Rise of Darkness (The Watchers Book 2)

by M. Lee Holmes

  Myranda tried not to let this bother her. She tried to imagine how she would feel if she were in Rhada’s situation. Would she trust any Sorcerer to bring her back? Perhaps Syranda could. She shuddered at the thought of it. She knew her sister was perhaps the most powerful mind-melder in the entire world- except for, of course, Amag’mar.

  “Will you be alright until I’ve returned?” Myranda asked.

  “Yes.” Rhada replied with an unsure tone. Her voice was haggard and worn out. Myranda sensed it was taking all of her strength to stay awake.

  “Perhaps I should send Valindra to look after you.” She knew the maid would not like the idea of being alone with the High Protector, but Rhada had refused the service of a maid of her own and had no one to look after her. And no one in the castle could know of Rhada’s current condition. Valindra was the only person Myranda knew she could trust.

  “I wish to be alone for a while.” Rhada replied roughly. “Go now. Tend to Mayvard.”

  Myranda did not wait another moment. She turned quickly and left the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

  She practically ran down the corridor toward the flight of stairs and hurried up to the third floor of the castle where Mayvard’s chamber was located. She paused outside the door and tapped on it lightly.

  “Come in.” Mayvard’s voice called to her from the other side. She pushed the door open and threw herself inside. She found Mayvard standing in the center of his room, his shirt on the floor and a wet towel in his hands. He had been wiping away the dirt from his face and arms. Myranda felt her body tense at the sight of his bare chest. His tight muscles and shining skin were only things she had seen in her dreams.

  “You just could not stay away, could you?” He asked with sarcasm.

  “I had a feeling there was a chance you would be shirtless. I had to come.” She smiled as she walked towards him and placed a gentle hand on his back. The feeling of his tense, hard muscles made her knees weak.

  “How is she?” He asked hopefully. Myranda realized he was hoping the High Protector had already been cured. Myranda knew that she could not lie to him.

  “It is unlike anything I have ever seen before.” She said. “I will do what I can for her but she wishes to speak with you first.” Mayvard looked surprised by this news.

  “Why?” He asked curiously.

  Myranda shrugged her shoulders. “She did not say.”

  Mayvard nodded, wiped the last streak of dirt from his chin then walked to the mirror and brushed his fingers through his hair, trying to get control of his unruly locks. When he turned back around, he found that Myranda had walked to his wardrobe and chosen a plain wool shirt for him to wear. He thanked her, pulled it over his head and led her to the door. The two of them walked hand-in-hand to Rhada’s chamber and did not bother knocking before pushing the door open and entering the stale room.

  Myranda noticed that some of the morning light had vanished, leaving a pale hue that streaked across Rhada’s sickly face, making her look even more ghostly. She turned her head when she heard them enter and tried to sit up taller in her chair. Myranda could see she was struggling even more than she had before and rushed to help her sit up.

  Mayvard knelt at Rhada’s side and placed a hand on her shoulder. He looked up to her with worry and Myranda could not help the feeling of jealousy that washed over her. She could never understand why Mayvard was so loyal to Rhada.

  Myranda knew that Rhada was reaching the end of her limit. She had seen death before and it lingered about Rhada like a great, heavy cloud. She knew that if she could not save her, Rhada would be dead within a few days. And would that really be such a terrible thing? She hated herself for even thinking the question. She hated herself for being capable of loathing someone so much.

  “How are you feeling?” Mayvard asked. Rhada smiled feebly in reply, trying to keep her nervous shaking under control. “Myranda will save you.” Both Rhada and Myranda knew it would be a miracle if she could.

  “You must be prepared, Mayvard.” Rhada said, clearly not wishing to waste any time in giving her instructions. “You must be prepared for the battle that is to come. You have seen the vastness of Lord Ivran’s army with your own eyes and you know that if the King does not convince Bhrys to aid Axendra, all is lost for us.”

  “I will travel there myself and convince Lady Ashryn if that is what it takes.” He replied with pride.

  “The King has sent his entire army to Bhrys to threaten Lady Omylia into joining us.” Myranda told them with regret. She had heard two sentries speaking of the army’s absence in the great hall yesterday whilst trying to enjoy her supper. She did not like eavesdropping but could not resist listening. It relieved her to know that the army had not, in fact, abandoned them, but had been sent away, though she did not agree with the King’s brash attempt to secure Bhrys’s aid.

  Rhada, however, seemed relieved by this news. But then her brow furrowed and she asked; “and what of Lady Ashryn? Does she not still rule over Bhrys?”

  Myranda shook her head. “She betrayed the King and he had her executed, along with their Protector. Lady Omylia is the ruler there now.”

  “There is a chance that Lady Omylia will not comply. She has not been as supportive of the King as Lady Ashryn was. If Bhrys refuses to join, you must leave this place.”

  Both Mayvard and Myranda were taken aback by Rhada’s command. They looked to each other with surprised glances then Mayvard asked; “what are you saying?”

  “I am saying that the King will be killed and the castle will fall, along with everyone inside. If I am unable to command the battle, you must not hesitate to take Myranda and leave. Go somewhere safe, where no one will know your names. Travel to Lerous and board a ship and sail away, somewhere far.”

  Mayvard shook his head angrily. “You want me to run away like a coward?” He asked, astounded.

  “No.” Rhada replied with force. Her eye lids began to droop with heaviness. “I want you to run away like a man who has something to live for.” Myranda was stunned when Rhada turned her gaze towards her and she knew the High Protector was telling Mayvard to live for her.

  Suddenly, Rhada’s eyes fluttered and closed. Her skin seemed to turn even paler before their eyes and her entire body jolted forward, causing her to lose her grip on Bloodbinder and it fell to the floor with a clang. Mayvard caught her before she fell from her chair and leaned her back. He placed a hand on her cheek and shook her with his other.

  “Rhada?” He asked panicked. She did not reopen her eyes or respond. “Rhada!” Mayvard shouted but the High Protector remained silent.

  Chapter 13

  Mayvard held tightly to Rhada’s shoulders and gestured to Myranda for aid. “Help me carry her to the bed.” Myranda nodded, wrapped her arms around Rhada’s legs and helped Mayvard drag her across the room. They stretched her over the mattress and Mayvard carefully rested her head upon the soft pillows.

  “What was she thinking? I told her not to wander off! I told her not to go into the fog alone!” He was becoming angry now, Myranda could see. She took a small step back and studied him.

  “Fog?” She asked, wondering what he was talking about.

  Mayvard turned to her, his eyes livid. “I was supposed to protect her. How did she expect me to protect her when she ran off without a word?” He glowered at Myranda but she knew that his anger was not her fault. “She went into the fog to face Amag’mar alone because she is stubborn!” He turned his gaze to the sleeping Rhada and as he looked upon her face, his anger vanished and tears began breaking their way to the surface.

  “She sought Amag’mar out?” Myranda wondered aloud. She looked to Rhada as well and wondered what could have caused her to do such a thing. It was very brave of her. Foolish, but brave. Certainly she knew she would need an army to take down the Lord of Death?

  Myranda leaned forward and placed the palm of her hand on Rhada’s icy forehead. She closed her eyes and focused on the soft sound of her breathing. Sh
e cleared her mind and took in a deep breath, hoping that she could see through the High Protector’s memories.

  The sound of Rhada’s rhythmic breath faded into the sound of her beating heart. It thumped against Myranda’s hand and pounded inside her ears like drums, making it seem as though her head would explode.

  Then all at once, there was a blinding light and Myranda was pulled into the haziness of Rhada’s mind.

  She was alone in an empty yard, surrounded by unit housing on all sides. The walls were barren and the windows barred, as though she were inside a prison. She was curled up as tightly as she could be. Her clothes had been torn into rags and she shivered from the cold wind that blew against her nearly bare flesh. She cried into her arms, wanting the pain of living to go away. She wondered why she had even been born and if there would be anyone to grieve should she end her own life.

  The pounding of her heart pulled her away to another memory. She stood in an open shop, with only a low wooden ceiling overhead and the busy streets of the city on all sides. Her hands were gently guiding a slab of cold steel into a cackling forge. A sound made her cock her head to the side and she saw a young man with golden hair and brown eyes approaching. She felt a fluttering in her heart and she smiled. The young man came and wrapped his arms around her, planting his lips upon hers.

  There was a shifting in the air and Myranda floated to another memory. She was lying on the floor, pain burning in her chest and throbbing in her ears. She was confused and stunned, unable to stand. Viktor was above her. Myranda remembered the old man’s kind eyes. He reached a hand out to help her back to her feet and when he shoved Bloodbinder into her hands; it sang in her ears a tune that brought a smile to her lips, despite the pain she was in.

  Then time moved forward and Myranda tried desperately to focus on what she wanted to see. But Rhada’s memories were strong and pulled her to an open field where thousands stood, waiting for their deaths. Myranda stood before them, trying to ignore the beating of her heart, telling her that this was wrong and she should stop it. She scolded herself, knowing that she had to do her duty; that the King would torture and kill, not only her, but those she commanded if they did not carry out his orders. She began the order to execute, but felt the words escape her lips as though they released of their own accord. It was as though she was in a dream, unable to control her own actions.

  Myranda pushed forward, hoping to find what she was looking for. The cold air of the north began to blow around her and she felt fearful as she stood in a fog. Bloodbinder was tight in her grasp but the sword did nothing to reassure her of her safety. Then the breeze blew harder and there he was, emerging from the wall of shadow walkers that protected him. She froze in terror, realizing she had made a terrible mistake. She wanted to turn and run but her feet were frozen to the ground where she stood. Bloodbinder released from her grasp all together and landed upon the ground with a thud.

  Amag’mar’s silver hair fell out of his hood in long locks that trickled down his front. His hands, though wrinkled with age, were sturdy and strong. She felt their strength when he reached forward and wrapped them around her neck, blocking air from entering her lungs. She tried to scream but could not. He lifted her off the ground as though she weighed nothing and the knowledge that death was upon her was crippling.

  Amag’mar’s lips curled into a triumphant grin. His eyes, gray and terrifying, turned red and glowed with hatred. Then a piercing cold surrounded her on all sides and as she choked for air, darkness filled her mind.

  Then suddenly, Myranda was standing a few paces away, hidden within the fog, watching the spectacle unfold. The Lord of Death held Rhada in his grasp; a crushing grip that was squeezing the life from her. But suddenly, Amag’mar stopped. Myranda could feel a shifting in the air, a realization come over him, and she knew that he no longer desired to kill her. Instead, he grinned, as though something long lost had been found.

  When Mayvard rushed forward, Amag’mar dropped her and fled, knowing that his strength was not yet enough to fight. He needed time to heal and grow. He was willing to let Rhada go for now, but he would find her eventually.

  Then Mayvard was gone and Myranda was alone with Rhada. She was sitting at the end of a long dock; a pier that ended into nothingness. There was nothing but fog on all sides of them, fog ahead and fog below. Rhada’s feet dangled off the edge and her hands rested plaintively in her lap. She stared ahead into the fog as though there was some secret hidden within only her eyes could see. She did not notice Myranda behind her until she spoke.

  “Amag’mar is gone now. Your nightmares are over.”

  Rhada tilted her head slightly, her black hair blowing around her shoulders in a cold breeze. “That may be so, but what of them?” She pointed ahead into the fog. Myranda leaned forward and peered into the grey cloud and saw nothing.

  “There is nothing there.” She said.

  “There are faces.” Rhada whispered. She turned back to the fog and wrapped her arms around her shoulders and began to sway back and forth.

  Myranda took a few steps closer and reached forward with a trembling hand. She placed her fingertips on Rhada’s shoulder and shuddered. Her cold skin sent icy pulses up the length of Myranda’s arm. She realized that Rhada was crying. Tears of sorrow rolled down her cheeks and splashed onto the tops of her legs.

  “Come with me, Rhada. You must leave this nightmare.”

  Rhada shook her head. “I cannot.”

  “Yes you can.” Myranda said in exasperation. She was becoming increasingly uneasy the longer she stood there and desired nothing more than to escape the confines of Rhada’s mind. It was a dark and desolate place filled with anger and sorrow.

  “Come with me and you will no longer be plagued by this place.”

  Rhada finally turned her gaze upwards and Myranda was suddenly stricken with how childlike she looked, how innocent. When her countenance was darkened by grief, she no longer seemed dangerous.

  “I can never be free of them.” She said. Myranda peered into the fog once again but still saw nothing.

  “You are imagining things.” She said.

  “Is it my imagination that I have killed hundreds of soldiers?” Rhada shouted, innocence fleeing from her and anger taking control. “Is it my imagination that innocent people died at my hand? Did I imagine burning South Fort to the ground?” She pushed Myranda’s hand aside and stood, locking her gaze onto Myranda’s eyes. “I can still smell the burning city upon my flesh. I can hear their cries in my dreams!” And then Myranda heard them too.

  She slowly turned her head and listened to the disconcerting sound coming from the fog. They were voices, moaning and crying and pleading. Some of them began to scream and Rhada raised her hands to her ears and cried out as well.

  The fog around them grew black and thick. Myranda suddenly found it difficult to breathe. She coughed and clutched at her throat, feeling the burn of the smoke as it trickled in through her nostrils, down to her lungs. She fell to her hands and knees, choking on the thickness of the air. When she looked up, she was no longer on a pier, but kneeling in the middle of a dirt road with burning buildings on all sides of her. The smoke from the roaring fires billowed above head and rolled into the street like a wave of the ocean. Myranda could smell the burning houses and hear the cries of those who were trying to flee.

  She turned her head to see several people running frantically through the streets, trying desperately to push their way to safety. Some were crying out for mercy and others were just crying, kneeling in the street, letting the smoke and heat wash over them.

  This is not real. This is not real. She said this over and over to herself. She inhaled, knowing there was no smoke, that the air she breathed was clean and pure. She filled her aching lungs and let it out slowly, rising to her feet as she did so.

  She saw Rhada some distance away. Her black leathers and black cloak were unmistakable against the brightness of the flames. Bloodbinder dangled loosely in her hand and she stared wi
de-eyed at the conflagration that used to be South Fort. Myranda ran to her and put a hand on her shoulder but Rhada did not turn. She stared at the flames as though she could not believe they were there and cried. Heavy tears rolled down her ash-streaked face and Bloodbinder trembled in her grasp.

  “What have I done?” She whispered. “I did not mean for this to happen.” Myranda could hardly hear over the ferocity of the flames and the screams of the dying villagers. “How did everything get so out of hand?” She stepped forward, towards a burning shop, and dropped the sword to the ground. She knelt next to something lying in the road, black and smoldering, and she wailed. Myranda felt a shudder rush through her.

  “Rhada, listen to me!” She shouted, hoping to pull Rhada away from this nightmare. She could not bear to stand witness to Rhada’s past any longer. “This is not real! You must come with me!”

  The neighing of a horse made them both turn and Myranda jumped out of the way just in time to dodge the mustang as it charged through the burning street. Rhada had jumped to her feet as well but the beast knocked into her shoulder, pushing her against the edge of a burning barn.

  Myranda rushed over to her and grasped her by both shoulders, pulling her away from the danger of being burned. Rhada struggled against her and they both lost footing and fell.

  “Rhada, stop!” Myranda shouted as Rhada got to her feet and ran. Myranda pushed herself up as well and began chasing after her, only to stop when she realized that it was Bloodbinder Rhada had gone for.

  “No one is trying to kill you!” Myranda shouted. But Rhada turned with her sword raised, eyes livid, and raced back towards Myranda. She let out a bellowing war-cry that Myranda had never heard. She panicked and tried to take a step to the side when someone grabbed her by the back of the neck and lifted her off the ground.

  Myranda tried to scream but all that escaped her lips was a pitiful, choked whimper. Then she was flying through the air towards the flames of the barn. She squeezed her eyes shut just before her airborne body broke through the frail wood. She felt the sting of the wall as it shattered against her skull and the heat of the flames as they whipped at her flesh. She screamed and rolled away, trying to get free of danger, but she could feel her skin burning. She stood and ran, throwing herself back through the hole she had made in the barn wall and tumbled to the ground. She began rolling in the dry dirt to smother the flames.