Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3) C.J. Aaron (mobi reader .txt) 📖

around them. An unlucky few were trampled as they poured out from the exit like water. Many turned back toward the tavern, helping those who had fallen, or gaping at the scene that was unfolding. Some ran.

The cool night air seemed to sap the will to fight out of most of those who had escaped the melee. The square was bright with the light of the nearly full moon above, casting the area in a cool blue glow. Most hadn’t the slightest idea of why they were fighting in the first place. Ryl stalked to the rear of the crowd, probing the mass of bodies, finding Andr easily. The mercenary had ended up being pushed out the door to the same side as him.

“Nice move,” Andr said, flashing him a wicked grin. “I’m afraid I lost our friend at the door.”

Ryl and Andr surveyed the crowd eagerly, searching for any sign of Cavlin. True to his form, the man had disappeared into the mix.

Ryl’s heart raced. He longed for confirmation that the ruse had at least freed the soldier from his fate at the hands of an unseen blade. Slinking along the wall past the darkened side of the massive building, he noted the measured gait of a group of six. Each had a blade in their hands. The face of the last in their line was bloodied, his clothing soaked. Their gaze didn’t comb the crowd seeking their prey. Their attention was pointed; focused not searching.

They were hunting.

Ryl followed the trajectory of their focus, noting the fleeting figure moving quickly in the shadows of the buildings along the adjacent side of the square. His heart skipped a beat as the two darkened figures jumped out at him, launching their attack from behind the cover of a low gated wall that prevented access to the alley beyond. Caught by surprise, Cavlin was helpless to resist. He struggled against the arms that restrained him, yet was pulled into the alley with ease.

The group in pursuit, hastened their steps. Even from the distance, Ryl could see their bloodlust.

“There!” Ryl exclaimed as he moved toward the edge of the square. Andr followed a step behind.

They moved with speed, yet still cautious of drawing too much undue attention. The trap had been carefully planned—who knew how many other remained in waiting throughout the square?

Ryl and Andr reached the shadows of the line of buildings a step after the last of the assassins entered the alley. Under the cover of darkness, they rushed forward into a sprint. The sound of fist and foot striking flesh became frighteningly obvious.

The burning sensation raced through his veins as he drank deep from the power within. Andr’s footsteps ceased as the mercenary nearly froze in place. His sprint slowed to a crawl as his body crept through the air. Ryl was nothing more than a shadow to the naked eye as he covered the distance to the gate in a flash.

The final assassin had closed the gate to the alley as he passed. The sound of the thick metal bar preventing the inswing of the gate had been barely audible over the abuse that was being delivered to Cavlin.

The sturdy metal gate was the solitary break in the narrow wall that closed off the alley from the avenue outside. The wall itself was relatively low, its peak only slightly above eye level. To most, hurdling its height would have proved only a minor inconvenience.

To Ryl it was immaterial.

On either side of the gate, the wall stretched out for a few meters before connecting with the edges of the buildings on either side. Without breaking stride, Ryl leaped; planting his foot easily on the top of the wall. It took him but an instant to survey the scene unfolding several meters into the darkened alley.

In their haste to begin their long overdue assault, the group had only dragged Cavlin ten meters or so before eagerly commencing their beating. One stood on either side of the motionless body, propping him up on his feet. The others were arranged around him in a small loose ring, eagerly awaiting their next turn. A single figure, who Ryl recognized immediately as the first of the knife wielding assailants from the tavern, stood a few steps away. His left hand was balled into a fist. Blood drenched his knuckles.

In his right hand was a slender dagger. The blade shimmered in the low light of the alley. A large drop of crimson welled from its tip as it was pulled toward the ground.

The blade was smeared in red.

Was he too late?

From the quick glance Ryl knew the abuse they’d doled out had been intense. Cavlin’s face was splattered with blood, his eyes nearly closed from all the swelling. His legs were bent, holding no weight of their own, and his feet rolled over, resting awkwardly on their outer edges. Along his right side, Ryl could see where his shirt had been slashed; the red stain spread down his abdomen and pants. He was relieved that there were no other apparent punctures.

Even so, he knew the life of his friend would be ending soon.

As skilled as Cavlin was, eight against one wasn’t a fair fight. But the odds tipped hopelessly back into his favor as Ryl entered the fray.

His survey had taken less than a breath. Without stopping, Ryl pushed off the top of the wall with his right leg, his left foot planting firmly on the top of the windowsill of the building to his front. He forced himself outward and upward high above the alley.

For a moment, he was weightless. His legs churned and his cloaks billowed out behind him. He saw the eyes of several of Cavlin’s attackers begin to bulge, their mouths open to voice their warning as his body blacked out the moon above.

Ryl hardened the woodskin.

His trajectory brought him down onto the backs of the two closest to the entrance. He barreled into them with the force and weight of a