He moved a pace forward, raising his arms, palms out toward Ryl in a placating manner.
Ryl let the intensity of the wind fade, releasing it in a diminished arc over the assembled soldiers. At full power, the blast would have scattered their bodies, sending them tumbling across the stone courtyard. Aside from a necessary release, the force served another purpose.
The wind ruffled the clothes of the line of soldiers. The final gust focused on the solitary figure standing before the center of the line.
The hood blew back, revealing his face.
Chapter 32
For a moment, Andr choked on the words that fought to escape his throat. His eyes were locked on to Cray’s. He struggled to hold back his own emotion as the tears flowed freely from his son’s eyes.
“My son,” he whispered. His voice was feeble. The confidence that resulted from a lifetime of training and experience with a blade, that had carried him through countless battles, crumbled in the face of a single pleading glance from his boy.
“Is it true?” Cray stammered, his words rich with emotions, choked out between growing sobs.
“Yes, Cray,” Andr replied. “I’m sorry for more than I can ever hope to atone for. I know not what you’ve suffered through all these cycles. I swear to you, had I known what she would have done, I’d have taken you and fled. I’d have died protecting you from the monster that she became. That she fed you to.”
Cray broke eye contact as his lucid gaze reverted to fevered delirium. His pupils dilated and contracted in rapid succession as he fought desperately to make sense of the situation.
Andr placed his hand on Cray’s head. His brow radiated heat once more. He dabbed at it with the damp cloth, though it too was warm with sweat.
“I promise there is no force that will keep me from protecting you,” Andr vowed.
Cray’s vision ran the course of the room again before locking on to Andr’s. There was a depth of emotion swelling inside that he could never hope to understand. If it took him a lifetime, if he had to walk to the ends of the earth again, he would.
“I’ve hated you for so long.” Cray stumbled through the words. His eyes glazed over as the last sliver of clarity faded under the weight of the fever. His body quaked with chills. Andr had lived through this stage of the sickness before. In the darkness of the Outlands, he’d kept Ryl close to monitor his temperature. He’d fretted over his shallow breathing in the still of the nights when the beasts that stalked them gave momentary pause.
How long it was that he remained at Cray’s side was anyone’s guess. He’d watched his boy until his fever had broken again and slumber came with peace. At some point he’d fallen asleep, his arms wrapped around his knees.
His mind had run rampant with questions prior to nodding off. Cray’s last words haunted him.
Would his son ever forgive him? Would the hatred of him remain a permanent scar?
His mind had eventually put an end to the speculation. What was to happen would happen. Nothing he could do now could affect the decisions Cray would make.
Exhausted, both mentally and physically, for once, his sleep was deep. Neither dreams nor thoughts disturbed him. The peaceful silence was a balm. For the first time in cycles, the truth had been revealed. The weight that had smothered him had vanished.
A gentle tap on his shoulder roused him from sleep. His eyes snapped open; his hand instinctively fell for the sword resting across his lap. Thankfully, his messenger was well prepared for that eventuality.
Cavlin grinned at him from a meter away. He shrugged his shoulders as he tossed the thin stick in his hand absently to the side.
“The scouts have returned,” the guard stated matter-of-factly. “Come, the captain awaits.”
Andr was on his feet in an instant. Though his legs were cramped from being locked in position while he slept, he powered through the soreness and the pins and needles, strapping his sword to his belt as he followed.
The interior of the chamber for the time being was quiet. A solitary conscripted guard moved stealthily among the recovering bodies, paying close attention to those in the direst of need. Mender Jeffers was at his makeshift desk along the far wall. His arms were crossed over the tome that lay on the table before him. His head rested on the pages as the need for sleep finally took its toll. Sarial slept quietly on a cot only a few meters to his side.
A few steps ahead, Cavlin strode with slow paces yet showed little sign of hesitance in his steps. Andr marveled at the apparent speed of his recovery since he’d regain control over his faculties. At the moment, the soldier showed no outward signs of injury, though Andr knew he suffered still.
Andr reached his escort’s side as they stepped out from the interior of the tree. Cavlin paused, inhaling an audible breath. His face scrunched in a wince of pain as the volume of air pushed against the fresh wound across his torso.
He sighed as he exhaled.
“I truly think that infernal stench aided my recovery,” he said in seeming jest though his face remained passive. “Though the sentiment will be of little consolation to those who’ve been forced to take the treatments for cycles.”
Without another word, the guard strode forward. His steps increased in length and speed as they led onward. Andr walked alongside as he approached the firepit in the center of the clearing. Several had already congregated around the small blaze.
Andr’s glance tracked around the clearing. Darkness had fallen, though the fire’s light illuminated a vast swath of the interior of the ring of trees. Torches illuminated the entrance to each arboreal shelter. Set against the darkened backdrop of the forest, shadows continued to move in a calculated procession as the
