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

rest in nearly perpetual shadow. They paused at the intersection with the main avenue leading from the port to the Pining Gate. To his right, sunlight sparkled off the rolling blue waters of the Sea of Prosper. The day was uncommonly still for the coastal city. Inside the breakwater the sea was as smooth as glass. The lengthy masts of the ships moored in port stretched high into the air, absent was the gentle rocking caused by the churning waters below.

To their left, the avenue rose as it traveled away from the coast. At the top of the hill, the massive southern palisade loomed above the tops of the buildings. The thick, double panel wooden doors of the Pining Gate sealed the view of the interior.

It had been a strange feeling for Ryl as he first glimpsed the dreaded gate. He still remembered his first encounter. Within a moon, he’d been taken from his family, branded and abused before being deposited here. He’d understood neither the reasoning nor the why of what had happened. A host of feelings—the fear, the hate, the confusion—surged through him simultaneously. For a few moments, the tears that had welled in his eyes flowed unchecked. He buried his head in his hands, begging for the unbridled assault of emotions to cease.

He regained his composure rapidly. Time had changed him. His experiences had changed him. Ryl now studied the gate with an open defiance for all that it stood for. He looked at the massive panels of wood as nothing more than kindling.

Firestarter.

Under the weight of his glare, the gate became less sinister.

Though they were close enough for observation, they dared not venture too near to the Pining Gate and its considerable volume of armed guards. The top of the Palisades bristled with warriors armed with bows and arrows. Ryl counted no less than one hundred guards standing their posts in the courtyard before the wall.

How would they react on the morrow?

Would they run? Would they stand and fight?

For Ryl, on seeing Cadsae Proper, seeing the Palisades, seeing the Pining Gate, the acceptance had set in. Acceptance that the reactions of the men and women who were to be witness to the activities was out of his control. He could convey emotion—to a degree he could hold sway over their feelings—yet he could not control their hearts. They would have to choose for themselves. Some would come to their decision immediately. Others would let it fester until they could stand it no more.

He would provide them with the truth.

What happened next would largely be up to them.

In his heart, he dreamed that all would throw down their weapons, that the day would be won without bloodshed. In his head, he knew the folly of the notion. Blood had already been spilled. The vile poison that infected the tainted lords, ladies and nobles was infectious. Their attitude toward the tributes was a blight. It was a disease that had been passed down from generation to generation.

The city was already rent in two by the divide. The air was ripe with a seething animosity that had been stoked since he last set foot on its soil. For some, there would be no reasoning, no truth, no logic potent enough to cull the disease. They would fight.

And they would die.

Andr cleared his throat quietly. His horse stomped anxiously on the stone street below its feet.

“We shouldn’t linger here,” the mercenary stated gently. “The streets will fill quickly as the revelry begins.”

Ryl closed his eyes for a moment as he nodded his head.

The festival that was the annual Harvest had already begun. Colored banners bearing the crests of the houses and nobles were displayed proudly from buildings throughout the street. The main avenue leading to the Pining Gate was the most prolific display of color he’d seen to this point. From every window flew a colored flag. Long ropes stretched across the avenue overhead, and from the ropes suspended insignias hung down low enough to brush the tops of the passing carriages.

Tomorrow, would the drab streets too be painted with color? Would crimson blood stain the cobblestone?

Ryl scanned the area using his mindsight incessantly. Their careful circuit of the city had brought them no closer than their current point to the village beyond the gates. It had brought them no closer to the tributes behind. He knew for certain that they were there. At this range, he could only make out the golden, glowing orbs in his vision. Their numbers had swelled throughout the afternoon. He could almost feel the anxiety and the heartache pouring from them.

It was only a cycle past since he’d experienced firsthand the emotion that now ran rampant through the tributes.

While they were only a few hundred meters away, he felt separated from them by miles. From his current distance, the familiar feeling—the feeling he’d come to understand, to cherish as that of the tributes, that of the phrenic—was still just a memory. He longed for the moment when he would again feel its welcoming embrace.

Thankfully no sign of the Lei Guard, the blackened stain on his mindsight, was present. He was cautiously optimistic that would remain the case.

“Aye, Andr,” Ryl acknowledged. “I’ve seen all I need to see.”

With a final glance at the gate in the distance, Ryl spurred his horse forward, easing it into a slow walk. Andr followed a length behind, slowly increasing to a canter as they moved through the city.

They followed the main cobblestone street to the east, plodding their way back toward the main entrance to Cadsae Proper. Traffic heading out of the city at this point was nearly nonexistent, yet they were rapidly slowed by the unregulated throngs of citizens moving inward toward the center; toward the festival that would soon be commencing.

With difficulty, Ryl and Andr exited the main avenue, forcing their horses through a stubborn line of well-dressed citizens. The narrow roadway they entered, leading north along the eastern edge of the palisade, was virtually deserted. Few