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

His cautious eyes studied every detail; it was readily apparent that the craftsmanship was the work of none other than a master. To determine the purpose however, required further inspection.

The leather was dyed a deep forest green, so dark that it bordered on black. Burned into the belt was a subtle yet intricate design featuring a winding, leafy vine that wrapped around the entirety of the belt. The details were exquisite. The individual veins of each leaf were visible, though they seemed to move with a life that defied their permanent nature.

In the middle of the belt, a pair of empty, parallel sheathes awaited their weapons. It only took a moment for its purpose to solidify in Ryl's mind with resounding clarity. He reached for the Leaves on the table, sliding them easily into the waiting holsters. Each of the dormant blades fit with a snug precision, leaving a hand width exposed from the leather. Ryl weaved the belt around his back, cinching the buckle around his front. The Leaves remained snug to his body, concealed from sight in the curve of his lower back.

He reached with both hands, grasping the exposed handles of the Leaves with ease. The weapons slid from their custom holsters with the fluid motion of practiced perfection. Ryl was astonished with the immediate familiarity he felt with the holsters. The action felt natural, as if it had been the trained response from thousands of repetitions.

His mind snapped back to the conversations with the phrenics before they'd left for their disastrous mission to the Prophet's Tree. Deyalou had promised a sample upon his return. The work he now wore around his waist was a treasure. No thanks would be great enough for the phrenic master.

What of the others?

Ryl felt a sinking sensation in his gut as he struggled to recall the events. He had survived the battle, yet he knew nothing of his friends. Ryl slipped his feet into his shoes that waited patiently alongside the wardrobe before striding purposefully to the door. The latch opened with a muted click and the wooden door swung inward without the slightest hint of complaint from its metal hinges.

He exited to a small, yet cozy waiting room. Two comfortable looking chairs sat on either side of a small circular table against the left-hand wall, and a lantern burned peacefully away on its center. There were two doors leading from the room. To the right the door was closed, ahead the wooden door was cracked open, revealing a sliver of the room beyond.

Ryl strode across the small room, knocking quietly. He waited, yet there was no response from within.

Swinging the door open, his eyes roved the similarly decorated room to the one he awakened in. Simple, yet masterfully carved furniture was arranged in a likewise manner, however the room appeared as if it had yet to be lived in. Heading back through the sitting room, he opened the remaining door to a narrow, dimly lit hallway beyond.

Ryl paused as he entered the hall, peering in both directions. The hallway was silent. To his left, the path ended in a flat, stone wall. To the right, it proceeded a short distance before ending in a doorway. A narrow stream of light from the room beyond crept through the gap. Two doors were spaced evenly along the opposite wall while one shared the same wall as his.

He walked quietly toward the open door at the end of the hallway. As he approached, the narrow view of the room without became clear. The minimal vision was enough to confirm his location. He knew where he was in an instant.

The Hall of the Phrenic.

Without a thought to the ramifications, he closed his eyes, searching with the mindsight for traces of the other phrenics. He was relieved to note a large group, tightly packed together, in what appeared to be a row, though their signatures remained still. A single glowing orb was separated from the others. He let go of the mindsight, bracing himself against the wall in preparation for his recovering body to protest the action. Surprisingly, though a wave of weakness rolled through his body, it was mild.

With his location inside the city confirmed, Ryl’s mind was desperate for answers. How many had returned home from the expedition to the Prophet's Tree?

Ryl hastened down the narrow corridor, exiting into the great entry room of the Hall of the Phrenic. The space was empty, the fire in the hearth to his left had long since burned out, yet the room was still warm. From outside, the sounds of commotion drew his attention, alluding to a large gathering of people.

Cautiously, Ryl moved from the vacant hall, exiting into the avenue that circled the city. The sheer volume of people in the street stopped him in his tracks. Surrounding the colosseum and the Westfate, the avenues were clogged with citizens. The noise of thousands of simultaneous conversations merged into a dull roar. The overall attention of the masses was focused on the entrance to the great hall.

Ryl eased his way into the crowd, moving toward the Great Hall and Council Seat. It was only a matter of moments before his presence was distinguished from that of the crowd. Those around him stepped back, their faces strained into a confusing look.

Was it awe?

Was it fear?

He paused, spinning slowly in a circle, struggling to read the emotions of the surrounding citizens. The meanings of the chaotic stares left him speechless. Ryl lowered his head, rapidly pulling the hood of his cloak up, throwing his face into shadow. Word of his arrival spread like wildfire through the crowd. A pathway opened through the sea of humanity leading straight to the great doors of the Council Seat.

Ryl wasted no time, moving as quickly as his legs would take him down the pathway. He could feel the eyes of thousands as they traced his every step. He felt the warm trickle of blood from his thigh as his movement undoubtedly tore