A Tribute at the Gates Page 7

  Ryl had been closely watching the clouds that had been gathering to the south for the past several hours. The promise of a storm carried on the wind that now blew in swirling gusts against his back. He had been tempted on several occasions to deviate from his planned course up the main road to Tabenville. Ryl had considered spending the night at either Westwall that lay nearly five miles to the west in the shadow of the western palisade or Tureen, which sat in a small bowl created by the surrounding hills several miles off course to the east.

  Ryl couldn’t explain why, but he had been driven by an abnormally dogged determination throughout the day. From his late start through the unnerving threat of a storm, his mind focused singularly on the task ahead, and that was to reach his destination miles ahead to the north.

  The wind had pushed the darkened storm clouds, enveloping the sky overhead in a rolling grey darkness as he approached within a few miles of the orchard on the outskirts of the Erlyn Woods. The peaks of the mountains and the head of the statue of Taben had disappeared behind the clouds, swallowed up by their grasp. There were still hours of sunlight remaining in the day, yet the sky was nearly as dark as night.

  The first raindrop struck hard and cold, rolling down the back of his arm, sending a chill through his body. Ryl looked behind him. Flashes of white illuminated the blackened clouds far to the south. The approaching rain, a hazy grey wall against the gloomy clouds, raced forward to meet him. He would never reach Tabenville before the storm, not even the Erlyn Woods. He pushed himself forward into a sprint, hoping the shorter, stocky trees of the orchard would provide some respite from the punishing storm biting at his heels.

  The rain caught Ryl before he reached the relative safety of the orchard. The scattered drops became steady before the leading wall of water hit him with a terrifying force. The last several hundred paces to the orchard slowed to a staggered crawl, walking nearly sideways to balance his body against the driving wind. The stinging rain whipped across his face, his shirt making a snapping sound as it was driven back and forth in the wind.

  Ryl was soaked to the bone by the time he ducked beneath the branches of the fruit tree. The wind shook the tree violently, dropping unripened fruit and sticks around his feet. The thick base of the tree he had chosen for shelter split into three just above waist height. Its heavy, bushy branches spread further out than up, providing a small amount of succor from the wind and rain. He leaned his back against the tree letting his body slide down into a squatting position, hugging his small pack and water skin between his chest and knees, using the trunk to shield himself from the full force of the wind.

  Holding himself tightly to conserve as much heat as possible from the cold rain, Ryl could view very little from under his shelter. The pitch black clouds and the intensity of the rain blocked out the light. Flashes of bright white, occurring in ever-growing frequency, stabbed down from the sky, momentarily illuminating the drenched landscape as they clawed at the ground. Thunder broke through the pounding of the rain, shaking the earth, causing his heart to skip a beat.

  The trees of the orchard were planted on slightly elevated mounds and arranged in neat, straight paths. The water pouring from the sky turned these small indents into fast flowing shallow streams. Ryl shivered as the storm continued unleashing its fury.

  Another blinding flash of light was followed instantly by the deafening roar of thunder and the sharp splitting sound of wood being torn apart. He could feel the momentary heat from the bolt as it ravaged the tree next to his. The falling wood burst into flame, only to be doused in a hiss of steam. Half of the tree, severed from its pair, crashed toward the ground, ripping through the branches of Ryl’s temporary shelter. He dove out of the way, landing face first in the inches of water flowing between the trees. As quickly as his feet would carry him and the stream allowed, he sloshed across the row finding relative sanctuary under a tree on the opposite side.

  It took Ryl’s heart a few minutes to settle down. His hands were shaking from the shock. He could almost hear the throbbing of his heart over the clash of the storm. The blood pumping through his veins made him feel alive. More alive than ever. He worked to suppress the impetuous feeling to walk out from his hiding place, to stand in the face of the storm’s fury and laugh as it parted around him.

  As his heart settled, so did the urge to race headlong into the storm’s path. The ear-piercing claps of thunder and merciless lightning slowed in their frequency and intensity, moving their punishing assault further to the north. After an hour, the rain had let up and the wind died down enough for Ryl to continue on in the storm’s wake toward Tabenville.

  Ryl quickly changed into his other set of clothes from inside his small bag. They had been somewhat protected from the storm’s wrath, staying slightly drier in the process. Although moderately warmer than his current clothes, they were still wet and cold, and would only get worse traveling in the rain. The momentary relief would be a blessing.

  The river, at this point, ran was about twenty paces from the road. However, swollen with the deluge of water, its banks now extended to the middle of the path. The usually lazy flow of the water now a rushing torrent, Ryl carefully stepped his way along the far side of the road, deliberately placing each foot. A fall now on the rain-slicked road so close to the river could be deadly.

  The sky was still churning with clouds. The falling rain was light with staggered patches of large, heavy droplets. Ahead, Ryl could see the flashes of light illuminate the tops of the Erlyn Woods as the storm crashed into the mountain. The clouds had lightened considerably yet still cast the surrounding land in an unnatural darkness.

  With his sluggish pace in addition to the delay from waiting out the worst of the storm’s fury, he would never make Tabenville before nightfall. Yet onward he must push. The path in front of him was his only option.

  The darkness of the Erlyn Woods was less than inviting.

  10

  The mud made Ryl’s light shoes feel like stones, forcing him to shake off his feet after every few steps. His sluggish trudge past the orchard, while only a little over a mile, seemed to take an eternity. The cloud-covered sky still issuing its rain was a dull grey, vaguely backlit by the light of the moon. The Erlyn Woods now loomed over him, creating a pitch black line that crept slowly higher the closer he approached.

  His fear was palpable.

  The Erlyn Woods were ancient, originating from a time long before the construction of the palisades. Long before the Ascertaining Decree. Long before the tributes. The trees of the Erlyn were gigantic, some stretching hundreds of paces into the air. The large leaves of the trees combined to create an interwoven canopy that blocked out the majority of the sunlight, giving the woods a hazy, stuffy and oppressive air. The light that did break through the leaves streaked to the ground in glowing rays.

  Out of necessity, the road cut a windy path as it followed the bends in the river through the woods. Maintaining the road was a difficult proposition, work assignments generally given out as punishments due to the laborious nature of the task. Efforts to widen or straighten the road had long since been abandoned. The woods somehow reclaimed its lost territory before any measurable progress could be made.

  The woods felt alive, however, not in the sense that there was an abundance of wildlife. In fact, within the confines of the woods it was the exact opposite. The small herds of deer that roamed The Stocks lived spread out across the land to the south and didn’t venture within its boundaries. The small rodents and hare avoided entering, leaving the woods eerily devoid of animal life. It was the woods themselves that felt unnaturally alive.

  The unrelenting feeling of being watched that followed from being within constant view of the palisades was amplified upon entering the woods. It was as if the trees themselves were keeping watch. The undergrowth was thick and knotted into an almost impassable bramble that appeared to change every time you looked at it.

  Ryl paused at the entrance, surveying the inky blackness before him. Tak
ing a deep breath, he relaxed the tension that had subconsciously built in his shoulders. He stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the Erlyn Woods.

  Almost immediately, the feeling of unease grew tenfold. Ryl hadn’t made it more than a hundred paces before he spun around, convinced he’d find someone following him. He scanned the woods using his peripheral vision for any hint of movement. He stood watch for several minutes, keeping his movements slight, eyes trained to the surrounding forest, his ears alert.

  All was still. All was silent.

  The road here in the Erlyn Woods was fairly dry, the canopy of leaves and vegetation having wicked the water away. Even with the intensity of the storm, the ground in the woods remained mostly undisturbed. Ryl could still hear the sound of the rain hitting the leaves high above, the soft patter of water on plant. The swollen river to his right gurgled as it rushed by.

  The ground had risen slightly in elevation since entering the forest path, leaving a small embankment from the rushing river up to the road on which Ryl now hesitantly traveled. A torch would have been helpful, but he would have to make do without. He wanted nothing more than to reach Tabenville where the warmth of a fire, even in the drafty interior of the boarding house, would do wonders to banish the chill that was sinking into his bones.

  Ryl moved cautiously forward, his eyes having adjusted now to the darkness. He could clearly make out the lighter road from the surrounding foliage. Existing in almost perpetual darkness, the woods had adapted over time. Small clumps of dimly glowing moss were scattered among the branches, standing out like distant beacons in the night. The feeling of unease continued to swell. Ryl increased his pace, propelling himself forward with the thoughts of leaving the woods.

  Ryl forced his mind onto a singular focus as he followed the road at a quickened pace. His eyes were glued to the lightened strip of ground at his feet. His ears trained on the sound of the river to his right. He nearly stumbled off the road into the chilled water as both road and river veered to the west, pivoting around the base of a massive tree. So focused was Ryl on maintaining the road that he nearly collided with a guard who had stopped to relieve himself against the backside of the trunk.

  Ryl let out an alarmed gasp and the guard yelped in surprise. Both stood motionless for a moment in genuine disbelief, as if questioning whether or not what was happening was truly real. The guard had wedged his torch into a knot in the base of the tree on its opposite side, preventing Ryl from noticing it until he rounded the tree. In the flickering light, Ryl must have taken on a wraithlike appearance as he had silently materialized from the dark.

  The guard reacted first, screaming over his shoulder for help, his cries immediately given response from a half a dozen other voices out of view around the next bend. As the guard fumbled for his torch, he knocked it out of its temporary sconce in the tree, sending it crashing to the ground. The flame snuffed out with a hiss of stream and a shower of sparks. Ryl seized advantage of the situation, turning to race back down the road toward the orchard.

  “Hey, stop,” the guard screamed. “Get back here. Help.”

  Glancing back over his shoulder Ryl glimpsed six additional torches burst out from around the side of the tree, quickly giving pursuit. Over their shouts to stop, the sound of their batons slapping against their light armor sent chills down Ryl’s spine.

  He knew he would never outrun them on the road. Diving into the rain-swollen river, even as competent a swimmer as he was, would be a death sentence. Allowing the guards to catch him now, hours after the nightly curfew, was a guaranteed punishment. Judging from the tone of the expletive-riddled shouts quickly gaining on him from the rear, the punishment would be severe. The beating would be severe. He was rapidly running out of options.

  He pumped his arms and legs, urging his body on faster and faster. The foreboding feeling of unease that had been present since his entrance into the woods was now surprisingly absent. The road seemed brighter, the rushing river to his left more defined. He could make out eddies in the water as it swept past the boulders jutting up from under the surface. The Erlyn Woods appeared less gloomy and shadowed. A small opening was visible through the bramble ahead.

  The road made a gentle corner as it passed the base of a tree. Ryl momentarily disappeared from the view of the pursuing guards. At breakneck speed, he veered to his right, plunged into a gap in the underbrush, its shadowy entrance dimly illuminated by the light of the glowing moss. Branches slapped at his faces, thorns tore into his clothing and skin. Within a dozen paces, his progress was slowed to nothing more than a stumbling walk. His shoulders bounced off trees and limbs, his feet and legs snagged on every bush. Still he plunged forward, his hands out in front to protect his face.

  Ryl paused for a moment, panting from the sudden exertion. The sound of his heart hammered in his ears. He could hear the guards moving away from his location, continuing to chase his ghost down the darkened road.

  He breathed a deep sigh of relief as he turned to watch the receding lights of the guards fade away through the trees. Cautiously moving forward, Ryl’s foot came down upon stick, his weight snapping it before he could withdraw. Off balance, he pitched forward, catching himself against the base of a tree. The snap of the stick sounded like thunder through the forest. Only then did he notice the solitary guard that had been traveling in his companions’ wake.

  The guard he had stumbled into earlier must have paused to relight his torch while his comrades had carried on ahead. He slid to a stop on the road.

  “Stop. He's here,” he screamed to the rest of his party, waving his relit torch for attention.

  “The woods. He's in the woods,” he shouted.

  “Now how in the hells did you get in there, herd?” he cursed, apparently missing the opening that Ryl had slipped through.

  Ryl wasted no time, pushing himself off the tree that had arrested his fall, rushing away from the fuming guard who was now attempting to smash his way forward through the undergrowth. First a single voice, then a chorus of others, the sounds of cursing mixed with the knock of wood striking wood as they used batons to fight their way deeper into the forest.

  Ryl was astounded that none of the guards had discovered the path he had used to enter the woods, the same narrow path he still followed. From the sounds at his rear, the woods were proving to be a worthy adversary to the irritated advance of the guards. Even at the sluggish pace he was now taking, he seemed to be pulling away them. Their shouts were growing more distant with every step.

  Feeling safer now that he had taken a small lead, Ryl turned his head to sneak a view of his pursuers. The lights from their torches could only be seen in brief flashes through the trees and undergrowth, their shouts more muted. His foot coming down, expecting to hit solid ground, only made contact with air.

  His body lurched forward and, for a sickening second, he felt nothing as it fell through the air. Pain was the next sensation as his left shoulder slammed into the hard ground. He bounced off the ground, flailing uncontrollably, his body rolling before striking the ground on his other side. Ryl’s head made contact with something solid. Bright lights flashed into his vision, then his senses plunged into blackness.

  11

  The first sensation Ryl felt upon opening his eyes was the unease. The sickening feeling that always accompanied his trips through the Erlyn Woods was more oppressive now than ever. He had never before ventured from the road. It weighed on him, nearly smothering him in fear.

  On separate occasions early in his time in The Stocks, Ryl had cautiously asked his friends, Elias and Quinlen, about the feeling of dread that accompanied him the woods. Elias had asked if Ryl was feeling all right. Quinlen had laughed, blaming it on his overactive childish imagination. That was all the answer he needed, the subject was never broached with anyone again.

  To Ryl, the feeling was certain. Now, the sensation was so powerful it made the hairs on his arms stand up. The urge to flee was potent. He flexed his muscles in quick succession.
Legs, arms, stomach, shoulders. He wiggled his feet and hands and rolled his head cautiously from side to side. He was no mender, but nothing felt broken. If his head hurt from the fall, he was numb to the feeling, the sensation of dread overwhelmed all else.

  Ryl rose to his feet as quickly as his body would allow. Gingerly, he put a hand to his head where it had struck the ground, expecting it to come back slick with blood. Astonishingly enough, his hand came back clean, yet he already felt soft scabs forming over the thin gash along his scalp. How long had he been unconscious?

  Looking skyward, Ryl could make out no light from either the sun or the moon. His eyes had adjusted to see the black shapes of trees and branches silhouetted against the dark grey of the interior of the forest. Scattered patches of light blue glowing moss illuminated only a small patch around them.

  The moss growing close to the ground cast enough light for Ryl to make out his immediate surroundings. He had landed in a small ravine, the exact distance was difficult to gauge in the darkness, but he appeared to have fallen some ten paces down a steep earthen slope. He scrambled back up the slope finding difficult foothold in the loose earth. A small vertical wall, only a foot in height, capped the top of the embankment.

  Ryl hoisted himself up and over the earthen lip, taking a moment to catch his breath at the top, laying on the soft ground. The forest was still, no wind traveled through the trees. His exhale was the only sound as it kicked up loose dirt, with it the smell of fresh earth and the decay of leaves.

  The forest was silent. He could no longer make out the sound of the rain falling on the canopy above nor the river rushing along next to the road. Also absent was the sound of the pursuing guards. Had he been unconscious for hours? For days? His clothes were still wet from the rain. It couldn't have been that long.