The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4) by C.J. Aaron (graded readers txt) 📕

his senses were bombarded by a deluge of memories. Many were unpleasant. He could still feel the sting of the master’s beatings. The vile taste of the rancid treatment forced upon him week after week threatened to turn his stomach. The building contained a feeling of hatred and oppression that over generations seemed to have penetrated the very wood of the walls. They held onto the emotion, letting it ooze out a tormenting trickle at a time.

Some memories were pleasant, though bittersweet. He had spent a considerable amount of time here under the watchful care of Mender Jeffers. The honest mender had become a quiet ally before becoming a steadfast friend. He was perhaps the first non-tribute to earn that title inside The Stocks, though more, as unexpected as the first, would follow.

The arrangement of the entryway was the same, down to the scant furniture. The single desk blocked the door to the Master’s quarters, the doorway behind, shut as always. Ryl turned to enter the clinic, greeting Averine at the door. The old man smiled yet said nothing as he brushed past.

Ryl smirked as he entered the crowded clinic. Jeffers would have had a conniption if he’d seen the state of his meticulously organized clinic. The usually neat desk was a mess of scattered papers and implements. A chair along the outside wall was toppled on its side. Bloodied rags lay in a heap on the floor.

Ryl breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Fay sitting upright in the first bed. A team of menders worked diligently on the young lord. His left arm was covered with a clean dressing, while a mender worked to stitch the wicked gash cut across his abdomen.

A small smile tugged up on the corners of Fay’s lips as he noted Ryl’s entry. A soldier, chest heaving with excitement, worked to give a report. None moved to stop him as he approached.

“They’ll arrive by morning,” the soldier finished as Ryl stopped along the foot of the bed.

“Thank you, Cortlan,” Fay commented, offering a rough salute. “You’ve done well. Get some rest. We’ll need you fresh in the morning.”

“Aye, sir,” the soldier responded, giving a formal salute before turning away. He paused as his gaze fell on Ryl. The look on the soldier’s face sent an uneasy chill down Ryl’s spine. He’d experienced that expression far too many times. The unrestrained awe was uncomfortable. Luckily, the words caught in the soldier’s mouth, and he retreated from the clinic before attempting to speak again.

Ryl had no time or patience for revelry.

“Thanks, are in order, Ryl,” Fay announced with a smile. A moment later, he whistled as he sucked in air through gritted teeth as the mender finished the stitch. The man carefully began wrapping a clean dressing around his abdomen.

“I did not come here for thanks, my friend,” Ryl added. “Though I’m glad I arrived when I did. It was luck that saved you, not I. I’m happy to see that they were able to stitch you back together.”

Fay chuckled at the barb, though the look on his face showed that he immediately regretted the decision.

“There is little time for conversation, I’m afraid,” Ryl added. “The city is lost. The Horde clog the Kingsway and alleys. Cadsae Proper will be a graveyard by morning. They will turn their attention on us before long.”

Fay’s head slumped as his gaze fell to the ground. He was silent for a moment before responding.

“I can hear the screams,” he whispered. “Is there nothing we can do to assist?”

Ryl shook his head. His answer, though cold, was firm.

“No,” he responded. “We gave them a choice. Many chose to ignore it. Had the phrenics still walked this kingdom, perhaps they would have seen sooner. No, my friend, with the assets we have at hand, there is nothing we can do.”

Fay nodded slowly. He tested the wounds, taking a slow regiment of larger and larger breaths.

“Perhaps the news I just received will buy us more time,” he added. “The scout who just left owes you his life. I understand you reached them before the Horde finished the job. He brings word that the army of the king approaches faster than we anticipated. The cavalry waits several miles from Cadsae Proper. The remainder will likely join them by morning.”

Ryl considered the prospects for a moment.

“The armies of man outside this gate are no longer a concern to us,” Ryl added. “They’ve thankfully no experience with the beasts who clawed their way from the Outlands. In the open, it will be a massacre. They will thin the ranks of the demons by hundreds, yet in the end, the numbers will not amount to any appreciable difference.”

His mind was distracted by a separate question. One that begged thought. The appearance of the armies of the Outlands had been a surprise. He’d known they’d come, yet it was a shock seeing them work in concert with the Lei Guard.

With the king.

If the beasts followed orders from the throne, the kingdom had just granted clemency for the murder of an entire city. The king had sanctioned the destruction. Would the demons fall upon the human army of the kingdom as they had with any flesh and blood that crossed their path? Or would the Lei Guard hold sway enough to prevent the killing?

If the latter was the case, why hadn’t they prevented the Horde from ravaging Cadsae Proper?

“We shall see how it plays out soon enough, I’m afraid,” Ryl added. “Who commands your troops?”

“His name is Cipri,” Fay added without pause. “Last I heard, he was atop the palisade.”

“The disposition of your troops will matter before long,” Ryl said. “I’m afraid your men will soon find themselves faced by enemies without and within.”

“Cadsae Proper had close to ten thousand in reserve from my last report,” Fay acknowledged.

“Aye.” Ryl nodded. “Though that number has thinned a bit, they still remain inside The Stocks. Word needs to reach them from the citizens here of the horrors that have befallen