He reached for Ryl’s glass of wine, which rested untouched on the table. Averine brought it to his lips, taking a healthy sip before resuming his tale.
“We have monitored the test results of tributes for ages,” he continued. “The test results, stripped of human details, have kept us from losing our grip on sanity as countless were sentenced to a life worse than death at the complacency of our hands. We have watched the children torn from their families. We’ve kept a discreet eye on them from the mighty palisades. We know of their final destinations at one of the three devious processing facilities.”
Averine cackled. It was a shrill note that was as unexpected as it was startling.
“Rumor has reached my ears that the processing facility at Martrion has burned. That the tributes have been moved. Only two remain now.” The old man let his eyes settled on Ryl, fixing him with a pointed stare. “We have waited, watching for the signs of active alexen. We have been waiting. Waiting for so long. Waiting for you, Ryl.”
Ryl couldn’t help the agonizing anger that threatened to bubble up inside. The sheer indifference had destroyed the lives of thousands of children. Ripped countless families apart, divulging the true abhorrent greed of some, expounding on the utter grief and misery of others. He felt the alexen in his blood race through his veins, though the fire of anger was markedly absent.
The sensation that coursed through him was as confusing as it was overwhelming. It was grief. It was agony. It was understanding.
Lives had been lost. Lives had been sacrificed.
All for a time when the one with active alexen would be discovered.
The weight of the decision crushed down on him. It smothered him under the misery of thousands. The suffering, the pain and deaths of every one were his to bear.
His shoulders slumped as his head drooped forward.
The blood in his veins churned with agitation. This time a single emotion was forced to the forefront.
It was acceptance.
The alexen understood the sacrifices that were made to prevent the complete annihilation of their brethren. The agonizing weight of the decision had been theirs. They worked to remove the guilt. To absolve the blame from Ryl.
His eyes lit with a determined fire.
He stood abruptly. His chair skidded backward before toppling.
The blood in his veins rushed with the fire and heat that permeated every fiber of his body.
He met the eyes of Averine still seated at the table. The old man’s body shook with excitement pent up for ages.
“The decisions they made were unenviable. They placed the life of one above all others,” Ryl groaned. “I refuse to willingly sacrifice another. Kaep is still out there.”
The fire cooled as his eyes met with the remainder of his companions seated around the table.
“Fay, Breila, Averine,” he whispered, “I thank each of you for the sacrifices you’ve made on my behalf. If it weren’t for you, I’d likely be dead or still enslaved.”
Fay rose to his feet, placing an arm on Ryl’s shoulder.
“Our assistance is far from over, my friend,” Lord Eligar professed. “My army is here at your disposal. What will you have us do?”
Ryl thought momentarily before responding.
“The East Ward still burns,” he growled. “I fear the entire district will be consumed by the fires of their hatred. Pockets of Maklan’s guards remain unrestrained. They are small yet murder with impunity. Put an end to them.”
“We’ve run down several patrols to this point,” Fay acknowledged. “Though others have likely holed up. Ready to strike from the shadows.”
“Your men will need to use caution,” Ryl explained. “The city will be lost. It’s only a matter of time before the king’s army and the army of the houses arrive. We must hold the Pining Gates and the palisade when they arrive. Their numbers will amount for little. It will take but a few to hold the gate against the larger force.”
A nagging worry crept into Ryl’s mind as his thoughts turned to the logistics of housing an army of that size.
“How long will your provisions last?” Ryl quizzed.
Fay smiled at the comment. “We have less than two moons’ rations aboard the ships, much of which has been off-loaded already,” Fay answered, though his grin illustrated more was yet to come. “Conveniently enough, the bulk of the crops hauled from The Stocks over the last moon still lie in storage at the port. We’ve already begun transferring it back into wagons. It’ll give us a few more moons, though it won’t last indefinitely.”
Ryl couldn’t help but mirror Lord Eligar’s smile.
“That will be more than enough, Fay,” Ryl admitted. “We don’t aim to remain forever. Once the tributes have recovered, we aim to abandon The Stocks. If we need to remain longer, never forget whose hands it has been who’ve tilled the soil inside those walls for ages. We know the land better than any. We aim to leave Damaris. There is a home for the phrenics away from the perpetual servitude that has plagued them here. Once you step foot inside those walls, there may be no returning home for you or your men.”
Fay nodded his head in agreement. His smile was pained, yet his face resolute.
“It is a risk I understand, that my men understand,” Fay acknowledged. “They believe in the hope that you’ve instilled. They’ve seen return possible.”
“It’s a nagging feeling, yet I believe the situation will come to a head sooner rather than later,” Ryl said. “The
