Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2) by C.J. Aaron (ebook reader that looks like a book .TXT) 📕

prophet is lost to us,” Nielix fumed. “Your savior’s lifeless, bloodied body had to be dragged back to the city, to where it still lies unmoving today. What miracles will his corpse create? He is not Taben. He has no phrenic army at his disposal.”

Nielix thrust his pointed finger in the air, aiming at the massive statue that rose over the hall.

Ryl had heard enough. His blood boiled with anger, yet his decision was remarkably clear. He had no concept of what he’d done to offend the hateful Vigil, yet at this moment, it was beyond his concern. Secretly he thanked Nielix. The venomous words had opened the door to what Ryl had sought all along. He gently pushed his way through the rows of spectators in front of him, coming to a stop on the top step of the main, central staircase.

He slowly pulled the hood back, revealing his face. An inferno burned in his determined stare.

“And what if I had an army?” Ryl’s steady voice echoed through the hall.

The collective attention of the gathering turned on him as one. The eyes of the colossal statue of Taben the Defender bored into him.

“Miracles, I cannot promise. An army, I can.”

Chapter 36

After Ryl’s sudden appearance, order was never truly restored in the Great Hall. The sight of a bloodied phrenic, who most thought to be on the verge of death, seemingly materializing out of thin air was enough to upset any due process. The mysticism surrounding the reports of his actions on the slopes of the Prophet’s Tree did little to help the calls for order.

The mention of a phrenic army was too much for the hope starved audience to bear.

The Council had adjourned the public meeting, thankfully retiring to the relative solitude of a private chamber room to continue deliberations. Along with the Council, several representatives of Vim's varied institutions were ordered into attendance. Ryl hobbled into the room, one arm draped over Andr, the other over Mender Brasley. In an attempt to appease the growing dissension within the city, Nielix, the mouthpiece of the disenfranchised, was also invited to attend the closed-door session.

The mender was beside himself that Ryl was out of bed and adamant he should return without delay. Ryl, with the blessing of the Council, politely refused, forcing the irate mender to field dress his leaking wound in the chamber.

The meeting commenced while the mender was still wrapping Ryl’s leg.

“We need answers as to the nature of this army,” Councilwoman Irie chided, her normally even keeled voice unusually aggravated. “Promises like that will be taken seriously. I would hate to find we’ve been misled.”

“The boy is nothing more than an abnormally talented fraud,” Nielix cursed from his seat on the opposite side of the room.

“That’s enough,” boomed Irie. “We need to hear the answer from him before any judgement be passed.”

Nielix shrunk back at the force of the admonition. He slumped back into his chair, dejected, yet still seething with anger.

Ryl winced as Brasley finished tying off the bandage on his leg. The mender afforded him an unsympathetic smile.

“Please, carry on, Ryl,” the councilwoman ordered.

“There was no deceit in my words,” Ryl spoke. Though directed at Nielix, he refused to look his direction. “An army of hundreds awaits. That they will follow me is not a question. All that’s needed is to grant them their freedom.”

All the councilors, with the exception of one, regarded him with varied looks of confusion as he paused for a breath. Paasek grinned as he grasped the significance behind Ryl’s cryptic statement.

“Freedom from where?” Councilor Heild questioned. "From whom?"

“From The Stocks,” Councilor Paasek stated bluntly before leaning back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

Questions spilled from the mouths of virtually all in attendance. The voice of Nielix rose above the rest.

“You can’t be serious?” he snapped. “There is no escaping The Stocks. The walls are as thick as the mountain. There is only one gated entrance, and that is guarded by a force whose numbers are a complete unknown.”

“I am very serious,” Ryl retorted. “You can’t tell me there is no escape when I sit before you today. It is true, the palisades are thick and the Pining Gate represents the only entrance. The numbers of the guard though, is no mystery. Isn’t that right, Andr?”

The mercenary smiled as he nodded his head.

“Aye, that’s right, Ryl,” he said, sitting forward in his chair. “At any point in time, there are just shy of ten thousand stationed throughout the city and the fortifications that surround it and the port. Combined, nearly one thousand patrol the walkways atop the palisades. Less than one hundred remain inside the walls.”

Nielix shot forward in his chair, mouth opened to fire back at the statement, yet it was the voice of Counselor Lenu who spoke first.

“You don't think they will just open the gates for you, do you?” she posed.

“No,” Ryl admitted. "Not without convincing."

“And how do you think you'll convince them,” Nielix hissed. “They will not reason with you. To them you are nothing more than a crop to be harvested, used up and then cast aside.”

His barbed words were meant as an insult, meant to sting, yet Ryl hardly noted the slight.

“I feel you've underestimated the possibility of change,” Ryl explained. "The day before my Harvest, The Stocks was forced into appointing a new master, a man whom I've come to know personally. This man also holds the position of the Captain of the Guard and the garrisons at Cadsae Proper.”

“Just because you know the man, it doesn't mean he won't have you cut down on sight,” Lenu commented.

“That is a fair point,” Ryl admitted. “Yet if not for the compassionate attention of this captain and his appointed officers, I would have perished in captivity.”

“Even if this captain holds sway over some, there are likely many more who will oppose,” Irie intoned. “The King in particular. Are you willing to draw blood for this? Once it has been