Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2) C.J. Aaron (unputdownable books .TXT) 📖

ground. One writhed while the other remained still. Bonds secured both their hands and feet and rags were wrapped around their mouths. Ryl approached cautiously, as the figure continued to squirm.

A few steps away, it became evident that the struggling captive was that of a man. His brown hair had a peppering of grey, exposing his age. His body, though not overly athletic, was by no means obese. The man's head turned toward Ryl, and his eyes went wide as he noted their approach.

Only a moment earlier, his captors had loomed over him. Now, a mysterious party of five approached while the bodies of those who had likely bound him lay in ruins behind them. The scene must have been utterly terrifying and simultaneously confusing. He frantically tried to work his way away from them, squirming closer to the second figure who remained face down and unmoving. Ryl let the glowing blades disappear, sliding them back into their holsters.

He stopped, motioning for the others to pause as well. Stepping forward, he kneeled a meter from the struggling captive. He sent out a wave of calm. The man ceased struggling almost immediately. His wide eyes blinked as he watched Ryl's every movement.

“Lie still, friend. We mean you no harm,” Ryl implored, slowly removing his hood. Relief flooded the man's face.

“We'll cut your bonds; we would just like to ask a few questions. Is that alright with you?” Ryl asked. The man nodded his head rapidly, and the corners of his mouth worked upward as if attempting to smile despite the gag in his mouth. He mumbled something unintelligible, and his eyes frantically turned toward the figure lying beside him.

Ryl carefully helped the man to a sitting position before motioning to Andr.

“Cut him free,” Ryl said.

The mercenary severed the rough rope that bound his hands and feet while Ryl removed the gag from the man's mouth. The man's newly freed hands immediately massaged his wrists that were rubbed raw from the rope.

The man looked to be nearing his fiftieth cycle. His hair had receded slightly from the front of his scalp. There was the beginning of a large welt swelling on the right side of his face. A small trickle of blood had nearly dried from another small laceration across his forehead. His face struggled to contain his relief and joy as the binding fell away.

“I can’t thank you enough,” the man said appreciatively, before his face flushed with worry. He twisted to his side, carefully rolling over the bound figure near his back.

Ryl’s heart skipped a beat.

The second bound figure was that of a boy.

The man tried desperately to pull the gag from the youngster’s mouth. The child appeared to be no older than his early teens. White, salty residue from lines of dried tears stained his face, and the hair on the right side of his head was matted with blood.

Andr was at the child's side in an instant, gently cutting the gag from his face before moving to the binds on his hand and feet. The elder of the captives leaned his head in close to the boy’s face. Ryl saw the steady rise and fall of the youngster’s chest. He could see the relief flood the older man’s body as he felt the breath on his face. He pulled the boy into a tight embrace. Tears streaming from his eyes.

Ryl and the others waited patiently as the man rocked back and forth, cradling the youngster in his arms. It was several moments before his tears stopped enough for him to speak.

“If it's answers you seek, I am more than obliged to assist. Mere answers alone will not be a sufficient repayment for the service you have done me.”

The man paused as his eyes traveled to the child in his arms. His voice was choked with unfiltered emotion.

"And my boy," he blubbered.

“We seek no reward, my friend,” Ryl responded politely. “Answers will suffice. Let's start with your name.”

The man nodded, releasing a single hand from the boy, holding it out to Ryl.

“The name's Aldren,” he said.

Ryl took his hand with a firm shake.

“This is my son, Cade,” Aldren stated. The tears threatened to fall once more. The man sniffed heavily before exhaling deeply, temporarily stoppering the emotion.

“Well met, Aldren. My name's Ryl. How did you end up in the hands of such poor company?” he inquired.

“I'm nothing more than a merchant. We live at the southern tip of the Fellwood. I purchased the plot of land for my son and I from the late Lord and Lady Felloc. Rest their souls,” Aldren explained. “Felloc was a good man, he was kind and fair to all. He was a close friend.”

The merchant’s eyes wandered the forest aimlessly for a moment, and the corners of his lips turned up subtly, as if invoking his friend’s name sparked some long forgotten pleasant memory.

“The heir to House Villais, the one that stole their lands in the wake of their horrific murders, couldn't be further from their mold,” he spat. “The Lord has worked for cycles to force us from our land, though I rightfully hold the deed. We had just left with a large, regular shipment of supplies due for a private customer to the south when they accosted us on the road.”

His story stopped as his eyes went wide. He frantically fought to gain his feet.

“We must flee now,” he pleaded, his voice desperate. “There was a group of eight that left not long ago, headed south into the forest. We tried to run after they left. Didn't get far though. They could return any minute.”

He turned to the side, gently lifting his son, making for his wagon. Ryl stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Fear not, my friend. They will pose no more threat to you,” Ryl said calmly.

“They're killers, cold-blooded the lot of them,” Aldren continued.

“Aye, that they were,” Ryl said.

He struggled to repress the raw emotion that surged through him. He hadn’t yet taken the time to fully