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

process what had happened. To come to terms with the loss they’d just experienced.

“I assure you; all met a fitting end and punishment for their crimes,” Ryl hissed.

Aldren’s eyes went wide. He stopped to survey the mysterious group standing before him. Ryl was sure the spatter of blood still covered his body. The three phrenics at his rear remained hooded, motionless. Andr stood with arms crossed at his side.

“Tell me, how did they know where to find us?” Ryl asked.

“That one there,” Aldren said pointing to the body of the black cloaked tribute. “That one is the Lord’s newest councilor. He called us to an abrupt halt. I'm afraid I only overheard a portion of their conversation. Something about how he could feel the presence of fugitives in that direction, though he couldn't be certain of where.”

The merchant’s eyes wandered to Ryl’s neck as the comment escaped his lips. They lingered on the brands for an instant before darting back to Ryl’s eyes. He failed to hide the look of recognition and surprise that flashed across his face.

The implications of Aldren’s statement sent a chill down Ryl's spine. The shell of a tribute had been able to sense them. Was he able to pinpoint their location like the phrenics could with their mindsight? Was the overpowering signature that he gave off the reason for Deyalou's death? In thinking back to the attack at the tree of the prophet and his scouting trips outside Vim, had he been the reason, the inadvertent call to the Outland Horde?

The thoughts were sickening.

“Where will you go now?” Ryl asked.

Aldren sighed.

“I s'pose we’ll finish the delivery, then look for a new place to call home,” he said remorsefully.

Andr tapped Ryl on the shoulder.

“I'd like a word with my companions if you please, Aldren,” Andr said politely.

The merchant nodded with a smile, gently laying his boy back on the ground at his feet. Andr and Ryl spoke in hushed tones with the phrenics waiting behind them.

“He speaks the truth, Ryl,” Andr announced.

“How can you be certain?” Ryl asked.

“His is a name I'm familiar with,” Andr said quietly. “I prefer to never approach a job unprepared. It's a habit that saved my life more times than I can count. I know this land well, along with the political leanings of many of the prominent members. He was a true friend of Lord Felloc’s and a friend to the tributes.”

“Could we find shelter on his property?” Ryl quizzed.

“Possibly, though I can't be certain,” Andr admitted. “Either way, it gets us closer to our final destination.”

“If he's a true friend to the tributes as Andr says, it would be unwise to turn down any assistance he can offer,” Kaep added. “Though I will not leave without first tending to Deyalou.”

The phrenics hung their heads at the mention of their friend.

“Then it's decided. If Aldren will help shelter us, we will go,” Ryl said. “Let us clean up this area. Bury their bodies in the woods and fetch the Vigil. Deyalou comes with us.”

Chapter 49

Aldren was more than willing to accommodate Ryl and his companions. Though his curiosity was piqued, he knew better than to ask questions that needed not be answered. The scene of the battle along the path was quickly cleaned, returning the narrow forest road to as near its original state as possible, though the dark, wet pools of blood would take time to dry. The bodies of the black cloaked tribute and the soldiers that accompanied him were buried in shallow unmarked graves. The assassins in the woods were left to rot.

The group mounted the newly rider less horses. They collected the remaining ones, lashing their reins to the rear of Aldren's wagon as they followed closely in his wake. Growing up, Ryl had little experience with horses. He’d ridden atop an old dray that his father had led from the lumber mill on occasions, yet his experience ended there. He mounted with ease; with the natural, fluid motion of someone who’d grown up riding. The phrenics around him showed no sign of discomfort or trouble. The information, the knowledge, the experience inherent in his blood flooded his mind with startling clarity. The Vigil had more difficulty, yet they were soon situated atop their horses as they moved slowly from the clearing.

Deyalou had been wrapped in his cloak, his body carefully strapped to one of the unencumbered mounts. At seeing the loss of their friend, Aldren had expressed his sincerest condolences, volunteering a plot on his land alongside the resting place of his wife to bury their friend.

Ryl and Andr rode alongside the merchant conversing quietly while their watchful eyes scanned the surrounding forest. The noise of the insects had returned; the forest seemed to carry on as if nothing had disturbed the peacefulness of its slumber.

Cade woke shortly after they began their trek to the south. His eyes went wide as he took in their new riding companions. After a brief introduction and recounting of all that had taken place, he remained quietly by his father's side watching the newcomers with wonder.

It wasn't long before Aldren confirmed his feelings regarding the tributes without prompting. He still mourned the loss of his friend, Lord Felloc. He, like Andr, was convinced their deaths were a direct result of their vocal opposition to the king and the Ascertaining Decree.

“Curse the king. Curse the black hearts of the sponsors,” Aldren spat venom. “What right do they have over a child's life?” He wrapped his arm protectively around his son’s shoulders

His rhetorical question struck a chord with Ryl, as he was sure it did with Andr. The answer was simple.

They had no right.

“I have no desire to know your cause, though anyone with any sense of reason can guess it’s not a party built for peaceful negotiations,” Aldren said, keeping his eye fixed on the road ahead. “You’ve saved my life. You saved my son’s life. For that, I am bound by honor to repay you