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

A single bound covered the distance to the boy. Ryl scooped Aelin up without slowing, depositing him a few meters away, safe from the path of the deadly flight. He’d covered nearly half the distance to the front of the army’s ranks as the last of the speed snapped back to normal. Several solid thunks sounded from his rear as the arrows bit into the wagon where he and Aelin had been standing moments earlier.

A gathering of ten archers had clustered together. Bolstered by each other’s animosity and seeing an opportunity, they’d acted. Ryl barreled into the gathered resistance as the Leaves flared to life.

The bright green fires flickered out a moment later. Ryl’s stomach churned. He averted his eyes from the devastation scattered around him. The wind swelled around his right arm, releasing in a wide arc that sent the closest guards tumbling backward. He stepped backward into the wide swath of space he’d cleared with the soulborne wind.

“Enough,” Ryl boomed as he pivoted to keep a full view of the army. Green flames crackled off the Leaves, which burned menacingly in his hands. His sweeping glance focused on the carriage for a moment.

The black wagon was littered with arrows sunk deep into the wood. Four shafts, undoubtedly aimed to seal Ryl’s fate, were buried deep through Maklan’s chest. The fletching of the fatal bolts were all that remained visible. The councilor was slumped forward, suspended by the arrows. A widening pool of blood collected on the hard ground beneath his lifeless feet.

The vile councilor of The Stocks. The dreaded emissary of the king, Maklan, was dead.

Ryl breathed a momentary sigh of relief, savoring the air that rushed into his lungs. Air that smelled sweeter than it had in cycles. The dreaded councilor was no more. Still, the kingdom was yet to be freed from the oppression. It still languished under the hatred that had constricted and poisoned the minds of the populace for nearly as long as recorded history.

His mindsight captured a fleeting image. It was only a subtle shadow, a movement so insignificant that it almost passed without a thought. A faint wisp of black, a thin cloud, like the mist that covers the dew-soaked fields of morning, only to be burnt off by the sun. A haze of black emanated from Maklan’s body. It oozed from his skin. His arm twitched as the shadows evaporated into the air. For all his knowledge, Maklan had faithfully served the king for countless cycles. How long had he consumed the elixir? How long had the taint of the nexela added to the elixir poisoned him to his core.

Ryl moved closer to the corpse now suspended from the side of the black carriage. His steps were tentative though he knew the man to be dead. Maklan’s face hung down, obscuring the view of his face. His silken robes seemed to hang off his frame with a roomy sag. A light breeze blew from the west. The folds of his garments shimmered as the light of the sun played off the billowing fabric.

Using the dulled end of the Leaves, Ryl pushed lightly backward on the head of the councilor. The gasp from the pacified army at his rear was potent. To the left there was a coughing gag followed by the sound of chunky liquid splattering on the ground.

The face that looked back at Ryl was unlike the wild, malevolent visage that had glared at him moments before. Maklan’s eyes were open, staring ahead into nothingness though there was no shimmer of life remaining. The withered orbs were shriveled, wrinkled as if puckered by age and drought. The skin stretched back, peeling away from his eye sockets, creating a disturbing image of eyes opening wider than Ryl imagined possible.

Maklan’s skin was stretched across his face. Streaks of black crept up from his neck, reaching above his cheeks. His lips curled dramatically, forming a hideous inhuman snarl armed with yellowed, bared teeth. Ryl couldn’t help but see the similarities between the desperately emaciated body before him and the tributes he’d grown to know as family. The similarities, and the irony stopped there. The gaunt frame had more in common now with an enemy long since hidden from the kingdom.

The similarities between Maklan’s remains and the Horde were chilling.

Chapter 20

Ryl held Maklan’s head aloft for a long moment. The effect of the showing was profound. Silence emanated from the ranks of the army, which stood petrified. He released the councilor’s head as the muffled padding of Aelin’s footsteps approached. Maklan’s head slumped forward, stretching down until his chin rested against his sunken chest.

A rapid, cursory glance at the young boy before him caused his lips to curl into an uncontrolled snarl. Aelin walked with a noticeable limp. The youngster favored his right leg slightly as he shuffled to a stop. Ryl could see him working admirably to hide the wince as the pain of his wounds lanced through his body. The boy’s face was smeared with blood, his hair matted to his dirt-covered skin. The clothes of a tribute, while normally haggard, were filthy and torn, stained with mud and dyed with splatters and stains of crimson. How much blood belonged to him? How much belonged to the soldiers who were unlucky enough to find themselves in his destructive path.

Aelin tested his arms one at a time, the small smile growing as he satisfied himself that neither appeared unmanageably injured. The relief that flooded Ryl’s eyes must have been obvious, for the mischievous smile that spread across Aelin’s lips was contagious.

He tamped down the joy in seeing that the boy survived as the agitation of his presence rose. He’d always liked Aelin, had felt a connection to the boy since they’d first met. The youngster was untrained though his strength was undeniable. At the moment, Ryl needed speed. The distraction of watching over the inexperienced tribute was a worry