to read. Though they were confused, scared and uncertain what tomorrow would bring, the newfound hope was a balm to the overpowering burden that had weighed them down for cycles. The light of hope that had been reduced to nothing more than a spark now burned brightly in their eyes.

The twins along with Odus—and to his surprise, Cray—had taken up vocal leadership of the tributes. They looked at Ryl with an uncomfortable mixture of awe, wonder and fear. He had only been gone for a cycle, yet he experienced a sharp twinge of remorse as if he was no longer one of them. Their gazes bordered on reverence.

There was no question that those whom he'd called his closest friends would willingly follow him to the end of the earth.

That was almost precisely what he intended to ask.

He was certain that the others would agree to the plan as well. For the better part of their lives, even throughout childhood, they'd all been persecuted, enslaved, and piled with indignities that would have broken the will of any lesser man or woman. They'd witnessed firsthand the horrors of humanity.

Ryl had no intention of being their master. His steadfast belief in his professed statement held true.

They were free.

Yet his conscience ate away at him. He'd not provided the entire story. He’d intentionally withheld information that could be a deciding factor in the decisions that they must one day make.

A war was coming.

They would likely be called upon to stand on the front lines, facing down the bloodlust of demons and mankind alike. Some would undoubtedly pay with their lives.

For Ryl, there was no decision. There was no choice. His freedom was his own. Though he sometimes felt like a slave to a predestined path that was not of his own choosing, this ultimate decision was his and his alone. He would not force the tributes into a path they weren't willing to commit to. He'd see them through the coming sickness. They'd know the full truth regarding the tangent that he now walked. They alone would decide their fate.

Whether it was with he and the phrenics, or striking out a life on their own, he was committed to supporting them no matter the decision. Or the cost.

The actions of the morning had set in motion events that would forever define the Kingdom. Though The Stocks might have fallen, tributes would still be hunted mercilessly throughout Damaris. Those who chose to remain would be hunted with them. What life would be in store for those found with alexen in their blood now? He shuddered at the thought.

As long as the Ascertaining Decree stood, there would be no safety. They'd be imprisoned.

The system—the Kingdom—must be brought to its knees and the powers that had ruled for an eon replaced. The colossal divide that he had been previously too naive to understand had grown since he'd last stepped through the yawning mouth of the Pining Gates. The rent in the populace was more visible that he’d ever imagined. The task ahead would likely require an army. An army of phrenics—and man.

Andr and Jeffers had coordinated the movement of the ailing tributes back into the wagons. Sarial had remained by their side throughout. Though she likely needed it not, she willingly accepted the assistance of Mender Jeffers as she climbed into the back of the rear of the reconfigured supply wagon. She moved carefully among the tributes from the facility before taking her seat beside the still form of Elias. Vox, who was mounted on a horse alongside the wagon, nodded as Ryl passed.

Le’Dral and a small group of men stood beside the lead wagon. Even in the near pitch black of the night, he could see the captain standing, his posture rigid, his arms folded formally behind his back. Two men from the group saluted Le’Dral as Ryl approached; they hastened past heading south, toward the tail of the caravan. He immediately recognized the form of Millis standing to the captain’s side.

Ahead of Le’Dral, he noted the darkened silhouettes of a score of guards standing in rank across the road leading north. Others lined the edges of the narrow path.

“The vanguard will remain light,” Le’Dral confirmed. “Millis assured us; no force lingers to the north. The guard will remain along the flanks with the bulk at the rear.”

Ryl agreed with the plan. With no easy chance to ford the river for miles, they’d likely face no large-scale force until after the next crossing, north of the Stillwater camp and the placid lake from which it claimed its name.

“The phrenics and I will ride scout at the rear, one will remain with the mender,” Ryl added.

He could see Millis’ face contort slightly, as if he had something important to say, yet couldn’t find the words.

“Is there something wrong, Millis?” Ryl asked.

He saw the relieved smile register across his face.

“Still perceptive as always, I see,” he replied quietly. His face reverted to its original concern, and he sighed as he continued. “What do you plan to do when they come?”

Ryl understood his concern. He felt the pain that flavored his words. The lieutenant likely knew personally