The wave moved to the east. Even in the darkness, he knew their destination.
“Ryl,” he gasped.
Chapter 44
Ryl’s eyes took a few moments to adjust to the darkness inside the gate. A blast of air pushed past as the mighty panel of the door slammed shut. The interior of the space was almost unrecognizable from when they’d last seen it. Though it had been less than half a day, it seemed like a lifetime ago.
Work proceeded, unabated by his presence. Soldiers from House Eligar worked side by side with the newly displaced citizens of Cadsae Proper, securing the interior gate. Work was well underway on the section that had remained closed. Teams now hastened to secure the opposite side of the door. The thick wooden drawbar slammed back into place
Large sections of timber, carted in from the deconstructed mess hall and stables, braced the door. Chunks of stone, charred from the blast that tore them from the stairs, supported the beams dug into the hard earth. The heavy chains that had once worked to maneuver the drawbar for the opposite doors had been repurposed. They were now strapped to stakes driven into the ground, preventing easy access for the doors to be pulled or forced open. The solitary door, once leading to the barracks, had been sealed shut by stone and debris.
Ryl hastened from the interior chamber. The scent of ash still hung heavy in the air. The regularly sleepy village of Cadsae was abuzz with activity the likes of which the settlement had never before witnessed. Small groups of Fay’s soldiers helped corral the frightened citizens, directing them to the common houses and buildings that made up the ring of the village. Already the central square was packed to overflowing with bodies. The din of thousands of conversations, arguments, tears and orders intensified to a roar as he paused to take in the scene.
At the moment, he was thankful for the commotion. The muted wails of death that pierced the night beyond the palisade would have driven most to madness.
As work continued under the wall behind him, a contingent of troops hastily unloaded provisions from the city into the storehouse constructed along the palisade’s edge. Several wagonloads, likely the carefully rationed supplies brought from House Eligar, remained in their wagons, under strict guard.
Along the side of the storeroom, a crude ladder had been constructed with understandable haste from the supplies they had at hand. The section reached to the gently sloped roof several meters above. The second, longer length gave access to the palisade beyond that. With the destruction of the stairs on the exterior of the wall, no convenient means of access existed.
Aelin bounded up to him, breaking free from the confusion of the crowded square. Ryl was prepared for his embrace, though the youngster nearly barreled him over with the force of his approach. Breila followed several meters behind, though she walked with a visible limp. Someone had fashioned a makeshift sling for her right arm, which she held close to her breast.
“You’re lucky to have made it out alive,” Ryl said as the madam reached his side.
She smiled, looking at Aelin with wonder in her eyes.
“If it weren’t for young Aelin, I’d have stood no chance,” she admitted, gently running her left hand down the boy’s cheek, resting it tenderly on his shoulder. “Though I have many friends and acquaintances that owe or are owed a favor, there is a small brotherhood to whom I owe my life. Of the three, only Andr is not present. Anything within my power to give is yours. All you have to do is ask.”
Breila’s words were heartfelt. The sincerity was undeniable. He nodded subtly with a small smile.
“Thank you, Breila. That I can consider you a trusted friend is payment enough for me,” Ryl argued. He saw the flash of annoyance cross her face; her lips puckered into a displeased pout. He continued before the words could escape her lips.
“Though we are safe for the moment, stone and wood may not protect us forever,” Ryl admitted. “Our numbers here have increased substantially with those displaced this night. They’ll need a voice to guide them. I’m not one of them. Neither are Lord Eligar’s soldiers. Please be the words of guidance they will need.”
Breila rolled her shoulders back. Her posture straightened as she perked up with the new sense of purpose and duty.
“But first, I need to know about Fay,” Ryl urged. “Does he still live?”
Breila placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Aye, he too owes his life to you, as do all those inside The Stocks this night,” she added. “He’s in the clinic with his menders. Go. See him. I’ll await your command.”
Ryl nodded as he started toward the clinic. He stopped himself abruptly, turning around and walking back to Breila’s side. He leaned in close, speaking quietly so that none around might overhear.
“I want you to have a horse nearby at all times,” he whispered. “All that stands between us and the numberless armies of the Horde are walls of stone and doors of wood. If they should breach either, I want you to take Aelin and flee. Flee north. Follow the path until you reach the woods. Though you will see no one there, they will see you. You’ll find Andr there.”
Ryl felt her body quiver at the cold candor of his voice. Her eyes darted to Aelin for a moment before meeting Ryl’s once again.
“And what of you?” she whispered.
“Don’t worry about me,” Ryl snapped. “I will not die easily.”
Without another word, Ryl turned, rushing to the clinic with Aelin in tow.
Fay’s troops had commandeered the use of the Master’s House and clinic for their own. A group of guards stood statuesque along the front steps, preventing access. Ryl made no attempt to slow. The soldiers parted before him without a word.
He reached the low balcony in a single bound. As he crossed the threshold,
