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

his wagon. The lantern suspended from the front cast a flickering halo of light on the surrounding trail and woods. The merchant reined in his horses, whispering for their silence as they nickered noisily. Their sounds echoed throughout the quiet forest.

The phrenics stopped alongside the head of the wagon. The churning rapids of a river could be heard in the distance.

“Here's where we part ways as well,” Aldren whispered. “Around the bend ahead the road dips slightly before reaching the river. The stone bridge here is the only crossing for many miles in either direction. The icy waters below run in two channels. Closest to the village, the water is calm, however, closer to this bank, the waters churn with rapids that are nothing to be trifled with. Serrate is on the opposite bank. Stay safe, my friends.”

“Thank you, Aldren,” Ryl said graciously. “Your guidance has been crucial and your support unwavering. We shall see you again once this is through.”

“It is you I have to thank,” Aldren corrected. “Without you, my son and I would be dead. We will be forever in your debt.”

The merchant urged his wagon forward, and the phrenics watched as it disappeared around the bend in the road. Their heads turned as a low whistle broke through the trees to their left. A shadowed figure slowly materialized from the forest’s edge. Andr greeted his friends with a smile.

“Come, lead your horses after me,” the mercenary said softly. “There's a clearing ahead, we can talk there.”

The phrenics followed orders, quietly leading their mounts off the beaten path into the darkness of the forest. The night sky was clear, the area lit by the light of a bright moon overhead. They weaved their way carefully along what appeared to be a narrow game trail, stopping a hundred meters of so into the forest. The small clearing was surrounded on all four side by woods, though the lights of the small town flickered through the leaves to the west.

“What news from Serrate?” Kaep asked as they tied their horses off along the edge of the opening.

“From what I can tell, the estimates of the merchant were sound,” Andr detailed. “There appears to be no more than a token force of soldiers manning the gate and facility. Though none were visible from the outside, rumors abound through the village of the black cloaked killers who lurk inside the gates.”

“If it is Lei Guard, where there's one, there will always be six more,” Ryl reiterated.

“There is no love for the soldiers or Lei Guard around the village,” Andr said. “Though only spoken in whisper, they accuse them both of numerous disappearances and a rash of violent, unsolved murders that have happened over the last cycle. The village feels ripe for revolt.”

“Then let us use that discontent to our advantage,” Ryl said. “Can you discretely stir the pot?”

Andr chuckled softly.

“Aye, I can be discrete,” the mercenary said with a devilish smile. “And there's more. The seeds you've spoke of so many times, the seeds of change, they’ve taken root here.”

There was a crack of a twig, and a quiet rustle in the woods to their rear. Hands fell to their blades; Kaep had an arrow ready at the waiting. The rustling continued, retreating rapidly into the depths of the forest—the chittering of the squirrel gave away its true identity.

“Just last cycle, testing confirmed a boy with alexen,” Andr continued. “His family was well respected and well-loved throughout the village. They ran. None but the boy survived, though his legend has grown. Seems their young lad killed a guard in the process of his capture. He's revered like a myth here.”

Ryl felt his heart rate surge at the mention. Could it be Aiden? He’d heard of none since the boy who’d felled a guard during their apprehension.

A thin smile crossed his lips.

“I believe I know the boy well,” Ryl whispered. “Stubborn as a mule, but stronger than an ox. Even at just over nine cycles, I reckon there are few stronger than him in The Stocks.”

Ramm let out a low, quiet whistle in response to the statement.

“Do we proceed tomorrow as planned?” Ryl asked, looking to all in turn.

Andr nodded his head.

“I don’t see why not,” he said. “Draw them out. The Vigil will be in place.”

“Let them come,” Ramm growled.

“I'll slip into the facility with Aldren's wagon,” Andr said. “I'll have the gates open for you.”

He paused a moment, looking the phrenics in the eyes, one by one. Ryl’s eyes were the last he met. They held their gaze for a moment.

“Remember, tomorrow, if their numbers are more than you can sustain, get to the horses and flee,” Andr stressed. “Head south, don't stop until you reach The Stocks. Don't wait for us, the tributes are counting on you.”

Andr squeezed Ryl's shoulder, flashing a quick, pained smile.

“Good luck. I'll see you tomorrow,” the mercenary said before turning and melting back into the darkness.

The morning dawned with a chill in the air. Ryl and the phrenics had already left the small clearing they’d called a home for the night. The road was quiet, though in the distance, Ryl could hear the hoofbeats and the squeaking wheels of a heavily laden wagon as it bumped over the uneven road.

A thick layer of mist floated over the water, hiding the rapids below. The walkway of the stone bridge poked out over the fog as if it were floating on air.

Across the river, Serrate had come to life with the first rays of the sun. A rooster, late to his morning duty, called in the distance. Ryl could hear the unintelligible voices of the fishermen projecting out over the water. He watched as their bodies disappeared into and materialized from the mist as they moved about along the short stairs to the piers and boats below.

Warehouses lined the avenue to the left of the bridge, and a small tavern and a three-story inn capped the end of the row of buildings. The main