Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) (15 page)

              Rhada raised her blade once more, ready to defend Mayvard and the horses as he pulled them free but let out a cry of terror at the sight of dozens of paws, pounding into the ground before her.  She knew there were too many for her to fight and so she turned around and mounted her still frightened horse, raising Bloodbinder in the air and cutting the ropes to free them of the tree. 

              Mayvard, who could not approach the ropes for fear of being kicked by his own horse, gathered the courage to do the same.  He ducked under the raging beast and grabbed the reins, avoiding the bucking back legs.  He heard the sudden yelp of a dog as it was kicked so severely in the jaw it flew backwards into its oncoming companions. 

              Mayvard pulled himself into the saddle, cut the rope from the tree and did not have to prompt his horse to follow Rhada, who was already hurtling down the path.

              Rhada turned her head and saw, with a sigh of relief that Mayvard was in his saddle following closely behind.  But her gaze quickly shifted to the monsters that pursued them. 

              The wolves, in their chase, had made themselves visible and Rhada counted in a glance at least thirty.  Some were smaller, no bigger than that of a sheep-dog, and some were larger than the wolf that previously attacked her and they were fast, faster than their horses.  Rhada turned forward once again and urged her horse on, hoping they would come to a river or lake, wondering if the rumors of ghost wolves being afraid of water were true. 

              Rhada spun around again when she heard Mayvard cry out in fear.  Alongside his horse ran one of the larger wolves, snapping and snarling as it tried to lay its teeth into his steed’s side.  Mayvard pulled free his dagger and drove the sharp blade deep into the monster’s head.  It disappeared behind him in a cloud of dust.  Then two more approached on either side.  Mayvard, now only having one dagger, sliced at the one on his left, merely cutting into its ear.  The beast cried out angrily and snapped at his foot, which he pulled free of the stirrup just in time. 

              Another wolf came up from behind him and was ready to pounce at any given moment.

They are surrounding their kill! 
Rhada realized with terror.  Mayvard realized it at the same moment and looked to Rhada with sullen eyes.

“Forget about me!”  He shouted to her.  “Keep going!  Keep Running!  Do not let them catch you!” 

Rhada shook her head and pulled on her reins.  The horse stopped suddenly with a cry of anger and nearly threw her from the saddle.  She raised Bloodbinder high in the air and spun her horse around, letting out a shout she would have given during battle.

“What are you doing?”  Mayvard shouted at her but she paid him no mind and rushed forward with all the determination to destroy every last one of the mongrels that desired their flesh, or she would die trying.  She would not abandon Mayvard to such a ghastly fate.  If it was a fate he was to suffer, then she would suffer it with him. 

But before Rhada could reach the first wolf to defend her friend, they all stopped their chase suddenly, recoiled in a yelp of fear and ran back the way they had come, disappearing into the forest once again.  Rhada sat atop her now motionless horse and gaped at the sight of the fleeing monsters curiously.  Mayvard pulled the reins of his frightened horse, bent down to pat him on the side of the face calmingly and spoke gentle words to him until he was no longer panting in fear. 

              “What in the Gods’ names could have frightened them off?”  Rhada wondered aloud.  She looked to her sword and shook her head, knowing the beasts of the forest had no respect for, nor fear of Bloodbinder. 

              “Perhaps it is the fog that scared them.”  Mayvard said through panicked breaths.  Rhada spun her horse around and looked ahead to the heavy cloud of fog that loomed before them.  During the chase of their lives, she had not taken notice that they were heading for it.  But now, it was the only thing she could look at. 

              The fog surrounded the trees and blocked out any light of day from the sun.  A chill air could be felt emanating from within and Rhada shivered as all memory of the wolves was shut out of her mind and her thoughts turned to the only thing of concern at that moment; that their path led them directly into the dark and morose cloud before them. 

Chapter 12

T
he farther into the forest they traveled, the thicker the fog became.  Its denseness shrouded everything around them, making it difficult to see and at one point, they were forced to dismount their horses and walk on foot; taking each step with caution.  The thickness grew so immense, they were uncertain if they were even following the path they had hoped to stay on.

              Rhada walked ahead of Mayvard, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground beneath.  She held the reins of her horse in her hand and led him along.  He trudged on happily behind her, caring nothing for the fog that surrounded them.  After their encounter with the ghost wolves, her horse was not one to be frightened by a mere cloud of darkness. 

              At midday- or what they assumed was midday- they stopped and lit a small fire to roast some deer they had killed the previous morning.  Rhada chewed on her piece of meat lethargically, unable to think of anything besides the fog. 

              Suddenly, a small breeze blew through the branches in the trees, shifting the fog for a moment and Rhada got a glimpse of the forest.

              When they first entered the Forest of the Dead, it was lush and green and full of wildlife and Rhada could not help but marvel at its beauty, but now the trees were leafless and black.  Their branches reached up toward the sky as though in their final moments, they had been desperately seeking sunlight.  Their roots had broken free of the ground, making it seem as though the trees had tried to lift up their feet and run from the fog. The ground itself was as dead as the trees that surrounded them.  No plant life or any other kind of life seemed to exist in this dreary place. 

              Along with the fog came a coldness that made her shiver and she could see the breath escaping her lips every time she exhaled.

              “I do not see the path anymore.”  She observed as she looked to the ground.  Without plant life on either side of them, the path seemed to no longer exist.

              “There is no path.  No man dares to make tracks in this place.”  Mayvard said with a shrill voice.  Rhada looked to him and instantly saw the panic in his eyes.  He tried to hide it from her but she knew he was afraid. 
How could he not be?  Not even the monstrous wolves that chased us here dared enter. 
She wondered if perhaps they had made a mistake in not following the wolves away from this place.

              “Do not worry.”  She said reassuringly, hoping the tone in her voice did not reflect the dread she felt in her heart.  “As long as we continue in the same direction, eventually we shall escape this forest.”  Mayvard nodded but she knew she had failed to reassure him. 

              They spent the rest of the day walking on in silence.  The fog thickened and thinned over and over.  Each time it thinned, Rhada grew a small hope they were breaking through but it would always thicken again and her heart would grow heavy with dread. 

              As the skies began to darken the next night, they came to the edge of a bog.  Rhada stopped, stooped down low and examined the water.  It did not seem to be deep but she knew their boots would get wet and she did not wish to spend the cold night with wet feet.

              “We should camp here and continue in the morning.” 

Mayvard wrinkled his nose as he looked to the bog with weary eyes.  “The smell is almost unbearable.”

              “It will have to do.”  She replied and she pulled her thick woolen blanket and her pipe out of her saddle bags.

              She found a thick tree trunk to rest against, wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, wincing from the pain that shot through her like an arrow, and lit her pipe.  The taste of the tobacco made her close her eyes and lean her head back against the trunk with satisfaction, melting away the dreariness of the last couple of days.  All she needed was a flagon of mapleberrie liquor and she could slip into a peaceful slumber. 

              Mayvard knelt down beside her and placed his hands at her shoulders.  He began to pull back at the thick leather from the gap in her neck to peer at her wounds.

              “I told you, they are healing.”

              Mayvard frowned as he pulled away the strips of cloth he had wrapped around them.  “They are infected.”  He said.

              “I shall live.”  Rhada replied, yanking back her leathers and leaning away from Mayvard’s prying eyes.

              “I wish you would let me stitch them.”  He said angrily as he stood.

              Rhada shook her head and sighed.  “You are no healer, Mayvard.  If I feel it necessary, I will do it myself.”

              Mayvard glowered down at her as she took another puff of her pipe and let the smoke escape her lips slowly around his legs.

              “You are no healer either.”  He said, unable to hide the hurt he felt.

              “I have stitched myself back up at least twice before.”  She said, looking back to Mayvard with a defiant gaze.  “You, on the other hand, have never even watched a healer in their craft.”

              Mayvard shrugged his shoulders.  “I do not see what could be so difficult about it.”

              Rhada did not answer.  She had, in fact, been forced to stitch herself once on the leg after falling from her horse during a training outing with Viktor and once on the arm after the battle at South Fort.  A frightened, runaway horse had forced her to jump away as it came barreling towards her.  She scraped her arm alongside the splintered wood of a fallen barn.  After that, she had had her leathers thickened. 

              She had no doubt Mayvard could do the stitching himself.  She did, however, doubt the stitching, without proper cleaning, would help the infection. 

              “I will be alright until we reach North Fort.  If the wounds have not improved by then, I will seek the help of a healer.” 

              This seemed to satisfy Mayvard and moments later, he lie sprawled out on his blanket, snoring loudly.  Rhada could not help but smile at the sight of him and was glad for his devotion to her.  She wondered what it would be like if she did not have Mayvard’s friendship. 
Life would be very lonely. 
She realized as she took another puff from her pipe.  Mayvard was the only person who stuck by her.  He was the only one left in her life that cared for her.

              Suddenly, Rhada found herself thinking of a time before she knew how to wield a sword; a time when her life was uncomplicated and plain.  She was young then, much younger than she was now.  She had lost count of the years but she knew she had already surpassed the normal lifespan of a mortal person.  And though she had already reached an unnatural age, her body remained the same.  She could see that she had aged only slightly in appearance over the last eighty years since she had taken possession of the magical sword.  Small, thin wrinkles only noticeable to her rested underneath her eyes but in the mirror, she still looked the same as she did on the day that Bloodbinder was bound to her. 

              She found herself looking down to the sword that lay next to her and knew it still vibrated vigorously.  Though she was not touching it, she could feel its energy pulsing through the air towards her.  It was the sword that gave her an unnatural long life.  Its magical powers gave its wielder the same prolonged youth that people of magical abilities possessed.  It had the same effect on every person it chose to bind itself to.  She tried to remember how old Viktor said he was before he died.  His face was wrinkled with time and his hair had grown white with age over the course of almost two-hundred years.

              She wondered what it would be like to live that long.  She had already surpassed those she had cared for in life and no longer had any friends that remained- not that she had had many to begin with.  She wondered how long her life would go on after her only remaining friend was cold and buried in the ground. 

             
There will be no one left to argue with about my wounds- no one to care enough to scold me when I do not take proper care of myself.

             
Rhada had, over the last several years, made the people of the realm despise her.  She knew it when she looked at their faces when passing by.  She could see their contempt in every village and every shrouded doorway she passed.  They even hated her in her own city, Axendra.  She realized any opportunity to bond with another person had vanished.  Hers was a name that was spread from lips to lips with fear; like a plague spreads with breath to breath.  She would always be remembered as the plague that destroyed the realm. 

              She scolded herself for thinking upon it.  She had told herself not to dwell on the past. 
What’s done is done. 
She had tried to reason, knowing she could never change what had happened- never clear her once good name.  But still, there was a longing within her to go back to the way things were, before the war had started, before Firion had taken over the throne.