How long would they remain outside? With what force would they make their first assault? Everyone knew it was coming. How soon and with what numbers was the question?
“Why Tabenville, Ryl?” Tash inquired as they moved ahead at a clip bordering a slow jog. “We pin ourselves between a rock and whatever pursues us through the gate.”
Ryl smiled at his friend.
“Tabenville is the most defensible plot of land in the entirety of The Stocks,” Ryl responded. “The woods will grant us the time we need.”
“Time we need for what?” Sarial interrupted.
“There are many things that you are yet to understand about your current station and the power that flows through your veins,” Ryl answered cryptically. “For now, save your energy for speed. Let hope power your legs. It will be a long march before we can breathe with any measurable degree of safety.”
For the beleaguered tributes, the pace Le’Dral had set bordered on frantic. It was still some time before they managed to catch the group ahead. Spurred by the fear of retribution from the world outside their domain coupled with their newfound freedom, they quickly ate the miles up the dusty, hard-packed earthen path.
The party now totaled nearly four hundred. Le’Dral and a score of his loyal guards led the rapid procession northward. The remainder were stretched out along the flanks of the caravan. Their eyes diligently scrutinized the surroundings for any signs of a threat.
The party now consisted of four wagons. Along with the black wagon that housed the tributes and Elias, two held a mix of food stocks, clothing and supplies, the other brimmed with the contents of the clinic along with the single litter that carried Cavlin. For the sake of speed, Ryl had woefully chosen to leave the ailing tributes from the razed facility in the black wagon even though their confines were cramped. He’d ordered the door opened so that the fresh air and light could free the inside from the gloom and flickering light of the lantern. They would unfortunately remain contained until the party made their tenuous camp for the night. He’d hoped their progress would carry them to the waypoint, yet accepted that they would likely fall short of that goal. He would be content if they could reach the work camp at Thayers Rest before exhaustion took its toll. Whether they remained there for the night, or simply paused for a spell before pushing further, they would work to reorganize one of the supply wagons to allow the tributes more room to recover as well as granting access to the mender.
Several miles after their march had begun, the mixed procession crossed over the first of the three bridges that spanned the gap of the river that ran the length of The Stocks. Captain Le’Dral waited on the far side, his hands on his hips, his eyes studying the terrain behind them.
Ryl had remained with his friends throughout the first leg of the trip. The overwhelming feeling of comfort he experienced in their presence was exhilarating. He’d dreamed of this moment every day for the last cycle. He paused as they crossed the sturdy wooden bridge that spanned the slow-moving waters of the river.
“They’re holding up well so far,” Le’Dral stated as Ryl stopped along his side. “I admit, I’m impressed by the speed they’ve been able to maintain.”
“They’ve carried on without a sliver of hope for cycles. Even a limited taste of freedom can be a powerful motivator,” Ryl acknowledged. His eyes traveled to the south, to where Cadsae met the Pining Gate. “So too can fear.”
The phrenics serving as the rear guard slowed to a stop, falling in behind Ryl as they crossed the bridge. Le’Dral’s eyes followed them as they passed, squinting for a view beneath the hoods that remained drawn over their heads. Though Ryl had grown accustomed to it, he acknowledged the unnatural blackness that hid their faces under the cloth was unnerving.
“Introductions will have to wait for the time being, captain,” Ryl announced. “How soon can we expect a challenge from the guard outside the gate?”
It took a moment for Le’Dral’s eyes to separate from the phrenics before returning to Ryl. He shook his head slowly as he thought.
“After the display you and your friends gave them, they’ll likely wait until the entirety of the garrison has arrived before giving chase,” the captain admitted. “It’ll take time to clear the gates, though not long I’m afraid. As you know, they’ll easily track our movements.”
Le’Dral’s eyes roved the landscape from the east to the west with the comment, pausing for a moment as they reached the wall that penned in The Stocks. Ryl saw a sliver of the oppressive weight of the situation register across the captain’s face. For the first time, the man viewed the interior of the area from the perspective of its inhabitants.
“Perspective has a way of coloring things a bit differently, doesn’t it?” Ryl remarked.
Le’Dral thought for a moment before responding. His brows furrowed and his eyes squinted as he observed the land that surrounded him.
“That it does,” he whispered.
He blew out an audible, heavy exhale as he shook himself from the moment of introspection.
“I’d guess at nothing more than an expeditionary force tonight,” the regimented tone again crept into his orderly voice. “Tomorrow they’ll come with full force, with cavalry in the lead. Though I expect they’ll be sluggish to mobilize at this point.”
Ryl needed not question the comment as the captain continued.
“With Maklan’s appointment as Councilor to The Stocks, the dynamic of the guard changed rapidly,” Captain Le’Dral explained. “I found my officers, my senior advisors, my appointments, replaced within a moon. The disappearances of those who shared a passive approach to the tributes began thereafter.”
“What of Millis and Moyan?” Ryl quizzed. He saw a flash of emotion cross the captain’s face though it was too rapid to read its nature.
“Moyan and Millis were stripped of their commands. Moyan rides with the cavalry
