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

Andr stared back at her, not breaking contact with the seething eyes that glared at him.

“That we do, Breila,” Andr responded. Her shrill voice cut him off immediately.

“Mere moments after you left my chambers a brawl broke out in my tavern. Shortly after that the bodies of eight men were found butchered just outside the square,” she hissed. Though her voice softened slightly the intensity remained as she continued, “We’ve known each other a long time, Andr; I understand your skillset. You appear without warning after cycles. Moments later the bodies pile up outside my door. Attention draws the guards. Murder on that scale draws an army of them, and that is bad for business. This has your handiwork written all over it.”

Andr let out an involuntary laugh. Breila’s stare turned to daggers.

Ryl was quick to react, forcing out a wave of calm as he broke the tension.

“And yet in all of it, he was complacent,” Ryl interrupted.

Breila’s eyes unfocused for a moment, when they turned to him, much of the anger had dissipated. She now wore a disapproving scowl of curiosity.

“Corpses in the street is bad for business, I’ll agree,” Ryl admitted. “Yet the assassination of a high ranking official, one who happens to be the right hand of the captain, inside your establishment would be devastating.”

Ryl leaned forward resting his hands on the table in front of him. He noted Andr lean back casually, crossing his right leg comfortably over his left.

“I assure you that none of our business concerns you or your interests,” Ryl said. “I could not sit idly by while eight men slaughtered one to send a message. So yes, it was I that started the fight in your tavern and for that I’m truly sorry.”

“And was it you who killed the men in the alley?” she inquired.

Ryl closed his eyes as he nodded his head slowly. At his side, Andr shrugged his shoulders, a small smirk grew on his face.

“Though I’m not proud, it is I who stand here before you today, while they rot for their discretions,” he said quietly.

Breila’s eyes remained on Ryl for a matter of moments, studying him with a look of wonder. Her gaze moved to Andr before returning to where they started.

“I’d say capable was an understatement, my friend,” she said, shaking her head. “These are strange times that we live in. So far, we’ve managed to keep out of the politics that have grown toxic, poisoning this city over the last cycle in particular.”

She rose from her chair, pacing behind her desk. Breila rubbed her hands together as she walked.

“From all accounts, the Captain is a good man,” she admitted. “I’m afraid I can’t say the same for the sycophant sponsors that slink their way into this establishment. The vile stench of those tainted lords that come here singing the praises of the King doesn't easily wash off. There is a blackness to their hearts the likes of which I've never encountered.”

Ryl was intrigued the statement. His mind traveled to the nexela, the taint of the Horde that corrupted the shells of the tributes.

“Times will yet grow stranger still,” he replied cryptically. “Seek purchase. The winds of change are blowing. They’ll waft the embers. The fire will spread rapidly.”

She stopped her pacing, turning slowly back toward Ryl. Her eyes quickly ran their course over his body, ending on the shadow over his face. Breila tilted her head slightly as if looking from a different angle would reveal the features of the guise beneath.

“Ah, the optimistic words of a dreamer,” she laughed quietly though her eyes glistened with an unmitigated sorrow. “Would that all dreams hold true and be granted the opportunity to stand the test of time. You have the skills. Do you have you the conviction to see them through?”

Ryl stood slowly from his chair, raising himself to his full height. The fire inside raged at the challenge. He would complete that which he’d dreamed of relentlessly since washing ashore on the desolate shores of the Outlands. His eyes burned with the strength of an inferno. He laced his words with an unrestrained feeling of hope.

A hope that had endured throughout his tortuous tenure in The Stocks.

The hope that would see them free.

Breila gasped aloud, covering her mouth with her right hand. She sunk back down into her chair.

“There is no stopping the events that will be,” Ryl whispered, though his voice carried with the force of a shout. “I will see this through to its completion.”

Beside him, Andr stood, bowing his head slightly to Breila.

“And I will be by your side until the end,” Andr added.

Breila’s eyes were wide as they stared at Ryl. The expression on her face was a mixture of both fear and excitement.

“And for what it’s worth,” she stumbled through the words, her normal refined pose temporarily shattered by Ryl’s display of emotion. “You will have my support.”

Ryl smiled, bowing his head slightly. Breila used the moment to collect herself from the unexpected forcefulness of his conviction.

“Thank you, Breila,” he said genuinely.

She leaned forward; her posture straightened. She placed her forearms on the table, interlocking her fingers.

“First, let us break our fast together,” she added with a kind smile. Her eyes traveled the length of Ryl’s body. “Then we’ll see about getting you a new cloak. Can’t have you walking about the city covered in another man’s blood now, can we?”

Chapter 20

The metallic clop of the horseshoes as they struck the cobblestone alley echoed in the narrow gap between the buildings. The sound was amplified; the consecutive hoofbeats created the illusion of a group far larger than what was present. For the second time today, Ryl and Andr retraced their steps, following their carefully planned path. Should unforeseen difficulties arrive the following morning, their escape routes would be known.

The afternoon sun was now falling rapidly through the western sky. Its beams illuminated little more than the top few meters of the buildings, shrouding the