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

a mile away. He could feel the pull of the woods. He could hear her call clearly now; there was relief in her voice, though it was tinged with something more. Something potent, something he'd never felt from her before.

Something powerful.

“We'll make it through this, Le'Dral,” Ryl added confidently, though his eyes never left the edge of the Erlyn.

He watched as the first of the wounded riders from their caravan entered the blackness of the yawning mouth of the woods. Ryl breathed a pent-up sigh of relief knowing the rest would follow shortly.

His eyes closed for a moment, and he struggled to quiet his raging mind. He focused his thoughts on the woods, pleading for succor. Her limbs were so close, yet from where he stood on the outskirts of the orchard, they may as well as have been separated by an eternity.

A confident cheer erupted from the massed soldiers from the city. As the revelry faded, he heard the chilling call of a single voice boom over the army.

“Forward, march.”

He turned his head quickly to witness the advance of the marching army. The Erlyn seemed to shudder from the sound; a vague ripple passed along the trees.

With a grunt, Le'Dral spurred his horse back to the line. Ryl placed his hand on Andr's shoulder, locking eyes with his friend. A foreboding sense of apprehension covered his body. He offered him a weak, forced smile.

“Please don't judge us too harshly for what will befall,” Ryl whispered to the mercenary.

Andr smiled back, placing his arm on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“Leave it to history to judge our actions today,” Andr responded. “You've freed a people from an existence worse than death. You've shown compassion when none was warranted. I made a vow long ago that I intend to keep. I will stay by your side until the end, my friend.”

Ryl struggled to hold back the moisture that threatened to well in his eyes. With a subtle nod, he turned from Andr, crossing the few meters to where the phrenics stood.

He stopped alongside the line of his peers. They remained motionless; eyes locked on the army approaching across the narrow expanse.

The enemy force had fanned out into a wide, slightly concave line that stretched across The Stocks for several hundred meters. Ryl estimated that there were over one thousand guards making up the lead line. Behind that, row after row of armed soldiers receded into the distance. Flanking both ends of the line were the remnants of the cavalry they had repelled the day prior, though their approach lagged behind the charge of the infantry.

The ground thundered with the footsteps of thousands of heavy boots on the hard soil.

The line of phrenics stood a few meters ahead of Andr, the Vigil and guards. Less than ninety stood in the face of a charge of overwhelming numbers, yet Ryl was less concerned about their own safety.

How many thousands would he have to kill before they gave up their charge?

Ryl’s force stood shoulder to shoulder, stretching from the edge of the river to the edge of the orchard. The branches of the evenly spaced trees would no doubt slow the initial approach of much of the line, yet the benefit wouldn’t last. Once they crossed through the first rows, their miniscule force would be quickly surrounded. If their initial defense didn’t work, if it failed to persuade the army to abandon its conquest, Le’Dral and the guards were to fall back into the entrance to the Erlyn.

The steady cadence of the approaching march quickened as they neared. Ryl looked to his left, forcing a wave of hope over those standing with him on the line. The heads of the phrenics to his right turned as one, acknowledging him with a nod. Kaep pulled an arrow from her quiver; the bow creaked as she stretched back the twine. Fire swelled around Vox’s left arm. Ryl felt the heat wash over his left side.

Scattered cries of bloodlust rang out across the massive line of the incoming army. Ryl could feel the animosity, the excited anticipation, ripple forward like the waves of the tide. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, sucking in a volume of fresh air. He savored the crisp smell of the earth and the lingering, sweet scents of the recently harvested orchard before it would be tarnished by the oppressive stench of blood and death.

Ryl flinched, as did the rest of those assembled on the field that morning, as a deafening peal of thunder tore through the sky. The attacking guards slowed; their weapons lowered slightly toward the ground, and the focus of their confused stares moved upward toward the skyline and the jagged mountains that loomed over the Erlyn.

He risked a rapid glance just as the shadow that obscured sun passed overhead. The sky had been cloudless only moments earlier, yet now it rolled with the turbulence of a storm front. The billowing mass of the black cloud seemed to sprout from the center of the woods, spilling outward as it covered the sky and land below in an unnatural darkness. Brilliant flashes sparked through the interior, momentarily lighting the churning depths of the storm cloud, giving warning of the fury that raged inside.

The last of the tributes disappeared into the blackness of the entrance to the woods.

The forest shuddered. This time, the ripple that raced across its face was visible to all. The effect was harrowing. The approach of the guards slowed to a crawl as they stared with open mouths at the unsettling phenomenon unravelling before their eyes.

In the wake of the thunder, the steady, rhythmic drum of coordinated feet rumbled from the depths of the woods.

The eyes of all now locked onto the forest as the sound steadily increased.

“Captain,” Ryl spoke quickly. “Have your men slowly fall back toward the woods.”

Ryl knew not what was happening. He would not refuse the succor, no matter how unlikely, or unexpected.

Had the Erlyn heeded his call?

The sound of marching was drowned out