“I will never succumb to my own selfish desires. I wish to do what is good and right for the people of this realm.”
Lord Onas began to chuckle before taking another drink of the spirit.
“Did I say something amusing?” Lord Ivran asked with an angry edge in his voice.
Lord Onas stopped laughing and looked to Lord Ivran with sincerity. “I was a much younger man when I heard a young prince utter almost those exact words.”
“What do you mean?” Lord Ivran was beginning to lose his patience.
“I met Prince Firion when he was just a lad, no older than the one who had killed the Captain. And he said to me those words that you just spoke to me now.” He took another drink and turned his gaze away from Lord Ivran. Lord Ivran followed his eyes and realized that he was staring at the King’s headless body.
“I suppose those were different times.” Lord Onas said, sighing with unmistakable sadness.
Lord Ivran was about to respond when he was interrupted by one of his men who had rushed back into the great hall.
“My Lord! You must come quickly!” Lord Ivran was on his feet before he knew it and was chasing after the man who had fetched him. Lord Onas made no effort to move from his chair.
As Lord Ivran raced out of the great hall and into the corridor, excitement began to grow in his belly. They found her! He wanted so desperately to place the death sentence upon her head- to see in her eyes the realization that her life was over.
They rounded a corner and came upon a crowd of men, all standing in a circle around what appeared to be a body.
The fools! He thought with anger and he slowed his pace. They have already killed her before I could place judgment upon her! He shoved his way through the crowd, angrily pushing his men aside and stopped in sudden horror as he looked upon the face of the dead man that lay at his feet.
Lord Ivran knelt down beside Protector Stanwyck and lifted his head gently off the ground. He placed a hand upon his chest and felt the warm, fresh blood as it gushed from Stanwyck’s wound and through the gaps in his fingers.
“Who did this?” He asked with an angry growl. He looked up to his men who were all looking at each other, clearly unaware of who the killer was.
Lord Ivran set Stanwyck gently back on the ground and stood up tall. He looked around at his men who seemed to be too afraid to speak and shouted; “who did this? Who killed him?”
“I know who killed him.” The voice was soft and willowy, as though it had been carried to his ears on a gentle breeze. The men surrounding Lord Ivran parted to allow him to see the woman who had answered.
She stood at the end of the hallway and cowered in the dark. Her hair was long and fell in golden waves around her face. He could not see her face very clearly but her hands were completely visible to him. She held them in front of her and wrung them nervously.
“Come closer.” Lord Ivran commanded the girl and she obeyed without hesitation.
“You saw who did this?” Lord Ivran asked, trying to keep his voice calm as to not frighten the young maiden. She looked to him with tear stained eyes- eyes that reminded him of the deep blue sea on a summer day.
“Speak up then.” He urged gently. “Tell me who killed this man.”
“It was the High Protector.” The young maid replied. She began to weep and placed her face in her hands, hiding her watery eyes from them.
“I knew it!” Lord Doran shouted in anger.
“That means she cannot be far!” Protector Raibyr shouted. He looked down the hall and pointed. “She must be trying to escape through the servant’s entrance, out through the kitchens and past the stables!”
Lord Ivran felt his excitement return. “Follow her! Do not let her leave the castle grounds!”
As his men began to run down the hallway, the young girl shouted; “wait!” Lord Ivran spun and looked to her with curiosity.
“Tell your men to come back. Rhada is still inside the castle!” All of Lord Ivran’s men heard this news as they were running away. They stopped and spun back around to wait for the maid to tell them where she was.
“I have been the High Protector’s maid for many years now and I am the only one besides her who knows where her secret hiding place is.”
“Secret hiding place?” Lord Ivran asked.
“Yes. In times of danger, there is a place she can go where no one will ever find her and she is there now!”
Lord Ivran pulled his blade from its scabbard and looked to the maid with hard eyes. She is mine now! “Where is she?” He demanded.
The young maid stopped nervously pulling on her fingers and pointed down the corridor. “She is not far, my Lord. The entrance to her hiding place is just at the end of this hallway. Come, I shall show you.”
Chapter 31
Rhada set her empty wine goblet on the table next to the bed then gazed down at her sword with anguish. Even though it lay across the room at arm’s length and her fingers did not touch it, she could feel the blade pulsing with angry energy. Its solemn hum rang in her ears in a silent lament that only she could hear. She cocked her head slightly as she stared at the blade, wondering how it could know that it was about to be buried beneath stone and soil for many years to come.
She had decided to hide the blade as she stood upon the battlements. The rain had ceased its incessant drubbing, allowing the scent of death to rise up from the corpses at her feet and fill her nostrils. The smell lay heavy upon the air. It surrounded her and hugged tightly to her flesh, making it almost impossible to breathe.
And soon I shall be one of them. The sight of the dead men before her was a testament to that.
That was when the blade began to hum a low tune. She cast her gaze downward to the bright steel she held down at her side. Though the rain had failed to wash away the blood of the men she had slain, the steel itself still glistened with the soft touch of moonlight that broke free of the dense clouds, almost as though it were possessed by some malevolent spirit.
Death may find me but none shall find this blade! She knew what she had to do. She retreated to her only hiding place where she could properly stow away the blade from undesirable hands.
Rhada took the few steps it required to cross the tiny room and grasped Bloodbinder by the hilt. She held the sword up to the light and looked to the blade longingly. Even though she had made up her mind and the sword did not object, she felt sadness fill her heart. The blade had been her companion for many years and it felt as though she was holding a dying friend in her arms, not yet ready to say goodbye.
I cannot let the blade fall into the wrong hands. As High Protector, it was her duty to keep the sword safe from unsavory men. The sword itself chose its wielder and none could deny its power over them.
Rhada remembered the day she had been informed the sword had chosen her. She scarcely believed it. She had no skill with the blade, no knowledge of battle, and the sword had never chosen a woman before. She was the simple daughter of a blacksmith- not even the real daughter of a blacksmith, she had been adopted. She had spent her younger years in an orphanage with other abandoned children. She had not even been wanted by her own parents- she was nothing special. But the sword had chosen her and she accepted the charge and raced to the castle to take ‘the test’. It was a frightful test, one where many had lost their lives and she was certain she would lose hers, for clearly the sword had made a mistake.
As Rhada peered at the blade, she couldn’t help but think that the sword did make a mistake. I have failed in my duties. I have let the kingdom fall and now the sword is doomed to be forgotten. She sighed in frustration as she held the blade. She reached up and with her fingertips, grazed the edge of the sword. It was always sharp, always ready to kill its foes. Without even applying pressure to the blade her skin broke with ease. She pulled her hand back and stared at the blood dripping from her fingertips. This sword has tasted my blood before. It was part of the test. It pierced through my heart but restored my life, because I was chosen to wiel
d it. She wondered how, then, could the sword have made such a mistake? Could it not see then that I would fail? How could it not have known the future that lay in store for it if it was placed in my hands? She glowered at the blade, expecting it to give her an answer but the sword continued its low hum, telling her it was ready to be hidden.
Rhada turned and walked to the far corner of the room, opposite the entrance and knelt on the stone floor. She reached down and grasped at one of the stones, knowing that hidden underneath was a small hole she could place her fingers in and pull the stone away. It was invisible to the naked eye but Rhada had been shown this cubby in the floor long ago by Viktor, her predecessor.
She pulled on the stone and when it came loose, she reached down with her other hand to support the large door as it opened. There were no hinges so the door would remain hidden. When she pulled it open all the way, the door came loose and she lifted it from the ground and set it aside. Before her now lay a rectangular hole in the floor, big enough for her to climb in and hide if she pulled her arms and legs in really tight, but she knew that would not be necessary. My life does not matter now. It is only the preservation of the sword that matters. She knew long ago that none of the men who had stormed into the castle deserved the sword. Bloodbinder had whispered to her that none were worthy; no one could wield the power of the blade. But some day, a worthy soul would find it. The sword would make itself known.
Rhada knew that she was to be executed; she had seen what fate lie in store for her when she witnessed the death of the King. And whoever was to be her executioner would be the rightful wielder of the blade. But Bloodbinder would not yield itself to unworthy hands. It would rather be buried and forgotten.
Rhada pulled at the corner of the blanket from the bed she was kneeling next to and began wiping away the blood that stained the steel. Some had already dried and would need to be washed off, but the fresh blood, poor Stanwyck’s blood, soaked into the wool cloth and wiped cleanly away. She examined the blade, feeling sorry for the poor fool who would find it, still caked with the blood of the men she had killed. After a deep sigh, she reached for the scabbard and sheathed the sword. With a heavy heart, she lowered the sword into the cubby. She felt as though she were lowering it to its grave but reminded herself that only she was destined to the grave on this day. Bloodbinder would rise again, ready to slay its foes and take its vengeance.
She rested the blade in the ground and slowly lifted her fingers from it, not wanting to let it go. In all her years as High Protector, she had always carried the sword on her. This was the first time master and sword would be parted and she felt that a small part of her was being buried with the blade.
A distant sound echoed down to her ears and made her skin crawl with uneasiness. She turned her head and looked to the wooden door she had locked. She listened intently for a moment and jumped when she heard it again- shouting voices and hastened footsteps descending the stairs to her hiding place.
Impossible! She nearly shouted aloud. How did they find me?
Rhada wasted no time. She reached over and pushed the stone door closed, sealing the cubby and hiding its contents from the eyes of her enemies. She reached up to her sides and untied the straps that held her breastplate on. She pulled it over her head and threw the bloody thing onto the bed, knowing that she no longer had need of it and did not want to die while still covered in blood.
She stood abruptly and spun around to stare at the door, a wooden slab with a weak lock- the only thing standing between her and Lord Ivran’s men. She could hear them clearly now, racing down the narrow staircase towards her sanctuary. Her eyes darted around the room anxiously. Though she knew there was no other way out, instinct told her to look for one anyway.
Calm yourself. She commanded in her head. You knew this moment would come. Since her army had been obliterated, she had been planning to turn herself over to the enemy, knowing there was no possible way for her to escape. She had wanted to do that on her own terms, however. Now she would be remembered as the cowardly High Protector who hid in her cellar.
The Footsteps stopped at the other side of the door and all was silent for a moment. Rhada took in a deep breath for courage, knowing the silence would not last.
Bang! The sound of something hard hitting the other side of the door filled the room and made her jump with fright. She watched the door with intent eyes as the sound came again.
Bang! The fragile wooden frame cracked and the old, rusted hinges creaked, promising to break under the pressure of whatever was pushing on them.
Bang! The entire door shuddered and Rhada suddenly felt a cold wind surround her. She remembered the cold from her dreams, when the Lord of Death had grasped her by the throat and choked the warmth out of her. She reached up with both hands and held fast to her shoulders, shivering under death’s cold grasp.
Bang! The door splintered into hundreds of pieces and happy cheers from the other side echoed throughout the room. A pale hand reached through the hole in the door and pulled on the wooden plank that locked it. The plank rose and the door was thrown open. Rhada jumped once again when what was left of the door slammed into the stone wall and Lord Ivran’s men began spilling into the room. She caught a small glimpse of the battering ram that had been used to break down her door- a bedpost that had been removed from the frame.
The small room soon filled with Ivran’s soldiers. Some were familiar faces and others were not. Then Lord Doran stepped through the doorway- a short, stout man with bulging shoulders, a short-cropped beard, and eyes so dark they resembled the night. He quickly walked to where Rhada was standing with his fist balled tightly. Two of his companions rushed to her sides and grabbed her by the arms, holding her in place as Lord Doran, with his considerable strength, thrust his fist into her stomach. Rhada let out a pitiful gasp as the air was knocked from her lungs. The strength of her legs gave out and she crumpled to her knees, gasping desperately for a breath of air.
Swallow your pain. Overcome it. Make no sound at its acknowledgment. Force it inward and let it lash back out at your enemies. Viktor’s words rang through her ears from so many years ago. He was training her to fight under pain, knowing that it would be a valuable skill to have during battle.
Lord Doran leaned forward and looked directly into Rhada’s eyes and said; “that is for Stanwyck.” He stood up tall and stepped to the side, making room for Lord Ivran as he entered the room.
As Rhada’s eyes fell on him, her heart began to beat heavily and she felt sweat beginning to break on her brow. His men held tightly to her arms and pressed down on her shoulders, keeping her on her knees so that she was kneeling before him- a position she would not have chosen to be her last.
Lord Ivran was taller than she remembered him. Other than at his camp, the last time she had seen him was many years ago when his father was still alive. His beard had been allowed to grow past his shoulders and his eyes had aged and were full of malice. She knew that he was not a malicious man by nature- the realm would not have followed him here if he was- the malice in his eyes was directed solely at her, his next victim.
Lord Ivran stopped and stood before her, looking down at her in victory. She glowered back, hoping that her anger burned within his heart.
“High Protector Rhada, I, Lord Ivran Cassius of Ylia, hereby sentence you to death for the crimes you have committed against the people of this realm- for the merciless slaughter of Kaena’s people, for the burning of villages and sacking of homes, and for the lives that were lost on the plains outside my very homeland. Those innocent families who desired nothing more than to flee this cruel realm and start life anew- the people you murdered so heinously two years ago.” Lord Ivran was almost whispering now, as though saying it aloud was too much for him to bear.
Rhada’s heart, which had been pounding furiously, now shattered into pieces and felt as though it would burst right out of her chest.
That is what this is all about? That is why they hate me so much? She recalled the r
ainy day on the outskirts of Ylia when her army had collided with the survivors of the war, trying to flee Kaena in search of peace. She remembered every detail of that day. Still, she said nothing. Her lips felt as though they had locked together, preventing her from defending her life. Inside, she knew there was no point.
As Lord Ivran began to unsheathe his blade, someone from behind grasped her hair and pulled roughly until her head tilted to the side, exposing her neck. Lord Ivran placed the edge of his blade, which was still dripping with the King’s blood, at her soft flesh and she felt the sting of it. He keeps his sword almost as sharp as Bloodbinder.
As though he had read her thoughts, Lord Ivran asked; “where is your sword?” Rhada gazed at him with hate-filled eyes and said nothing. Lord Ivran chuckled at her defiance.
“It matters not. We will find it. We will leave no stone unturned in this castle until it is found.” With that, Lord Ivran raised his sword and Rhada closed her eyes, waiting for the pain of his blade to rip through her throat.
“Stop!” The voice that called out was a familiar one- one that Rhada had heard many times. She opened her eyes in bewilderment and watched as the Sorceress Myranda stepped through the crowd of men and looked to Lord Ivran with pleading eyes. Rhada did not know how she had done it, but she was certain that it had been the Sorceress who led Lord Ivran and his men to her.
Lord Ivran turned to Myranda and with anger, ordered her to be silent.
“Please, listen to me!” She begged.
“I have been waiting for this moment longer than I care to admit. I will not be hindered!” Lord Ivran shouted and he turned back to Rhada and raised his sword once again. But Myranda would not give up.
“I have been the High Protector’s maid for many years now and I can say with complete honesty that she does not deserve death!”
Rhada’s eyes widened at the Sorceress’s words. She looked to Myranda and wondered what she could possibly be doing. I would think she would want me dead as much as the others.
Rise of Darkness (The Watchers Book 2) Page 31
