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

The Stocks nearly robbed him of his breath, threatening to sweep him off his feet. From his brief visual survey, the town looked unchanged. The three, nearly identical inn-like boarding houses occupied the space just past the warehouse along the edge of the eastern palisade. The conjoined Master’s house and mender’s clinic stood alone at the closest tip of the horseshoe shaped arrangement of buildings that constituted the village of Cadsae. The drab structures seemed to be frozen in a perpetual state of disrepair. The dusty main road led in a northerly direction. Fallow fields, overtaken by wild grasses bordered the edge of the villages’ boundary. The village remained identical to the picture that had forever been burned into his mind.

It was neither the city, nor the view of the road he’d traveled hundreds of times that threatened to bring tears to his eyes. It wasn’t the rippling of the grasses in the distance as they swayed gently in the gusts of wind from the sea. It wasn’t the silhouette of the Haven Mountains growing from the horizon far off in the distance.

It was the tributes.

In a tightly packed semicircle stood the men and women he’d grown to call his friends. Those he’d honored as if they were family. Intimately familiar faces immediately jumped out from the crowd. Zed, the gentle giant and humble blacksmith of The Stocks towered over the middle of the crowd, looming nearly a head above the tallest around him. Tash and Palon, the inseparable twins, with Luan between them. Quinlen and Odus stood nearby. In his brief survey, his eyes failed to note the position of Cray among the tributes in the square.

Ryl exhaled a deep breath of relief as he noted the woman standing in the front row at the center of the tributes. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been teetering on the verge of life and death. She’d been the victim of the master’s forced drunken lust and unquenchable penchant for violence. Sarial lived! Her face still wore the perpetual smile that he’d seen dim only seldomly. By her side, leaned tight against her body, she held the hand of a single, small child.

One of The Stocks’ newest tributes.

Behind the mass of tributes, standing nearly shoulder to shoulder was a row of guards. A dramatic mixture of emotions played out across the faces of all present inside the crowded square. To a man, the guards looked worried. The appearance of the Lei Guard was an ill omen. Their appearance in the middle of the Harvest was unheard of.

Across the faces of the tributes the emotions were profound. Tears streaked down the faces of many. Heartbreak shone clearly though the valiant attempts at strength. For some the anger burned like a fire, nearly bright enough to be doused for contempt. In the vast majority though, confusion abounded. Most had been through Harvests just like this for cycles. Never before had the ceremony been interrupted.

A few paces ahead of the mass of tributes stood a second line.

This cycle’s offerings. The Harvests of cycle 1351.

Behind each of the tributes to be harvested stood a pair of guards. Their uniforms were cleaned and pressed to their finest. These unrelenting ushers were prepared to drag their charges into the mouth of the Pining Gate. Standing between Ryl and all of the tributes a single man remained. A man he recognized well.

Captain Le’Dral.

The captain stood frozen in his usual stoic pose even in the face of the uncertainty that had presented itself. To Ryl the captain looked tired. Creases had formed in the corners of his eyes. He’d likely endured a long, contemplative night after Ryl had disappeared into the darkness. Surprisingly missing were both sub-masters: Millis and Moyan. Their absences were curious, though Ryl was certain the reasoning would come to light sooner rather than later. The captain’s eyes widened as he noted the bound figure of Maklan shuffling to maintain his feet as he was dragged through the gate.

The scene had required but a moment to take in. Ryl stalked forward, stopping a few paces before the captain.

Silence settled over The Stocks. All those gathered held their breath in anticipation. Even the steady wind from the ocean seemed to pause its relentless course as the events unfolded.

Le’Dral’s eyes darted from Ryl to his companions then quickly back to him.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” his voice was quiet. Though the uncertainty was there, the words were uttered with well calculated concern for political tact.

Ryl studied the captain for a moment before responding. There was no sign of intimidation, no sign of fear. The captain remained steadfast as the silence stretched on.

From behind, the hollow thud of the massive wooden doors slamming shut echoed through Cadsae. The guards inside had no doubt wasted no time closing the exit the moment the Lei Guard had passed. The scraping of wood on metal heralded the sound of the drawbar being retracted into place.

For better or for worse, there was no turning back. They were locked inside The Stocks. Immediately the oppressive feeling from the walls returned unbidden as it attempted to infiltrate his confidence.

Ryl turned his body sideways, motioning for Dav to approach with the shackled councilor. The metallic grating of the chains as they dragged across the hard ground resounded through the still of the square. With a final push, Dav heaved Maklan forward—the councilor landed hard on his knees to Ryl’s left side.

Ryl let go his hold on Faya’s shirt. In one fluid motion Ryl wrenched the sword of the Lei Guard from its sheath, reversing his hold as he sprung toward the hobbled councilor. Maklan cried out in horror, squeezing his eyes together as Ryl stabbed the blade down toward him. Captain Le’Dral, whether out of shock or acceptance, remained motionless.

The blade bit deep into the ground as it squeezed itself between the wide links of Maklan’s fetters. The force of his motion drove the blade nearly to its hilt. Tears streamed down the