Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) (10 page)

But Amag’mar was cunning.  He sent his shadow walkers into the forest to sniff out the hiding cowards.  They marched day and night, having no need for rest, until they found every last one of them.

Their mutilated bodies were found by merchants passing through on their way to the north.  Rhada remembered the words she had read in the history book, describing the scene as the merchants had described it:

The bodies of the dead were no longer whole in form.  Their heads had been ripped away from the shoulders, taking with them parts of the spines.  The torsos were all scratched as though a large beast had been tearing at them for their entrails.  The entrails themselves littered the ground upon which we walked.  They stuck to our boots- not being able to avoid them. 

Arms and legs were ripped apart and thrown askew.  We found them floating in the river and even hanging in the branches above head. 

Blood was everywhere.  Upon the grass and rocks and trees and the river ran red that night. 

But perhaps the most disturbing of all this were the heads.  Though it would appear that no normal human being could live through being ripped apart and disemboweled, their eyes were alive and twitching every which way, following our every move.  Their lips moved as though they were trying to scream or get our attention but the voice boxes were damaged beyond all repair. 
 

We could not, in good conscious, allow the heads to remain in their living state.  We each took our swords or daggers and struck the blow along the side of the skull where the tissue is less resilient.  This seemed to end the suffering of the lingering dead.

Rhada had read these words with a thumping heart.  Never before had a scene of violence made her feel as ill as imaging finding the dead in such a state. 
And the eyes! 
She could not imagine what it must have been like for the men who found them to see their eyes following their every move. 

The man’s name who had recorded the account was Holsam Tath.  It was written on the next page that shortly after writing his account of what he had found in the forest, he hung himself within the walls of the castle of Bhrys. 

Rhada would have been as nervous as Mayvard to enter the forest except she knew they would be passing through the west end of the forest, far away from where the bodies were found.  Not only that, but the dark wars had ended hundreds of years ago- too long for any of Amag’mar’s corpses to continue prowling the realm, terrorizing those who were still living.  Rhada had never heard an account of anyone seeing a shadow walker, though some rumored that they
had
seen them.  Most who claimed this were accused of being mad and disregarded as such.  Rhada could not take their claims seriously.

“We must remain cautious at all times.”  Mayvard said, pulling Rhada from her trance- like reminiscence.  She wondered if Mayvard had ever read the book she had read about the history of the forest they were going to enter tomorrow.  She studied his face and, not seeing reflected there the same fear she felt in her heart, realized he hadn’t.  She had never once seen him with a book in hand or hanging around in the library and he never spoke of books. 

“We will be.”  Rhada assured Mayvard with a smile.  “And if we are attacked by a beast, I shall consider myself lucky, adding another pelt to my wardrobe.” 

Mayvard did not seem amused by Rhada’s remark but gave her a sideways grin nonetheless, hoping she would not see in him the fear he felt. 

Morning crept up on them like a thief, trying to steal away their blissful slumber.  Rhada sat upright, rubbing her eyes and trying to erase the images of her dreams- a river of thousands of rolling heads, laughing at her as they passed by and Bloodbinder lying on the other side, screaming for her to pick it up.

Mayvard woke with a stretch and rubbed the scruff of his beard as he sat up tall.

“Morning.”  He said with an uneasy cheerfulness.  Rhada knew his nervousness had not abated with the night’s rest but he was trying his best not to show it.  She decided to leave him be and pretend not to notice.

“Morning.”   She said with a smile.  She stood on stiff legs and stretched her spine, listening to the bones and joints crack as she did so. 

“Shall I go hunting this morning, or should we eat the last of our jerky?”  Mayvard asked.

“I want to be on our way.”  Rhada said.  “We need to reach the forest by nightfall.  That means only one stop today.  We can hunt tomorrow morning.”

Mayvard seemed displeased by her response but nodded in understanding and bent down to roll up his sleeping mat.  Rhada did the same then stepped over the still smoldering remnants of their fire from the previous night and strapped her mat back to her horse.

They were moving down the road in silence, already having run out of things to talk about.  Rhada’s mind began to wander back to the castle where her last vision of Myranda was of her standing in the road, sobbing into her open palms.  She wondered how the Sorceress did not know that Rhada would be taking her future husband with her.  Mayvard was her Captain, her companion, her protector.  He watched over her while she watched over the realm.  She would never consider the possibility of traveling without him. 

Myranda knew perfectly well he would be coming with me. 
Mayvard, being the stubborn man that he was, would not allow her to leave on her own.  Rhada felt that perhaps Myranda was jealous of their relationship.  While Mayvard loved Myranda, he and Rhada always confided in each other with the ease of two people who had been friends since early childhood.  Though Mayvard did not know Rhada as a child, she had known him.  She had watched him grow up, taught him how to fight and how to be a leader.  Mayvard was the only other person in the world she could trust with her life. 
He would defend me until the very end. 
The thought brought a small smile to her face.

Myranda had never like Rhada.  She had come to the castle as a prisoner, accused of being a witch, delving into the branch of magic that was forbidden.  It was Rhada who had arrested the Sorceress.  She was living in Axendra and was exceptionally easy to find.  Her men broke down the feeble wooden door of her hut and pulled her out onto the street, bruised and afraid.  They pushed her down at Rhada’s feet and it was then she told the Sorceress that she would hang for her crimes.   

But Myranda had been able to prove that it was not her.  She had an identical twin sister who fled into the Forest of Shadows, never to be heard of or seen again.  Myranda swore to serve the King for the rest of her life and had thus remained within the castle walls.  There had always been a thick air that floated between them, saturated with mistrust and anger. 

It was said that she was the most powerful Sorceress to have emerged since the old days- the days of the original four.  Rhada was uncertain how much she believed that but she knew Myranda had a force of power she kept hidden from everyone around her.  Rhada took this as a sign that Myranda was afraid even of herself. 

She gazed at the back of Mayvard, his long, dark hair swaying with each step of his horse, his long sword decorated his back as usual and his hands held the reins loosely.  She wondered what he saw in Myranda, how he had fallen in love with the Sorceress. 

Most people avoided beings of magical power at all costs, being afraid of what they did not understand.  But Mayvard was different.  He seemed to find comfort in Myranda’s strengths.  It was something Rhada realized she would never understand and she would never inquire.  Mayvard deserved to love whomever he wished.  She would not step in the way of that.

Except I already have. 
She remembered what Myranda had said to her- that she was taking Mayvard along just to spite her.  She wondered briefly if perhaps there was some truth to Myranda’s words and decided the answer was best kept hidden deep within her. 

Rhada decided not to dwell on the matter any longer.  She could not change what had already come to pass and she would not feel guilty for bringing her most trusted ally along on what Myranda claimed was a dangerous journey. 

She passed the rest of the day thinking about Tyos- images of fire and water passing through her imagination and the poor, unsuspecting people running in vain for their lives.  She wondered what could have caused such a catastrophe.  A tsunami seemed the most logical answer but the way Myranda had described it ruled that option out. 

How can water and fire mingle together to form a wall of death and destruction?  What could cause such an occurrence?  Was it the innocent forces of nature… or something else?  Perhaps it was not nature at all.  Perhaps it was not an accident.

Her mind’s eye became flooded with the image of thousands of severed heads, rolling up the length of the wave, mouthing their torment in silent annotations.  It wasn’t until dusk had settled over the land and Mayvard had announced their arrival at the trailhead to the Forest of the Dead that Rhada was able to shake the image away with a sigh of relief. 

Chapter 9

F
irion arched his back and let out a moan of pure pleasure.  Scarlet sat atop him, moving her hips in a rhythmic motion that set his body on fire.  He clutched at her hips and forced them back and forth, not allowing her to slow down.  She held her hands behind her head, pulling on her hair as she screamed with ecstasy. 

              All at once Firion shuddered and released.  He dug his fingers into her soft white flesh then let her fall to his side in exhaustion.  She placed her hand gently on his chest and smiled up at him.

              “Every night your passion is strong.”  She whispered and she placed her finger between his lips.  He opened his mouth slightly and let her slide her finger inside then bit down gently. 

              Scarlet let out another pleasurable moan then pulled her finger away.  She rolled away from him and onto her back, staring up at the dimly candle-lit ceiling of their bedchamber.  It wasn’t long before she was silently snoring next to him and Firion pushed himself off the bed, grabbed his robe and wrapped himself in its warmth.  The night air coming from the open window chilled the entire room.

              Firion stepped out onto the veranda that opened from the back of their bedchamber.  It was the highest point on the western tower and from its height he could see the entire city of Axendra below him.  The lights that flickered in the distance gave the illusion of a lively and throbbing city but Firion knew that at such a late hour, the city was peacefully asleep.  He looked up to the night sky and tried to see the stars twinkling in the darkness but thick rainclouds shielded them from his eyes. 

              Firion stepped to the edge of the balcony and peered over.  The ground below was lost in a haze of fog that seemed to be coming from the density of the forest.  Suddenly, his skin broke out into tiny bumps and he shuddered as he peered over the edge. 

              Every time he looked to the ground below, he could not help imagining himself falling the distance from where he stood.  No doubt the fall would crush every bone in his body, leaving nothing but his mangled flesh for the realm to mourn.  As Firion reached into the pocket of his robe for his pipe, he suddenly realized if he did plummet to his death, the realm would rejoice, not mourn.  He smiled lightly to himself as he placed the pipe between his lips and lit the tobacco inside. 

             
The realm can either love me or fear me; it makes no difference.  I am their King and they cannot change that! 
He inhaled the smoke deeply and let it flow from his mouth in a long stream.  The white smoke appeared as a ghost floating against the black sky.  He watched as it filled the air around him then dispersed. 

              He took another puff and looked back to the city below- with its twinkling lights and winding streets, it looked to be an entity all on its own; alive and breathing and staring back at him with silent dejection.  He smirked as he stared down at the beast of Axendra- a defiant monster that needed to be tamed; controlled.

When the last of the tobacco was gone, he stuffed the pipe into his robe, turned and walked back into the darkness of his bedchamber. 

              Scarlet lay sprawled on her stomach now, snoring loudly into her pillow.  Her legs stretched out to each side of the bed and Firion could feel his desire for her returning.  He stepped closer to the bed and reached his hand between her thighs.

              Scarlet stirred.  Her snoring ceased and she opened her eyes slowly.  When she saw him she smiled and turned onto her back.  Firion reached a hand up and loosened the drawstring on his robe and let it fall to the floor around him.  He kneeled onto the bed and placed his palms down on either side of her.  She reached her hands up and stroked his cheeks.

              “You are relentless.”  She whispered and she pulled his face down to hers.  Their lips locked together and Firion let the rest of his weight fall on top of her.

              They remained locked together for the rest of the night.  It wasn’t until sunlight began to fill the dark room that Firion pushed himself up and stood.  Scarlet lay on her side, panting with exhaustion. 

              “You may go back to sleep now.”  He told her as he dressed himself in his dark leather pants and jerkin.  He strapped his sword to his belt buckle and grabbed a parchment from the desk, clutching it tightly in his hand as though his life depended upon not losing it.  

              Scarlet placed the palm of her hand under her head and looked to him with curiosity.  “And where are you off to so early in the morning?” 

              “I have business to tend to.”  He told her.  He bent down and kissed her gently on the forehead. 

King Firion was not one to include his wife on affairs of the realm, he never saw the need to, but Queen Scarlet was not one to simply stay in the dark.  She had her own ways of remaining informed and influencing her husband’s decisions subtly.  As it was, she had read the urgent letter from Bhrys that he now carried with him out the door.  She smiled slyly to herself and leaned back in the bed, knowing exactly where it was that he was going. 

***

              Terryn sat slouched low in his chair.  His head was held up only by his open palm and his eyes burned from the exhaustion behind them.  He tried to focus on keeping them open but every time his mind stopped focusing on the words that were being said, his eyes would droop with heaviness and close. 

              Darkness filled his vision and suddenly he was back at the castle watching the King and Queen make love.  He was sitting in a chair at the end of their bed, trying to shield his eyes from the sight of them.

              Firion looked up, saw him and jumped from the bed.  His eyes burned red with hatred as he reached down and grasped Terryn by the throat.

              Then he felt a nudge and his hand slipped from underneath his head.  Terryn jerked and sat bolt upright in his chair.  He blinked his tired eyes and looked around, noticing that the entire council was staring at him.

              “You were snoring.”  Verrona Northway- sister of Protector Thomelin Northway from Nid- said and he suddenly knew who had woken him.

              “Forgive me, my Lords.”  Terryn said, trying to hide the embarrassment in his voice.

              “It is quite alright, Terryn.”  Lord Ivran Cassius said in an apologetic tone.  He had been standing in the center of the room for hours now and finally found an empty chair to let his body fall into.  “Perhaps this council has gone on long enough.”  He reached a hand up to his forehead and rubbed it gently as though he were trying to rub away a headache.

              “Everyone go to your beds and rest.  We shall continue in the morning.”  With those words, the entire council stood at once and began to slip out of the room.  Terryn watched them go, trying to remember their names as they passed him by. 

              There was Lord Doran Caster, his wife Lady Isolde Caster and Protector Fendrel Mendis from Laydon.   Lord Doran and Protector Fendrel’s jurisdiction stretched all the way from Laydon to North and South Fort.  

              Lord Doran and Lady Isolde were both of old age but Fendrel was young and fierce looking and Terryn could not help but notice the looks of contempt he kept giving him during the meeting.

              Next to leave was Lady Ashryn Bellious of Bhrys and her Protector- and some rumored her lover- Zane Almeric.  Terryn knew the Sorceress Omylia Roysa of Bhrys well.  As children they had both studied history together in the Chapel of Axendra.   Terryn was saddened when he learned that Lady Ashryn had left her behind.

              Then came Lord Garrick Umfray, Protector Wallis Bertol and Sorcerer Borin Walganus; all from Adona and had been amongst the first to arrive in Mordrid but thus far had all been mute on the subject of rebellion.  It seemed to Terryn that perhaps they wished to remain more as spectators than to actually throw in their weapons to aid. 

              Many more had come as well and the only other names out of the sea of faces that Terryn knew was Lord Onas Tibbott and his wife Maylin Tibbott from Lerous and Protector Stanwyck Wymon from Tanis.  All others were strangers to him.

              It hadn’t just been Lords and Protectors that had come for the council; captains, warriors, healers, blacksmiths and even some peasants who wished to join their cause had come.  Lord Ivran invited them all.  “We will need every sword hand we can get.”  He told them.

              When the room was finally emptied, Terryn found himself alone with Ivran.  Even Meira, Ivran’s wife, had left with her shoulders slumped from exhaustion. 

              Terryn stood slowly and began to leave the room when he looked down at Ivran and saw a look of dread on his face.  He stopped, unable to press on farther, and stooped down next to him.

              “Is everything alright, my Lord?”  Terryn asked with genuine concern.

              Ivran shook his head.  “I lost many loved ones in the war.”  He said in almost a whisper.  His eyes were sullen and red and Terryn could see the exhaustion in them.  He knew Lord Ivran regretted his decision to stay out of the war.  He could see that the rebels had already lost and he knew what would befall his city Ylia if he joined.  He decided to keep his people safe. 

              He once told Terryn he felt that if he had joined the rebel’s cause, the outcome of the war may have been different.  “Think of all the lives I could have saved.”  But Terryn knew even with Ivran’s forces, the war still would have been lost.

              Two years later, things had changed.  More and more people were beginning to see the King’s corruptness.  More cities in Kaena were crying out for their rulers to be brought to justice and more armies were willing to join the cause.  Most were crying out for the head of the High Protector.  When the realm learned of what she had done, how many innocent people she had slaughtered, they became sick with the want for revenge. 

              “We must take them by surprise!”  Lord Ivran had told the council months ago.  “When last the rebels invaded, King Firion knew they were coming.  This time, he will not see us until it is too late!”

              When Terryn heard from his mother that a new uprising was starting, he rushed to Ylia to offer Lord Ivran his services.  “I shall be a spy for you.”  He told him.  He wanted nothing more than to see the King slain for what he had done to the realm.  And though Terryn was not a violent man by nature, he would not shed a tear if he saw the High Protector’s head placed upon a spike.

              Terryn reached his hand down and placed it gently on Lord Ivran’s shoulder.  Over the last several months he and Ivran had formed a bond of friendship that neither of them had expected.

              Ivran looked up at Terryn and gave him a forced smile then took in a deep breath and stood.  “We shall continue in the morning.”  He said.  “Perhaps in the light of day everything will seem more hopeful.”

              “Of course.”  Terryn agreed.  “Especially since I have some news that I think you will like.”

              “Oh?”  Ivran asked with curiosity.  “And what is this news?  You must tell me now for if I am forced to wait until the ‘morn I think I shall not sleep at all!”

              Terryn stopped walking and Ivran followed his lead.  Both men stood looking at each other and Terryn spoke in a voice quiet enough for only Ivran to hear.

              “The High Protector has been called away.”

              “Called away?  To where?” 

              “The Sorceress dreamt of some trouble in Tyos and High Protector Rhada and her Captain, Mayvard Stoneward, left two nights ago.  That gives us more than a month to plan our strategy and attack before they return.”

              “But the High Protector is one of our targets!”  Ivran protested.  “I should like to wait until they are all within the castle walls where we can trap them.”

              “But taking the castle during her absence would be easier.  Their forces would be scattered with no command.  And imagine the look on her face when she comes home to find the King’s body burned upon the pyre and you in his throne with his bloodied crown upon your head!”

              A slow smile began to spread across Lord Ivran’s face.  He stood in silent contemplation for a moment then looked back to Terryn.  “Come.”  He said, leading Terryn out of the council chamber and into the chilly night.  “The hour is late and we have much to discuss in the morning.” 

              It was approaching the midnight hour when Lord Ivran Cassius entered his rented room and found his poor, exhausted wife, Meira, sleeping soundlessly on the bed, shamelessly naked and sprawled out, leaving no room for him to lie next to her.  He nearly tripped in the darkness over the pile of clothes she left on the floor.  He realized she must have come in, quickly undressed, and thrown herself upon the bed, asleep before realizing that she was taking up all the room. 

              Ivran smiled at the sight of her and poured himself a small glass of spiced liquor before settling into the winged chair next to the bed.  He leaned his head back as he slowly drank, keeping his gaze on the rhythmic rising and falling of Meira’s back with each breath she took.