Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) (23 page)

Rhada inhaled a few deep breaths before jabbing the needle first into the cuts she had made with Bloodbinder then she worked her way towards her newest wound made by the healer, Daskin.  She wondered briefly if the healer had meant to kill her with his small knife.  She recalled the glow in his eyes just before the knife met her flesh- all his anger and pain, boiling beneath his skin for two years and suddenly he had the chance- a chance for revenge.  She glowered at the needle in her hands, dripping with her own blood, and jabbed it back into her wound.  It was not until her eyes began to water that she realized she was being more violent with herself than was needed.  She looked down to her own sloppy sutures and grimaced, knowing she had been digging deeply with the needle without really paying attention.  The pain of it was what she craved.  Though Daskin had been unsuccessful in his quest for revenge, Rhada made certain she did not go entirely unpunished. 

Chapter 18

D
ungar watched with curious eyes as Daskin descended the stairs in a hurry.  Though the man was not elderly, he moved as though the passing of years had weighed him down.  His shoulders were slumped over his chest like a hunchback and his legs flopped onto each step without grace.  He held fast to the banister so that he would not tumble down the stairs and his face was red with fatigue.   When he reached the bottom, he was panting- out of breath from the run. 

              “Daskin!”  Dungar shouted, waving the healer over to their table.  Daskin did not seem inclined to stop, but did so all the same.

              “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”  Mulvaus asked. 

              “The High Protector a… attacked me!”  He said through exasperated breaths.

              Dungar looked to his two companions over his ale glass and they looked to him with the same curious gaze.

              “Why did she attack you, Daskin?”  Raff asked.

              “I mentioned the wake of destruction she had left behind in South Fort two years ago and she lost her temper.”  He shook his head disbelievingly.

              “Is she injured then?”  Dungar asked

              Daskin nodded his head.  “She was attacked by a ghost wolf.  The beast’s claws tore at her shoulders.”

              Dungar felt a swell of relief at this news.  “How bad would you say her injuries are?”

              Daskin shrugged his shoulders.  “I have seen worse.”  He stepped away from their table and continued towards the door.

              “Where are you going?”  Mulvaus asked.

                “She told me to leave at once, so that is what I am doing.”

              “You are leaving just because she says to?”  Mulvaus asked with a smirk, clearly thinking the old man a coward.

              “Do not mock me!”  Daskin shouted in sudden anger.  “Any man who has seen the look of wrath on that woman’s face would tell you as I am about to tell you now- there is pure evil inside of her.  I am not taking my chances of disobeying.”  He took a breath and scowled down at the three of them.  “I shall forever remember the anger in her eyes.  They will haunt me.”  He turned to go and slammed the inn’s door behind him, making Madam Liscal look up from the empty mug she was wiping clean.

              Dungar waited until the other patrons turned their curious heads away and said; “the old man is no fool, a coward perhaps but not a fool.  This is not some simple-minded girl we are dealing with here.”

              “Perhaps not,” Raff interrupted, “but she is only one woman.  Skilled with the sword or no, she is only one and we are three.  And she is injured.”

              “There is also the Captain to consider.”  Mulvaus interjected.

              “Yes.”  Dungar said.  “And from what I have heard he is just as skilled as the High Protector and never leaves her side.”

              “Except he is not at her side at this very moment.”  Raff said.  They had all seen Captain Mayvard huff angrily down the stairs towards the bath room.  He had glanced in their direction, apparently checking to see if they were still there, before he disappeared behind the swinging doors.  Madam Liscal had informed the three men that Captain Mayvard had ordered baths for the two of them.

              “But that does us no good.”  Dungar said, looking behind him towards the bath room.  “The time is not right and besides, there are too many witnesses.”

              The other two nodded in agreement.

              An hour after the healer left, the High Protector came stomping down the stairs, her leather boots leaving dirty prints behind her and Bloodbinder strapped to her belt.  Her cloth shirt was stained red with blood and Dungar’s eyes remained fixed on the red streaks until she looked up at him and trapped him with her gaze.  It was then he realized Daskin’s words were true; there was something evil in her gray eyes- something foreboding and deceitful.  When she turned away, a shiver ran through his spine.

              “This belongs to the healer, Daskin.”  He heard her say to the innkeeper as she held out a satchel.  Madam Liscal took the bag with a scowl.  “He will return in the morning for it.”  Madam Liscal’s eyes lowered to the blood stains upon Rhada’s shirt.

              “Would you like a new one?”  She asked.  The High Protector nodded and Madam Liscal disappeared into the back with the satchel still in hand.  When she returned, the satchel was gone and a fresh, white shirt was in hand.  She handed it across the bar to the High Protector.  “Bath room’s through there.”  She said pointing to the swinging doors her Captain had disappeared behind an hour previous.  The High Protector thanked the innkeeper and without glancing back their way, disappeared behind the swinging doors.

              Dungar turned back to his companions only when the doors stopped swinging.  “It must be tonight!”  He said in a whisper, afraid someone may hear.  “Here she is, in this very inn and we have the means to take her down.  If we succeed, Lord Ivran can mount his attack upon the King and he will not have her sword to hide behind!”

              Mulvaus nodded but did not share the same enthusiasm.  He was willing to attempt an assassination but Dungar could see the fear in the man’s eyes.  Raff, however, smiled viciously and wrung his hands as though he could not wait for the opportunity.

              “Her head will make a fine trophy for Lord Ivran, a fine trophy indeed.”  And Raff laughed with a boisterous chortle.  Dungar told him to keep it down but knew it did not matter; the High Protector was far away from hearing distance.  She would never know what hit her.  Her life would end before she even knew it was in danger. 

              Rhada stepped into the steamy bath room just as the maid was pouring another bucket of boiling water into the unoccupied copper tub, warming the water that Rhada’s absence had allowed to cool.  Mayvard lay in the tub opposite, with his arms outstretched over the edges and his head leaning back, eyes closed.  His hair, which had curled in the humidity, had been released from its leather strap and stuck to his wet cheeks.  Rhada let the swinging doors shut loudly behind her to announce her entrance. 

              Mayvard opened his eyes and lifted his head.  A smile formed on his lips but was gone just as quickly when his eyes fell upon Rhada’s blood-streaked shirt. 

              “What happened to you?”  He asked in anger. 

              Rhada simply shook her head and pulled her shirt off.  She stepped out of her leather boots and pants, laid Bloodbinder gently on the floor next to her tub and practically fell into the water from exhaustion.  Ignoring the screaming burn in her shoulders, she slid underneath the water to soak all of her hair and lingered there for a few moments before reemerging and turning her gaze back to Mayvard. 

              “At least he stitched you.”  Mayvard said, observing the sutures that protruded from her shoulders.

              “
I
stitched me.”  Rhada said in anger.  “The bastard stabbed me with his knife.”  She pointed to the puncture wound with three stitches.

              Mayvard frowned.  “Perhaps his hand slipped.” 

              Rhada shook her head again.  “I am beginning to think we would have been met with less hostility in South Fort!”  She lowered herself into the water until her chin was skimming the surface. 

              Mayvard was silent, staring at the opposite wall.  Rhada knew he agreed with her.  She sighed as the warmth of the water slowly enveloped her and decided that, for the moment, she would forget everything that was bothering her.  When the maid reappeared, she ordered wine for both of them and when it was delivered, Rhada slowly sipped the refreshing liquid until she could feel it swirling in her veins.  Her body felt lighter and the pain in her shoulders began to dissolve away. 

              “Tomorrow, before sunrise, I will go to the market and replenish our food supply.”  Mayvard said as he sipped his wine.

              “And I shall prepare the horses.”  Rhada leaned over the edge of her tub and set the empty wine glass next to Bloodbinder on the floor.  “Make certain I am awake before you go.”  She commanded and Mayvard nodded. 

              The maid brought a bar of soap for each of them and after scrubbing the dirt and dried blood away; Rhada stood, wrapped a towel around herself and stepped out of the water.  Mayvard did the same and they dressed quickly.  Rhada threw the new, clean shirt she had borrowed from the innkeeper over her head only to discover it was two sizes too large.  She folded her soiled shirt and left it upon a chair to be washed.  She picked Bloodbinder up off the ground and together they headed back to the tavern.

              Once outside the swinging doors, Rhada noticed that all other patrons had left for the evening- all except the three travelers who still sat in their corner, fresh ales in their hands.  Rhada could not help but notice the gazes of loathing they shot her way, nor the ringing of Bloodbinder in her ears, warning her of danger as she passed.  Mayvard smiled and nodded to them but Rhada averted her eyes away towards the stairs. 

              Once at her room door, she turned to Mayvard and whispered; “those men are plotting something.” 

              Mayvard nodded in agreement.  “It does seem that way.”

              “And Bloodbinder agrees.”  She said, leaning over him and peering through the banister to the tavern below.  “They should have left to deliver their message.”

              “Would you like me to stay guard outside your door tonight?”  Mayvard asked.

              Rhada smiled at the weary man before her.  She could see his eyes dropped with heaviness and his shoulders were slumped as though his exhaustion was a heavy burden to carry.  But she knew if she asked it, he would sit outside her door all through the night, never letting his eyes flutter closed, while she slept peacefully in her warm bed.

              Rhada shook her head and placed a hand on his shoulder.  “Get some sleep, friend.  You are ready to fall over where you stand.”

              Mayvard nodded, not having the energy to argue and strolled away to his own room.  Rhada stepped inside her door and made certain it locked behind her.  She placed Bloodbinder upon the bed, sat on the edge and began pulling her boots off; noticing for the first time the stains of blood seeped into the wooden planks of the floor.  It was her blood that painted the floor red but she could do nothing about it.  She felt her own exhaustion creeping up on her like a thief and decided she was too tired to clean it up.  She lifted the blanket and crawled underneath, sighing at the simple comfort of sleeping in a bed once again.  She reached forward and pulled Bloodbinder underneath the blanket as well, hugging it close to her body before allowing herself to drift off. 

              They crept through the darkness like shadows, keeping their footsteps as silent as though they did not even exist.  Each step had to be taken with care- the slightest of noises would alert her to their presence.  They walked up the stairs and through the darkened hallway in a line, Dungar leading the way and Raff covering the rear- all carried their naked swords by the hilt and were ready to strike.

              When they reached her door, they stopped outside and listened for any noise that may be coming from within.  After a few moments, the three men gave each other encouraging looks, deciding she was fast asleep and never would they have a better opportunity for an attack than this very moment.

              Dungar reached a shaking hand up to the door handle but hesitated. 
Something does not feel right. 
He thought.  He could feel Mulvaus behind him, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.  Raff whispered; “what are you waiting for?”  Finally, Dungar found the courage to turn the handle to her door.  It opened with a soft
creak
and all men stood poised, certain the sound had woken her. 

              No one moved nor took a breath or made any sort of sound.  All was quiet in the hallway and inside the room.  All men took in deep breaths of relief and one-by-one, shuffled silently inside the dark room.

              The night had been peaceful and quiet and Rhada had fallen asleep faster than she had in many days.  She lay motionless on her back, breathing heavily into the air without any concept of the world around her.  Then came a scream, loud and shrill and it filled her ears and made them ring.  She sat bolt upright in her bed, grasped the hilt of her blade and searched her room.  Instantly she was on her feet without even realizing what was happening and she moved to the door.  Before she could open it, however, she stopped and listened.  Her sword vibrated violently in her hand and she knew it was the sword that had woken her.  Bloodbinder sensed trouble and it had given her a warning- a warning that she was not at all surprised to receive. 

              After quickly pulling on her boots, Rhada slowly turned the key in her door and opened it.  She stepped lithely into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind her, slowly closing it until she heard a soft
click
.  She crept through the hallway, trying not to make any noise and stopped at the top of the stairs.  There she spotted them, the same three men, huddling together and whispering.  They each lifted their ales into the air and drank the last drops down at the same time.