“There is neither person nor money that can claim authority over the lives of these men. These women. These children,” Ryl boomed. “Not here. Not anywhere.”
Those surrounding him on the walls shrank back further at the force of his words.
“Know you the fate of the tributes after they leave this pen?” Ryl asked rhetorically. “They are hung like swine, drained over cycles of every last drop of their blood. This is how they produce the blessed elixir you covet.”
A grumble of voices rolled through the crowd, as few among them held compassion for the plight of the tributes. All traces of humanity had long since been stripped from the gaunt figures that were paraded before them on an annual basis. Ryl felt the fire in his veins surge with his anger.
“They are humans, like each and every one of you,” Ryl roared. “They were born, by no fault of their own with a gift, the alexen, that dwelled in their blood. In ages past, the power that flows through their veins was all that stood between this Kingdom and destruction.”
Astonishment registered on the faces of many of those huddled together or attempting to flee the Palisades walkway.
“Those who you call tributes. Who you steal from their parents; they share the same blood as did Taben and his army,” Ryl thundered. There was a scattering of gasps throughout those who listened over their fear. His voice softened a touch, though the intensity was still overpowering.
“This is where the history you’ve learned for generations has betrayed you,” he continued. “There is more truth to the myths of Taben the Defender and his army than you know. All were phrenic.”
Ryl emphasized his statements; pouring out a profound feeling of acceptance, believability and of truthfulness. Though few, there were murmurs of contented surprise from those who’d yet to flee the wall.
“The same blood that saved the Kingdom from certain doom now courses through my veins and those of the tributes you see before you,” Ryl continued. “The root of myth was founded in truth, and that truth was more potent than you could ever imagine.”
In the distance, a sound akin to a quietly rolling rumble of thunder reached his ears. From his position atop the palisade, he could see through and beyond the crowd before him—the Sea of Prosper dominated the scene; stretching outward until it met with the horizon. Along the main road coming from the west, a steady stream of guards darkened the surface like a shadow.
Ryl pushed the lord forward; his sobbing body collided with his personal guards. The group slid across the narrow, stone walkway of the Palisades into a writhing heap of arms and legs. Without another thought, he tossed the burning blade to his opposite hand, wheeling around toward the interior of The Stocks. With a single step he mounted the low stone railing before launching himself outward.
The air whistled in his ears as the ground below approached at a terrifying speed. He quickly hardened the woodskin over the entirety of his body in preparation for the impact that was shortly to follow. A torrent of wind swelled rapidly around his right arm. At the last moment, Ryl thrust his tattooed right appendage downward, using the force of the wind to counteract the rate of his descent.
He struck the ground with bone-jarring force, rolling forward as the motion carried him onward. Ryl felt his left shoulder pop from its joint, and the glowing green blade of the Leaves flickered out as it slipped from his fingers.
He regained his footing immediately, turning to reclaim his weapon. He grinned as the flowing grey robes of Kaep flashed before him. Her bow was drawn, an arrow nocked waiting to fire. Ryl felt the sensation of relief wash over him as she released the tension on the bow string before kneeling to retrieve his dormant blade.
Without moving her eyes from the palisade she tossed it casually back in his direction. The blade flared back to life as he snatched it from the air with a fluid grace.
“Clear the square. Move the wagon,” Ryl called out the orders to his companions. He grimaced as he worked to hide the pain that lanced through his left shoulder.
“It seems we’ve stirred the ant’s nest,” Ryl added. “They come in numbers.”
Ryl stalked back to the captain, who’d remained motionless, seemingly rooted to the ground throughout the entire rapid exchange.
“Le’Dral. Get your guards out of here,” Ryl commanded. “Ramm, take Nielix with you. Tear down the gate if they don’t open it. Seal the inner doors once the guards are out.”
The captain acquiesced with a surprising lack of argument. With a brief, yet curt order, the guards whose duty it was to escort the departing tributes hastened from the square. Most cast terrified, side-eyed glances at Ryl and the other cloaked phrenics as they scurried past. Massive warhammer in hand, he lumbered behind their retreat.
Still the line of guards forming the outer ring, blocking the northern exit to Cadsae, remained motionless. Ryl squinted his eyes, tilting his head slightly as he looked questioningly at the captain.
“Understand that there will be no mercy for those who stand in our way, Le’Dral,” he cautioned.
“Those men are loyal to me and me alone,” Le’Dral sighed as he announced. “My decision has been made. Long have I disagreed with the policies that I’ve been duty bound to uphold. I will stay; so will my men.”
“Know that there is no coming back from this choice,” Ryl said knowingly.
The captain looked Ryl in the eyes. They glistened with a hardened determination and an unmasked sense of relief. He showed no sign of backing down.
Le’Dral
