Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) (11 page)

              Ivran would not try to move her.  The last few nights he had been restless and unable to sleep.  His mind was filled with disturbing images from the past and was relentless in its apparent desire to torment him.

              He had become a troubled sleeper two years ago almost to the day, when he had found the pile of smoldering flesh left behind by the High Protector.  The smell of it was still rank in his nostrils, making his stomach twist uncomfortably.  He brought the liquor close to his nose and smelled, trying to burn away the memory.

              His dreams were haunted by Jamus, the man who had thrown himself from Lord Ivran’s tower window before anyone could stop him.  He leaned his head out just in time to see Jamus land on the rocks below, his body breaking in a spurt of blood.  But in his dreams, Jamus always stood and walked away, disappearing into the city.  Sometimes his dreams would have him lying in his bed where Jamus, bloodied and bruised, leaned over him and shouted in anger that he could have saved him.

              Lord Ivran started and sat upright.  He realized he had been falling asleep, his glass tilting in his hand, nearly spilling its content on the floor.

             
I must be exhausted if I am falling asleep this quickly. 

              He had arrived in Mordrid that very morning, having made the journey in less than a week’s time.  They rode hard and fast, and when they arrived in Mordrid, they were ready for rest.  But instead of resting, they had gone to the council meeting that lasted the rest of the day. 

              Normally, Lord Ivran would have crawled into bed and gladly allowed sleep to take him, but he was afraid of falling asleep, lest he be tormented by his dreams. 

              Instead, he sat upright, stretched out his arms and took another solemn drink.  He closed his eyes and tried to think of anything but his nightmares when suddenly, a quiet shifting of feet could be heard just outside his door.  He opened his eyes and turned his gaze to the crack at the bottom where a small stream of light leaked in and saw two long shadows, shifting and then standing still.

              Lord Ivran waited a moment for a knock, wondering who could be coming to see him at this hour but the knock never came.  Instead, the stranger on the other side of the door stood silent and motionless, apparently listening for any noises coming from within. 

              Lord Ivran carefully set his glass down, trying not to make a sound that would alert the intruder to his movements.  He stood and cautiously shifted his feet forward one at a time, making his way to the door.

              The floorboards underneath Lord Ivran’s feet were old and rotting, a condition caused by years of neglect.  A sudden creak sent the stranger into a dead run down the corridor and Lord Ivran began the chase.

              He threw open the door in time to see the bottom of a cloak floating around the corner and out of sight.  Lord Ivran followed down the stairs and into the brightness of the tavern below. 

              There were only two patrons at this hour, watching with curious gazes as the hooded figure ran past them and out into the night air.  Lord Ivran came closely behind, nearly tripping down the last step.  He caught his balance quickly and ran out into the night as well but stopped when he could no longer see the man he pursued.  The cloaked figure had disappeared into the shadows.

              Lady Ashryn Bellious paced anxiously across her room, waiting for Zane to return.  She had sent him out to acquire information- information that would be invaluable to their plan.  She wondered if the King was doing the same as she was, pacing across his bedchamber in anger, her letter of warning clutched tightly in his grip.  She knew he would not have taken the news lightly. 

             
Meet me in the Widow’s Grove in the Forest of Shadows on the third night of the month of the swallow. 

              Her letter had instructed.  She wondered if the King would make the journey, or if he would punish her for deigning to give him orders. 

              The time to meet him was swiftly approaching and Lady Ashryn had not, as of yet, acquired the information she had hoped to pass onto the King.  Lord Ivran and his gaggle of fools had proven most indolent in making a decision on when precisely to attack.

             
It does not matter when, so long as the High Protector is made vulnerable at the right moment. 

              There were only two days of council remaining before everyone dispersed and Lady Ashryn hoped they would make a decision by then.  If not, she would have to find a different way to get the information to the King. 

              Ashryn plopped down on the bed with tired feet and sighed.  As she was wondering how much longer Zane could possibly make her wait, heavy footsteps could be heard approaching and then the door to her room flew open, making her jump.  She stood as Zane closed the door and removed the hood from his face.  When he turned to her, she could clearly see he had been running.  His face was red and his breathing was hard. 

              “What happened?”  She asked, slightly annoyed at his exasperated appearance.

              “I went to the Standing Pond Inn, found his room and stood outside the door for several minutes, not hearing a sound.  I thought they had fallen asleep.”

              Lady Ashryn waited for the rest of his story with annoyance as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his muddy boots off, throwing them carelessly aside, seeming to not notice the spray of dirt and horse shit they released as they hit the floor.  He ran his fingers lithely through his hair then looked up to Ashryn, noticing for the first time her anger at him.  Her eyes were aglow with rage, her arms folded tightly across her chest and her foot tapped impatiently on the floor.

              “Did you hear anything?”  She asked through gritted teeth and when Zane shook his head, she threw her arms up in the air and spun around, unable to look him in the eyes any longer.

              “Lord Ivran knew I was there.  I heard him creeping up to the door so I ran and he chased after me.  We are lucky he did not catch me.”

              Ashryn spun around again and asked with a nervous twinge in her voice; “did he recognize you?”

              Zane shook his head once again, assuring her that his identity was kept a secret. 

              Lady Ashryn placed her hands on her hips, looked down to the ground and sighed.

              “We can try again tomorrow.”  Zane tried to reassure her.

              Ashryn was the one shaking her head now.  “And if the council fails to come to a decision?”  Ashryn looked back at Zane, walked to the edge of the bed where he sat and plopped down next to him, resting her aching head upon his shoulder.

              “I have requested to the King that he meet me in secret and I have nothing to offer him.  He will have my head for wasting his time.”  She said this matter-of-factly, not with fear. 

              Zane began rubbing the top of her thigh.  “I wouldn’t say we have nothing to offer him.”

              Ashryn raised her head and looked to Zane with an imploring gaze.  “What do we have then?”

              “We have names.”  Zane’s devious smile was what had attracted Ashryn to him in the first place.

              She grew up with Zane, in the castle of Bhrys.  Her mother and father never allowed her to venture outside the dark, stone walls for fear that something would happen to their only heir.  Zane was the son of a maid, always lurking in the dark corners of the castle, trying to go unnoticed until one day, Lady Ashryn spotted him snatching a turkey leg from her father’s table when he wasn’t looking.  She ran after him and asked him to teach her how to become a thief.  It wasn’t the need to survive that made her want to follow in Zane’s footsteps, but a blatant desire to rebel at every opportunity. 

              Soon they were stealing things all over the castle- jewelry, clothing, weapons, whatever they could get their little hands on and stashing it all in Ashryn’s trunk, laughing behind the backs of their victims. 

              When her mother and father died in a carriage accident, she became ruler of Bhrys and named Zane Protector.  The entirety of Bhrys was shocked by this news, never having heard of anyone by the name Almeric.   

              “What names should I give him?”

              Zane scratched at the small scruff of dark beard protruding from his chin and said; “I think he will be most pleased to know who Lord Ivran confides in.”

              Lady Ashryn gave a wry smile as well, knowing the name that was floating around inside Zane’s head.

              “And perhaps he has the very information we seek.  It is only a matter of extracting that information.”

              “That is a job I shall leave to you.”  Ashryn said with distaste.  Though she did not care for the boy, and if everything went according to plan, he would be executed with the others, she did not have a strong stomach when it came to the instruments often used on the person being interrogated.  

              Zane smiled again, apparently pleased with the idea of extracting the information they needed.  Ashryn knew that any decent person would see this as a bad quality in a man, but she had never claimed to be a decent person.  She was raised to always be polite and to care for others but her heart had grown weary with the unending need of the less fortunate and her desire for power overruled what she felt to be morally questionable.  She admitted all of this to herself and often wondered why it never bothered her.  She had no recollection of what had made her into such a different person than her parents had raised her to be.

              She looked to Zane and felt her desire for him burning within her breast like the fires of a kiln.  She reached a hand up and placed it on his cheek, forcing him to turn his head in her direction.  She placed her mouth to his and pushed him onto his back.

              The rest of their night was spent locked in their lovers’ embrace.  It was not until the first rays of morning light that they separated, Ashryn lying complacently on her back, one arm outstretched above her head and the other, playfully circling the indent of her navel.  Zane stood at the window, gazing out to the village beyond, mechanically sipping at a glass of spiced liquor, lost in thought.

              Ashryn’s eyes were fixed upon Zane as though looking away would cause her physical pain.  The early morning rays of light were beaming through the window, bathing him in a golden sheen.  He looked almost God-like in that moment, pale but exuberant in the light of day, watching a world that owed him its existence.    

              “You would make a fine King, my love.”  She said in a soft undertone. 

              Zane turned and smiled at her, his eyes grazing her bare skin.  “And you would make a fine Queen- Ashryn, Queen of Kaena!”  He said this in a playful tone, but Lady Ashryn could not help but smile at the sound of the title as it rang in her ears. 

Chapter 10

T
he next morning Terryn woke with an ache in his head and a stiff back.  He sat up in his soft feather bed and stretched his arms above his head, letting out a loud moan as he did so.  His eyes slowly began to water as the morning sunlight filled them.  He closed them and wiped away the tears that had formed.  When he opened them again, he noticed the blankets that had covered him during the night were now tangled around his feet and dangling off the edge of the bed. 
I must have been thrashing in my sleep. 
He realized as he pulled them away from his legs and stood. 

              Terryn stood naked in the center of his small room.  It was a circular room which consisted of a small feather bed, a hearth that was now sending plumes of smoke into the air from the dying fire that had burned through the night, and a bedside table where he had folded his clothes and stacked them.  He reached over towards the pile and slowly began dressing himself.  Each time he reached for his clothes, his head would begin to throb, causing him to wince from the pain.

              “Nightmares.”  He said silently to himself.  All night he had suffered through them and he knew they were the cause of his aching head now.  They were the reason he had been so restless last night.

              He dreamt that somehow the King had discovered their plans and he had come after him.  He ran from the King and his men all night.  Each dream was a little different from the one before it but the King caught him every time. 

             
I must get some food and ale in my belly this morning or I will never make it through the day. 
He thought as he grabbed his cloak.  He wrapped it around his shoulders as he opened the small door and hastily made his way to the tavern below.

              The smell of bacon filled his nostrils and Terryn smiled despite the pounding in his head.  He sat in a stool nearest the bar and waited patiently for the innkeeper to take notice of him.

              “Mornin’ Terryn.”  She said with a friendly smile.  Terryn returned the smile.  “Breakfast?”  She asked.

              Terryn nodded.  “And ale, if you please.”  The middle-aged innkeeper disappeared into the back to fetch his request and Terryn closed his eyes again.  Behind his closed lids, the images from his nightmares returned.  He could see King Firion’s face as plainly as though he were standing in front of him.  His angered eyes pierced through his flesh and made his blood boil. 

              Hastily he opened his eyes and tried to rub the image away. 
What is wrong with me? 
He wondered as he let his eyes gaze around the room.  He hoped a member of the council would be there; someone he could talk to.  He needed a distraction to keep his thoughts clear of his nightmares.

              Just then, as though he had read Terryn’s mind, Protector Fendrel Mendis descended the same stairs Terryn had arrived from.  Terryn had been unaware that he had purchased a room within the same inn as Fendrel.  When he reached the bottom, he immediately spotted Terryn and moved towards him.

              Terryn tried to smile warmly at the Protector from Laydon but he felt that his attempt was feeble.  Fendrel did not return the gesture but stood before him and peered down at him with harsh eyes. 

              “May I join you?”  He asked in a gruff voice that suggested joining Terryn for breakfast was the last thing the Protector wanted to do.  Terryn nodded his head and watched in silent distress as Fendrel took the seat next to him.

              Just then, the innkeeper returned with Terryn’s food and ale then asked Fendrel what she could get for him.

              “Bread and water.”  Fendrel replied as he pulled a pipe from his pocket, lit it and began blowing puffs of smoke into the air. 

              “So,” Fendrel began once they were alone, “word has reached my ears that you and Lord Ivran are plotting to attack while the High Protector is away.”

              Terryn, who had just picked up his fork to scoop some eggs, stopped suddenly in shock and looked up to Fendrel with questioning eyes.

              “No such plans have been made.”  He replied with obvious annoyance.  “Where did you hear that?” 

              Fendrel did not answer the question but gazed ahead at the kitchen door as though his only concern was when the innkeeper would return with his bread and water. 

              Terryn picked up his ale and took a long drink.  When he set it back down, he found himself suddenly filled with rage.  He turned back to Fendrel, his anger giving him courage, and glowered.

              “Were you listening to us last night?”  His words were spoken with rage-filled emphasis and caused Fendrel to turn in surprise.

              The innkeeper returned and set a plate and glass on the counter in front of Fendrel.  She waited momentarily for a ‘thank you’ but the words never escaped the Protector’s lips.  She turned away haughtily and let them be.

              Fendrel turned back to Terryn with his cold gaze and said; “As Protector I find I cannot help but know everything that is going on around me.  It is part of my job and part of my nature.  If I have offended you I apologize.  I just wanted to warn you that it would never work.”

              Terryn stiffened at those words and leaned forward before asking with irritation; “And why not?” 

              “Because, if the High Protector hears while she is away that a usurper has taken over Axendra, she will stay hidden and not return until she has a full army at her back.  If you think she was terrible during the first rebellion, how do you think she will react to this plot of yours?”  Fendrel’s eyes narrowed as he spat the words at Terryn.

              “And who would side with her?”  Terryn asked heatedly.  He could feel his face turning red from the anger that boiled inside of him. 

              “Oh, there are plenty who would side with her.”  Fendrel replied.  He did not eat his bread nor did he drink his water but he kept taking long puffs from his pipe. 

              “How do you know for certain?”  Terryn asked confused.  He felt certain that besides the King’s army, there was no one else who would help the High Protector.

              “There are those who would side with whomever they thought had the best chances of succeeding and then there are those who would allow their greed to dictate which side to join.  Next to the King, the High Protector is the richest person in this kingdom.  She could pay out a pretty penny for allies, whereas we could not compete with her wealth.”  Fendrel said.  He looked back to Terryn before standing, placing a copper piece on the counter and wrapping his cloak around his shoulders.  “Just know, I think it is a mistake and I am against it.  If your friend, Lord Ivran, wishes to gain the trust of the people then he should put this little plot of yours up for a vote.”  Fendrel turned and left Terryn to finish his breakfast in peace, which he did.  Afterwards, he slowly stood and left the inn as well; making his way back to the village council chamber where he knew they would all be waiting for him.

             
Do I suggest to Ivran that we put the decision up for a vote?  Is Fendrel right when he said it would gain the trust of the people? 
Terryn knew the only way to be certain was to speak directly to Lord Ivran. 

              When he reached the council chamber he was met with harsh stares and narrowed eyes.  Lord Ivran stood exactly where he had been the previous night, centered in the midst of the crowd.  His eyes were dark and sunken, with drooping lids from exhaustion.  When they fell upon Terryn, he was surprised to see some of the heaviness behind them melt away.

              He smiled warmly at Ivran as he approached and stood alongside him in the center of the room then looked towards the sea of faces that stared back at him with resentment.

              “Our friend, Lord Doran Caster has informed everyone the High Protector is away and that you and I discussed using her absence as an advantage.”

              “How dare you scheme behind our backs without your council present!”  Lady Ashryn shouted in anger.  Her eyes were solely on Terryn and when he looked around the council chamber, he saw that most eyes were upon him, giving him the same cold, angry glare that Lady Ashryn was giving him- all eyes except Fendrel’s.  He sat in the back corner of the room, arms folded over his chest and eyes narrowed.  Across his face, however, there was a small smile that began to spread as the rest of the council stood and voiced their disapprovals. 

              Though he was being shouted at by a rage-filled room, Terryn could not keep his eyes off of Fendrel.  The Protector from Laydon did not move from his seat to join the other council members in ostracizing him.  Instead, he turned his smile to a laugh and Terryn felt the rage begin to build inside of him once more.

             
It is his purpose to ruin our plans. 
He thought to himself as he began to shy away from the angry council. 
It seems as though we have a traitor among us.  

              When Terryn left the meeting, his mouth was filled with a bad taste and his face was red with anger.  The council had been unable to think of a solution to their dilemma and so Lord Ivran had called for a break.  He told everyone to spend their day planning a course of action they felt was best. 

              Terryn’s heart filled with worry as he made his way back to the inn.  He knew the best course of action; that attacking while Rhada was away would be key to their success.  She had a way of commanding the army to destroy whatever foes came her way that Terryn had never seen before.  Many people argued the first rebellion had been outnumbered and they never should have attacked without more allies, but Terryn knew it did not matter what their numbers had been.  Compared to Rhada and her men, it was never enough. 

              Terryn had been unsuccessful in making anyone agree with him today.  In fact, the entire council seemed to resent him for his suggestion. 
They all want her head, perhaps even more than they want the King’s. 

              When Terryn reached his room, he sighed with frustration and let his exhausted body fall onto the mattress.  Several hours later, he opened his eyes, stretched his arms above his head and attempted to rub the sleepiness away. 

              As he sat up, he noticed that his room was filled with a faint, orange light that could only mean the sun was setting.  His stomach growled angrily at him and he cursed himself for having slept all day.

              Quickly he descended the stairs to the tavern for some food and wine and tried to ignore the tingling in his feet as they were reawakened. 

              Suddenly he stopped, smiled and waved to his friend who sat at the bar with an ale in his hand and a frown upon his face.  Lord Ivran waved unenthusiastically back and sipped his ale.

              Terryn took the empty seat next to Lord Ivran, ordered pork and wine then turned and smiled at his friend once more.

              “What brings you here Lord Ivran?”  He asked with curiosity.

              “I came here looking for you but the ale looked so good, I found I could not pass it up.”  He took another slow sip.

              Terryn sat in silence and patiently waited for Lord Ivran to continue but before he could, the tavern wench returned with his food and wine; smoked pork, roasted potatoes, a thick slice of bread and some chopped apples all served with a deep red wine that made his nose hairs stand on end when he brought the glass close to his face and sniffed.  He took a slow sip, as though the contents may burn his tongue, and sloshed it around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it, attempting to taste all the flavors that resided in the liquid.  He set the glass back down with a satisfied sigh.

              Once the tavern wench was out of earshot, Lord Ivran turned to Terryn and asked; “what do you suppose would happen if we waited until the High Protector returned before attacking Axendra?”

              Terryn had scooped a fork full of potatoes and was about to take a bite but set his fork down gently and turned his full attention to Lord Ivran.

              “The King’s forces are stronger with the High Protector leading them.  I cannot say how but she has a way of turning a battle to her favor.”

              Ivran seemed to slump further down into his chair with these words.  “I am reluctant to wait two months before massing our attack but the rest of the council was outraged by the very idea of not waiting until she returned.”  He lifted his ale off the table but did not drink.  He merely stared into the distance, obviously occupied with his own thoughts.

              Terryn looked to his friend with sorrow.  He knew what stress Lord Ivran was under and he wished he could ease that stress. 

              “The King will still be there in two months’ time.”  Terryn said, hoping to lift Ivran’s spirits.  “Fendrel wanted us to put the time of attack up for a vote.  He said that by leaving the choice up to the council, you would gain their trust.”

              Ivran nodded and turned his gaze back towards Terryn.  “He said the same thing to me.”

              “You spoke with him then?”  Terryn asked as he shoveled hot potatoes into his mouth.