Tirdan timidly nodded his head and watched anxiously as Lord Ivran grasped the blade by the hilt and lifted it away from the traveling packs that held it captive.
The sword itself was heavier than most blades, telling him that it had been made with quality steel. He unsheathed the blade and held it in his palm at its center of gravity and watched as it glistened in the firelight with perfect balance. He held it by the hilt once more and looked the blade over, carefully gliding his hand across the edge and feeling his skin break apart with ease. Never before had he held such a sharp blade and when he pulled his finger away, it dripped with blood. Along the center of the blade ran a blood-red streak and Lord Ivran assumed it was rust from not being taken care of properly. He wondered how such an underused sword could be so sharp. And along the rust, a small inscription etched into the steel- Lim Canarte Bae Elei. It was an ancient language- one Lord Ivran did not recognize. He sheathed the sword once more and turned it around to study the hilt. It was sturdy and wrapped in thick, black leather for a strong grip.
“Do you know what this inscription means?” He asked, looking from the blade back to Tirdan.
Tirdan shook his head. “No. No one in my wife’s family could translate it.”
Lord Ivran set the blade down gently, leaning it against the traveling pack so it would not fall over. “That is a quality blade, Tirdan. I would hate to see anyone forced to part with it. Return it to your uncle, use the gold I gave you instead.”
Tirdan nodded. “Thank you, my Lord. Your kindness overwhelms me.”
Lord Ivran smiled and said before leaving; “You must leave quickly. Your wife needs to get to Axendra as soon as possible.”
“I could not agree with you more.” Tirdan replied with a sigh of relief as Lord Ivran stepped out of the tent and away from his sight.
Chapter 5
Rhada sat next to the fire with a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She watched quietly as Mayvard made certain everything they needed was packed. He pulled his traveling cloak out of his pack and threw it over his shoulders.
Rhada waited until he had finished before speaking. Her throat was dry which caused her voice to crack. “This is not a good idea.” Mayvard turned his head towards her and sighed in frustration.
“I told you, this is the only way we will be able to escape this camp with our lives.”
“Perhaps.” She replied with skepticism. “But perhaps not. Protector Stanwyck is not a foolish man. He will discover who I am and then it will have all been for nothing.”
Mayvard reached into his pack and pulled out a full waterskin. He knelt beside Rhada and held it up for her to take a drink. She was glad for the cold liquid that trickled down her throat and sighed with relief when her thirst was quenched.
“If he discovers us, I will take care of him.” He turned away from her to replace the waterskin in his pack.
“No!” Rhada said sternly, causing Mayvard to turn back to her abruptly. “No harm is to come to Stanwyck.”
“What else would you have me do?” He asked. His voice shook from anxiety but Rhada paid his stress no mind. “They are starting a new war!” He pointed towards the tent opening as he spoke. “If they find out who we are, they will not hesitate to string us up from the branches of the nearest tree!”
“They have every right to start a new rebellion.” Rhada argued. Though she feared for her life, she would not give the people more cause to hate her.
“And we have every right to defend ourselves!” Mayvard replied. Rhada could see the anger in his eyes but ignored it and continued.
“And we will, when the time is right. For now, our only concern is getting back to the castle to warn the King.”
Mayvard stared down at her in silence for a moment, unable to believe what she was saying. He knelt down beside her once more and looked to her pleadingly.
“I swore on my life to protect you.” This he said quietly, begging her with his eyes to change her mind.
“Then protect me in the only way you can- keep my identity secret. That is your only duty.”
Though she knew he was frustrated, he nodded his head in agreement, knowing that arguing with her was pointless.
Mayvard stood and turned his back to her and began hastily shoving the last of his belongings into his traveling pack. As Rhada watched, she could see he was handling these items with a bit of roughness that could only be caused by his anger. She turned her head away from him, towards the fire and watched the flames as they danced before her. Their warmth stretched out towards her, wrapping her in a protective blanket. Though she knew she would have to leave the fire soon, she desired to cherish every last moment.
Suddenly, footsteps could be heard outside their tent and a man stopped abruptly to shout to them; “I am ready, Tirdan. We should leave now.”
Mayvard stared at the silhouette outside their tent for a moment before answering. “I shall be out in just a moment.” With these words, Protector Stanwyck left them in peace.
Mayvard threw his traveling pack over his shoulder, grabbed Bloodbinder in one hand and turned to Rhada who remained by the fire.
“I should carry you out. I carried you in. It would look more believable.”
Rhada nodded. “I am afraid that you will have to whether you desire to or not. It is the fire that keeps the shadows at bay. As soon as we step outside, you will be on your own.” This news did not please Mayvard. He lowered his eyes to the ground and took in a few deep breaths to calm his nerves.
“I will take these to the horse and come back for you then.” With that, Mayvard turned and shoved his way through the tent flap, leaving Rhada alone with the fire.
As she sat in silence, her thoughts began to run wild. If Bhrys has not joined our ranks, Axendra will fall, with or without my aid. This she knew to be true. She had seen with her own eyes the vastness of the army that lay just outside her tent. This was not a simple rebellion that needed to be quelled- this was a full-on war; one that was sure to shake the very foundations of the realm; a war that would change the course of history, and she was their prime target. Rhada could not help but shudder. Perhaps I should give myself up now. Lord Ivran can kill me with my own sword and then Bloodbinder will be his and I will not have a worry in the world ever again. She was angry at herself for finding the thought tempting. She tried to reassure herself that all was not lost, but her thoughts turned to the nightmares that awaited her. It is either death or darkness that awaits me and I would choose death. Her blanket began to slide off her right shoulder and she hastily pulled it back, unable to bear the cold that surrounded her. Death will find me sooner or later, that much I can be certain of, but I still have a duty to this realm. I swore an oath and I shall keep to my oath for as long as possible. I must warn the King.
When Mayvard returned, Rhada sat up taller as he made his way towards her. He stood before her, staring down with troubled eyes as though she were an obstacle he needed to overcome.
“Mayvard.” She whispered. His eyes softened at the sound of her voice and he sat next to her by the fire. “If Stanwyck does find out who we are, you must leave me behind and get to the King to warn him.”
Mayvard simply shook his head in response.
“Those are my last orders to you before I lose awareness again.”
“I can never leave you behind, Rhada. Either we both make it to the castle or neither of us makes it.”
“One of us must!” She replied angrily. “The fate of the realm depends on it and since I will be completely incapable of defending myself, it must be you who carries on. If Stanwyck had to choose who to bring back to Lord Ivran it would certainly be me, giving you the opportunity to run.”
“You cannot ask this of me.” He argued back. The troubled look in his eyes returned and Rhada found herself growing angry at his defiance.
“I am not asking you, I am telling you. This is the way it must be. There is no more time for discussion. Put the fire out and let us be on our way.”
>
Mayvard hesitated for a moment, averting his eyes away from Rhada’s gaze and towards the flames. She too turned her gaze to the fire one last time. Its brilliant light shone through her eyes and carried its warmth to her soul. She knew she would be lost without it and tried to take as much of it in as possible. The fire was the source of all light in her world now- it meant life where without it, there would only be darkness. She could not bear the thought of returning to the nightmares that plagued her- knowing that her fate would now lie within the hands of a Sorceress she did not trust. She had a sneaking suspicion that even if Mayvard managed to get her to Myranda, the Sorceress would not be willing to help her. So long as Mayvard makes it, nothing else matters.
Mayvard stood, walked to the fire then looked back down to Rhada. Though he spoke no words, Rhada knew he was pleading with her. She could see the desperate look in his eyes and knew he was waiting for her to change her mind. He wanted her to give him permission to defend her at all costs but she could not give it. She knew Mayvard would follow her commands, even if she were unconscious and would never know he had broken her trust.
Rhada sighed, resigning her fate to the unknown and nodded to the fire, giving him the signal to put it out. Mayvard raised his foot and pushed a heap of dirt over the flames. It wasn’t long before all the light in the tent was extinguished and they were both left with the darkness of night. Rhada could feel the darkness growing thick and the coldness in the air gripped her so harshly, she cried out from the pain of it. Shadowy tendrils began drifting from every corner of the tent towards her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, preparing to submerge herself into the darkness as though it were a body of water, succumbing to the nightmares.
Mayvard stood inside the dark tent waiting for his eyes to adjust. Outside, he knew Protector Stanwyck was mounted and waiting for him but he could not bring himself to move forward. True, leaving the camp under the guise of a man and his wife from South Fort was his idea, but suddenly it all felt wrong. How could he protect Rhada against Stanwyck when she cannot lift her own blade and has forbidden him from lifting his? He looked down to her with pity as she lay shriveled in the dirt. Her eyes were closed tight and her entire body shook from the cold that had taken hold of her. Though he was filled with anger, he could not feel anger towards her in that moment. He reached down and grasped the fur cloak she was wrapped in and pulled it up over her shoulders, making certain that her face was properly covered. He placed one hand underneath her neck and another under her knees and lifted her gently off the ground.
Quickly he exited the tent and made his way through the sea of army until he found his horse. Protector Stanwyck was atop his own horse already, holding the reins of Mayvard’s while he patiently waited.
“I thought for a moment you had changed your mind.” He said as Mayvard set Rhada in the saddle and climbed up himself. He looked to Protector Stanwyck when he answered, trying to hide the anger he held in his eyes.
“Never.” He replied. He looked ahead and down the road they were about to travel on. As he held to Rhada’s freezing body with one hand, keeping her from sliding off the saddle, he clutched the reins with the other and was about to kick his horse into motion when Protector Stanwyck spoke again.
“If you get tired, I shall assist you with your wife. She can ride in my saddle for a while.”
Mayvard tried smiling warmly at Stanwyck’s offer and shook his head. “I carried her all the way from South Fort. I think two days to Axendra shall not be a problem.”
“Whatever you wish.” He answered. He shook the reins to make his horse walk. Mayvard did the same and soon they were well on their way towards Axendra and moving further away from harm. The camp of the enemy soon disappeared from Mayvard’s view and he could not help but let out a small sigh of relief.
As they walked, Protector Stanwyck began whistling a song. It rang in Mayvard’s ears and made a shiver rush down his spine. He knew that song. It was the song his mother used to sing to him as a child, the same tune he hummed when he and Rhada were traveling to Tyos. He turned his head to look at Protector Stanwyck through the corner of his eye and felt his heart begin to race. If it were not for Rhada’s orders, Mayvard would have killed the man right then and there, for he found himself incapable of listening to the tune ever again.
Chapter 6
Bayard and Barrett Raynold were huddled together in a corner of the tavern in the deep dregs of Axendra, drinking their ninth ale, when Theodoric found them. The two men were drunkenly singing and laughing and swinging their mugs around, spilling the golden liquid all over themselves.
The song they sang was an old ballad that Theodoric knew only from the drunken slobs who sang it in the whore houses whilst they waited their turn. No decent man in his right mind would sing such a tune.
The song was about a maiden who grew up proper and refined until she met a knight who promised to love her forever. When she finally gave in to him, he took her virginity then left her. Her father found out and threw her out of the home. She had no choice but to turn herself out. Of course, the song went into vivid detail about her adventures with her many men and when they were about to sing the part of her dancing naked for all the patrons of the whore house to see, Theodoric found it his duty to stop them. He stepped behind the brothers and grasped their mugs tightly, preventing them from being able to swing them in the air. Both men gave a shout of disapproval and turned in their seats to glower at him.
“Who the ‘ell do you think you…” Bayard began but when he saw Theodoric, his face flushed red and he stood abruptly in the presence of his Captain. He nudged Barrett on the shoulder and Barrett stood as well, holding tightly to his mug of ale, swaying from side to side. Both men’s eyes were bloodshot, as though neither of them had slept in days and both reeked of ale and vomit, Theodoric pinched his nose to avoid getting sick.
“You men have a special assignment but I see now that I cannot trust you with it.”
“Hold on just a minute!” Bayard said, slurring his words profusely. “We may have had a little bit to drink, but we are more than captable… capturable… capable of doing whatever it is you ‘spect us to do.”
Theodoric shook his head disapprovingly. “I doubt that.” He reached out and clutched both the men’s ales, pulling them free from their grasp and holding them close to his chest. “I need competent men! And I specifically gave the order to the entire army that drinking was not allowed! We must be ready for an attack! How are you supposed to fight like this?”
Barrett spoke next, his words a bit more comprehensible than his brother’s. “We always fight like this.” He smiled sheepishly at Theodoric.
Theodoric felt his face grow hot with anger. He spun on his heel and dumped their ales onto the floor as he left the tavern. He had hoped that he could depend on Bayard and Barrett; for when they were sober, they were his two most trusted men. But now he would have to find someone else to make the journey and he knew whomever he chose would not be quick enough to find the High Protector and make it back in time for battle.
He decided to go back to his cottage and come up with a plan. This was a decision he could not make lightly. He would need ample time to think, but too much time would bring down the wrath of the King upon his head.
Once inside his small but warm cottage, he sat in his only chair next to the fire and watched the flames as they danced before his eyes. In his mind, he began picturing all the men he could send in Bayard and Barrett’s stead but all of them seemed less than ideal for the task. And then there was the other task at hand- the reason the King had called a meeting. He was to gather his forces and march for Bhrys right away. Their goal was to intimidate the Sorceress Omylia, and Theodoric was not feeling up to the task.
He sighed in frustration, realizing that he could not make it through the rest of the night without a little aid. Though he had forbidden his men from imbibing, he stood and made his way to the shelf of spirits he kept next to his small bed. He poured silver
spirit into his glass and quickly swallowed the contents. He could feel the alcohol as it burned its way down the back of his throat and into his stomach. This feeling he found to be satisfying and so he poured himself another glass. After drinking that, he poured another and took his seat next to the fire once again. He held the glass in his hands but did not bring it to his lips. Instead, he watched the fire with lethargic eyes and wondered what would happen if Omylia refused to cooperate. It was clear to him that without her army, Axendra would fall- or so the King seemed to think. If he could not return with the forces of Bhrys at his side, it would be better for him not to return at all. The thought of him possibly turning traitor on Axendra and fleeing made his hands begin to shake- bringing the presence of the glass in his grasp back to mind. He brought it to his lips and threw his head back as if he was angry with the alcohol inside.
He set the empty glass down upon the floor and stood, pacing the room in front of the fireplace, willing his mind to make a decision. But in that moment, he felt helpless, like a child who has misbehaved and knew their parents were bound to find out.
Where is Rhada? He wondered angrily. He stopped pacing and stared hard at the flames. Has she decided to turn coward and run from the rebellion? Am I left here all on my own to deal with this shit? He would gladly take command of her army if she refused to return, but he would be even more willing to do so if her sword was in his possession. But commanding an army was one thing, dealing with the self-centered, bull of a King was quite another. He knew himself to be incapable of handling that side of the High Protector’s duties.
Theodoric sighed and moved across the room with light steps, falling behind his drawing desk which was situated in the corner of the small room. He pulled out a parchment and quill and dipped it in the ink. As he began to write, he realized his eyes were strained- the light from the hearth was inadequate to brighten the page before him. His maid had not come yet to light the candles. She usually came after the sun set and it had not yet made its final descent into night.
Rise of Darkness (The Watchers Book 2) Page 5
