It was several moments before the wave of sound reached their ears. From the edge of the forest, roughly a half mile to the south, the leaves of the trees shook wildly as the ripples of energy passed. Andr felt the sound as clearly as he heard it. The pressure thumped against his chest. His heart beat faster in response.
Andr muttered a soft curse as he turned his gaze to Le’Dral and Vox standing beside him.
“Ryl,” Vox whispered.
Chapter 41
Ryl rode in the rear as their horses stormed eastward down the Kingsway. The haunting cries from the Horde that stalked them diminished, though only slightly, as they raced onward. Breila, though nursing her own wounds, held tight to Fay, balancing the wobbling lord as they moved with speed. Aelin’s arms were wrapped around Ryl’s body.
On more than one occasion, he yelped in surprise as the youngster unintentionally squeezed too hard. Sharp pains shot through his body as his ribs resisted the pressure of the unintentional crushing assault. Ryl found that leaving a hardened layer of woodskin across his midsection did much to mitigate the risk of inadvertent damage.
They were greeted by few onlookers as they moved hastily toward the questionable safety of The Stocks. Most were guards of the private estates set along the manicured road of the Estates. Breila shouted warnings to most as they thundered by. In rapid verse she begged them to flee to The Stocks.
Her warnings were met with jest by the armed guards, who stood at attention before their prescribed gates.
They laughed at her.
Ryl pitied them. The first few they passed, he’d forced a feeling of fear and urgency to accompany Breila’s words. His projected emotions were no help. With swords drawn, they retreated behind their flimsy iron walls.
He feared that none would survive the coming wave of darkness that followed in their wake. His only hope for consolation was that the Horde, having sighted his signature, would leave them unmolested.
A frightened cry echoed through the night, ending with an agonized wail.
He abandoned his optimistic thoughts of their survival.
Ryl shook his head as he spurred his mount on.
The gate that constricted the solitary crossing between the Estates and the Center City beyond was still open wide. They slowed as they neared the walled border, the thunder of hooves echoing as they hammered on the stone of the courtyard. Lord Eligar’s troops were nowhere to be seen.
“Did you warn them, Fay?” Ryl called.
Fay turned his head. His face was alarmingly pale. Though he whispered the words, Ryl could make out nothing over the sound of the horses.
“Yes,” Breila shouted over her shoulder.
Ryl turned his upper body, scanning the area behind them with his mindsight. For the moment it was clear. He knew the moment would be fleeting. The fast-moving harriers would not be far behind. The speed of the horses and the allure of the easy slaughter amongst the mansions surrounding the roadside had likely bought them a tenuous measure of freedom.
He whipped his head around as noise from the east demanded his attention. A thunder of hooves signaled the coming of rapidly approaching riders. The silhouettes stormed into view though the darkness disguised their identity and intent.
Ryl called Breila to a stop before marching his mount in front of his companions. He held his right hand out to the side, letting the wind swirl around his arm. The incoming riders slowed. The flash of light off metal indicated that swords were drawn as they entered the opposite side of the square.
“Wait.” Fay’s weak voice must have taken nearly every ounce of his strength as he lurched forward after uttering but a word.
Ryl noted the drab uniforms as they entered the well-lit section of the square. They were not that of the Cadsae Proper guards, nor that of the king. They had accompanied Fay earlier in the afternoon.
“Your lord is injured,” Ryl shouted to the approaching guards as he pointed to Fay slumped over on the horse, still wrapped in the embrace of Breila.
“He needs a mender. Now,” Ryl barked, hammering the soldiers with a sense of urgency.
The hostility of the newcomers was replaced by a pressing need as they settled their weapons, quickly surrounding the group. Muscular hands pulled Fay from where he slumped on his horse, quickly wheeling toward the east.
“Take him to The Stocks. There is a clinic there,” Ryl ordered.
“Aye. We came as quickly as his message was received.” The speaker looked beyond Ryl into the darkness of the Estates with a hint of fear in his eyes.
“See that Ekard comes with you,” Ryl barked, pointing to the door of the tavern they’d dined in hours earlier. The door was cracked open. He could see only a sliver of a face of the inhabitant peering cautiously out from within.
“Warn any you see,” Ryl said. “The Stocks will be their only hope for survival. The Horde is here. Whatever supplies you were moving from the port that aren’t behind the gates are lost. There is no time. Go!”
As if emphasis was needed, another set of bone-chilling screams rippled from the Estates. The vicious howl and shrieks of the Horde quickly drowned out the alarm.
Shadows darted across the poorly illuminated roadway toward the garrison.
Ryl focused, marking the shapes of four shadows that approached in his vision. He swung down from his horse, throwing the reins to the nearest mounted soldier.
“Aelin, keep Breila and Ekard safe. Take them straight to The Stocks,” he shouted before turning to the door to the tavern. “Ekard, time to go.”
He watched the fear and uncertainty flash through the young tribute’s eyes. He sent a wave of comfort over the youngster, stepping close as he whispered, “Fear not, my friend. I’ll be safe.” Ryl comforted the frightened boy. “I do not need a horse to stay ahead of this. I’ll be right behind you.”
Ryl was relieved to see the barkeep shuffle from the inside of his
