Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3) Page 9

  Joem, their heartless leader, held out a weathered parchment. By his words, the signed proclamation of the King.

  “She is no longer your concern,” Joem hissed. “By the rule of the Ascertaining Decree, that child belongs to the Kingdom.”

  “Please, she is just a child,” the man pleaded. “Let her be. I beg you.”

  The hunter’s laughter was vicious. The normally joyous noise was an affront to the action. It bit into Ryl’s ears with a concrete force.

  “Hand her over and you have my word, your death will be merciful,” the hunter spoke with no remorse. “The child is the property of the King. She is a tribute.”

  That word.

  Property.

  The heat in Ryl's veins boiled into a raging inferno.

  He stepped out from the cover of the woods, still undetected by the hunters ahead of him. The wind swelled around his hand; his cloaks flapped in the breeze that brewed around his feet.

  Ryl released a pointed, focused jet of air into the parchment in the leader’s hand. The hunter let out an involuntary shout of surprise as the paper flew into the air. The eyes of all of the hunters followed the errant parchment as it fluttered above their heads. As it reached its peak it curled backward, heading toward the forest at their rear.

  They watched as the paper descended before the tree line. Their eyes went wide with shock as the parchment fell softly, coming to a rest in Ryl's outstretched hand.

  “No King holds sway over that child's life,” Ryl growled. His voice was hushed, no more than a whisper. The sheer animosity and command in his voice roared through the clearing.

  “No butcher of men will lay a hand on either of them,” he spat.

  The wind around him swirled with renewed vigor. His cloaks shifted violently as the breeze pulled them to the side. His face was shrouded in shadow; only his chin and lips were lit by the diffused light of the morning. Ryl's eyes churned with the intensity of a seething fire. They flickered with rage from under the shadow of his hood.

  Ryl glanced at the parchment in his hand, quickly skimming the document.

  Joem, the bearer of this missive acts under the direct authority of the honorable King Lunek III. His commands are to be followed as if they are orders from the lips of the King himself. His authority is boundless and incontestable.

  Any in defiance to his wishes are to be treated as traitors to the crown. Outlaws to the Kingdom of Damaris and executed on the spot.

  His noble majesty,

  King Lunek III

  Ryl shook his head slightly as he skimmed the words. The hunters, whether truly sanctioned or not, were given ultimate power and authority over the lives of all they encountered. Justification for their crimes was granted in advance. They could kill with impunity.

  The blood in his veins begged for action.

  Ryl casually folded the letter before tearing it in half. He let the pieces slip from his hands. They fluttered slowly to the ground at his feet.

  Chapter 11

  Joem took a step toward Ryl as he ripped his sword from its holster.

  “You,” the hunter snarled. “The one from the road. You've just sealed your fate.”

  Ryl inhaled a deep breath of clean forest air. The sound of the river in the distance quieted. His focus was on the hunters at his front. With a casual ease he folded his arms across his chest.

  The simple action had its desired effect. The lead hunter bristled with anger. Ryl watched the muscles on his face clench and release as he squeezed his jaws together. His left eye twitched ever so slightly. He turned his head slightly casting a devilish glance at his companions behind him.

  “Must be our lucky day, boys,” he sneered, the corner of his lips turned upward into a wicked smile. “We'll be paid extra for the death of the traitor. This one will be a pleasure!”

  Ryl remained still, his body rigid like the trees that bordered the clearing around them. The only motions were the slow rise and fall of his chest and the billowing of the cloak at his sides.

  “Kill him first,” Joem ordered. “Then we'll deal with the runaways.”

  From the right of the line of hunters came a cry of pure bloodlust as the first lunged forward. A few steps behind from the opposite side of the line, the second rushed ahead as well. The intent was clear. There was a competitive jealousy. They were racing to be the first to draw blood. Innocent blood.

  This was nothing more than a twisted game for them. The coveted prize at the end came in the form of carnage. It came from stealing the lives of others. They were eager to be the first to collect the kill. To claim their victory.

  Their game would end today. They would be the first to die.

  The speed was at his command. Ryl tapped into a portion of the power as the first attacker closed in, his sword swinging in a vicious arc towards Ryl’s neck. The men before him were murderers, butchers of innocent men, women and children; their deaths would be justified. Even so, Ryl suppressed an overpowering wave of revulsion at the task he was about to complete.

  The alexen in his blood washed any trace of the feeling away as he easily ducked under the lethal slash. The woodskin hardened on his left hand as he smashed it upward into the sword arm of the hunter. A sharp snapping sound tore through the clearing as Ryl's hardened fist shattered the bones in his arm. His forearm went limp as it flopped lifelessly downward at an unnatural angle. The hunter screamed in agony as his sword stabbed harmlessly into the ground.

  Ryl exploded upward—his right shoulder came up underneath the armpit of the hunter, lifting him from the ground. His right hand latched onto the fabric of the man's tunic. Ryl used the momentum of his movement along with the force of a blast of wind from his hand to throw the wounded guard forward.

  The second charging hunter was running with his sword drawn. Ryl saw his steps in slow motion, timing the release of the broken hunter when the approaching sword was pointed forward. The two slammed together; the sword punching through the back of the wounded guard’s chest in a spray of blood and gore.

  Ryl wrenched the discarded sword from the ground, closing the distance between the staggered pair in a flash. The approaching guard was bent backward, supporting the weight of his doomed companion. He braced himself against the dead weight of the body, struggling to free his blade from the man's chest. A single slash from Ryl nearly severed the encumbered hunter's head from his torso. The blood sprayed outward in a slowly growing stream of crimson particulate.

  Joem and one of the remaining two hunters charged him simultaneously. The man whose arm had been broken by the horse the previous day froze in place. His mouth fell open, the color bleached from his face as the as the urge to fight abandoned him. Without a second thought, he turned away from the fray, sprinting toward the edge of the woods. Their movements were sluggish, yet Ryl had far from tapped the full power in his veins. He wanted this over quickly.

  Joem would be the last.

  The bodies of the first two hunters were still in motion, toppling lifelessly to the ground when Ryl darted toward the remainder of their doomed group. In one fluid motion, he ducked under the sword arm of Joem. Ryl’s sword was held down, its tip just glancing the blades of grass that grew from the forest floor. As he passed under the hunter’s arm, he flicked his wrist outward, snapping the blade toward the back of Joem’s left leg. The tip slashed through his flesh, severing the tendon at his heel.

  The hunter’s foot was mid stride when Ryl struck. The ruin of his lower leg couldn't sustain the weight as he planted it on the ground. His growls of anger turned to a shriek of pain as he found himself helpless to prevent his own collapse.

  Planting his feet in the soft ground, Ryl pivoted his body, launching himself toward the remaining attacker.

  His target was at a full sprint, though to Ryl’s eyes he was hardly moving. The hunter’s face was locked in a hateful snarl. His sword was in his right hand, his arm bent back across his body with the blade held high in preparation for an angled downward strike. Ryl flippe
d his blade to his left hand as he approached before lashing out with a vicious diagonal strike that severed the hunter’s sword hand. The bloodied blade continued its arc, passing through the hunter’s neck. Pain, shock, and fear registered in the man’s eyes as he realized his fate been sealed.

  There was no avoiding the shower of blood this time, though Ryl did his best to duck under the spray. Ryl snatched the newly detached sword from the air with his right hand. He hardened the woodskin on his palm as his fingers closed around the blade just above the guard of the dislodged weapon. The severed hand slipped from the sword’s grip, falling sluggishly toward the ground.

  Without slowing, Ryl reversed his grip on the newly acquired sword. He coiled his arm back before launching the blade like a javelin at the fleeing hunter. The retreating guard was only a matter of five meters away and only a few steps from the relative safety of the tree line. The projectile caught him in the back, boring through the leather armor that covered his torso before passing through his body, punching out the opposite side. He careened wildly for a few steps. His uncontrolled body deviated from its original course, smashing into a tree, driving the pointed blade deep into the soft wood.

  Ryl released his hold on the speed and the world flashed back to normal. The usually disconcerting feeling as time caught up with him was lessened as he'd avoided drinking too deeply of the power inside. He turned, stalking back toward the writhing body of Joem, as around him the bodies and blood finally reached the forest floor in a sickening cacophony of splashes and thumps.

  The hunter was frantically sliding himself backward along the ground using his hands and working foot for leverage. His left leg, with its severed tendon, dragged along the ground leaving behind a thick trail of crimson.

  The hunter lashed out with a half-hearted strike. Ryl easily parried the blow. As their blades met, his right hand launched forward grabbing the pommel of Joem’s sword just below the hunter’s hand. Ryl’s iron grip squeezed the handle of the blade as he twisted his wrist. The hunter’s arm rotated with the motion until it could turn no further. Ryl pulled back, wrenching the sword from Joem’s grip, leaving the blade backward in his hand.

  Joem groaned as he attempted to slide away. Ryl bent his right arm at the elbow, slamming the tip of the blade downward into the hunter’s left leg. The sword passed through the meaty portion of the man’s thigh, biting deep into the earth, pinning him to the forest floor.

  “Please, have mercy,” the hunter cried out in pain as he struggled to pull the blade free.

  Ryl knelt close to the hunter.

  “You'll be granted the same mercy you were to offer them,” he whispered, inclining his head toward the father and daughter who’d remained frozen like statues against the stone. The child had her head buried in her hands, pressed tightly against her father's leg.

  “How many innocent lives have begged you for forgiveness that was never granted?” Ryl hissed as he rose to his feet. “You pay for your sins.”

  The hunter’s eyes went wide. He choked out the words as the shock of the pain set in.

  “I can pay …” His words were cut off as Ryl drove the remaining sword through his chest. There was a sickly wet gurgle as the remaining air and life seeped from the vanquished hunter.

  Ryl's eyes swept over the clearing. The overwhelming feeling of revulsion he’d experienced earlier had been premature. The sensation that stuck in the aftermath punched him with a force that nearly toppled him from his feet. Blood soaked the clearing. The brilliantly varied shades of greens of the leaves, grasses and moss were awash with dripping stains of red. He swallowed the bile that threatened to escape from his lips. His mouth and throat burned as the caustic liquid scorched his insides.

  The destruction of the hunters was absolute. It was merciless. It was heartless. He was sickened at what he'd done. What he had accomplished with ease.

  Ryl's hardened gaze ended on the father and child. The man's blade was now pointed at him. The point of the small knife quivered wildly, his face frozen in a look of sheer terror. He could hear the muted sobs and the gasping quiet breaths of the terrified child.

  Ryl stepped away from the body of Joem and the pool of blood that slowly stretched out around him. He held both his hands out in front of him while focusing on sending out a wave of soothing calm over the pair. He could see the child peer at him through the cracks in her fingers. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of blue, that even the cover of her hands could not diminish.

  “Sir, you can lower your blade,” Ryl said soothingly. “None will harm you now. Are you hurt?”

  From behind, Ryl heard the snapping of twigs as a body hastened through the forest. His head pivoted; his left hand reached under his cloak closing on the hard wood of the Leaves that still rested in their concealed holster.

  A moment later, Andr burst through the foliage into the clearing. His clothes were soaked to the waist, his sword drawn, ready for action. It only took a cursory glance to disarm the mercenary. His sword slid quietly into its scabbard. He nodded subtly; a small knowing smile tugged up on his lips as he came to a stop at the edge of the woods.

  Turning back to the father and child, Ryl was pleased to see the man had lowered his blade, if only slightly. The calm had worked to steady his hand as well as abating the look of terror on his face. The man now viewed them with guarded curiosity.

  “Who are you?” the man asked. Though he projected his confidence admirably, his voice wavered from the uncontrollable emotion. He had been moments away from a merciless death; now he was face to face with his savior. A force that defied explanation.

  “Fear not, we are friends,” Ryl said softly.

  The child at his side removed her hands from her face. Her large, brilliantly blue eyes focused directly at him yet her gaze seemed to pass through him. There was an awkward mistiness that seemed to swirl in their depths. She cocked her head slightly as if reading him. After a moment, a meager onset of a smile played across her face, quickly blossoming into a full grin.

  “Father,” she whispered. “I can see him.”

  Chapter 12

  The father looked down at his child for an instant. An emotional look of astonishment flashed across his face. His eyes followed the pointed stare of his daughter, returning his wary gaze to Ryl and Andr.

  “Who are you?” the father repeated. This time his voice carried more force.

  “We are friends,” Ryl calmly reiterated. “My name is Ryl. The man behind me is Andr. We've been searching for you since we ran into the hunters on the road yesterday.”

  The father flinched involuntarily at the statement, his eyes darting rapidly around the clearing. They paused for an instant as they crossed the bodies of the murderers that had been tracking them. Ryl watched as a sliver of the weight from the ever-present chase evaporated from the man's weary shoulders.

  How long had they suffered on the run? How many close calls had they survived?

  “What do you want from us?” the father breathed. He still held the wavering blade in his hand, though the point had fallen closer to the ground.

  “We came here to help you, we seek nothing other than your safety,” Ryl professed calmly.

  The father eyed them suspiciously. In truth, Ryl couldn't blame him. What horrors had they endured since the results of her testing were brought to light? The child separated herself from her father's side taking a step forward toward Ryl. Her father reached to pull her in, but she moved subtly, yet with a speed that defied the norm. She easily avoided his protective grasp.

  “Father, he speaks the truth,” she said confidently as she continued forward. Her father opened his mouth to retort, but she cut him off before the words could escape his lips.

  “His words were true,” she said softly. Her small voice had a calming tonality. “There was no deception.”

  Ryl sank down to a knee resting both arms across his leg as she approached. His head was at eye level; she stepped closer without the hint of fear. Her father paced b
ehind, his blade lowered but still in hand.

  The child's eyes remained focused on Ryl. The intensity of her visual investigation was disconcerting. Her eyes seemed to bore through him as if she was reading him, peering into the very depths of his soul. The mist in her eyes appeared to shift slightly, as if it moved with the breeze.

  Ryl looked into her eyes. The realization struck him with startling clarity. He looked up sympathetically at her father.

  “She's blind, isn't she?” He asked quietly.

  The child's father nodded his head silently, moisture uncontrollably welling in the corners of his eyes.

  The smile on the face of the child grew wider at the statement.

  “I have been blind all my life and yet I can see you,” she remarked joyously. “Your body shines like the sun. What are you?”

  It was Ryl’s turn to smile. He was powerless to fight the grin that crept across his face.

  With slow, deliberate motion he raised his hands, pulling back the hoods that covered his face. He turned his head slightly to the left so that the right side of his neck was clearly visible.

  The father sucked in an audible breath.

  “For cycles I was known as nothing but a tribute,” he said. “Like you.”

  She reached out her hand, touching the side of his face. She moved her fingers slowly downward across his cheek to his neck, gasping aloud when her fingers reached the brand under his ear. She rapidly withdrew her hand as if the skin had burned her.

  “Your skin feels cool. It feels unnatural,” she stated as if she was reading him through the touch of her fingers. Since he'd been granted the woodskin, the boon of the Erlyn Woods, his skin had been imbued with an inherent toughness, and had felt colder to the touch.