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

moved along the entryway to the East Ward. Not far from the main avenue, Ryl pulled back on the reins, urging his horse to a stop.

“Here’s where we’ll part ways, my friend,” he said quietly.

“Ryl, are you sure?” Andr asked again. “I don’t like the plan. I don’t like you going alone. It risks too much.”

“Aye, it is a risk,” Ryl admitted. “But a risk I’m willing to take nonetheless. The captain is an asset that we can use to our advantage. Who knows the sway he truly holds over his subordinates? The few I’ve met would follow him to the ends of the earth.”

Andr opened his mouth to argue yet closed it before the words escaped his lips. They’d had this conversation several times. It always ended the same.

“And if you’re killed, Ryl, what then?” Andr said. He couldn’t help but note the fatherly concern that inserted itself into the mercenary’s voice.

“Then I fear for those standing before and upon the Palisades tomorrow morning, for they are doomed,” Ryl stated bluntly. “Fear not, my friend. We’ve not come this far for me to willingly sacrifice all that we’ve worked for. We share the same dream, Andr. There will be a reunion tomorrow.”

Though Ryl’s face was still shrouded under the shadow of his cloak, their eyes met. He held his friend’s gaze for several moments before inclining his head slightly. With one coordinated motion, he leapt from his horse. He patted the beast as he gathered the reins in his hands, passing them to Andr.

“Be safe, Ryl,” the mercenary said quietly. “Stay out of trouble.”

“Aye, Andr,” he acknowledged. “I’ll see you shortly.”

Andr nodded briefly before spurring his mount onward. Ryl’s riderless horse followed unquestioningly in his wake. He watched for a moment as the mercenary faded into the quickly lengthening gloom of the East Ward.

Ryl wasted no time rejoining the busy street, working back toward the port and the Pining Gates. The sun ahead had nearly disappeared below the top of the palisade. The last rays of the day’s light glowed a brilliant array of reds and oranges that stood out in stark contrast to the darkening blue sky.

HIs eyes and mindsight were alert as he merged with the foot traffic on the road. The new cloak he’d received from Breila, an article left by an unknown patron, had fit his needs perfectly. The fabric was of poor quality and in poorer condition; there were patches that showed crude repair and the ends were frayed and tattered. Stains abounded over the entirety of the garment. The smell was off-putting; a nauseating mix of rotting garbage, mold and sweat. Why Breila had saved it was a mystery, but he was thankful for her unintentional foresight.

The restaurants that lined the avenue were steadily filling as Ryl passed. The aromas of freshly prepared food were a pleasant addition as they fought to overpower the stench of his outer cloak. The sounds of merriment escaped through the open windows. Laughter and cheerful conversations assaulted him from every direction.

Had the situation been vastly different, had the celebration been less ill-timed, Ryl questioned whether he’d have partaken in the festival attitude of the revelry. Did the majority comprehend what they were celebrating for, or had the celebration itself replaced any inkling of its meaning or purpose?

Ryl mindsight again colored the image of his surroundings as he reached the inclining avenue toward The Stocks. At the extent of his inner vision, the mass of glowing tributes was barely visible. His path carried him northward, moving slowly along the edges of the buildings lining the western side of the avenue. The shadows here were long, leaving ample shade available to remain undetected.

He quickly passed the alley where he and Andr had scouted from earlier in the day, approaching the gate cautiously as if it had eyes of its own. Once he reached the point where he could see not only the gate, but the barracks along the right side of the square, he stopped. Ryl leaned back against the wall, sliding down into a seated pose, discreetly positioned to the side of a large wooden flower planter.

Ryl studied the movements of the guards stationed in the square and along the Palisades above. Any coordinated response from the elevated guards on the morrow would be sluggish owing to the volume of spectators who were allowed to invade the walkways above.

Unsurprisingly, the attention of the guards along the base of the wall was focused. Ryl knew the captain and by extension his commanders to be fair, yet firm with their subordinates. They tolerated no idle or lax behavior, enforcing a regimented conditioning protocol and frequent training.

Time stretched by sluggishly as he maintained his attention on the activity surrounding the Pining Gates. People moved about freely, though the majority wisely avoided approaching the armed soldiers. He could hear muted cheers from the impromptu celebrations that had sprouted toward the water’s edge. Earlier that day, he and Andr had passed through the growing tent encampment which had taken up much of the sprawling market square a few blocks inland from the port.

Ryl could only stomach remaining in that area for a short time. The atmosphere there was sickeningly festive. There were sizable contingents of guards stationed at the corners of the market, and small roving patrols moved throughout the tents maintaining a tolerable semblance of order.

Movement from one of the windows on the second floor of the barracks drew his attention. The shutters were thrown open, and a figure paused, resting his hands on the sill, looking out over the city that blossomed around him. The lingering pitch of a jubilant cheer rose from somewhere off to the west of Ryl. The man’s attention was pointed in the direction of the noise. The look of annoyance written across his face was unmistakable even at this distance.

Ryl knew the face well.

Captain Le’Dral.

The captain shook his head, closing the shutters with a renewed vigor. It was only a matter of moments before Le’Dral emerged