Ryl let out an involuntary groan as a spasm ran the course of his addled body.
"Call it complacency. Indifference. It matters not," he continued. "How many other children have been torn from their families as a part of this demented scheme? I needed to see my son again. I needed to be there for him. Whether it killed me in the process or not, there was no force in the kingdom that would keep me from him.”
“So I did what any degenerate brawler does when the money dries up. I joined the guard,” Andr said. “I knew being assigned to The Stocks was the ultimate punishment, so I voiced my hatred of the tributes loud enough for all to hear. I fought with every sorry, pathetic excuse of a soldier that dared or had the misfortune of standing in my way. In the end, getting sentenced to The Stocks was easy. In less than two moons, I bought my sanction.”
A noise from the grove, outside the clearing caught his attention. Andr’s hand slowly closed on the hilt of his sword.
The woods went silent again.
All was still.
He remained motionless for some time. The fire had grown low, and the noise wasn't repeated. His nerves relaxed slightly. He was still in a state of shock from what had happened earlier. Ryl's actions had been selfless. His defense had saved their lives. Yet the sheer power he'd displayed was so brutally juxtaposed with the ultimate desperation in his cry for help. It had shaken Andr to the core.
“Most guards inside The Stocks would do anything to get out,” he whispered, continuing his story. “My sole purpose became remaining inside. My insubordination kept me in The Stocks, but on patrol for the better part of two cycles. It was less than a moon before you arrived that I was attached to Osir's command.”
Andr shifted, raising his body to a squatting position. Something felt different about the night. An imperceptible yet profound change had occurred making the hairs on his arms stand on end.
“I only ever saw fleeting glimpses of him,” Andr’s voice was hushed. “Every time I look at you, I see him. I see hope. You've been the light in the darkness, the chance for my boy, for all of them to be free.”
Andr paused as his eyes surveyed the clearing.
“Ryl, the Erlyn whispered more to me than merely to take you to the phrenic,” Andr admitted quietly. “It told me that you would free them all.”
Chapter 17
Andr's story came to an abrupt halt as another sound echoed through the glade. The quiet squish of a heavy footstep on the blood-soaked ground was unmistakable in the silent night air. From the left came a shuffle of feet and a scrape of something hard against a rock.
From all around, the glade came alive with the subtle noises of movement. Andr tapped Ryl on the shoulder, hoping on the off chance that whatever powers had spurred him to fight would react again.
Ryl remained motionless.
Andr dragged Ryl behind him, wrapping his hands around the sticks that had caused such catastrophic damage earlier. He had swung the weapons around after witnessing their clandestine purpose, yet he couldn’t elicit even the slightest hint of the shimmering green blades he'd seen in Ryl's hands.
He stood his ground, staring out into the moonlit clearing as the sounds continued to his right, left, and front. As the shuffle of footsteps became painfully obvious the putrid tendrils from the foul scent of the Horde struck him anew.
The blackened shadows under the trees swelled with motion. His eyes darted back and forth attempting to confirm the sounds. The agonizing uncertainty continued.
Without warning, the noises ceased. The grove was still once more; the shadowed edges of the clearing had closed in on his position. He felt his heart thundering in his chest.
Andr was afraid.
Afraid for his own life.
Afraid he'd let Ryl down.
Afraid he'd never see his boy, Cray, again.
There was a motion from the center of the clearing in front of him. A massive shadow shifted as it inched closer. He could hear the solid, wet thud, as its feet hit the bloody ground. From all around the approaching form, the black walls of the clearing closed in further.
Andr felt as if he was being crushed in a vise. As the shadows edged closer to the firelight Andr withdrew a step, stopping just in front of Ryl. The two of them were pinned between the sheer wall of the stone and the wall of shadows closing in on them.
Andr second guessed his decision. They should have run after the first attack.
Where could they have gone? He would have been forced to carry Ryl. Without Ryl’s vision their attempt to flee would have been suicide. The Horde moved far too fast; they would have been on them before Andr could draw his sword to fight. In the open, an instant was all the Horde would have needed to tear them to pieces.
So here they were. Stuck between a rock and the incarnation of hatred and death. The overpowering, vile odor of rot and decay swelled as the black mass crept closer.
The light from the dying fire provided poor illumination for the seasoned mercenary, the black shapes still indescribable in the night. Without averting his eyes, Andr bent down, grabbing a spare stick, tossing it into the weak blaze.
As the stick made contact with the coals, a spray of sparks splashed out of the fire, floating up through the air. It took but a moment for the dried wood to flare up with flame.
The identity of the dark mass that had been closing in on them became apparent, though he’d needed no visual confirmation of what was approaching. Hundreds of sets of eyes burned as they reflected the light of the fire. The massed Horde
