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

“With the darkness at our borders we can ill afford to lose the fighters whose skills have been denied to us for cycles,” he cautioned.

A moment of calm fell over the room as his statement settled in.

“In one breath you rage about the phrenics. You challenge their value and their trustworthiness,” Andr broke the momentary silence that had befallen the cramped private audience. “In the next you place them on a pedestal, crying about the devastation should any be lost. Any life lost is a tragedy. Phrenic or not.”

The statement took but a moment to register. The pain in the eyes of all in the room was evident. All had suffered a terrible loss, just days old. The wounds were still fresh.

“I’ll admit, the plan is rash, yet the logic behind it is sound,” Ryl remarked. “There is one aspect I had yet to take into consideration. That is the treatment. Mender Brasley, can a remedy be made to travel?”

The mender was unprepared to be called upon, stumbling over his words as he spoke.

“I’m afraid that the remedy must be brewed in close relation to when it is ingested, or the efficacy will see a significant reduction. You’d need to travel with a cart to carry enough of the supply to effectively treat all the tributes.”

The mender’s eyes lit up, as he solved the problem in his head.

“Ah, but all you need is the leaves to make the treatment,” Brasley beamed. “Multiple doses could be prepared with one leaf. Those can be dried and stored to make ready to travel. This would add only a small burden in terms of weight. Though multiple doses can be brewed from each leaf, it would be wise to travel with more than needed. How many tributes reside in The Stocks?”

“At last count, three moons prior, The Stocks were home to just under three hundred and fifty tributes,” Andr answered.

Mender Brasley made an audible sucking sound as he inhaled through his teeth. His face scrunched up into a look of thoughtful calculation.

“Our lone blighted rose won’t provide enough leaves in time,” the mender sighed. “We will need an additional one or two plants.”

“How much time will that require?” Ryl asked cautiously.

“With the time it would take to establish a new area to plant them and without any setbacks, perhaps seven to eight moons,” Brasley answered.

“Then there is still time,” Ryl whispered.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he sat back in his chair. He’d made his case. It was now time for the Council to make its decision. His plan would assuredly come under great scrutiny, as the details were still vague. Nearly nine moons remained before the next Harvest. The decision would need to be made soon, leaving only a moon or two to make the trek to The Stocks.

There was still plenty of time to plan.

Time to train.

“You’ve given us much to think on, Ryl,” Councilwoman Irie stated bluntly, interrupting his thoughts. “Your proposal would be costly, and there will be no judgement made this day. Let us adjourn this meeting so we may have time to debate. You can expect our decision to be made in the coming days.”

With a mild salute, Nielix was the first to leave the room. The sound from his rapid, heavy strides had vanished before Ryl bid the council farewell. With Andr and Mender Brasley in tow, he limped from the room. They’d no sooner left the chambers, when Brasley continued his chiding from earlier.

“The wound on your leg needs time to heal, young man,” Brasley scolded. “You will need to stay off it until it has completed this process. As it is, I will most likely need to suture you closed again. I spend far too much of my day tending to your seemingly endless injuries. You know I have other tasks that need accomplishing? You will rest, until I say you’re ready to move again, even if I have to tie you down to do so.”

His tirade over, Mender Brasley softened his stance. He moved to Ryl’s left side, sliding under his shoulder, Andr pulled up under his right.

“Come, let’s get you back to your quarters,” Brasley settled.

With the weight off his leg, Ryl hobbled back to his quarters with little pain. The avenue was still crowded, though the throng of citizens had diminished since his previous trip though. Without a word, the crowd parted, opening a lane to the Hall of the Phrenic. Conversations seemed to cease as the trio ambled by. Hushed whispers carried on in their place, through Ryl paid them no heed, his mind lost in thought.

In a matter of a few days’ time, the Council would render its decision. Confined to his chamber, Ryl knew the anticipation would build to the point of becoming unbearable. There was much riding on the decision, one that could forever change Vim.

Would the city be willing to give up any of their precious own for a chance to free the tributes?

To recruit an army?

Regardless of the council’s decision, his mind was made up. He knew Andr would follow. If he had to storm the fortress of The Stocks single handedly, he would.

Chapter 37

Ryl wiped the sweat from his brow after what had become an exceptionally grueling sparring session. He tipped back his water skin, drinking deep from the chilly, refreshing water, before splashing it on his face.

Any session that Andr participated in was demanding. The experienced mercenary always seemed to have a better idea what Ryl was doing next than he did. Andr’s undiminished cunning readily found ways to disrupt even his best laid plans. He heard the mercenary’s mantra repeated incessantly as he ‘d trained the Vigil. The saying still rung in his ears.

“The one constant in every fight is its unpredictability. Be the unexpected. Sometimes the more rash, the more foolhardy the plan, the greater the chance of survival.”

“I think that’s enough for today,” Andr said as he