Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3) by C.J. Aaron (books like beach read .TXT) 📕

In both directions, the way was clear of travelers. Far to the south, a small smudge of dust rising into the air announced the presence of another caravan. Without stopping, Aldren turned the wagon steadily to the south. From his side of the driver's seat, Ryl peered back along the forested path they'd just exited. The black wagon was just clearing the top of a small rise. He saw the hand of Ramm rise into the air, waving a subtle farewell.

Though he knew the identity of those under the black cloaks, the site was still disconcerting. The cloaks in combination with his innate revulsion of the black wagon itself imparted a nauseating sensation. They'd wait before following. This would likely be the last he'd see of them until after dark, when they were due to reach the home of Aldren’s acquaintance near Milstead.

Andr, who had been riding ahead of their wagon had waited at the intersection of the road. With a nod of his head, he led his horse into a canter, quickly advancing ahead of the party. Dav rode slowly, lengthening his gap to several hundred meters at their rear.

Compared to the overgrown track they’d exited, the road before them looked well-traveled and considerably less rugged.

Aldren knocked on the solid wall of the wagon behind his seat.

“We’re joining with the main thoroughfare now, it’ll be far smoother from here on out,” he announced to Kaep, who remained inside, tending to the tributes and watching over Elias.

“I'll be grateful for that,” came the muffled response from the phrenic archer.

“How are they doing?” Ryl asked through the wood of the wagon.

“No change I'm afraid,” Kaep's muffled voice announced from within. “They all remain still.” Her words brimmed with distress. Ryl felt the emotion roll over him as she made her feelings known discreetly.

He closed his eyes, inhaling a deep breath, savoring the fresh, cool air. In his heart he harbored an acute concern about the fate of the tributes. There was no telling what their bodies had been forced to endure. Even if they could be nursed back to consciousness, rejuvenated physically, would their minds be salvageable? Could their sense of self be restored to its former glory?

While the physical effects of their torture were plain to see, their mental anguish was occluded. Ryl feared that the full extent might never truly be known.

The day passed quickly as they worked their way ever southward along the main road. Aldren remained with reins for much of the time. Both were quiet, seemingly lost in thought. Ryl knew that the merchant was concerned over the wellbeing of his son. Though they'd been spared an almost certain death at the hands of the spiteful heir to House Villais, Lord Relensier, he mourned the separation as his son rode to the seat of House Eligar in Cantros.

The boy was strong, possessing a hardened will, and was well accustomed to travel. Young Cade had been on the road with his father for cycles. In a matter of six short days, Aldren would be released from his tasks assisting Ryl and his companions as far as the outskirts of Cadsae Proper. The merchant had been unexpectantly dragged into a plot that would amount to certain treason. A merciful death was the best he could hope for in the event their plans fell apart.

Aldren would not accompany them as they stormed The Stocks. He would likely make haste to Cantros in search of his son. Ryl was sure that he’d find a welcome home under the wing of House Eligar.

Ryl was respectful of the merchant’s remorse. He was all too familiar with loss. He'd mourned far more separations, even at his young age, than many would endure their entire life. On an annual basis he had been forced to grieve the loss of his friends that were stolen from The Stocks during their predetermined Harvest.

He now knew the horrifying truth of their fates. The torturous existences that they would go on to lead were unconscionable. They were treated as fodder. Strapped to boards, they were milked of their blood. Slowly enough that the process would extend over cycles, every last drop of their blood was stolen from their veins. Every trace of alexen harvested. Were all converted to Lei Guard as was the case with Elias?

The anger swelled within his body. His blood heated as it scorched a path through his veins. The Lei Guard that had attacked him had for cycles been like him. They’d likely lived together, and toiled side by side as they plodded their way through a miserable existence. Ryl, in part, understood the purpose of the additional markings he’d received during his awakening. The burning sun tattooed over the crook of his elbow; the impenetrable darkness that covered the remainder of his left arm—their purposes had vexed him since their application. Just as the light of the sun pushed against the darkened markings, the power, the blinding orb of pure energy that had flowed from his arm had vanquished the blackness of the nexela. His body contained the light to banish the darkness that gripped their souls.

The miles passed as did the landscape. The rolling hills and small forests continued onward to the east. To their west, the mountains drifted away into the distance. Every so often as the wagon crested a hill the view of the eastern palisade would dominate the horizon. Its grey stone top was marked by evenly spaced guard towers as it stretched out of sight to the south.

The road had been thankfully absent of travelers throughout the day. The small smudge of dust rising from the south as they had entered the main thoroughfare earlier that day had disappeared from sight—likely traveling away from them. Dav had arrived on several occasions bringing word from the others. All was well with their companions manning the black wagon that followed a mile to their rear.

The sun had