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

in between. They shared the same suite, but with the end of each passing day, exhaustion reduced their idle time together. Though their reasons were different, their goals were aligned. Ryl knew they were both consumed by their focus on their return to The Stocks.

Ryl for the tributes.

Andr for his son.

The greatest length of time they shared had been in one of the two training grounds. Their duels in the outside grounds regularly attracted large crowds. The audience, seldom including more than just Vigil, adamantly cheered for their tutor. There was no vocal support for Ryl, though it bothered him not.

At the onset of his training with the Vigil, many moons now in the past, the unfamiliarity with the new weapons was a mild hinderance. Now, Ryl worked in perfect harmony with his varied complement of weaponry. His natural speed had increased after his awakening, and it was rare that he needed any added boost of assistance; he could easily fend off the improved Vigil.

Their lessons had been learned through bruises and checked egos. Even in coordinated groups, Ryl never allowed a single blow from the trainees to hit home. His greatest challenger from the Vigil came at the hands of Nielix. The jaded soldier had not yet relinquished his unfounded animosity toward Ryl, spurring himself on to greater heights to inflict any pain on the more skilled phrenic. His insults bounced off Ryl’s skin like water, his blows were parried or dodged with ease.

Nielix’s failures in facing Ryl only served to stoke his training to another level. Before the onset of their daily sparring with the phrenics, the Vigil had been skilled, yet cocky and carefree in their approach. All had since grown exponentially more talented and confident. None more so than Nielix.

The potent realization of the death that lurked in the shadows outside their home had dealt a fatal blow to the Vigil’s lax approach. They now had a horrifying understanding of what was at stake. They had accepted the challenge of advanced training wholeheartedly.

Likewise, Ryl had accepted his training unconditionally. He refused to access his skills during his public bouts with his friend. It was a welcome challenge and invaluable lessons were instilled from the pain. The battles would ebb back and forth as the pair exchanged blow after blow. They ended their sessions the same way. Andr would praise Ryl’s natural or inherited skill and offer pointers where he saw fit. It was in their private sparring sessions where the two opponents put each other’s skills to the test.

Andr had been granted the rare privilege of training with Ryl in the private chamber beneath the Hall of the Phrenic. He encouraged, and challenged Ryl to utilize his powers, if only to a small extent. They both profited from the experience, though the older mercenary was typically on the losing side of the contest when Ryl tapped into his true powers.

Ryl’s focus shifted back to the council. The expressions on their faces were stern. All had looks of uncommon apprehension.

“Thank you for coming on short notice,” Councilwoman Irie announced once the phrenics had taken their seats. Within the closed confines of the Great Hall they removed their hoods one by one.

“At long last, the preparations have been completed,” she continued. “It will be with great sadness and hope that we bid you farewell on the morrow.”

There was true melancholy in her voice. Ryl did not envy the position the Council was in. He knew the decision had been arrived at with difficulty. Even though their terms were ending soon, the actions they authorized would forever be remembered, either as a crowning success or catastrophic failure.

“Tomorrow will mark the beginning of a new era for Vim,” Irie explained. “In the history of our great city, there has never been an expedition sent back into Damaris. Only a single phrenic has ever stepped foot back onto the ground of our ancestors.”

Irie paused. She and the other counselors exchanged meaningful glances, before she nodded to Councilwoman Lenu. Ryl was not alone in his confusion after her previous statement. He knew of no record of anyone from Vim ever returning to the Kingdom of Damaris.

“Until this point, you’ve been planning for an expedition that would take you along the base of the Haven Mountain’s eastward to the outskirts of the western palisade. Those plans have changed,” Councilwoman Lenu stated dryly. “The events at the Prophet’s Tree and increased attention of the Horde along the borders of the forest have prompted us to alter our plans.”

Ryl was as taken aback by the last-minute, unexpected changes as were the rest of the assembled travelers. In truth, the plan to travel along the edge of the mountains had long since bothered Ryl. It was true, the attention of the Horde at the outskirts of the forest had grown considerably from what had been the norm for over a thousand cycles. It was quickly noted that whenever he accompanied his scout detail, the numbers would swell substantially. Though there were thankfully no additional attacks, he had been forbidden from accompanying them on their patrols as a precaution.

By all estimation, the distance would take the small party the better part of a moon to complete. How would the Horde behave as they travelled through the forest, crossing the hundreds of miles between Vim and The Stocks? Would they be under constant assault, or would the tide of death swell, following them to the borders of the human kingdom?

“Know that serious deliberation and consideration has been given to calling the expedition off in its entirety,” Lenu interrupted his thoughts.

He immediately felt that familiar heat from the anger burning inside of him at the mention of cancelling the expedition. Paasek must have noted the sudden change in emotion, as he politely interrupted the councilwoman.

“Fear not, the expedition will proceed,” Paasek commented, as a wave of calm streamed from his core, temporarily satiating Ryl’s growing angst.

Lenu looked slightly put off by the interruption, shooting an unpleasant glare in