But then his face turned upward, towards the door of the tent. “I will not tell you. I will show you. It will be easier that way.”
He stood slowly then reached both hands down and grasped her underneath the arms to lift her like a small child. Rhada cried out in pain as her stiff legs were forced to move and she held tightly to Mayvard, trying not to fall.
Mayvard wrapped his arms around her and made certain the blanket did not unravel from her shoulders and together, they shuffled their feet forward until they stood at the flap of the tent.
In what seemed like an act of reluctance, Mayvard’s hand hovered over the flap for a moment, as though he had changed his mind about showing her. But then, he reached up and opened the tent flap to reveal the world outside. Rhada tensed in his arms and he turned his gaze to watch her reaction.
Their small tent sat atop a hill. Outside, the world was dark and would have shone brilliantly with the nighttime stars had there not been so many fires lit around them, sending a golden hue into the night sky like an ethereal sunset. The braziers burned through the night, warming the thousands of soldiers huddled around them. Hundreds of other tents had been pitched around theirs and more could be seen in the valley below. Smithies had been set up and Rhada could see the sparks of sharpening blades being thrown into the air against the black night, and smell the familiar scent of heated steel. The men who passed were all attired in boiled leather or chainmail and carried swords at their sides at all times.
Rhada knew the look of war. She knew the sight of men preparing for battle. She could see it before her, laid out as a map of the future. She got the sick feeling that she knew where they were headed as well.
Then suddenly, a tent across from them opened and three men appeared into the night. They carried with them maps, pipes and flagons of ale and each took a seat around the fire to plan and discuss and drink and laugh.
Rhada recognized the oldest of the three as Lord Onas Tibbott from Lerous. His long, gray hair glistened in the firelight. His old, withered hands rested around a flagon of ale which he brought to his lips with a shaky grip.
Another man she recognized as Protector Stanwyck Wymon of Tanis. He was much younger than Lord Onas and far sprightlier. He had led his army to South Fort to give his aid there two years prior. He arrived at the same moment Rhada and her army had but it was her army that was victorious. Protector Stanwyck had been forced to retreat and leave South Fort to its fate. After the war was ended, Rhada led her men into Tanis and forced Stanwyck and all his nobility to their knees to re-swear their loyalty to the King- an oath she could clearly see he was willing to break.
The third man was Lord Ivran Cassius of Ylia. She recognized his short, fur-like beard and soft complexion. His face, though not yet wrinkled with age, looked as though it had the years of an elderly man etched upon it; wrought with the hardships of life. His brow was hard and furrowed, stuck in a constant state of contemplation. She had not had many encounters with Lord Ivran in the past but from what she could see, he was their leader. He sat with his head turned away from her, holding a smoking pipe between his lips with his teeth and pointing to the map in his hand to explain something to his companions.
The enemies of my past are gathering together and I am surrounded by them on all sides. She pushed herself backwards and Mayvard helped her back into the tent, making certain the flap was closed tightly behind them.
When she was settled next to the fire, she panted from exhaustion and had to catch her breath before asking; “How?” She could not quite form the question she wished to ask but Mayvard understood anyway.
“I tried my best to outrun them but our pace was too slow- I worried for your health. They caught up with me two days outside of South Fort and I decided it was better to join their ranks and pretend to be one of them. I knew it was unlikely anyone would recognize me. So long as I kept your identity hidden, we would be safe.”
“How were you able to do that?” She asked with difficulty. She could feel the room around her begin to darken and knew the shadows had been kept at bay as long as was possible- they were returning for her. She could feel their coldness fill the room and begin to freeze her limbs.
“Some have inquired as to why I have a sick woman with me. I have been telling them that you are my wife and very ill with a contagious disease. Only the healers in Axendra can help, and whilst I am at the castle fighting for my country, you will be in the hands of the healers. They seem to believe it well enough and none have dared come close to us for fear of contracting this contagious disease.”
“Clever.” Rhada whispered. Her eyes began to flutter and Mayvard knew he was losing her again. He stooped down next to her and grasped her hand tightly.
“Rhada, please stay with me. I cannot lose you to the darkness again. Not tonight!”
Rhada forced her eyes open once more and cocked her head to the side to gaze curiously at Mayvard. “Why not tonight?”
“Because you and I are no longer safe here. We must leave the army undetected. I cannot do it without your help.”
“But why must it be tonight? So long as Lord Ivran does not recognize me, we will be safe until we’ve reached Axendra.”
“But that’s the problem!” Mayvard replied with regret. “We reached the outskirts of Axendra this morning. The city lies only two days from here and when Lord Ivran gives the signal, these thousands of men will descend upon her and I do not wish to be amongst them when that happens.”
Chapter 2
It was not yet dawn when the castle of Axendra came into Myranda’s view. The stone edifice atop its hill looked so cold and ominous to her on this morning. When she left it, she had left on the wings of a crow, swiftly flying from tree to tree, following the unaware Protector Zane, clutching a small burlap sack between her talons with her robes stuffed tightly inside. Now she followed the King on horseback, being forced back inside the confining walls of the castle which felt more like a prison. The King sat tall and proud on his brown destrier, chatting with the guard riding next to him. The guard said something only audible to the King, and Firion threw his head back and laughed. Myranda scowled at the sight of him, so jovial and seemingly unaware of the troubles of their future. She only just realized, as her fingers grew numb from pain, that she had been squeezing the reins she held to. She forced her fingers to relax and looked downward towards the road upon which they traveled, avoiding the glum sight before her.
They wove through the city in a four-man formation, with the King and his guards leading the procession. They rounded a corner that curved through the courtyard of the Axendra chapel, a place where their ancestors could worship their Gods. But since the destruction of the old religions during the Dark Wars, the chapel was now used for weddings and funerals. Myranda gave a stifled sigh as she rode past the great white spires and rounded stained-glass window. She should have already made her journey down the aisle, with her handmaidens holding the train of her wedding gown. She remembered her vision, she remembered that she and Mayvard would never be married and she turned her gaze away, unable to bear the sight of what was almost her happy ending. She did her best to suppress the tears that burned behind her eyes but could not stop one from falling down her cheek and landing on the back of her arm.
Not only was Myranda saddened their wedding would never take place, but she was desperately trying to figure out why. The only explanation she could come up with was that either Mayvard’s life or her own was in danger, and since she spent her days stationed safely guarded behind the castle walls, while Mayvard spent his days at Rhada’s side, she could make a safe assumption as to whose life was in jeopardy.
When they turned their direction east and left the courtyard of the chapel, Myranda sat up taller and wiped away the wetness of her eyes. She could not be crying when she returned to the castle. Her grief would have to wait until she was alone in her chamber.
The busy people of the city all stepped aside to allow the procession through. They bowed when th
ey recognized their King but Myranda could not help notice the looks of contempt cross their faces once his back was turned. She shuddered; knowing even the people of Axendra despised their King. Perhaps they will turn on us as well. She thought, trying her best to remain straight and regal in her saddle. She sighed with a breath of relief when they exited the city through the east gate and took the road that followed the edge of the forest. Though the castle was not a place she desired to be at that moment, the city was an even more daunting and hostile predator, waiting, it seemed, to pounce on them the moment they were vulnerable. It was then Myranda knew they had no chance of winning this war.
Dunstan Engeram was shuffling about the King’s room, opening the cupboards of his liquor cabinet, searching for the red wine. Each cupboard he pulled open in haste, he slammed shut, causing the King to flinch. King Firion craned his neck and peered in through the open doors of the balcony upon which he stood and watched the page frantically push aside bottles of white wine, mapleberrie liquor or whatever else Firion had stored up in there. Firion knew the boy was nervous, having just been appointed his page to take Terryn’s place. He knew what was said about him in the castle halls and no doubt Dunstan had heard these rumors, probably thinking Firion would send him to the dungeons if he did not find the wine that was requested. He smiled to himself, grateful for the power he possessed over the simple people.
“The white will be fine, Dunstan.” Firion said after several more moments of watching the boy panic. Dunstan smiled with relief and grabbed the bottle of Lerous white.
He began wriggling the cork back and forth, grunting as he pulled and twisted. When the cork would not budge, he looked up to the King with panicked eyes. King Firion had to stifle his laughter at the foolish boy.
“Take it to the kitchens and have them open it.”
“Yes, your grace.” Dunstan bowed and quickly vanished from the room.
King Firion turned back to the sight of the city in the distance. It rested below him like a child on its knees, begging for protection. His thoughts turned to Lord Ivran and his band of traitors and suddenly he could not wait for his wine. His anger boiled deep within and at any moment could erupt. He needed the wine to keep it down.
And where is Rhada when I need her the most? Firion was only slightly aware the fault was his own she was not there. Most of the blame he placed upon Myranda. If I had known what Ivran was plotting, I never would have sent her away. She would have been in Ylia with my army weeks ago, ravaging Ivran’s precious city, burning his castle to rubble and ash. He wanted Ivran to be brought to him. He wanted the coward at his feet, begging for mercy. But he shall have none.
Firion felt himself beginning to tense with the desire to take action. He had wasted far too much time hiding in the forest, getting drunk with Lady Ashryn. He only felt a slight pang of sadness when he thought of her. The image of her black, smoldering flesh was still fresh in his mind. And she was so beautiful. It seemed such a waste. But she chose her path. She chose to betray me and no one escapes their fate once they’ve turned traitor.
He remembered the reason Lady Ashryn had requested he meet her in private. She had been the one to warn him of Lord Ivran’s treachery. If he attacks, it will be at night when we are least expecting it. That is how he will break through the gates. Firion sipped at his wine and imaged Lord Ivran and his thousands of men spilling into the gates of Axendra. His mind was so occupied with this vision; he did not take notice of the sound of footsteps behind him. It wasn’t until a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder that King Firion knew he wasn’t alone. He spun around to find Scarlet smiling up at him. Her long hair cascaded down her bare shoulders in ringlets and contrasted vibrantly against the pale pink of her silk dress.
“I missed you greatly.” She whispered into his ear and without letting go of him, she pulled him back into the room and towards the bed.
Though the King’s mind was preoccupied with war, he could never say no to his wife and he allowed her to pull him down with her to the soft feather mattress.
Queen Scarlet moaned as their lips touched. She arched her back and pressed against him, but Firion did not feel the same passion as she felt in that moment. He pulled away and pushed himself up.
“I can’t.” He said as he stood. “Not right now.” Queen Scarlet scowled.
She sat upright and watched as Firion began pacing the room. Her expression softened and she pushed herself to the edge of the bed to speak to him.
“Were you not successful in securing Lady Ashryn’s allegiance?” The Queen kept her eyes focused on him as she waited for his answer.
Firion was startled by the question. He was about to ask how she knew of his whereabouts and what his purpose away from the castle had been, but decided it did not matter how she had come upon this information. He knew trying to keep anything secret from her was folly; she always had ways of knowing. Sometimes Firion had the suspicion that Scarlet was having him followed but there was no way of knowing for certain. He decided it best to let it be, for the moment.
“I had.” Firion replied with anger. He turned his head away, unable to look at her because of the shame he felt over his failure. “But things did not go exactly as planned.”
“And why not?” The Queen asked, raising her elbow up and placing her head in her hand for support. Though the King refused to look at her, she kept her gaze fixed on him.
“Lady Ashryn was a liar and a betrayer and now she is dead!” The King shouted in rage. Queen Scarlet did not flinch. She had grown accustomed to his anger long ago. She knew that it was not directed at her.
“And what of her lover?” She asked calmly, hoping her soft voice would help soothe him.
Firion sighed in frustration before answering- “dead as well. And if I never have to speak of those traitors again, I shall be glad of it!”
“Alright.” The Queen replied. She lowered herself back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Several moments passed before Queen Scarlet broke the silence once more. “And now who is in charge of Bhrys?” She knew there was a Sorceress there but could not remember the girl’s name.
“Omylia Roysa.” Firion replied disinterestedly.
“Then it is Omylia’s duty to uphold the alliance made between Bhrys and Axendra. Make her answer your call.”
“I hardly think that will be possible. The entire realm has turned against us.”
“Besides Axendra, Bhrys has the largest army in the realm. We need them.”
“And what would you have me do?” He shouted, spinning around to face her. “They will not support us once they have learned that I burned their Lady and their Protector alive! They will attack us just as the rest of the realm plans to!”
Scarlet jumped out of bed. She glided across the room as though her feet did not touch the floor. She placed both her hands upon his shoulders and looked deep into his eyes, smiling warmly to help soothe his rage.
“Are you not their King?” She asked. King Firion had no desire to answer her question and looked away from her.
She sighed and asked again- “are you not their King? Are they not bound by oath to serve you?”
“They are… but they won’t.” He whispered.
“Then send the army to Bhrys. Make them honor their oath. Give Omylia no other option but to send every able-bodied soldier to Axendra.”
“Or else?” He asked with curiosity.
Scarlet’s face turned grave and her eyes narrowed as she looked to her husband. He knew that look. It was the look she gave when she was determined to get what she wanted and Queen Scarlet was determined to have Bhrys.
“Or burn Bhrys to the ground!”
There was a sudden knocking at the door. King Firion started and turned his gaze towards the sound, scowling at whomever it was interrupting their discussion.
“Yes?” He asked in anger.
“Your majesty, it’s Dunstan.” The page’s shaking voice answered.
“Enter.” Firion
replied.
The door opened slowly, as though the page was afraid to enter. “Your grace, the bottle is open!” Dunstan said with a proud smile. Firion nodded and Dunstan proceeded to pour the glass. Once Firion’s fingers were wrapped around the cold stem and the scent of the wine was wafting to his nostrils, he felt his tense shoulders relax and fall to the sides. He closed his eyes for the first sip.
“Will that be all, your Grace?” Dunstan asked from behind.
“Call my council to me. Make certain Captain Theodoric is in attendance.”
“Yes, your Grace.” Dunstan vanished out the door again with a bow.
…
The King’s council was usually led by Rhada. But in her absence, King Firion had to take charge of the proceedings. He stood at the head of the table, palms flat upon the tabletop, eyes scanning the men seated around him. In truth, his council was less than effective without the High Protector. It was comprised mostly of men his father had appointed. These men were as old as his father would be now, had he not died. All of them, white haired and wrinkled, looked to the King with curiosity. They are probably wondering why their third naps for the day have been disturbed. The only other man who was not ancient was Captain Theodoric.
Theodoric had seated himself in Captain Mayvard’s empty chair, apparently feeling that he deserved the rise in position. King Firion stared at the man in anger, feeling his presumptuous promotion was undeserved.
Theodoric was tall but not muscular like Mayvard and certainly not clever like Rhada, but he did fight with a passion that was nearly unparalleled on the battlefield and his courage never failed him. It was for these reasons, and the fact that he had managed to stay alive through so many battles, the King decided to make him second Captain. In case the High Protector or Captain Mayvard was, for any reason, unable to perform their duties, Theodoric would step in.
Theodoric had never had the opportunity to lead the army and the King feared, as he stood looking the man over, he would not be able to perform the duties as well as was needed.
Rise of Darkness (The Watchers Book 2) Page 2
