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

fallen tree, riding their bodies to the ground. The sickening snapping under his weight was of bone, not of branch. Ryl knew neither would ever rise again.

Their lifeless bodies cushioned his fall slightly, though the impact still rattled throughout his bones. For the second time in a matter of minutes, his controlled roll dislodged the feet of the knife wielding assassin from the ground below. The speed of his assault carried him into and through the remaining three attackers standing beyond.

Ryl wasted no time regaining his footing and was back on his feet before the last of the falling assassins hit the ground. Of the eight that began, only the two who held Cavlin still remained on their feet. They’d released their hold on the semi-conscious guard, reaching desperately for the swords that hung comfortably from their hips.

Cavlin’s legs crumpled in slow motion as they failed to support his bodyweight. He plummeted unrestrained toward the ground.

Seeing the man who’d shown him unexpected kindness and comradery beaten mercilessly stoked the fire in Ryl’s veins. The steel of his borrowed sword sung a high-pitched melody as he whipped it from its sheath. A vicious strike severed the neck of the closest assailant as he struggled to regain his footing. He ducked under the spray of blood that hung like mist in the air, darting forward toward Cavlin, burying the sword through the heart of the closest attacker. The blade slid through to the hilt; he watched the light of life extinguish from the man’s eyes. His momentum propelled him and the lifeless body forward, impaling the blade through the man who had restrained Cavlin’s left arm. The sword exploded through his back, digging deep into the stone on the wall behind him, pinning the two corpses together.

To his left, Cavlin’s body crumpled to his knees. Blood splashed from the pool that was growing around his feet.

Ryl spun around his falling friend, hardening the woodskin on his right forearm and fist as he swung it out to the side. The assassin’s right hand was occupied, halfway through the act of withdrawing a narrow blade. Ryl’s arm connected with the man’s neck. There was a sickening, wet gasping sound, accompanied by a loud crack as it was crushed between his arm and the building behind.

Cavlin slumped forward, his arms stretched desperately out in front of his body.

Ryl reached down with his right hand, freeing the halfway withdrawn blade that had slipped from the assassin’s lifeless fingers. With one motion, he lunged forward, shortening the distance between himself and the two remaining assassins. One step was all he needed to adjust the range without having to reverse his current handhold on the blade. He snapped his arm forward—the rotation of the knife was perfect, burying itself into the temple of one of the assailants.

Only one man remained.

The apparent leader of the ambush was in the process of lashing out at Ryl with his knife. Part feeble attack, part desperate self-defense, it was a futile effort. Ryl stepped to the side, chopping down on his arm with a fully hardened left fist. He felt and heard the bones in the assassin’s hand and lower arm snap. The knife fell harmlessly to the ground.

He landed a quick jab to the side of the man’s face before grabbing him by the collar, lifting him off the ground. The few meters between them and the opposite wall of the alley closed in a flash. Bits of mortar and loose stone rained down from the impact.

Ryl released his hold on the speed letting time flash to normal as he released his hold on final living assassin. His cloak snapped out to his side as it carried on his motion. The man crumpled to his hands and knees, gasping for breath. From behind him, there was a wet splash, a muffled gurgle and the sound of bodies connecting with the hard, alley floor.

Andr’s boots hit the ground as he finished vaulting the wall at the end of the entrance to his right.

Ryl planted a kick in the midsection of the assassin, knocking him backwards into the wall. He remained hunched over with his back against the wall. His head rose and fell as he panted for breath. His legs lay still. His arms hung limp at his sides.

“Who sent you?” Ryl growled. “Why him?”

“Bloody traitor to the King,” the man spat between breaths. A trickle of blood ran from the side of his mouth. “They all deserve to die.”

With a snarl, Ryl dropped his heel onto the man’s remaining unbroken hand. The fingers crunched under the impact.

“I asked who?” he demanded.

The assassin gritted his teeth through the pain.

“It matters not,” he cursed. “The captain and all his cronies are as good as dead. Only thing keeping them alive is the Harvest. There’ll be a culling soon.”

Andr interrupted his words with a shout of alarm.

Ryl twisted to the side, backing away from the assassin as Cavlin stumbled past, sword in hand. His blade rammed through the neck of the assassin, biting deep into the mortar of the building behind. Cavlin’s frantic grip slipped from the blade as his remaining strength failed. His stumbling momentum, likely a result of sheer adrenaline alone, carried him forward. His hands lacked the energy to slow his approach. The guard managed to turn his head to the side as his body connected, face and chest first with the side of the building.

Cavlin slid down the wall, his face dragging across the rough stone. Ryl and Andr were at his side in an instant. They carefully lifted the guard away from the growing pool of blood spreading out around the wreckage of the final assassin.

Through the swelling, Ryl could see Cavlin attempt to focus his eyes on either of the men now supporting his weight.

“What are you?” the guard choked out. Specks of blood sprayed from his lips cast out by the force of his breath.

“A friend,” Ryl whispered.

Andr reached over gently tearing the shirt along the slash