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

back against the front of the range, his eyes locked forever to the west.

Ryl's heart raced as he noted the vibrant green leaves of the massive trees of the Erlyn Woods. The fabled forest was nearly within reach. He longed to be under her embrace. The safety, the understanding, the hope pulled him forward. Though he knew the distance was yet too great, he could almost feel the tingle of her call in his body.

His focus shifted to the immediate. Some thirty meters to his front the crude line of the sleepy grove now brimmed with activity. A swarm of tributes hastened to the cover of her branches. A step from the tree line, a line of guards stood steadfast. Mixed between their ranks tributes, armed with any weapon they could attain, plugged the holes. Some carried batons, others crude cudgels, others nothing more than hastily sharpened sticks. They were not taking their defense idly.

They fought for a freedom that they had been denied. They fought for their lives.

Several meters ahead, a pitiful line of cavalry stood. The mounts stomped anxiously, their ears tuned in to a sound that had yet to reach the ears of their riders. Andr held the right of the line beside Captain Le'Dral. Millis and four other guards accounted for the remainder of the mounted line, sitting tall with backs straight, watching the growing cloud from the south.

Ahead of the horses and riders, the three phrenics stood like statues. The only motion was the gentle rippling of their grey cloaks in the wind. One carried a bow with an arrow nocked at the ready. The other a hammer so large it nearly defied explanation. The last stood with his empty hands at his side, his left fist flexing open and closed with eager promise. Their hoods remained drawn; their faces hidden in shadow.

Ryl looked back upon the assembled force with a swelling pride, though his apprehension grew. He locked eyes for a moment with Andr and then the captain. His eyes traveled past the pair to the line of guards, Vigil and tributes. The Vigil held the only steel blades among the bunch, their faces locked in a determined stare toward the south. The expressions of uncertainty became prevalent among the faces of Le’Dral’s guards and tributes.

There were no speeches needed. No words to bolster their spirits. All knew what they stood in defense of. All understood what they were fighting for.

At the far right of the line another tribute stepped forward, joining the defensive line. It was Cray.

Ryl looked at Andr, meeting the knowing eyes of his friend one last time before the coming onslaught. The mercenary had noticed too. A brief, proud smile tugged up on the corners of his lips. His face beamed with pride long enough for the emotion to register before he buried it under steely resolve.

“Like father, like son,” Ryl commented quietly.

Ryl was hesitant to call the gathering an army.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the power, the alexen in his blood. The heat of the excited energy rushed through his body, spreading outward; warming every inch of him from the inside out. He projected out an awesome feeling of resolute defiance. The immovable conviction spread across those gathered before him.

He could see their resolve harden. He witnessed their posture straighten as they prepared themselves for whatever the Kingdom was about to throw at them.

Ryl grinned as he pulled the hood over his head, drowning his face in shadow.

He pivoted, stalking silently to the line of phrenics, settling into the opening between Vox and Kaep. Ramm stood at the end, the butt of his massive warhammer resting patiently on the hard ground. The cloud of dust rising from the horizon to the south had grown rapidly. The sound of hooves on the earth rumbled like the roll of thunder across the sky. Through the haze of dust, the forms of the mounted riders slowly coalesced into shape. Sunlight flashed off the metal of their naked blades.

They intended this to be a slaughter.

The riders continued their approach. The seemingly endless cavalcade resolved from the haze into an overwhelming force. They rode bunched together in a tight formation given the narrow confines of the road. With practiced precision, the riders slowed, fanning out into three lines, each nearly one hundred horses long.

The earth shook from the impact of their hooves as their lightning approach slowed to a more measured gait as they fell into formation. The riders wore suits of light armor, their heads covered entirely with helmets complete with rigid lightweight leather faceguards. The lead row carried long, heavy spears topped with razor sharp metal tips that glistened in the morning sun. The rear rows carried a variety of blades and maces. Weapons were unsheathed at the ready.

With synchronized form, the riders slowly ground to a halt. For a moment, all was silent as the dust gently settled to the earth in their wake. As the particles crossed the sun, they created a halo that stretched out around the burning orb.

Ryl turned his head slightly to the both sides. The phrenics remained still.

The time was now.

He reached his hands behind his back, into the folds of his cloak. His fingers ardently closed around the handles of the Leaves. The jolt of excitement raced through his fingers, speeding up his arms as he wrenched the weapons from their holsters. A blinding explosion of green light flashed across the area, revealing the shimmering flames of the serrated blades. He lowered the burning weapons casually to his side. There was a muted gasp from the approaching riders and from those gathered behind. Several of the horses spooked, stomping their heavy feet in protest.

To his right, he could hear the muted crackle of the flames igniting around Vox’s tattooed left arm. On his left, the creak of a bow being drawn to its peak signaled the death that she was ready to deal. Ramm lifted the massive warhammer with ease, slamming the handle down