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

that was in a state of minor disrepair. The painted exterior was cracked and peeling. Though the hour was early, he could hear the muted sounds of drunken revelry emanating from within.

As they approached, the door to the inn sprung open, spewing out a stumbling patron who toppled down the stairs into the street. Ryl and Andr stopped their mounts abruptly as the man careened into their path. The staggering drunkard smiled a sickeningly weak smile before continuing across the road, following the narrow alley that ran along the interior of the walls of Milstead. The distinct, unpleasant odor of vomit wafted past in the man's wake.

Across the street, the dichotomy was startling. The facade of this inn featured a small garden that ran atop a thin, stone wall separating the modest patio from the street. The area was protected from the elements by a wide overhang that jutted out from the building. Several sets of chairs sat vacant, flanking small bistro tables. Blooming flower arrangements hung from the awnings above, providing a burst of color against the white-washed stone exterior.

Ahead, the street was lined with a bevy of buildings selling wares of different varieties. The light from within the shops diffused as it passed out into the misty morning, creating rings of illumination around their fronts. Several residences were mixed in with the shops, though Geshill had explained that the bulk of the residential habitations were located along the alleys that stretched out behind the main road. Ryl could see movement inside the buildings as they passed, yet the streets around them were nearly devoid of traffic. In the distance, the steady pounding of a blacksmith's hammer broke the quiet of the morning.

The wagon that they trailed had two destinations on this current venture. The first was the general store that bordered the square that opened out at the end of the main avenue. Along with the standard foodstuffs they'd need for themselves and the tributes, Ryl had convinced Aldren to purchase a bottle of the famed, Milstead Rye that the town was known for. He smiled at the memory of the pleasant, yet brief moments he’d shared a drink with the generous sub-master in Tabenville, shortly before his harvest. He knew that a single bottle of spirits would certainly not buy the allegiance of sub-master Millis, yet the bottle alone was an important gesture for him. A trivial repayment for the unexpected kindness he'd received at the hands of the officer.

The second stop was at the shop of the seamstress whose storefront bordered the end of the plaza. The trivial meeting of Geshill with his daughter would be a front for the serious discussions that would occur in private at his farm later that evening. He was convinced that his daughters would need no further persuasion and would likely acquiesce to the offer without an argument.

Ryl and Andr made a brief circuit of the square as they waited for Geshill and Aldren to finish their first stop. Their presence wasn't necessary for the excursion, yet they'd come as added security in the event of another encounter with the hunters.

The square was large, bordered on three sides by buildings and the last by the calm stretch of river that ran alongside the town. They traveled away from the corner where the wagon had stopped, passing the assorted shops and residences that formed two edges of the large square.

At the center of the space was a large fountain. The artisan who'd created the monument had chosen to create the likeness of a large wooden cask. Water streamed from its top, cascading down the sides into a circular pool ringed by a low stone wall.

The square, which was nearly deserted when they first entered, began to show increasing signs of life as they waited for Aldren and Geshill. They could see activity blossom from inside the confines of the buildings through the dew-covered glass of their windows. The numbers of people moving about through the square increased as time ticked by. None paid the hooded riders any mind as they passed.

As the sun rose into the eastern sky, Ryl felt the warmth of the rays as they burned off the mist that had dampened the morning. The two layers of cloaks he wore would become sweltering as the day progressed. As the mists receded, the sleepy town came to life.

Sporadic, everyday noises of the village floated in from all sides. Conversations and salutations rose as neighbors greeted neighbors. The thrumming of a hammer on wood rose through the mists. From the fields beyond the city's eastern border the errant crow of a tardy rooster called a late start to the day. Ryl and Andr maneuvered their mounts close to the edge of the fountain where they could maintain a careful watch over their companions and their surroundings.

Though they'd yet to see sign of the hunters, Ryl was cautious of their appearance. Their past calling at the doorstep of Geshill placed them close to the sleepy village.

The thought of the hunters stalking the runaway girl and her father sent a chill of revulsion through Ryl's core. His stomach churned as his mind conjured horrifying images of their capture.

He scoured the village for any sign of the wayward child.

He let out an audible gasp. After repeated searching, his heart skipped a beat as a pinpoint of light flickered at the extremity of his vision. Ryl spurred his horse into a canter moving toward the low wall that bordered the water. Andr, surprised by the sudden movement, followed a few meters behind.

Ryl leaped from his mount before it came to a stop, leading it to the railing along the sluggish stretch of the river.

“She's here!” he gasped at Andr. “The tribute’s here!”

Ryl looped the reins of his horse to a post that stood a step away from the wall. He moved forward, leaning on the low railing that separated the stone of the square from the lazy waters of the sluggish river below.