Ryl let go of the speed as he retreated up the avenue. He’d bought precious moments for the last remaining survivors. Soldiers from House Eligar rushed to meet them, lifting each one up while others daringly covered their retreat. He reached the edge of the square as Fay’s soldiers assisted the elderly couple, disappearing into the gate.
Fear covered the faces of the brave troops who’d rushed out in assistance. None had likely battled anything in the entirety of their lives. Few were likely mercenaries, yet he doubted that there were more than a handful who’d experienced any sort of skirmish where blades met with other blades.
The sight of the Horde and the ferocity of their attack had to be terrifying. Disheartening to even the heartiest soldier. They eagerly backpedaled, retreating toward the calls of their companions.
The cracking of wood preceded the shower of debris that spewed from the final alleyway behind. A group of six harriers rushed into the avenue, their clawed feet casting a spray of sparks as they slid on the stone. Ryl continued backing slowly toward the gate as they scrambled to correct the direction of their charge. Behind him he heard the cries of relief as the last of the soldiers slipped through the crack in the closing gate.
Blind with rage, the Horde charged him. There were none in his vision save the three that he’d spared in the intersection. His stomach churned as he noted the focus of their intentions. The screams that rose from the south were as nauseating as they were heart-wrenching. The beasts descended upon the backs of those fleeing for the port. The sharp crack of cannons echoed from the harbor as the few armed vessels fired on the demons that swarmed the city.
Ryl screamed with anger as he called forth the speed once again. He charged the sluggishly moving demons with vicious intent. His burning blades were in constant motion as he danced between their slender, yet lethal bodies. Wherever he passed, blood flowed freely. Limbs were separated from their bodies. The battle was over in an instant.
He surveyed his work with disgust.
The blood. The death. The stench was sickening.
A single harrier twitched, leveraging its torso up using the bloody stump of an arm. It glared at him with eyes that glistened with hatred. Its mouth opened; a gurgle, the preliminary sounds of a cry, bubbled up from its lungs.
There was a twang, the snapping sound of a bowstring releasing.
A single arrow smashed through the chest of the Horde. The momentum rolled the demon onto its back. A final, wet gurgle escaped its lips.
Ryl looked up at the palisade. The archers along the line stood firm with arrows at the ready. A single bowman, hands shaking with nervousness, looked down upon his kill.
Wails and shrieks of the mass of demons rose from the west.
With a last glance over the city, Ryl darted through the narrow opening in the gate.
The interior shook as the door slammed shut.
Yet again, he found himself a captive inside The Stocks.
Chapter 43
Andr shifted, repositioning his weight to alleviate the cramping that had risen in his lower legs. His perch on the tree overlooking the palisade had been comfortable at the start; however, the rough bark did nothing to foster the appeal. His back rested against the sprawling trunk of the tree.
He pondered the blast that had lit the sky to the south. What had caused it? He grinned, shaking his head at the thought. Ryl had followed Kaep toward Cadsae Proper. Smoke was reportedly rising from one side of the city. A massive explosion seemingly rocked the other.
He feared for the rest of the city. For the rest of Damaris if Kaep were harmed. Flashes of lightning streaked across the sky far to the southwest, though the winds that had preceded the storm had stilled, eerily similar to the atmosphere under the trees.
After the blast, the troops manning the guardhouse had come alive. Likely many were roused from sleep by the blast. Andr counted the silhouettes of seven as they exited the stone structure, though he was unsure if more remained inside.
The guardhouses extended two stories above the top of the palisade. A pair of tall, narrow slits opened on each side, allowing arrows to be fired from within. From his angle in the trees, he could see nothing more than the flicker of the light escaping from the interior. Darkened shadows blotted out the glow, hinting at the occasional patrols of those within.
The investigation of the blast had been short-lived. Within moments, the guards had returned to the comforts of their tower. The solitary heavy wooden door closed with a muted thud.
Andr had watched and listened, yet the only motion of the night was the sluggish procession of the moon and stars. He had time to ponder their predicament. Vox had returned with Le’Dral to their arboreal home. Andr desired to stay behind.
In truth, there was a concrete sensation that beckoned him to stay. He attributed the feeling to the woods around him. His presence would not be missed for a few moments. Ladders would be needed to scale the wall, though at the moment, collecting food took precedence. Le’Dral and his officers could handle the logistics in the meantime.
His focus was broken, distracted by an overwhelming feeling that pulsed from the tree itself. It was as if the bark tingled with energy, a force that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand tall. Andr rubbed a hand gingerly over the back of his neck as he turned to look over his right shoulder.
He gasped as a figure appeared behind him. Instinctively, he reached for his sword. His muscles seized, locking themselves in place before more than
