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

from the alexen that burned in his veins. He had no desire to spill the blood of man. He’d seen enough blood to last him a lifetime.

Yet, in his heart, he failed to believe the truth. There would be death.

The riders shouted in wild bloodlust as their target remained unmoving. Their prey, seemingly paralyzed by fear, stood rooted in place. The excited cries of the approaching soldiers washed over Ryl. The mirth they gleamed from the prospect of death was sickening. His stomach churned in revulsion.

Kaep was in danger. The army stood as the most immediate obstacle in his path. Though massive, it was not immovable. If blood was needed to free her …

Blood they would have.

Ryl squeezed his eyes shut. The earth thundered as the riders neared. With a final effort, he silenced the rumble demanding slaughter. Wind screamed around his tattooed right arm. A cloud of dust billowed out in a ring from his body. The ferocity of its storm whistled. A shrill, high-pitched wail rang out, muting the thunder of hooves and the savage cries of man.

Ryl opened his eyes. They burned with the repressed fire of ages of persecution. His left hand closed on the Leaves, wrenching a solitary blade from its holster.

With an explosion of brilliant green fire, the weapon flashed to life. The particles of dust that stormed around him reflected the glow of the fire. A mottled green cloud undulated around him, spreading like a creeping mist from his position.

He surged forward to meet the charge.

The wind screamed from his arm as it reached a frenzied pitch. He struggled to contain the wrath that was brewing. Ryl slammed his right arm forward, angling a narrow arc, several body lengths wide, into the center of the incoming attack. He felt his body shudder. There was a dramatic release in pressure as the gout of wind poured from his arm. A low, thick cloud of dust rolled after in its wake. His body was obscured as he slipped into the churning haze.

The focused blast of air collided with the riders with a chilling force. Men and beast screamed in surprise as the invisible wall tore into their ranks. Men cried in agony; horses nickered and whinnied as their swift forward momentum reversed instantaneously. The invisible wall of the clouded front tore through their ranks. Bodies twisted uncontrollably as the blast of air threw them backwards, toppling man and beast in its path.

The loosely ordered charge of mounted guards devolved into utter mayhem.

Ryl emerged from the cover of the approaching cloud. With a green, flaming blade in hand, he materialized from the dust, charging into the gaping alley his blast of wind had hewn through the assault. The ground underfoot was loose, churned by the pummel of hooves. The dry dust was abrasive. The scent of the earth mingled with the odor of horses.

All around him there was chaos. He choked down the revulsion at the damage he’d wrought. The power of his blast had exceeded his expectations. Men and beast struggled to regain footing. Some staggered hopelessly before collapsing again, succumbing to injuries. In several cases, arms and legs were cocked at unnatural angles, while blood flowed freely from others. Many remained still.

Those still atop their mounts reined in their horses, wheeling to regain control of their spooked animals. Ryl hammered those around him with a wave of panic and fear. Several of the majestic beasts reared up in protest, ridding themselves of the riders clinging to their backs.

For a moment, Ryl remained unmolested as he traveled through the melee. A gap of nearly fifty meters had opened between the riders and the charging guard. The forward ranks of the army sprinted at him. Curses of anger and hatred swelled as they watched the invisible power knife its way through their companions.

Ryl noted the disturbance that had grown along the river’s edge. Whatever had caused the commotion had now moved into the midst of the eastern flank. A densely packed circle of guards constricted around what appeared to be a fight in the middle. Had the guards turned on themselves?

His survey was interrupted as his more immediate concerns charged again with bared blades and spears. His vision of the approaching foot soldiers was blocked as riders again worked to close the gaping hole he’d punctured through their line.

Their approach was slow, as their forward momentum had stalled. Training, drills, and the experience of simulated mounted combat were lost as the reality of the battle eviscerated their plans. Mounted warriors now fought as single units. They jostled amongst each other as they sought a solitary target in their midst. Many of those unlucky enough to be unseated by Ryl’s initial attack were trampled by their companions, lost in the haze of dust that blanketed the battlefield.

A pair approached from his front. Separated by a little more than a meter, they spurred their mounts toward him. The rider on the left snarled as he pointed his spear at Ryl’s chest. The one on the right held his sword aloft, priming for a killing strike. If their blades didn’t shred his flesh, the horses would run him to ground.

They moved with caution, though their anticipation was palpable. They longed to spill his blood. There was a vicious desperation, a need to inflict damage. Ryl dipped into a hint of the power that flowed within his veins. His movements were a blur. In a flash, he ducked under the spear leveled at his chest by the rider on the left, grabbing the shaft with his free hand as he passed beneath.

The rider had been ill prepared for the unexpected speed or unpredictability of the action. With little effort, Ryl redirected the point of the lance. There was a sharp cry as the blade punctured through the midsection of the rider to his right. The point punched through the back of the doomed soldier, spilling a river of blood and gore. The color blanched from both men’s faces.

So sudden was