Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) (24 page)

              The three men stood and pulled their swords from their scabbards and began to walk towards the stairwell.  Rhada, having no desire to kill these men without proof they meant her harm, backed up into the dark hallway and hid in a corner until they crept past.  None of them took notice of her.  She watched patiently as they stood outside her door and tried to gather their courage.  Finally, they pushed the door open and stepped inside.

              Rhada turned and made her way downstairs.  She found a seat that faced the stairwell and threw herself into it.  She laid Bloodbinder across her lap and waited patiently for the men to return.  It wasn’t long before they realized she was not in her room and soon, she could see their feet descending the steps.

              The first man to appear was the tall one who had spoken to her earlier.  His face froze in shock and he stood, not moving on the stairwell until his two companions came into view.  They descended farther, glancing back at him with curious looks.  When they looked forward and saw Rhada sitting at the table watching them, they too froze.

              “In all my years of being High Protector, I have become accustomed to men trying to kill me.  But never before has anyone attempted to sneak into my room whilst I slept and stab me in the dark.”  Rhada shook her head disappointedly.  She stood, grasped Bloodbinder tightly and faced the three men who looked to her with panic.

              “If you wish me dead, then you may fight me with honor and try your best to kill me.”  When none of them moved, she narrowed her eyes.  “Or are you all cowards?” 

              It was Raff who rushed forward, eager to prove that he was no coward.  His sword glistened in the bright firelight of the tavern hearth as he raced ahead, aiming it at her heart. His bellowing war-cry filled the empty tavern and rang in Rhada’s ears. He rushed towards her with courage in his heart and determination on his face.  She stepped aside with ease and slashed at the man’s throat; feeling the blade slice through flesh as though it was water, causing him to jerk away and fall onto a nearby table where he lie on his back gasping for breath.  Blood flowed from his neck in a stream and dripped onto the floor in a red pool and soon, he was silent. 

              The two men who remained on the stairwell looked to their companion then back to Rhada in disbelief.  Neither of them raised their swords or made a sound. 

              Rhada stepped forward, causing the two men to jump back.  “You shall not escape justice.  I am offering you a chance to defend yourselves but if you try to run, your flesh will meet my blade.” 

              After several moments, the two men raised their swords together and stepped forward.  They let out shouts of courage and rushed towards her.  Rhada ducked and spun, slamming the hilt of her blade into Dungar’s stomach.  He doubled over in pain and fell to the ground.  When she stood tall, she took a step forward and thrust Bloodbinder towards Mulvaus with such force; it pushed its victim into the wall and a river of blood spurt from his mouth.  His eyes widened but soon they fluttered and he went limp.  Rhada pulled the tip of her blade from Mulvaus’s chest, spun and saw the back of Dungar as he fled the inn. 

              It was Mayvard who gave chase.  He had woken from the sounds of shouting men and when he saw the tall man flee, he ran after him before Rhada could even pull her blade free of her victim. 

              Dungar’s pace quickened when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him.  He panted as he ran, trying his best to not lose pace.  He could feel his heart pounding in his chest with fear and tried to ignore it but the fear soon took hold of him when he felt strong hands grab him from behind and yank him backwards. 

              He fell to the ground painfully and let out a gasp as he tried to fill his lungs with air.  No matter how hard he tried, however, he could not take a breath and instead he began to cough violently. 

              A figure stood over him in the dark and it wasn’t until it leaned over and grabbed the scruff of Dungar’s tunic that he could see it was the Captain who held him.  Mayvard’s eyes shone angrily in the moonlight and his entire face contorted in a look of rage.  He suddenly became more frightening than the High Protector herself.

Then his fist was flying through the air and struck Dungar on the jaw.  It came again and struck the side of his head and again and again and before he knew it, he was losing consciousness.  He could not even feel the pain from the blows any longer.

              “Mayvard!”  It was a woman’s voice that traveled through the darkness.  His senses told him he hated this woman but her voice was soft and it stopped the angry Captain from pounding his face in.  He felt himself fall to the ground as the Captain released his grip on him and then his eyes darkened.

              Rhada stood over Mayvard, peering down at him with hardened eyes.  Bloodbinder dripped with the blood of its victims and she held to it tightly.  She looked to Mayvard, then to the unconscious man and saw his blood on Mayvard’s fist.  She felt certain he had killed the man.

              “That is not the way we handle things.”  She said to him softly.  He stood with a look of shame on his face and lowered his voice when he spoke.

              “Forgive me, Madam Protector.  I am just so tired of the way people treat you and I lost my temper.”  She could see his shoulders slump as the realization of what he had just done fell over him. 

              Rhada reached up and placed a gentle hand on Mayvard’s shoulder.  “I am appreciative of your concern for me, as always.  Go inside and wait for me.  I will deal with this one.”

              Mayvard looked to her with hurt in his eyes.  “I should stay and help you.”  He said.

              Rhada shook her head.  “That is an order- now go.”  Mayvard walked briskly away, leaving Rhada alone with her would-be assassin.  She peered down at the man and waited for any sign of movement. 

              Finally he stirred, letting out a small moan as he rolled to his side.  Rhada knelt down beside him and grasped him by the shoulders, turning him onto his back.  The man let out a pitiful cry of fear as he looked into Rhada’s eyes. 

              “I understand that I am not the most likable person in this realm.”  She said as she stared harshly at the man.  Blood dripped from his mouth and the side of his head but he kept his consciousness and stared back at her with loathing.  “In fact, I would dare say next to the King, I am the most hated person in Kaena.”

              “Even more so than the King!”  The man interjected.  He spat towards her, missing her face by inches but she felt the spray of saliva and blood hit her shoulder. 

              Rhada’s lips curled in her anger and she reached for Bloodbinder.  She held it to the man’s throat and tried not to let her anger control her.

              “Even so, why would three peasants, who obviously have never gone through combat training, try to kill me?  Did you really think it would be that easy?” 

              When the man did not answer, Rhada shook him until he cried out in pain.  “Answer me!”  She shouted.  “Why did you attack me?”

              “I will never tell.”  He replied between gasps.  “But know this- soon you will be as dead as I am!”  With those words, Dungar pushed himself forward into the tip of Bloodbinder.  Rhada felt the blade glide through his flesh with ease.  He sputtered and choked on his blood until finally, his eyes rolled back into his head and his body went limp in her grasp.

Chapter 19

L
ord Ivran Cassius sat upon his stone-hard throne in his hall with his subjects surrounding him.  His face was hidden behind his open palm as he tried to focus on the words being spouted at him.  His headache, which never seemed to go away anymore, grew increasingly worse as the seconds rolled by.  And though he had clearly heard what Lord Doran Caster had just told him, his heart refused to believe it.  Even when Lord Doran laid Protector Fendrel’s sword down at his feet, Lord Ivran still could not bring himself to believe that he was dead.

              “The King knows!”  Lord Doran said in a panic.

              “There is no proof of that.”  Protector Emeric replied.

              “Even if he doesn’t, it will not be long before Terryn tells all.  He is a brave man, have no doubt, but no one can suffer through so much torture and not tell all they know.”  Lady Isolde said.  She stood next to her husband, with one hand resting on his shoulder and eyes facing Lord Ivran. 

              “We should gather our forces and attack now!  Before the King figures out another rebellion has begun and has time to strategize!”  Lord Doran was shouting now.

              As much as Lord Ivran wanted to attack, he knew they were not ready.  “
We
need time to strategize.”  Lord Ivran said.  He looked to his court with regretful eyes and continued- “We are not ready for a full attack on Axendra.  They would crush us, even without the High Protector leading them.  We must wait for our allies to gather.  I will send word to them at once but even if they left as soon as the message is received, they are still weeks away.” 

              “But the King’s forces could be ready to strike by then!”  Lord Doran argued.

              “Lady Isolde is right.  Terryn may be a brave man but he will not be able to withstand the torture for long.”  Lord Ivran stood now and looked to Protector Emeric.  If ever there was a man he knew he could trust, it was Emeric Lanslet.  He stood before Lord Ivran with his right hand resting peacefully on the hilt of his sword- always at the ready to unsheathe the blade at Lord Ivran’s command.  His sandy hair and hazel eyes were strikingly brilliant in the light of the sconce he stood underneath and Lord Ivran noticed that a few of the younger maidens’ eyes were fixed on him.   

              “We cannot attack the castle with our army as it is at the present, that much is certain but we
can
send someone in to rescue Terryn.”

              “It is a waste of time.”  Lady Isolde said with spite.  It was clear to Lord Ivran she wanted the army to attack now.  She and Lord Doran cared for nothing but their revenge on the King it would seem.

              “I do not consider it a waste of time to rescue a friend from certain torture and death.  If we can rescue Terryn before he tells the King anything, then we will have more time to wait for our allies to arrive.”

              At that moment, Emeric stepped forward and kneeled down before Lord Ivran on one knee.

              “I shall rescue the prisoner, my Lord, or I shall die trying.”  Lord Ivran nodded.

              “You have my thanks.”  He stepped down from his podium and addressed Lord Doran and Lady Isolde.  “Go home and get your people ready.  I shall send word as soon as the time is right.”

              Lord Doran bowed graciously to Lord Ivran but Lady Isolde merely shot him a look of loathing before spinning on her heel and stomping away. 

              Lord Ivran watched them go with regret.  He understood why they were so eager to attack and felt that he was somehow to blame for the delay.

              Finally, he turned to Emeric and spoke in a voice soft enough for only the Protector to hear.  “You must not make your presence inside the castle be known.  Get to Terryn quietly and escape even quieter.”

              “My Lord, what if Terryn is unable to flee?”  Emeric asked with concern.

              Lord Ivran, knowing the meaning behind Emeric’s words, pulled at his beard and sighed with sadness.  “If his injuries impede his ability to escape, then you must do him the kindness of releasing him from his pain.” 

              Emeric nodded.  “Worry not, my Lord.  I shall accomplish that which you have asked of me.”  With that, Emeric turned and was gone before Lord Ivran could shed a tear for the sorrow of his captured friend.

              The wine was hot and bitter but Lord Ivran drank it nonetheless.  He had no desire to leave the confines of his room and order another wine be brought to him.  He sat huddled by his window, wrapped in his bear-skin blanket and staring out at the city that surrounded him.  An afternoon haze had come with the setting sun and blanketed the tiled roofs of the houses below.  The orange glow of the last day’s light sifted through the haze and glistened like falling gold through the streets.  The people scurried about on horseback or their own two feet, going from shop to shop, completely unaware of the peril that surrounded them.  He had been born in Ylia and would have happily died there if it was not for the realm that cried out for him to be their ruler.  His people were very fond of him and he governed them with pride which is why they wished so badly for him to be their King. 

              In that moment, as he sipped his wine, he wondered what had spawned his desire to begin a new rebellion.  He had heard whispers of men who wished to regroup but never before did he think about joining them.  Even when he had stumbled upon the pyre of charred bodies the High Protector had left behind, or when Captain Jamus Ardul had thrown himself from Lord Ivran’s balcony, unable to bear the pain of failing his people, Lord Ivran had not dared stir the pot that would make the land boil with war.

              It started almost a year ago when his wife Meira came to him on a summer day and whispered in his ear that she was with child.  The memory of the joy he felt that day brought such sadness to his heart now.  He squeezed the wine goblet in his hand until it nearly broke then sighed with frustration.

              For years they had tried to have a child but never could Meira conceive.  When finally she did, Lord Ivran decided any child of his deserved to grow up in a better world than what he lived in.  And so the new rebellion began.

              It started with secret meetings in the basements of taverns with only the Lords of the realm and their Protectors.  It wasn’t long before word spread and the entire realm it seemed was whispering about it.  Many people from all over Kaena showed up on his doorstep to swear fealty to him and offer him their armies.  Lord Ivran knew then if their rebellion was successful, he would be crowned the new King and would spend the last of his days in that dark, forsaken castle that grew like a shadow in the depths of Axendra. 

              It was this chair he sat in now that he sat in the day everything changed for him.  He had been sitting as he was now, looking out the window with hopeful eyes and watched as the Lords, Ladies, Protectors and Sorcerers all flooded through his gates for their first ‘official’ meeting.  His heart raced with the thrill of seeing them all gathered and the knowledge that this time, the rebellion had a better chance of succeeding.  He beamed down at them with a grin so wide, his cheeks began to hurt. 

              Suddenly, Meira burst through his door, crying out in pain.  He rushed to her side and when he saw the trail of blood that followed her inside his room, he knew she had lost the child.

              The world around him grew grey and grim in that moment and ever since then, he had been searching for some light- some glimmer of hope that would make everything seem worthwhile but he could find none.  It wasn’t until he met Terryn that he felt a ray of happiness. 

              Terryn had come to him on the winds of a storm.  He watched as his horse rode through the blowing rain and mud, his head covered with a hood, and in he stormed through the front doors with such courage, Lord Ivran found himself feeling guilty he did not share the same passion for the rebellion.

              “I want those who have destroyed this land to be brought to justice.”  Terryn had told him over their supper.  Somehow, word had reached Terryn’s ears and he had rushed to Lord Ivran’s door as quickly as he could to offer his services.  “I shall be a spy for you.”  Lord Ivran graciously accepted.

              Now he sat staring out that same window and the light had faded once again.  He could only imagine the pain and suffering Terryn was experiencing in that moment. 
He is a brave lad but not a fighter. 
He looked down to his wine glass with sorrow. 
I should have watched over him better. 

              At that moment, a hooded figure on horseback raced down the dirt path away from Lord Ivran’s small castle.  He watched as the man’s cloak billowed behind him in the wind and even though it was growing dark out, he recognized Protector Emeric. 

             
Please save him. 
Lord Ivran pleaded silently as Emeric flew through the darkness and away from view. 
Bring him home safely. 
It was his last hope in the darkened world that surrounded him.