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

the shadow of their cavalcade blackened out the early morning sun. The would-be revelers shrunk away from the approaching riders and wagon, cries of alarm and panic traveled in their wake.

Their procession’s approach slowed as they reached the intersection with the main avenue leading north toward the Pining Gates. The street here was choked with foot traffic. Eager attendees craned their necks high, greedily seeking a view of the tributes as they exited from the imposing gate. Lining the right side of the wide avenue, a train of black wagons stretched from the intersection to the palisade.

Nineteen wagons lined the avenue. Nineteen young men and women were to be wrenched from the prison they’d called home for more than half of their lives. It was fitting that on the day of his own scheduled Harvest, Ryl arrived with the twentieth black wagon. Their pace slackened further as they made the turn onto the gently climbing street. Ryl could hear the panicked word of their arrival echo out before him, rolling like a wave toward the shore.

One by one the phrenics began unleashing a torrent of emotions over the surrounding revelers and wagons. Drivers tumbled down from their seats, desperately seeking shelter in the cowering masses from the rolling wave of hatred and terror that assaulted their senses.

Ryl’s repeated surveys of the area using his mindsight had to this point revealed nothing. As they neared the crest of the hill bordering the edge of the square, the signatures of the tributes appeared in his vision. It was a line of glowing golden orbs. He needed not count. He knew there would be nineteen.

The tributes for cycle 1351 were assembled. Ready for Harvest.

The number of guards in relation to civilians grew considerably as they moved toward the gates. Owing to the tension in the city, it was no surprise that armed guards blocked off access to the square and the barracks. Those aiming for a view of inside The Stocks were funneled along the eastern edge of the square between the stables and the mess hall to the single large staircase leading to the Palisade’s upper walkway.

By the time they’d reached the edge of the square, the wave of sound preceding their approach had already crashed against the mighty, wooden outer doors of the Pining Gate. Along the top of the palisade, heads were rapidly turning from the scene within to the growing commotion without. Lords and ladies, servants, retainers and soldiers alike pointed, eyes wide, mouths agape at the approach of the black cloaked warriors and wagon.

The guards forming the outer wall of the blockade parted without question as Ryl and his companions thundered past. Though their faces were shrouded in black, the guards shrank back, averting their eyes to avoid any chance of eye contact. To catch the eye of the Lei Guard was rumored to be certain death.

Of all their number that was visible, it was Rolan whose features were not covered by cloak or shadow. The father, who’d days earlier been on the verge of slaughter at the hands of the hunters, now wore the guise of a guard. Ryl marveled at his composure. His head was held high, and his attitude spoke of a haughty confidence and superiority over his peers.

The rows of guards standing along the edge of the Pining Gate were arranged two deep. The front row wavered, backing up a step, as the four phrenics came to a halt several meters from their line. A moment later the black wagon creaked to a stop. The rear riders reined in their mounts. One remained at the rear; the others took positions along the flanks of the wooden carriage. The frantic wave of sound that had foretold their coming was replaced with a terrifying silence that settled in their presence. The phrenics continued to pour the vile emotions over the area as Ryl let the silence permeate.

Not a soul in the square or on the walls moved as the moments stretched on.

With a drawn out, deliberate motion, Ryl swung his leg over the side of his saddle, alighting from the mount with an audible thump of boots against the stone roadway. The sound echoed through the noiseless square. The muffled crunch of dirt under the soles of his boots rumbled like thunder as he took a measured step forward toward the gate.

Ryl rapidly scanned the faces of the guards standing before him and throughout the square. He recognized none of the frightened men that hesitantly eyed his approach.

They were scared.

Ryl took another step forward before stopping. His hands fell to his sides. He stood like a statue before the anxious guards.

“Open the gate,” he commanded.

Though only a whisper, the force it imparted was beyond comprehension. His soft voice struck with a tangible weight that reverberated through the bodies of those with earshot.

For a moment, none before the gate moved.

With clear, focused intent, Ryl crossed his right arm over his stomach, closing his fingers over the hilt of the long, curved sword strapped to his left hip.

“Open. The. Gate,” he repeated the command. The emphasis of each word hammered into the gate like the drum of a blacksmith’s hammer.

“Do as he says,” came the feeble response from a guard now hastening from the mouth of the barracks to his right.

Confusion reigned along the line before the mighty outer doors of the Pining Gate as the guards scrambled to clear themselves from the swing of the massive doors. The officer from the barracks stopped as he reached the gate. He hammered a deliberate cadence against the outer panel. Ryl could hear the hollow echo from the chamber within.

“O-Open the gates,” he called to his counterparts inside the gate.

For a moment there was no sound of response from within. It wasn’t long before the unintelligible din of multiple conversations reached their ears. Finally, a voice broke free from the rabble. There were no visual cues required to understand its annoyance.

“What’s going on out there?” the voice from the interior