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

on the guard’s side. The cut was deep, and blood bubbled freely from the incision.

Andr’s eyes widened at the wound. He looked at Ryl shaking his head sullenly.

“He’s going to bleed out,” the mercenary said honestly. “We can’t stop the bleeding. He’ll never make it to a mender.”

Cavlin issued a weak, wet cough, spraying hot blood across the side of Ryl’s face.

“Please. Leave me,” he gasped. “Warn the captain. Tell him Cav ... sent you.”

Ryl regarded Cavlin for a moment. A seedy back alley at the hands of an ambush was not the place the guard was to die. Not if he could help it.

“Hold him still,” Ryl barked the quiet order to Andr.

The mercenary responded with a grunt and placed his hands on Cavlin’s shoulders, carefully pinning his body to the wall.

Ryl placed his left hand on the side of Cavlin’s face, bringing his head close to the fading guard.

“This is not your night to die, my friend,” Ryl whispered. “You can tell Le’Dral yourself.”

Ryl reached down and tore the guard’s shirt. Cavlin’s breathing was labored; the wound pumped out more and more blood with every ragged gasp. The blood-soaked fabric gave way easily, revealing a gash that ran from his abdomen up to nearly his armpit.

With his right hand, Ryl reached behind his back. He felt the anticipation, the energy surge through his body as his fingers closed around the handle of discreetly secured Leaves.

The brilliant green blade flared to life as it cleared his cloak.

Ryl smiled as Cavlin’s wounded eyes widened in recognition as the light of the shimmering blade illuminated the face of his savior. His grin faded at the task ahead. He took a deep breath as he placed his hand over the guard’s mouth.

With all the care he could muster, he placed the flat of the burning blade against the gash on Cavlin’s skin.

Chapter 19

The putrid scent of burning flesh still clung to his nostrils. Ryl breathed deeply of the cool night air attempting to rid the smell. He followed Andr, keeping to the shadows as they made their way through the back alleys toward the tavern. Though Cavlin’s fate was still unsure, Ryl was contented knowing they had done all that could be done.

The glowing blade of the Leaves had served to cauterize the wound. The intricate design of a long, narrow, serrated leaf was now burned into the guard’s side, stretching out beyond the vicious incision. Cavlin had screamed into Ryl’s hand, struggling with his remaining strength as the blade scorched his skin. His fight was blissfully short as his feeble remaining reserves of energy quickly evaporated.

Thankfully, Andr was familiar with the area of the East Ward. There was a mender in close proximity to the tavern and brothel. One which was well known, and well compensated by Breila for his services, and more importantly in her profession, his discretion.

They'd dragged the unconscious guard through the shadows as best they could. Their route was hasty, yet their travel was cautious. By the time they reached the concealed rear door of the mender’s private clinic they were certain they had not been followed.

The mender was likely no stranger to rude awakenings at all hours of the night by frantic pounding on his door. His initial response was harsh, yet as his eyes fell on Cavlin, his tone altered.

They were ushered into a small room in the rear of his home, where the mender wasted no time with his treatments. The explanation he received was brief, lacking any true substance, yet aside from a knowing look, he questioned them no further.

The mender’s mouth had fallen open at the sight of the intricate details of the brand that had sealed the would-be fatal would. After a thorough examination, his prognosis and outlook were guarded, yet positive. Though much work remained, his concerns were centered around the potential for internal injuries, cautioning that internal hemorrhaging could be tricky and easily fatal.

Ryl graciously thanked the mender for his service and continued care. He tossed a handful of gold onto the table beside the bloodied rags and implements. The look that flashed across the mender’s face acknowledged that the sum paid had been far more than ample for his treatment.

And for his silence.

As they made their way back to the tavern, Andr came to an abrupt stop before him. The flickering of light from fast moving torches and the sound of heavy boots striking the alley gave them pause. The pair ducked into a narrow alcove, waiting silently as the lights, and heavily armed guards, passed by at speed.

By the time they had left the mender’s, the area surrounding the tavern had come to life. The discovery of the bodies of eight men in an alley had put the city guard on high alert.

“We're nearly there,” Andr whispered as he watched the receding light from the torches fade down the crossing street ahead. “Another few alleys and we'll be there. Let's make haste.”

Ryl nodded in reply as the two rushed to remain under the cover of the predawn darkness. The last several avenues were crossed thankfully with no further interruption. The nickering of horses filtered through the wall of the building to their right as Andr paused in the shadows of a discrete alcove, tucked conveniently behind a large pile of refuse. He quickly lit the small torch he’d stolen from a sconce outside one of the houses they’d passed several avenues back before passing it to Ryl.

The small flood of light splashed on the wooden surface before them. Unlike the weathered, horizontal boards of the building, the slats of the panel ahead were vertical. With the ramshackle, patchwork nature of the surrounding structures, the discrepancy would have been easily overlooked. Andr reached into his tunic, removing the silver key that Breila had given him. With a glance over his shoulder, he slid the key into a small circular hole created where the center of a knot had dislodged from the board.

There was a