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

get the tributes out,” he shouted across the span of the river. "We can’t afford the extra weight."

The sentiment struck a mutual chord with Ryl. From the expressions that marred his companion’s faces he understood the feeling was common amongst them all. He could feel the anxiety exuding from them as they waited anxiously on the opposite bank.

Ryl was the first to return over the bridge wasting no time circling to the rear of the wagon. The remainder of the party apart from Ramm returned to assist unloading and carrying the laden, makeshift stretchers of the unconscious tributes across the bridge. The large phrenic happily remained at the back of Aldren's wagon watching over the still form of Elias.

Working in pairs, the helpless tributes were carefully maneuvered across the bridge. Once safely back on land, their litters were deposited on a patch of long grass that grew to the right of the road. The morning sun warmed their skin while a gentle breeze worked to erase the growing odor of their rolling clinic. Their bodies remained still as they awaited the removal of the last of their number.

Once the final tribute had been successfully retrieved, Andr began the harrowing process of driving the wagon across the damaged bridge. Slowly he urged the horses forward. Groans of protest sounded immediately.

Andr's steady pace had carried him nearly halfway across the bridge when another violent snapping sound tore through the air. The horses, spooked by the sound, stomped their feet in protest, rearing back, nearly toppling Andr from his seat. From behind the carriage, Ryl watched as the large wooden beam that accounted for the downstream edge of the bridge bowed slightly before splitting near the opposite bank.

“Andr, the bridge is collapsing!” Ryl shouted.

The mercenary struggled to regain his seat. The large draft horses at the front panicked, stomping their feet in a frantic cadence. The bridge wobbled wildly under the failing of the timbers and the assault of the hooves.

Ryl focused on the horses, desperately forcing emotion upon them. Fear. It was fight or flight.

“Run,” he screamed.

The horses surged forward as Andr regained his footing. He was tossed backward into the seat as the carriage lurched forward. As they crossed the last few meters, the timber that formed the upstream beam of the bridge split from the opposite bank, collapsing into the river below. The carriage leaned hard to the side as it caught the edge of the bank, before slamming back down as all four wheels crossed onto solid ground.

Behind it, the remainder of the fractured bridge slipped backward into the water. The jagged ends of rotted timbers protruded starkly from the ground on either bank. The ancient ropes rocked in the wind, now all that remained to span the gap.

Andr reined the horses in alongside Aldren's wagon. He jumped down, gingerly rubbing the right side of his head. A small patch of blood marked the hairline above his temple where he had struck the side of the carriage.

Ryl watched as he surveyed the ruin of the bridge while dabbing at the blood with the palm of his hand.

“That was too close. Again,” the mercenary admitted.

Ryl forced a smile. He was in complete agreement. In their haste, they had now destroyed both bridges leading to and from the small town of Serrate. Though he felt a twinge of remorse for the undue complications it would undoubtedly cause for the villagers that lived there, it would thankfully delay word of the events at the now destroyed processing facility.

“Let's get them loaded back up and some food in all our bellies,” Andr suggested. “We've lost enough daylight. We have ground to make up.”

The rest of the party jumped into action at his words, hastening to load the fallen tributes back into their mobile clinics. Once their charges were settled, rations delivered, and consumed with haste.

According to Aldren, with the river behind them, the ill-used path would soon rejoin the busier thoroughfare. They'd maintain distance between the wagons while keeping a vigilant, watchful eye on their surroundings.

The bulk of the black cloaks that Aldren had labored over were yet far from being complete. The merchant had focused on finishing the designs for the group that would accompany the black carriage from the river to Milstead.

Though they were only to be separated by a matter of a mile, Ryl felt a sense of profound discomfort as they assumed their prescribed traveling parties. Ryl, Andr, Dav and Kaep were to accompany Aldren and his wagon in the lead. Ramm, Vox, Soldi and Nielix would travel under the guise of the Lei Guard with the black wagon.

The two phrenics of the rear party, Ramm and Vox, slipped into the black cloaks newly created by Aldren. They would be driving the feared wagon; Soldi was to attend to the ailing tributes inside, while Nielix was responsible for the rear guard.

Much responsibility had been placed on the shoulders of the talented Vigil. His complacency had been the cause of his failure in the forest only days earlier. His lax attitude had found him sleeping while the assassins had approached silently through the darkness. As a result, Deyalou, master swordsman, phrenic defender of Vim, had died.

The hidden city of Vim had lost a valued piece of their phrenic army. The phrenics had lost a valued member of their beleaguered society. To their knowledge, only sixteen awakened phrenics remained alive to this day.

In The Stocks, nearly three hundred and fifty tributes—phrenics—awaited freedom.

Ryl would see them free.

He would see them awakened.

Chapter 5

The narrow road from the river continued uninterrupted through the thinning remnants of the forest. Though a chill had remained throughout the day, the warming rays of a full sun shone down from above. The pleasant song of birds filled the air.

It was only a matter of miles before their small path from the forest met with the larger, more heavily traveled thoroughfare. The Bredth was a rough, dirt road that spanned the length of the Kingdom;