Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2) by C.J. Aaron (ebook reader that looks like a book .TXT) 📕

meters away; the man’s eyes grew wider as they struggled to follow what was happening in the darkened clearing. In one fluid motion, Ryl covered the distance between himself and the archer. The man's hand moved in slow motion as he raced to free another arrow from his quiver.

Ryl's right hand closed around the familiar wooden handle of the Leaves, tearing it from its holster.

The holster, the custom masterwork that Deyalou had made.

The blade flared to life with a blinding fury the likes of which he'd never before witnessed. The fire burning from its shimmering green blade seared the air around it.

There would be no mercy in its flames.

Without a second thought, Ryl separated the head from the archer, moving down the line with lightning precision. Bows were a futile defense against his blazing fury—he decimated the line of archers in an instant.

As he wheeled to finish the last of the group, the high-pitched wail of an arrow gave him pause. He'd heard the song before. He slid the Leaves back into his holster as the first of the arrows struck the man's chest, carrying him backward into the tree behind him. The rapid stream of arrows pinned his body to the tree in a vertical line reaching from his chest to his groin. The assassin was still alive as the final arrow pierced his skull.

The world still moved as if in slow motion as Ryl scanned the forest surrounding the camp. Eight had attacked them. None would breathe again. In some cases, their blood and severed limbs hadn’t yet reached the ground. There was a muffled nicker of a horse far off to his right, followed by a muted shout.

Ryl let the speed fade though the blood still boiled in his veins. Kaep and Ramm were kneeling over the unmoving body of Deyalou. A pool of crimson blood spread out around him. The alexen in his blood cried out in agony. Vox stood tall, a step in front of his fallen companion, guarding his body. His left arm burned with searing orange fire.

Ryl looked at the body of the man tacked to the tree by Kaep's arrows. His clothes were clean, neatly tailored and pressed. The outfit was not likely the wear of peasants or bandits. The others wore similar outfits. Andr reached his side, sword in hand.

“Andr, is there a road, or a path near here?” Ryl asked pointing his finger in the direction he'd heard the sound of the horse.

“There are paths that crisscross the entirety of the forest,” the stunned mercenary responded. “If my memory serves me, there is one leading to the lord's estate in that direction.”

“I heard a horse, and shouting. Somehow, they knew we were here,” Ryl hissed. “These were no bandits. If they've left someone behind, I'll have answers. Get the phrenics and then come with me. The Vigil stays here.”

“Ryl, you’re injured,” Andr gasped, pointing at the growing stain of blood from his left arm.

“It’s only a shallow cut,” Ryl waved his hand, shooing off the comment. “I’ll tend to it while you get the others.”

Andr, flashed a hesitant look at Ryl, before nodding his head. He backed a step away before turning and rushing back to gather the phrenics. Ryl tore at the fabric of his shirt where the blade had slashed through. The force tore the stitching along his shoulder, separating the entire sleeve from his left arm as well. In truth, Ryl had yet to stop to examine the wound. In the hasty battle, he’d barely given it a second thought. In all respects, the cut should have been severe, yet he was astonished to find it was nothing more than a deep scratch. The corners had already started to scab over.

He tore the fabric into a thin strip, tying it tightly around the wound. It was a matter of moments before the phrenics arrived with Andr a step behind.

Kaep’s eyes were red from tears as were Ramm's. Vox had the look of a madman, his eyes burning with hatred that made the fire burning in his hand seem dim.

“There will be time to mourn Deyalou soon,” Ryl said flipping the hood up over his head. “Now, we hunt.”

The phrenics raised their hoods, plunging their faces in shadow.

Chapter 48

Like wraiths through the night, the phrenics and Andr stalked through the trees. The quiet sounds of horses grew as they left their camp far behind. Without slowing, Ryl scanned ahead with his mindsight.

He stopped abruptly as a hint of black appeared in his vision. The others halted at his side.

“Scan ahead,” Ryl whispered hurriedly. “Can you not see it?”

He watched the phrenics concentrate while he probed the darkness again. The smudge of black moved slightly to the right.

“I see nothing,” Vox admitted in a whisper. The others acknowledge the same.

“There's something there,” Ryl confessed. “I see a black void. Almost like that of the Horde, yet it's less solid, almost mist-like.”

The disturbance was as alarming as it was confusing. Not nearly the pitch-black voids projected by the Outland Horde; this mark was airier and more diffused—like a charcoal cloud moving across the land.

“Let us proceed with caution then,” Kaep whispered. Though her voice was hushed, the anger her words conveyed was deafening.

They continued forward, tracking silently through the forest. Muted voices, unintelligible from the distance, began mixing with the sounds of the horses.

Through the trees ahead, a clearing opened along the side of a narrow path beaten into the woods. Ryl counted twelve horses in the light of the flickering fire. A large, covered wagon stood on the side of the road; its mounts were agitated, stomping their feet in protest. Two men hunched over what appeared to be a pair of bodies lying alongside the carriage.

A black cloaked figure stood a few paces to their side. Ryl had no need for the mindsight to confirm where the charred signature was emanating from. The figure pointed a finger in their direction. The two hunched over