Geshill looked questioningly at Ryl for a moment before continuing.
“And what of the second wagon?” Geshill asked skeptically. “Does it belong to the King himself?”
“In a sense, yes it does,” Ryl admitted. “Though the black wagon has been typically used to move tributes or the Lei Guard.”
Geshill looked as if he was going to fall out of his chair. He blinked his eyes rapidly while shaking his head in disbelief. His eyes fell on Aldren, seeking confirmation of the tale. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryl saw the merchant smile as he nodded his head in agreement.
“The Lei Guard would not cede their possessions without a fight,” the farmer gasped. “It is rumored they cannot be defeated.”
“Fight they did,” Ryl said. “And yet they fell by hand, arrow and sword.”
The farmer paused as Ryl's words echoed through the room. He leaned forward, tilting his head to the side as he attempted to peer through the darkness of the shadow that covered Ryl’s face.
“What are you then?” He asked.
“We are phrenics,” Ryl stated plainly. “We are the reality behind the myths you know as Taben and his fabled army.”
Geshill observed Ryl closely for several long moments.
“Your tale is too unbelievable for logic to accept, yet the word of my friend is sound,” he stated. “You'll have whatever assistance I can offer. You can fetch your second wagon.”
Andr looked quickly at Ryl before standing and exiting the building. The young phrenic followed him with his eyes as he made his way out to the courtyard. The mercenary put his hand to his mouth letting out as single high-pitched whistle
A few moments later a similar note sang back through the darkness. The hoofbeats of a retreating horse quickly faded into the night.
“Tell me, friend,” Geshill asked quietly. “You said that you saved the tributes from their fate after the Harvest. I’ve long wondered, what lies in store for them after they leave The Stocks?”
There was no disguising the pain that infected the farmer’s voice. The festering wound from the loss of his beloved sister, though many cycles in the past, was still deep. The pain was still fresh.
“Aldren told me of your sister.” Ryl said quietly. He watched as the face of Geshill dropped, life seemingly draining from his animated features. “For that reason alone, I’ll spare you the details of what they endure. The torture you already feel needn’t be amplified. The pain of having one you hold so dear stolen is punishment enough.”
Ryl focused, sending out a wave of comfort. Geshill’s shoulders rolled back slightly, his chest rose as he inhaled a deep breath. A tear rolled down his cheek, splattering as it hit the wooden table.
“You’ve suffered enough, as have untold thousands of others at the hands of the Kingdom. Children stolen and families butchered,” Ryl stated. The heat in his veins pushed his words out with a force and conviction that startled the farmer. “The toils of the tribute, the uncertainty, the scars, the torment do not end with their Harvest.”
“The tributes you’ve brought with you, that you’ve rescued, what lies ahead for them?” Geshill whispered.
“Their futures are unassured, I’m afraid,” Ryl stated plainly. “They are in rough shape and there’s no telling the struggles that lie ahead once they recover. The only certainty is that they will live out the remainder of their lives as free men and women. Whether it be a day or cycles, they will be free.”
The heat steadily rose in his veins as his mind turned to the unknown futures that lay ahead. Not only for the ailing tributes, but for them as well. His resolve was hardened by the thoughts. They'd come too far. They would see this through to the bitter end.
Geshill leaned back in his chair, his eyes aimlessly wandering around the room. His gaze was unfocused for a few moments.
“Long have I waited to hear words such as yours,” Geshill whispered, his voice trailing off at the end. Ryl could see the tears welling in the corners of his eyes.
“Her name was Lyra,” Geshill breathed. “She was just a child. Father told me she was going to start an apprenticeship near Leremont. I said goodbye to her. Said that we'd see each other again soon. I was happy for her to go.”
Geshill took a long drought off his mug, wiping his eyes before he continued his story.
“Not a day goes by that I don't grieve for her,” Geshill sobbed. “The last thing she saw of me was my smiling face. My loss means nothing compared to the abandonment she felt every day at the hands of the ones who were supposed to love her, protect her and guide her. I'd give anything to say I'm sorry.”
Aldren rose slowly, the noise of his chair scraping across the floor lost under the sobs of the farmer. He crossed the table, sitting beside his friend, placing a caring hand on his back.
“How many cycles has it been?” Ryl asked softly.
“Nearly thirty-five,” the farmer choked. “If I'd have had the strength or the knowledge I'd have fought for her. I'd tear the walls down with my bare hands if I could.”
Ryl thought for a moment before continuing. It had been thirty-five cycles since Lyra was deposited in The Stocks. The average duration of a tribute’s stay before their Harvest was anywhere from fifteen to twenty cycles. How long could she have lingered in a processing facility? Could she have been corrupted into a Lei Guard like Elias?
Though miniscule, a sliver of hope remained. He'd escaped The Stocks. He’d survived the wilds of the Outlands. He’d reversed the taint of a Lei Guard and razed a processing facility to the ground.
The shard of hope he'd survived on had been less. He'd not give up searching. He'd not give up fighting until every last tribute had been freed.
Ryl steadied his thoughts, focusing on sending out a heavy wave of emotion over the farmer seated across from him. Geshill raised his head
