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

“How long has he been like this?” She asked as she stepped past Andr, kneeling at Ryl’s side.

“Almost two days now,” Andr replied as he slid his sword back into the sheath.

A long whistle came from the woods, followed by another short burst; the stranger lifted her head at the sound. The second who'd remained in the clearing abandoned his task of dispatching the wounded, hurrying to her side.

“We're out of time,” he said. His voice was agitated.

“Can you carry him?” she asked, rising to her feet turning her head toward Andr.

He could make out little of her face in the low light of the burning clearing. The flickering glow from the flames failed to penetrate the darkness under her hood.

“Yes,” Andr replied confidently.

“Good,” she responded. “Pick him up. We make for the forest.”

Another set of whistles sounded through the night, this time from a greater distance.

“They'll be on us if we don't leave now,” the second shadowed man announced. Andr could hear the distress growing in his voice.

Andr bent down, collected the devastating sticks from Ryl’s hands and tucked them carefully into his pack before turning to Ryl. The second warrior helped hoist and position his unconscious companion on his back. The first gathered his pack before tossing it to her companion. He nodded to her as he shouldered the pack whilst moving silently across the clearing toward the north.

“Stay quiet and follow us,” she ordered as she moved to follow her departing companion. “Once we leave this glade, it's a little more or less than a mile to the forest. No matter what happens, do not stop until you're under her limbs.”

Andr was exhausted. The toll of the last several days weighed heavy on him, yet the surge of adrenaline from the battle pumped new life into his weakened body.

“My sword could be of use in a fight,” Andr pleaded his case as he followed in her wake.

“Now's not the time to argue,” she snapped, turning her head back toward him. “Your blade will be worthless against the harriers in this light and in the open. You worry about getting him safely into the woods.”

“Harrier?” Andr questioned.

He heard the frustrated sigh escaped through her lips.

“The lanky Horde that assailed you,” her tone was short. “We call those, harriers.”

Their hushed conversation was cut short by the howl that tore through the silence of the night from their rear. Their pace hastened as a second blood-curdling scream answered the first, this time to their right.

His nameless guide pulled the bow from her shoulder, nocking an arrow as they sped through the trees. Andr and Ryl reached the edge of the grove, struggling to maintain her rapid pace. Three shadows stepped out from behind the trees bordering the edge of the copse and the open expanse between them and the forest.

“Two groups, closing fast. South and east,” whispered the fourth, a man who to this point Andr had yet to see. “Gonna be close.”

No words were needed to relay the instructions as the party surged forward into the open terrain. The four cloaked warriors split off forming a diamond with Andr and Ryl in the center. The one with the bow, the only one to have addressed them directly, positioned herself at their front, leading them forward, while the newcomer took the right flank. Carrying the gigantic warhammer with ease, the massive warrior took position at their rear. The final, sword wielding warrior flanked the party to their left. As one, the party made for the forest ahead with all haste.

The burning in Andr’s legs increased with every step and his chest heaved from the exertion. Ahead he could see the black shadow of the forest stretching into the sky. The cries from the groups of pursuing Horde converged on the grove they’d just abandoned. The night erupted with a thunder of frenzied wails and screams as they stumbled upon the ruin of their companions.

“Vox, give us some light, now,” the woman in the lead hissed with a penetrating sense of urgency. She fell back to the rear of the party.

“Ramm, get them to the forest,” she ordered. The massive warrior grunted in response, moving to the side of Andr and Ryl. “Deyalou, with me.”

Vox paused for a moment, closing his eyes—concentrating—before thrusting his bared left arm into the sky. Elaborate tattoos covered his arm from where his skin met the cloth of his cloak to his wrist. The designs seemed to pulse with a glowing, orange light that flowed from his shoulder to his hand. His arm was angled toward the sky at their rear, his palm held out flat. His hand pulsed for an instant and the air in front of his palm shimmered. The light began as a dim yellow, brightening rapidly into a blinding white. He thrust his arm forward—the orb of light screamed from his hand with a high-pitched wail and a trail of smoke as it raced into the night sky.

As it reached its apex, the ball of light hovered over the edge of the grove, slowly falling down to earth like a feather floating carefree on the air. Vox staggered for a few steps before regaining his composure. For a moment, the large copse of trees was still.

Only for a moment.

The movement that followed was akin to that of ants swarming from their hills when disturbed by a stick. A mass of the Horde, their bodies illuminated by the unnaturally white light, flowed out from between the trees in an uncoordinated surge. The writhing tidal wave of hatred rushed toward them at a frantic pace.

“Run,” the archer screamed before launching her remaining arrows at a dizzying pace. Cries of pain echoed through the night, peaking over the screams of fury that rapidly approached from their rear.

Andr had turned his head for an instant to survey the scene behind them. His foot caught on a rock, sending he and Ryl sprawling to the ground. He scrambled to collect the boy