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

the column, that had now pushed forward into a desperate run. The cries of war from behind echoed over the apprehensive hush of the morning. The strides of the trained guards were rapidly narrowing the distance between their parties. Ryl and the phrenics had abandoned their horses, assisting to load as many of the slower tributes onto their backs. Of the nearly ninety horses that originally bore warriors, less than twenty remained in the hands of the most skilled fighters of the group.

With a single command, the remainder of the horses and wagons spurred themselves on with all due speed. The squeaking of the wagon wheels and the thunder of hooves was drowned out by the cheers from the army behind. The hammer of nearly ten thousand feet on the ground roared like an approaching storm.

The race to the Erlyn was on.

If they could make the woods before the army descended on them, they would have a chance. Ryl had yet to share his connection and the powers of the woods with any but the phrenics and Andr. Yet, in their minds, the border to the ancient trees represented hope. The prospect of defending a narrow gap of road would negate the disparity of their numbers; allowing only a few of the enemy to attack at once.

The heat of the excited alexen rushed through his veins as the power begged for release. The feeling was familiar, yet at the same time contained an unusual hint of apprehension. Though abnormal, he understood the sensation that whispered through the churning of his blood.

It pleaded for mercy.

It cried for restraint.

Ryl had no intention of letting the army reach the tributes or the guards who had awakened to their cause, yet he was loathe to unleash the full complement of his powers. He alone, even without the assistance of the other phrenics, could wreak devastation on a disastrous level.

Together, the results would be catastrophic.

They needed to slow the approach.

The phrenics jogged alongside the remaining riders and guards as the bulk of the caravan raced forward at a frantic pace. Apart from a paltry few, all able-bodied soldiers now remained at the rear, however, no tributes accompanied them for this fight. At Ryl’s pleading, they’d reluctantly acquiesced. His words along with a heavy dose of conveyed emotion had convinced them that making the woods was their only hope. No matter what happened outside, he knew in his heart the Erlyn would protect them.

They were losing ground too quickly. The distance between the forces closed to less than a few hundred meters. Ryl could make out the faces of the army that charged in their pursuit. His heart sank as his eyes took stock of the rapidly spreading line of attackers. The faces of those in the front were marred with the hateful visages he’d grown so accustomed to during his cycles under guard in The Stocks.

Those leading the charge likely shared the sentiments of the late Master Delsith, sub-master Osir or the others that thought nothing of the lives they persecuted. The people they’d tortured from the age of a child were nothing to them. They would show no compassion to tribute or guard. They sought only blood and death.

The forward line of the wagons and horses had crossed the edge of the orchard; nearly a half-mile remained before they reached the woods. Ryl, the phrenics and their meager force had fallen nearly a few hundred meters behind. All ran with their weapons at the ready save the phrenics.

Ryl was confident the phrenics could easily reach the safety of the woods in time. The rest, however, would never make it. The thought of leaving behind those who’d taken a stand, throwing away all in the defense of the tributes, to die senselessly, turned his stomach. The words of Nielix echoed in his ears.

You do not fight this battle alone.

He looked at the group that ran alongside him. Some were strangers. Some were friends. Others he considered the closest thing to family as he had left in this world. They all wore the determined faces of those who were ready to stand and fight. To give their lives, if necessary, for what they believed in. From his right, Andr made his way through the guards to his side.

“There’ll be no outrunning them,” the mercenary said between breaths. “We were close.”

“Aye. Form a line at the edge of the orchard,” he announced loud enough for all to hear.

Le’Dral, who was mounted, slowed his horse, trotting along Ryl’s left side.

“Captain. The archers are under your command,” Ryl ordered. “Hold your line and don’t fire until I give the signal.”

“Understood, Ryl,” Le’Dral answered. “What is it you intend to do?”

Ryl remained quiet for a moment as they neared the edge of the orchard. They slowed their approach as they formed a thin line. The thrumming march of the approaching army slowed with them as they spread out, forming into ranks, readying their charge.

“I intend to finish what we started, my friend,” Ryl said bluntly. “The Stocks will fall. The tributes will be free.”

Le'Dral squinted, angling his head slightly to the side as he studied Ryl.

“They have been warned,” Ryl added before the captain could respond. “If they cannot be convinced otherwise first—those who attack us will die.”

Le'Dral closed his eyes for a long moment, his head drooping slightly. When it again raised, his eyes were alight with a fierce determination Ryl had never before seen in the normally stoic officer.

“It will be an honor to fight side by side with those who have the skills only spoken about in legend,” the captain added. His eyes traveled to the statue looming over the forest behind them. “And to call you my friend.”

Ryl was touched by the sentiment. The joy that should have resounded through his body at the admission was diminished under the tidal surge of energy that raced through his veins.

His eyes traveled beyond the captain, running slowly along the forest that erupted from the ground less than half