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

a man who’d likely served under his command for cycles, yet he spoke not a word. The guard quickly averted his gaze as well, looking meekly down at the ground. The power, the truth, the information conveyed by Le’Dral’s eyes imparted a message louder than words would have hoped to attain.

Without a word, the captain and Moyan turned away from the freed guard before mounting their horses, falling back into line with the procession. Ryl had moved back to his position in line with the phrenics. They stood motionless, watching as the guard hastened to free his companions. It wasn’t until the last had turned away in hasty retreat that they moved. He hammered the slowly fleeing guards with a wave of uncertainty.

He wanted them to question his words. He wanted them to question the lies they’d learned as truth.

The phrenics regained their mounts, riding with haste, catching up with the caravan a short distance in the lead. The plan was to push on until after nightfall. A hasty camp would be constructed without the light of fire. Another night of short rest would be in store for all as they intended to resume their march before the light of dawn.

Ryl knew the warnings would be for naught. Even now, an army marched in their wake. They’d not stop at the words of a few wounded stragglers.

The pace they kept was hurried, yet their strength flagged rapidly, reducing the progress to a crawl. They’d covered perhaps half of the remaining distance to Tabenville when the march was halted. Shy of ten miles still remained.

Ryl felt the subconscious pull increase as the view of the Erlyn grew throughout the day. The morrow would see them united. The statue of Taben the Defender loomed in the distance. He looked upon it with a fresh perspective. When last he’d seen the stoic warrior, he’d still known so little of the past, of the history of the proud people to which he belonged. He’d seen firsthand the incredible power contained within the blood of the phrenics. The myths of Taben and his small force were founded in more truth than any understood.

There were no speeches, no questions from the assembled mass before they took to rest that night. The quiet babbling of the river that ran along the road to their right was cathartic. Many were soon asleep, though they huddled together closely to stave off the night’s chill.

The addition of the nearly fifty horses and men that had defected with Moyan allowed for fresh eyes along the watch. Le’Dral’s guards were eager to rest, hastening through the process of tending the wounded tributes Ryl had brought with them from Martrion. Jeffers had been too consumed with treating those hobbled from the morning’s battle that little more than a passing thought was given to a remedy to speed their recovery.

All but three now sat, though their eyes were glazed and unfocused. None had made any attempts to communicate. Elias’s outburst and subsequent dialogue along the road from Serrate had not been repeated. His guard of phrenic or Vigil yet remained.

Ryl had stopped to see him as he made his way throughout the camp. He spoke quietly to his unresponsive friend, reminiscing about times long since passed. Trouble they’d sought as children. Hope they’d whispered in the hushed confines of their worn-down room. His vision strayed to the camp that sprung up around them. He marveled at the pace at which both the tributes and the guards had assimilated with each other. Though only sporadic at first, increasing signs of trust were visible hour by hour.

Those who’d made up the line, who’d fought and bled side by side, were bonded by the forges of war. Feelings of uncertainty had been transformed into a hardened trust.

Ryl patted Elias gently on the shoulder, stretching as he rose to his feet. The sound of hastily approaching footsteps brought his focus back to the present. Millis and Vox materialized steadily from the darkness.

“One of the scouts returned with a report,” Millis announced as they stopped a few steps before Ryl. “The army seems to have split. A second smaller force remained on the opposite side of the river from us. They likely aim to flank us from the east to cut us off before the woods.”

Ryl looked from the guard to Vox. He could see the grin form on the elementalist’s face.

“Seems we have a thing for burning bridges,” Ryl said.

“Either that or houses,” Millis retorted. “This one seems adept at lighting them. I’ll show him the way there and back. We’ll leave sentries along the river as a warning.”

Ryl acceded to the plan. The fire would likely be visible to the approaching troops. Depending on their location, they’d likely backtrack to the nearest shallows where the river emptied into the still waters of the lake. It would be there that they’d likely ford the icy waters of the river instead.

“Ride safe, my friends,” Ryl responded.

Millis answered with a formal salute which eroded into a shrug of his shoulders as he realized the pointlessness of the ingrained action. Vox simply nodded his head as he followed the guard. In moments they’d vanished into the dark.

Ryl finished making his rounds of the camp, checking on the wounded and exchanging brief greetings with his closest companions and friends. He settled down among the tributes, speaking in low tones with Tash and Luan. Palon merely watched, his eyes remaining in perpetual motion, as he absorbed the activity around him. Ryl couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his silent friend slowly rocking Luan’s tiny baby in his arms.

He savored the moments as he knew they’d not last long. There was a lengthy and perilous road ahead before they’d be able to rest. Would a day come when they’d all truly be free?

To his surprise, from the darkness, Cray appeared, though he approached with tentative steps. Ryl moved to the side making room for the tribute to sit.

The others greeted him warmly