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

The workers exchanged a momentary look; one wheeled about, hastening back toward the entrance. The second simply nodded his head slightly, he took a single step backward before turning and following his companion back toward his station near the entrance.

Ryl watched discretely as the first exited the stable through a door along the side wall that it shared with the tavern. The second stopped at the entrance to the stable, crossing his arms to lean against the wall in a pose that conveyed boredom. Though the relaxed stance spoke to an unprepared, lackadaisical approach, judging by the eyes, Ryl could tell the position defied the true preparedness of the man. His eyes were in a constant state of surveil; his hands never far from the hilt of his blades.

“Bring your pack, leave the rest here,” Andr said. “Fear not. It'll be safe.”

The mercenary threw his pack over his shoulder, patting Ryl on the back as he moved toward the door. The guard at the door seemingly paid them no mind as they exited the stable into the narrow alley.

Andr moved quickly, stopping at a door along the side of The Proper’s East.

“Say nothing until I give the word,” Andr whispered. “It's been a long time since I've been here, yet I've never known her to negate a promise.”

Ryl squinted his eyes at the mercenary.

“A story for another time, I'm afraid,” Andr admitted with a forced grin as he pushed his way into The Proper’s East.

Ryl was wholly unprepared for the sweeping assault on his senses as the door opened. The creaking of the hinges was immediately drowned out by the volume of the group inside. The heat from the roaring fire burning away in the large hearth along the left-hand wall added to the combined body heat of the mass of people inside. The temperature was near sweltering yet seeped into his bones with a comforting warmth.

He'd grown strangely accustomed to the thick, off-putting, rotted, and stagnant scent that permeated the East Ward. A tidal wave of aromas washed over them as the air sucked out through the open door. The acrid smell of smoke combined with the mouthwatering scent of freshly made stew. The combination worked in consort to partially overpower the stink of stale ale, human odor and a tinge of vomit.

No one paid them any mind as the made their way across the expanse of the large room. Smaller tables lined the wall on three sides, while long tables were scattered across the center of the room in an uneven pattern. A long bar spanned nearly the entirety of the wall on the opposite side of the room. Behind it, a row of large casks lay on their sides, held aloft by a thick wooden stand. The golden colored brew that spewed from their taps poured in a stream that seemed never-ending. For every tankard filled, a second waited empty in the wings. There was a single, large door squeezed in the middle of the barrels, presumably leading to a kitchen behind. A veritable army of women carrying either plates or mugs of ale worked their way through the crowded room.

Along the wall to their right a small group of musicians played feverishly on their instruments. Their sounds, though harmonic and loud, were largely ignored by the revelers in the tavern.

Ryl followed Andr through the throng of people, weaving a path along the left wall of the room. A balcony circled the room on the second floor; occasional bits of food and errant sloshes of ale dripped down from above.

The convoluted path they traced led to the left end of the crowded bar. Andr slapped a coin down on its surface. The metallic thump drew the attention of the surly barkeep who looked mildly annoyed, yet ambled over in their direction nonetheless.

“What'll ya be having?” The raspy voice rang out loud over the din of the crowd.

Andr slid the coin across the bar.

“I'm here for one of your finer vintages,” he replied.

The barkeep greedily snatched the coin from the surface of the bar, moving quickly off to their left. Just beyond the end of the bar he stopped, pausing long enough to whisper into the ear of the stern faced worker who stood at its end. Past this point, the remaining corner of the wall, only a space of a few meters, was nearly lost in the gloom of the shadow from the balcony above. Ryl noted the presence of a discrete, closed door.

The barkeep glanced over his shoulder, shaking his thumb in their direction. Ryl could feel the cold eyes of the man along the wall landing on them. He squinted slightly, before crossing his muscular arms across his chest.

It was clear to Ryl the man was no ordinary servant. At almost the same stature as Ramm, he was a veritable giant. Like the men in the stable, his appearance and demeanor were those of an experienced soldier. After a moment, the barkeep returned, leaning forward close enough that his voice wouldn't carry past its intended ears.

“We have a private room for the vintage you seek,” the barkeep muttered waving his hand toward the closed door.

Andr replied with a nod before pushing back off the bar. Ryl followed a pace behind as they forged a direct path to the hulking man by the closed door. The guardian of the door made a brief visual inspection of both Ryl and Andr. His face scrunched into a disapproving scowl as his eyes fell on Ryl’s hooded face. His eyes squinted as they attempted to peer through the veil of darkness. After a moment of scrutiny, the man grunted, unfolding his arms and opening the door at his side. He ushered the pair inside with a wide sweep of his free arm, following them, closing the door behind them with an audible click.

The room they entered was nothing more than a dimly lit, shallow entryway. The walls on either side were close, barely wider than the