Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) (16 page)

              It was under his father’s rule, Darrion, that the realm was peaceful- a time when Rhada was not hated by the people.  But she was bound by duty to obey the King’s orders and it was through Firion’s desire to rule by fear that Rhada had become an enemy of the realm. 

              She had been proud to serve under Darrion; a King who cared for and loved his people.  But with his son, Firion, it felt more like a curse. 

              She wondered where Darrion possibly could have gone wrong with his son.  How could Firion have watched his father’s example, only to become the kind of King that he is? 

              Rhada took another, slow puff of her pipe, putting the question out of her mind.  She knew the answer would never come to light and dwelling on it would drive her mad. 

              When her pipe was finished, she dumped the ashes then leaned forward and stoked the fire for extra warmth.  When she leaned back against the tree, she could feel exhaustion behind her eyes like a heavy blanket, shrouding the world around her.  She yawned and pulled Bloodbinder close before closing her eyes and falling into a restless sleep. 

***

              Rhada stood upon the brink of a crevice, deep and foreboding.  A chill blew up from below, piercing her skin with its icy touch.  She wrapped her arms tightly across her chest but could not stop the violent shaking of her frozen body.  Even her teeth began chattering together as she leaned over the edge to peer inside.

              Her eyes, which were searching for something, were met with only darkness.  But there was something in there that called to her, something that needed her aid. 

              Rhada took another furtive step forward and looked all around; hoping whatever it was would make itself known. 

             
Rhada. 
She heard her name being called upon the wind that rushed up from the depths of the black hole before her.  It was not, as she had first assumed, a cry for help, but a menacing threat- the voice of a demon, hollow and as deep as the crevice below. 

             
Rhada. 
She shuddered, but not from the cold. 

              As she tried to take a step back, away from the black pit, her foot slipped and she was suddenly falling; falling into the blackness, falling into the depths of the unknown.  But something was waiting for her below.  She could feel its presence- its impatient heartbeat as she fell ever farther. 

              Two eyes, like two balls of flame appeared before her and before she could even cry out in fear, the flames grew higher and swallowed her up.

              Rhada sat upright and grasped for Bloodbinder, looking into the darkness of the fog she had fallen asleep in.  It took her a few moments to realize she was no longer falling to her doom, but sitting exactly where she had been before falling asleep, against the trunk of a tree and Mayvard, lying upon the ground, snoring loudly into the night.

              Rhada was about to wrap her blanket back around her shoulders and try to fall asleep once again, when pain shot through her shoulders and filled her chest suddenly, making her drop her blanket to the ground.  She cried out and held tightly to the hilt of her sword like she always did when she sensed danger.  It shook uncontrollably in her hand, making it difficult to hold and despite the cold that surrounded her, the hilt felt warm to the touch.

              Rhada took in a slow and tormented breath- the pain in her chest throbbing as she did so.  She wanted to wake Mayvard to ask for his aid but she could not speak from the pain.  She lifted her free hand slowly and pulled at the leathers that suddenly seemed to restrict her breath and looked at her wounds.  She could see, even in the dark of night, they were swollen and oozing.  She could feel the red hot pain pulsing from them with the beating of her heart.  She squeezed her eyes shut tight, knowing what she had to do and desperately seeking the courage to do it. 

              When she reopened her eyes, Rhada pulled Bloodbinder up, unsheathed the sword and held it out to her side.  With her other hand, she pulled her leathers down as far as they would go then turned the point of Bloodbinder toward the wounded shoulder. 

              The tip was so sharp she did not even feel it penetrate her flesh.  The long laceration seemed to appear out of nowhere, but when the wound began to ooze and drip its infection down her chest, she could feel the sting of the sword and she gasped.

              It took her a few moments, but Rhada finally composed herself and readied for the other shoulder.  She switched Bloodbinder in her hands, pulled down her leathers, and scratched at the wound until it too released its taint. 

              Rhada dropped Bloodbinder to the ground and began painfully squeezing at the fresh wounds she had made, hoping that her painful actions tonight would help relieve her suffering in the morning. 

              It was not long before she could bear it no more and fell to the ground on her back with her eyes closed, heavily breathing into the cold, night air. 

              And though the night was cold and the fog surrounding them only made the cold feel more pressing, she was suddenly taken over by a wave of heat, like that of the fires in the chasm of her dream. 

              She shivered, from what she could not entirely say, but as she shivered, her eyes opened and at the same moment, the fog around her dissipated, revealing the deadness of the forest which was their temporary home.

              Rhada turned her head slowly and looked around.  Though the fog had dispersed, the air around her seemed to grow thick and she felt a sudden dread building up inside of her. 

              Darkness enveloped her, making the trees in the distance seem like mere shadows but suddenly, the shadows began to sway and move even though there was no breeze.  She clutched Bloodbinder tightly in her grasp and held still, waiting for whatever was out there to attack. 
Why do I get the feeling I cannot fight this foe? 

              Then a small breeze began to blow and with it came a subtle noise that was faint and nearly inaudible.  Rhada lie motionless, with her head turned toward the direction of the wind, and she tried to listen for the sound.  It came again, slightly louder this time and it sent a shiver down her spine.

             
Rhada. 
She heard her name being called in the howl of the wind just as it had been in her dream.
 
She tried to pull herself up but the pain in her shoulders was unbearable and she knew in that instant this was not a dream. 

             
Rhada. 
The sound was fainter now, as though whoever or whatever was calling to her was moving away, and with it the wind died, the fog returned and Bloodbinder was finally still at her side.  Darkness filled Rhada’s vision but she struggled to keep her eyes open, wary of whatever could be out there.  Her fight was in vain, however, and her eyes fluttered and closed, leaving her unaware and helpless in the shadow of night.

When she woke the next morning, she was startled to find Mayvard leaning over her, pulling at her leathers to look at her wounds.  Rhada tried to protest and sit up, but Mayvard pushed her back down and commanded her to be still; which she decided to obey.

The first thing he did once the wound on her left shoulder was exposed, was dig his fingers deeply into the soft, swollen skin around it.  Rhada gritted her teeth and moaned loudly as more infection began to ooze from the fresh cut she had made that night.

“You must get to a healer quickly.”  Mayvard said, shaking his head.  “I can wrap these for you but that is all I can do for now.”

Rhada nodded her head, unable to answer in speech, and closed her eyes against the pain.  It was not long before Mayvard was wrapping her shoulders with fresh linens from his bags he had torn into strips.  Once he was finished, he placed a gentle hand behind Rhada’s back and helped her to a sitting position then held a waterskin to her lips.  She sipped the cool refreshment, careful not to drink too much, thanked him, then pulled her leathers back into place.

“I am worried for you.”  Mayvard said with a frown. 

“I will be fine.”  She replied with a raspy voice, not quite believing her own words.

“You have run a temperature.” 

Rhada remembered the sudden wave of heat she had felt the night before, and the heat from her dream.  She remembered the voices that called her name on the wind. 
A bad fever can make a person hallucinate. 
She told herself, unsure if the fever she had suffered last night was just such a fever.  She decided to believe that it was so and reached a hand out for Mayvard to help her to her feet.  She swayed for a moment, dizzy from standing so suddenly and Mayvard helped to steady her.

“Can you make it to North Fort?”  Mayvard asked, clearly unable to hide the worry he felt in his shaky voice.

Rhada nodded.  “I must.” 

Ignoring the screaming pain in her shoulders, she began to gather her things and pack them away for their journey.  She rolled up her blanket, stuffed it inside her traveling bag and tucked Bloodbinder safely inside. 

              Both mounted their steeds at the same time and led them on toward the bog that lay before them.  The horses were reluctant to walk in however and Rhada was forced to dismount again and lead her horse on by the reins.

              The water was murky with what looked like thick oil and she could not see to the bottom of any of the pools.  She walked on with caution, waiting for her foot to stop sinking and grip the mud below.  At one point they found themselves waist deep in the fetid water and Rhada felt her stomach turning in knots as the smell raced up her nostrils.

             
No matter how bad this gets, it is still better than trudging through South Fort. 
She looked behind at Mayvard who followed her closely and knew by the look on his face that he did not feel the same. 

Chapter 13

M
yranda sat in her sun chair next to the window, bathed in the deep orange light of the rising sun.  Her hair cascaded down the back of the chair in golden waves and her eyes sparkled like emeralds in the growing light.  She had a look about her that was quaint, but repressive; like that of a dressed up doll abandoned for a newer toy.  She had, as of late, felt quite abandoned but tried to tell herself she had no one else to blame but herself. 

              She sighed as she gazed out with watery eyes at the world below.  It was a world she envied, a world that carried on with its purposeful meandering, like termites upon a hill, unaware of a larger world than that of their own.  They never dreamt of the horrors of the realm, never awoke to the pounding inside the head that felt as though it could kill.  They kept on with their day-to-days, never knowing there were people looking down upon the hill, watching over them, keeping them safe and paying the price. 

              Myranda knew she could not complain, because while she may be lonely and suffering from a splitting headache at the moment, she would never suffer from poverty or disease or old age like the ordinary people in the distance.  She tried to remind herself through the throbbing and the nausea her magic was a gift not a curse.  And when the magic ran out, she would lie down and fall into a deep slumber while her body slowly shut down its systems and she was no more- a peaceful, quiet ending, with no suffering or pain; just serenity.  Myranda desperately tried to remember she was lucky in her position, but instead she leaned forward and grasped the sides of her head that began to throb beyond anything she had felt before. 
Where is Derrick? 
She wondered as she fought back the urge to vomit. 

              The door to Myranda’s chamber was suddenly thrown open and she did not need to open her eyes to know that it was the maid, Valindra, who had entered. 

              Valindra stopped in the doorway as she peered into the room of her Lady.  The light from the burning sun had bathed the ornate, wooden bed and its white sheets in a bloody hue.  Beams of orange and red filtered in, reflecting off the wooden floors and antique wardrobe, giving them even more of a malevolent appearance.  The sky outside seemed to be on fire and the open window was allowing the flames to flicker into the chamber, setting everything it touched aglow, even Myranda, who sat hunched in her chair next to the cauldron.

              Valindra had seen before what Myranda’s stance meant.  She had been witness to many of her headaches over the years and she felt sorry for the Sorceress.  Her gifts seemed to come with an awful price and it made Valindra very glad that she had not been born with these gifts. 

              It was as she was sitting now, leaning forward, grasping with one hand her aching head and with the other, her snarling belly, that Valindra knew Myranda had had another vision. 

              She rushed forward and began pulling the drapes closed to block out the blinding, fiery light. 

              “You should not sit here in the sun when you are like this.”  She scolded as she pulled the last drape closed and turned back to Myranda.

              “I could not stand and close them myself.”  Myranda said weakly.

              Valindra stooped and grasped Myranda’s hands in hers.  “Let me help you to the bed.”

              “I have sent for Derrick.  I must wait for him.” 

              “Would you like for me to go see what is taking him so long?”  Valindra asked. 

              Myranda shook her head.  “He will come.”

              Valindra sighed and released Myranda’s hands which immediately took their places at her forehead.  It was as though Myranda’s hands possessed some magical power to stymie away the pressure that pounded beneath the surface. 

              “Would you like to tell me what your vision was about this time?”  Valindra asked, knowing Myranda always felt relieved to unload the burden of her visions onto someone else.

              Valindra was surprised by the tears that appeared behind Myranda’s eyes.  “It was about Mayvard.”  She said.  Her hands dropped down to her sides and her chin began quivering. 

              “What has happened to him?”  Valindra asked, feeling her heart begin to throb at the thought that he could have fallen into trouble.  Though Valindra had only spoken to the man on a few occasions, she had been impressed by his kindness and he made Myranda happier than Valindra had ever seen.  This was enough for her to hold him in the highest regard. 

              “I was standing in the chapel, dressed in white, flowers about my hair and a vale shrouding my tormented face.  I was there alone.  No one had come- no one would come.  Mayvard was gone.”  Myranda’s tears began streaming down her face and Valindra, in her sympathy for the Sorceress, leaned forward and wrapped her into an embrace, allowing her to cry upon her shoulder.  Valindra’s dress was low, leaving the skin of her shoulders bare which were now being showered with Myranda’s sorrow.

              “He will return.”  She said.  “Your wedding will be beautiful.”  Valindra, however, doubted her own words.  Myranda’s visions were never wrong, and if her vision was right this time, there would not be a wedding.

              Just then, a soft knock came at the door and Myranda sighed with relief as Valindra jumped to her feet, ran to the door and hastily pulled it open to reveal Derrick Evardin, the castle’s potion master.  He was an ancient man, to say the least.  His long, white and gray hair fell about his shoulders in thin wisps that looked as though they would fall out with the slightest of breezes.  His eyes were two sunken dots that barely showed any life behind them.  His face was wrinkled with age and hanging off the bones as though it had been pulled loose.  His back was bent with the weight of the years of his life and made him walk with a hunched gait.  His long, gray robe hung loosely about him, suggesting that at one point in his life it had fit, but as age had begun to tear away at his strength and form, the robes grew larger.  His arms, which were the only part of him besides his head that was visible beyond the robe, were covered in dark spots and shook with a slight quivering.  

              He shuffled his way across the room to where Myranda sat and stood before her, looking down to her with pity.  In his shaky hand was a vial of green and brown liquid, swirling together to form a most unappetizing appearance. 

              “Lady Sorceress, this tonic should help with the pain.”  He handed her the vial and Myranda drank it quickly without asking what it was made of.  She did not wish to allow the taste to linger on her tongue either; she knew from experience what Derrick’s tonics tasted like.  The liquid poured down her throat like thick oil, almost making her gag.  She swallowed, keeping the liquid down, not wanting to waste any bit of it in hopes that it would rid her of her throbbing head.

              The Potion Master and Valindra stood in silent anticipation as they watched Myranda, waiting to see if there was any change in how she felt. 

              Myranda blinked for a moment, wondering why her vision seemed to blur.  Her eyes fluttered opened and closed and with one swift movement, she fell forward out of her chair, unconscious.  Valindra let out a surprised shout as she leaned forward and caught Myranda just before she hit the ground.

              “Is that supposed to happen?”  She asked the potion master with concern.  She tapped Myranda lightly on the cheek but there was no motion from her.

              “Oh my.”  The old man said as he stroked his long beard and looked down to the unconscious Sorceress.  “I must have mixed the sleeping potion with the pain remedy again.” 

              “Again?”  Valindra asked irritated.  She looked to the potion master as though he was losing his mind.

              “Lay her on the bed.  She will wake in a few hours.”  Valindra dragged Myranda to the large oak bed in the center of the room and the potion master helped her lift the Sorceress with a most unpleasing groan of anguish.  Valindra cringed as she heard Derrick’s bones crack as he bent even lower to grasp Myranda by the legs, and then crack as he tried to straighten to lift her.

              “She will be alright.”  He said after leaning down and listening to make certain she was still breathing.  “Perhaps rest is exactly what she needs for her headache.”

              “I hope you are right.”  Valindra replied with trepidation. 

              After the potion master left, Valindra walked to a small shelf in the corner of the room, lifted a book she had started reading a few days ago and walked to the sun chair, opening the shutters to let in a little light to read by.

             
I will just stay here until she wakes.  Someone needs to make certain she
does
wake.

             
Several hours later, Myranda sat bolt upright in bed.  She screamed loudly, making Valindra jump from her chair.  Her book, which had fallen to her chest as she had drifted into a deep sleep, fell to the floor with a thud, its pages flapping like wings on its way down.  She ran to Myranda’s side and gently grabbed her hand.

              “What is it?”  She asked concernedly.

              Myranda seemed to take notice of the maid for the first time.  She turned her head slightly and peered down at the young girl with frightened eyes.  She opened her mouth but seemed unable to speak.

              Valindra reached to the bedside table and handed a glass of water to Myranda who practically ripped it from the young girl’s hands and drank the contents of it fully down.  When she finished, she handed the glass back to the maid and stared off into the distance, as though she had suddenly forgotten where she was.

              “Lady Myranda?  Is everything alright?”  She asked.  She could not help but notice her own voice tremble.

              “No.”  Myranda whispered.  Her face grew paler by the minute and her hands began to shake as she sat still wrapped in her blankets.  “Everything is wrong.”  She said without looking at Valindra.

              “What do you mean?”  The maid asked, wondering if perhaps Myranda had had another vision.

              “He has returned.”  Was all she said before her eyes fluttered again and she fell back into her bed in an unconscious heap. 

              Later that evening, Myranda made her way hastily down the dark corridor towards the King’s room.  Her headache had subsided but it had been replaced with a daunting fear she could not get rid of.  Her stomach twisted and turned as she walked, threatening to relieve itself at any moment.  She tried to focus her thoughts on anything else to take the nausea away but she found that she could not.  Her wandering mind refused to settle on anything besides her fear- the nightmare she had just awoken from.

              She had seen it as though she was there- a great cloud of fog and what looked like fire in the distance.  The fog was cold, colder than anything Myranda had felt before.  She found it difficult to breathe inside the cold and found herself wandering towards the flames in the distance, even though she knew there was something dangerous about them. 

              Two eyes appeared before her, glowing red like fire and burning into her soul.  She fell to her knees, unable to stand on weak legs.  Then a man emerged- his white hair flowing around his shoulders in ghost-like wisps.  His black robes cascaded from his shoulders like a shadow trying to conceal its master.  He held out a boney hand towards Myranda, piercing her heart with his gaze.  And then she felt him inside her mind, flowing through her thoughts like water, telling her that she cannot stop the wave of death that was approaching.

              She awoke with an anguished cry and immediately jumped out of bed, knowing in her heart exactly what she had seen.  

              As she approached the King’s door, she stopped and took a deep breath to try to calm her nerves. 
The King will not take kindly to this news. 
She realized as she stared at the large, oak door that loomed before her.  The sentry outside looked to her quizzically and asked; “would you like for me to summon the Queen?”

              Myranda shook her head.  “I must deliver this news to the King himself.” 

              The sentry looked to the oak door then looked back to Myranda with regret.  “I am sorry, Lady Sorceress, but the King is away.”

              Myranda was taken aback by this news.  She had not been informed the King had left Axendra.

              “How long does he plan to be away?”  She asked with nervousness.  She desperately wanted to know where he had gone but it was not her place to ask such a question.

              “He did not say.  All I know is that he has been gone for two days and no one is certain when he will return, not even the Queen.”

              “He did not tell the Queen where he was going?”  Myranda’s sickness grew with this news. 
This is very suspicious.  What could the King be doing?

             
“No, my Lady.”  The sentry smiled warmly at her before asking; “would you like for me to fetch the Queen?”

              Myranda was about to answer yes when her stomach churned heavily and she doubled over in pain.  She grasped her stomach and bent over, trying her hardest not to vomit.  The sentry stepped away from his post and grasped her by the shoulders to help her balance.