He scanned the area. There were no signs of the Horde, though he knew more were likely close behind.
The door cracked open tentatively for a moment before swinging inward in a flash. Aelin charged out of the room, barreling into Ryl, wrapping his arms around his waist. Ryl winced as the embrace threatened to knock him off his feet. The squeeze nearly crushed him.
“Please, Aelin, let go,” Ryl groaned. The tribute released, stepping back. Though the look of relief spread across his face, the fear was still potent in his eyes.
“I felt you find your true powers,” Ryl acknowledged as he jostled the young tribute’s shaggy hair. “That release you felt. I can see it in you. You must be careful. Your emotions can be a powerful ally or a vicious fiend. Your strength may be difficult to control. Go easy on the embraces, for your strength can hurt.”
Aelin nodded as Ryl peered into the dark room.
“Where is Breila?” he asked, taking the boy by the hand. “What of Fay?”
“I’m here, Ryl.” Breila’s voice sounded from the darkened room. She walked with a slight limp, cradling her left arm across her abdomen. A trickle of blood ran down the right side of her face, matting a clump of silver hair to her head. “We’ve neither seen nor heard from Fay.”
Ryl felt his stomach lurch with the admission.
Though he hadn’t stopped to inspect the remains in the courtyard or the house, he didn’t believe the young lord was among the devastation. With a scowl he pulled Aelin, ushering the boy hurriedly toward the exit.
He’d be leaving behind another friend. First Kaep, now Fay.
“We need to flee and fast. There are horses in the courtyard. The way is safe. The Horde are gone for the moment.” He pointed Aelin toward the exit before turning to Breila. “Can you walk?”
The aged madam took a shuffled step, wincing in pain as the weight came down on her foot.
“Forgive me,” Ryl muttered as he scooped Breila up, hastening after the youngster. She complained not as they sped from the house.
The night air was refreshing, though the stench of the Horde still lingered. The cool sea breeze replaced the scent of death with the tang of brine, though a potent undertone remained. Breila buried her head into Ryl’s neck as the devastation in the courtyard resolved before her.
To his surprise, Aelin charged ahead, undaunted by the death that surrounded him. The boy rounded the spooked horses, reaching carefully for their leads. Ryl sent a focused wash of calm over the animals. Their agitated stomping and nickering ceased.
He rubbed his hand against the muzzles of the spooked mounts in turn, whispering quietly to the animals. Breila wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck, swinging gingerly onto its back, assisted by his added, gentle push.
Ryl worked quickly, removing the breast collar and harness from the horse before moving to assist Aelin. The mount spooked at the young tribute’s hesitant actions and backed up a step, kicking a back leg into the carriage behind it.
A muffled groan sounded from inside, followed by a thump of something heavy toppling over. Ryl sighed, relieved as he recognized the voice behind the muted curses.
“Fay, it’s Ryl. Can you get out?” Ryl called.
A bloodcurdling howl from the west broke the momentary still of the night.
“We don’t have time. Back away from the ceiling of the wagon.” Ryl barked out the order.
At the sound of shuffling from within, Ryl pulled the Leaves out of their holsters, their burning blades lit square with a wash of green light. He made two slashes, carving a charred X shape into the wood. The edges of the cuts smoldered as the embers eagerly sought to become flames. He let the blades die out while hardening the woodskin on his right fist.
A single swift punch to the center of his marking fractured the wooden panel of the carriage, though it showered the occupant with sparks and debris.
Fay stumbled out from the overturned carriage. He would have toppled forward into the courtyard had Ryl not arrested his fall. He groaned as he rose. His face was pale and withdrawn. The sleeve of his left arm was torn. The tatters and the side of his clothes were drenched in blood. He’d tied a crude bandage around the wound, at least partially staunching the flow. A similar gash across his stomach leaked blood, yet for the moment it would have to wait.
The shrieks in the distance grew excited.
Grew closer.
“I’m glad to see you alive, my friend,” Ryl admitted, helping the young lord onto the horse behind Breila.
“We need to ride. Now.”
Chapter 40
The forest was tense, much like a bowstring wound too tight. It felt ready to snap at any moment. Andr viewed the trees through the gloom and faint glowing blue of the mosses that lit the narrow path they now walked.
Vox and Le’Dral followed in line behind, matching his steady steps.
Andr had reached out to the forest. He’d pleaded with the woods to open a path to the palisade that severed its western border. Though he knew not where the route would lead, he followed willingly.
The air inside the forest was thick, heavy with the stale scent of must. The path that stretched out before them was rough and unmaintained. Unlike the generally spacious, cleanly swept look of the avenues leading to their stronghold, this had the appearance of neglect. How long had it been since any had set foot upon this path?
He winced at the sting as a narrow branch disguised by the dark slapped across his face. They had been travelling a good distance, yet still the pathway lingered onward.
He stormed forward, struggling to maintain his focus as he attempted to force the rampaging thoughts from his head. It
