His full attention was focused on watching the scene unfold before him. He was oblivious to the phrenics who’d stopped by his side. It was Vox who broke the silence.
“If I’m not mistaken, those are signs of cooperation I see,” the elementalist said quietly.
“Aye, that they are,” Ryl agreed. “The day has been an eye opener for them all. There is still more to come. I’ll go fetch the mender. Help the Vigil move the tributes. They’ve been cooped up for far too long.”
The phrenics complied without a word. Ryl followed them for a few meters before splitting off, heading toward the tributes who now swarmed around the small work camp.
The wagons had come to a final halt just off the side of the earthen road. The cloud of dust continued following their motion, slowly sweeping over them as it dissipated to the north. The Vigil remained guard around the black wagon, and Rolan climbed down from the driver’s seat, assisting young Faya. She yawned carefree as she rested her head on her father’s shoulder. Her eyes grew wide as she noted Ryl’s approach. Their brilliant blue seemed to shine in the late afternoon sun.
Ryl stopped alongside the pair, placing his hand on Rolan’s shoulder as he spoke.
“You were very brave, young Faya. I’m proud of you,” he admitted, though his eyes locked with Rolan’s. He’d witnessed the relief that flooded the man’s eyes as soon as his daughter was reunited with him in the square. The smile on Faya’s face grew with the compliment.
Ryl gently jostled her hair as he eagerly moved on to catch the mender. As he passed the wagon, it was Andr who fell in line, matching him step for step.
“Have you seen Cray?” Ryl asked softly.
“Just in passing. Nothing more,” Andr answered. His voice was laced with a touch of sadness. “The time hasn’t been right. That he is alive and in the reach of my protection is enough for the moment.”
Ryl felt for the mercenary. Cray was all that the man had left from the life that was stolen from him. While he couldn’t fathom the depths of emotion—the overwhelming joy that he must have felt in seeing his boy—Ryl knew that the encounter would have triggered other less jovial feelings as well. The stinging wound from his wife’s betrayal, still fresh though it had been cycles.
“You’ve languished long enough, my friend,” Ryl said. “I’ll have Sarial fetch him shortly.”
The mercenary stopped abruptly, opening his mouth as if he was going to speak. He closed his eyes and mouth as he inhaled a deep breath through his nose.
“No, Ryl. Let us see to the wounded first, then rest,” was his response. “The news, regardless of how he takes it, will be a shock. They will need all the rest they can get. There will be time once we make Tabenville. I’ll make room in the closest supply wagon. We can move some there; give them room to spread out a bit.”
Andr clapped him on the shoulder, offering him a genuine, yet forced, smile. Ryl knew the mercenary well enough to understand when the conversation was at a close. This was Andr's decision. Ryl would respect his friend’s opinion no matter what he decided.
“I’ll bring Jeffers,” Ryl replied. Andr nodded his head affirmatively before moving back
toward the black wagon.
By the time he reached the mender’s wagon, Jeffers was in the middle of rearranging his supplies that had been dislocated during the trip. Ryl peered into the wagon at the battered body of Cavlin. The man looked pale, making the discoloration of his bruises all the more striking.
“How is he, Jeffers?” Ryl asked, announcing his presence to the clearly agitated mender.
Jeffers looked up, his eyes softening as he noted Ryl.
“He lost a lot of blood, but he’ll live,” Jeffers sighed. “From the rumor, I hear he has you to thank for that. He’ll bear quite the scar as a reminder.”
Ryl was beyond relieved to hear the optimistic report from the mender.
“I was merely in the right place at an opportune time,” he admitted. Fate had truly been kind in allowing him to save the guard. “I had few tools to work with at the time; it was the best I could do.”
Jeffers straightened himself up from where he leaned over the edge of the wagon, rounding to Ryl’s side. He placed his hands on Ryl’s shoulders, twisting his body to face him. Jeffers’ eyes were serious as they met.
“He’d be dead if it weren’t for you,” Jeffers whispered.
Ryl nodded his head subtly in response.
“I need your skills to help with those we brought with us,” Ryl said. “They’ve shown marked improvement, though their conditions are still ... rough. We know not the full story of the horrors they were subjected to.”
Jeffers followed Ryl as they walked back toward the black wagon. Sarial and the twins approached from amongst the tributes milling around by the common house.
“Ryl, the tributes are getting restless, they’re worried,” she spoke softly. He saw her eyes jump quickly to the mender who stood at his side. The hint of joy brightened her face for an instant before it was masked by her self-restraint. “They need to know what lies ahead.”
Ryl knew she spoke the truth. He sighed as he acknowledged the task that was before him.
“Aye. Tash, Palon. Spread the word. Gather the tributes. I’ll speak to them after we see to our wounded companions,” Ryl ordered. “Sarial, please come with us. There’s something you need to see.”
Sarial fell in line with the mender, walking a few steps in front of Ryl. Her arm brushed Jeffers’ ever so slightly as she walked along at his side. The contact was subtle; Ryl only noted it as he
