Ryl paused in the center of the intersection. He let the speed fade, allowing the world to snap back to its normal speed around him. From where he stood, he could see the Pining Gates to the north. Lanterns burned along the left side of the gate. The flicker of light from the right signaled that the barracks to their side still burned. The palisade above was alight with activity.
Soldiers, armed with bows and arrows, lined the top of the wall while others rushed behind them, carrying out their tasks. The courtyard before the massive gates was alive with a flurry of activity, though from the distance the commotion was undefined. The origin of the steadily growing thumping he’d heard as he moved eastward was clear. The sounds of construction and demolition were apparent.
A single panel of the massive gate was wide open. A steady trickle of citizens entered willingly, beckoned onward by the animated motions of Fay’s soldiers.
A small contingent of Lord Eligar’s troop shouted commands over the crowd from the northeast corner of the road.
Ryl hailed them as he approached.
“Did Lord Eligar pass through here yet?” he asked.
“Aye. He did, several moments past. With a procession of horses,” the closest guard answered, stepping forward. His appraising eyes traveled Ryl’s body as he examined his attire.
“Said to be on the lookout for you,” the soldier responded.
Ryl nodded, thankful that his friends had already passed through.
Screams of horror sounded from the west. The sound sent a chill through Ryl. The Horde had reached the Center City.
The carnage would be beyond comprehension. He struggled with the emotion. There was little he could do. Alone in the streets, he couldn’t save them all. Though he’d hold his own, eventually he’d tire or the sheer numbers would overwhelm him. If the Lei Guard joined the fight in bulk, he’d not last long.
The traffic on the road churned with fear, spurring themselves onward in whatever direction they had already committed to taking. A few changed directions, heeding the pleas from Lord Eligar’s soldiers. Ryl fed the area with a sense of hope, lacing the guards’ words with a greater chance to inspire. The effort was largely in vain.
Fear was a potent motivator.
“Fall back to The Stocks,” Ryl ordered. “We are out of time. Be ready to close the gates.”
Though unaccustomed to the orders of a stranger, the soldiers willingly accepted them. They barked out their final pleas before charging up the hill toward the gate. The bloodcurdling screams intensified from the west. The press of citizens quickened their pace.
Ryl squinted his eyes, scanning the area to the west. Though free from the individual blackened scars of the individual Horde, he could feel the approaching of the darkness. The swelling mass of the demons from the Outlands was closing in.
He started up the gently sloping avenue. His mind flashed to the last trip he’d made up this pathway. The city had been alive with the revelry surrounding the annual Harvest.
That moment, though only a few days in the past, felt like a lifetime ago. The joy of the moment for many had now dissolved into abject fear.
Ryl did his best to spur the travelers seeking safety behind the gates. Many appeared weak from the frantic movement. Some lumbered sluggishly, still half asleep after being roused in the middle of the night. His mental scan of the perimeter was constant as he maintained a vigil, watchful of the approach of the Horde from the west.
The howls, shrieks and wails of the approaching mass now drowned out the screams of those who were slaughtered by their tidal wave of death.
The scene that awaited him at the top of the road was nothing but shocking. To the right side of the square, the fire that he’d started in the barracks had been allowed to ravage nearly the entirety of the building. The heavy timbers had been reduced to ash, collapsing the stone upon itself. The solitary tunnel to the interior of the gatehouse was sealed off by the piles of debris. Thankfully, the flames had been contained behind the stone wall that separated the guards’ station from the houses of Cadsae Proper beyond.
Citizens wasted no time milling around the square. Ryl watched them carefully as they moved into the yawning mouth of the Pining Gates. They approached with a sense of foreboding. Some failed to hide the overwhelming fear that distorted their faces. Ryl had little pity in the case of their wounded sensibilities. For ages, far longer than any had lived to experience, tributes, like he and Aelin, like the thousands who had come before him, had been locked behind that same gate. They had been enslaved behind the massive walls, left to labor for a product they’d never reap. Celebrated as they were ceremoniously paraded to their deaths.
Though he pitied them not, he wasn’t content to leave them to the slaughter. There was a sickening coldness that covered his body as he considered the plight of those who’d refused to hear his advice. Those who’d turned a deaf ear to the warnings of Lord Eligar’s men.
The irony was poignant.
Much as Taben had been spurned by humanity, Ryl had been ignored that day. Though he’d fight to protect any who stood behind him from the ravages of the Horde, his true purpose was ensuring the safety of the tributes. His family. His friends.
They’d amassed a small army of supporters. Those willing to sacrifice their lives to aid him in his pursuits. To break the tributes free from the slavery that had held them in check for a millennium.
A fragment of the army now stood along the pinnacle of the palisade overlooking the square and the town below. For the first time in his coming, the eyes staring down on him did so without incriminating judgment. Without abject hatred and scorn.
Though fire had not had the opportunity to ravage the buildings to the left, the western side of the square was in shambles. The mess hall and
