“Silence!” Lord Ivran shouted at her and Rhada could not help but notice the Sorceress cower in fright. She did not, however, let his anger dissuade her from whatever it was she was trying to accomplish.
“I know of the atrocities she has committed against this realm better than anyone and I say to you now that she does not deserve death… she deserves far worse!” Myranda seemed to regain some courage. Her eyes darted from Lord Ivran to Rhada, and they were full of a hatred Rhada did not think the Sorceress was capable of.
What is she doing? Why will she just not let them take my head and be done with it?
Lord Ivran’s shoulders seemed to relax from the tension that had taken hold of them and his gaze softened. It seemed he had been intrigued by Myranda’s words.
“Go on.” He urged and Myranda took one brave step forward.
“Death is too simple a punishment for her. It would only release her from the tribulations of living and she would be at peace. She deserves to be punished for her crimes.”
Rhada felt the chill that had consumed her in the past return. It ran up her spine and made her skin crawl. She had a horrible feeling she knew what the Sorceress was going to suggest. She is getting her revenge for her ruined wedding.
“And what sort of punishment do you have in mind?” Lord Ivran implored, urging the Sorceress to continue.
“Four cold walls with no windows to let in the light of day and no cracks or crevices to allow visitors to speak to her- a blackened cell in the very bowels of Stonehill Fortress where she can be buried and forgotten. A place where she can live the rest of her days in absolute solitude- and many days she has yet to live, being the High Protector; a place where no one will remember who she is or what she has done to this realm, but a place where all her thoughts will be consumed with the realm she destroyed.”
Rhada felt rage burning deep within her. Her eyes were fixed upon the Sorceress.
“Stonehill?” Lord Ivran asked with quiet contemplation as he stroked at his beard. He lowered his sword and turned his gaze back to Rhada who was shaking with fury on her knees.
Lord Ivran began to chuckle as he re-sheathed his sword. He stepped closer to Rhada and she could feel the hand that held her hair loosen its grip, knowing that she was not destined to lose her head on this night.
“It would seem, Madam Protector, that you should have treated your maid with more respect.”
Lord Ivran turned to his men. “Bind her tightly in chains and take her to the dungeons. I want four men to be on watch at her cell door all night. We will make our journey for Stonehill in the morning- at dawn’s first light.”
Lord Ivran scanned the room and when his eyes fell upon the man he searched for, he raised his hand and pointed at him.
“Protector Raibyr, ride out tonight and send word to the warden of Stonehill that he is to prepare the deepest room in the bowels of his fortress for a very special guest. Tell him that this room must be secluded and there are no windows permitted.”
“Yes, my Lord.” The man Rhada assumed was Raibyr said. He bowed and spun on his heel, quickly running from the room to fulfill his Lord’s command.
Lord Ivran walked out of the room briskly, with his men following closely behind. The two men who held tightly to Rhada’s arms pulled on her fiercely, forcing her to her feet. They pulled her hands behind her back and shoved her forward, implying that she should walk.
As she was shuffled out of the room, she passed Myranda who had pressed herself against the stone wall to make way for Lord Ivran’s men. Rhada did not say a word to her in passing but turned her gaze to the Sorceress and narrowed her eyes. She knew how frightening her gaze could be when she was angry and she would not allow Myranda to escape her stare. She looked to the cowardly woman with eyes that wanted to kill and she knew that Myranda could feel it. She grasped at her arms as she stared back and pressed herself even farther into the wall behind her, trying to escape Rhada’s piercing gaze.
Rhada realized she must have been pushing against her captors to stare at Myranda because one of them told her to move her feet and kicked angrily at her ankle. Rhada winced at the pain and finally turned her gaze ahead, knowing that they would ascend the stairs only to descend a different flight of stairs into the dungeons. As frightening as the castle dungeons were, they were nothing in comparison to Stonehill, and the darkness that now surrounded her in the stairwell only served as a reminder of the darkness that awaited her in the very pit of the prison only the most vile and corrupt were sent to. They were not sent there to die, they were sent there to rot in solitude and to be forgotten.
Chapter 32
Myranda walked slowly down the darkened corridor, grasping at the wall as though she would fall over without its support. With her other hand, she held her head, hoping that her vision would stop spinning soon.
It was the High Protector’s last gaze that burned in her mind, making her legs weak and her head spin. She knew that Rhada had prepared herself for death. She had been able to see it in her defiant eyes. Lord Ivran held the blade to end her life and she did not cower or tremble. But Myranda had soured the High Protector’s plans and her last hateful stare had told Myranda one thing- Rhada would never forgive her.
Myranda had good reasons for what she had done. She wished that she could have explained it to Rhada before Lord Ivran’s men had rushed in and broken down the door. But when Lord Ivran began listing Rhada’s offenses against the realm, she no longer felt pity for the woman.
She remembered the day when her opinion of Rhada changed forever, like it had been yesterday. The horn blew and the sound of it echoed throughout the castle grounds and traveled to her ears on the fresh-spring breeze. The army is back. Myranda set aside the book she was reading and rushed to the window to gaze out at the approaching soldiers.
She spotted the High Protector easily enough. Her black armor and black horse led the procession back to the castle. Mayvard rode dutifully at her side. She had only just begun having emotional interests in Mayvard and she could not help but smile at the sight of his return.
She rushed down to greet him when he entered the castle but the look on his face made her smile vanish. It was a grim look, one that only a man who had just witnessed death could possess.
Though she prodded all that day, Mayvard would not tell her what had happened. It wasn’t until the next day Myranda discovered the truth, when the King boastfully announced the High Protector’s deeds.
“They found the deserters outside of Ylia and slaughtered them all. Many surrendered and the High Protector ordered them to be lined up and killed- men, women and children alike. No one survived. They piled the bodies and burned them- a pyre that is still glowing red.” Myranda recalled the tale she had overhead a guard whispering to his friend as she passed by. It was the only thing spoken of for days.
Myranda was reminded again of that atrocity when Lord Ivran had mentioned it. She decided, even though she had to save Rhada’s life, it did not mean she should go unpunished.
And so she suggested Stonehill. Rhada deserved nothing more. And in truth, Stonehill would be a far worse punishment than death. Stonehill would make Rhada wish for death.
Finally, Myranda turned a corner to the hallway that would lead her to her chamber but stopped in utter surprise.
The hall was filled with soldiers. They moved in and out of rooms, dumping the personal belongings of the courtiers into the hall. The courtiers themselves were lined up against the walls, forced to sit and watch their rooms being ransacked. Myranda wondered what their fate was to be and realized that she could not share in that fate.
Quickly, she looked down to the floor and scanned the massive piles of furniture, clothes, glassware and anything else you could expect in one’s chamber and found a dark cloak with a hood. She reached down and grasped it, then turned and ran in the opposite direction before anyone saw her. As she ran, she draped the cloak over her head and pulled the hood down tight.
The castle entrance
was not far and from what she could see, she would not be hindered. She quickened her pace, wishing for nothing more than to escape the dark halls of the castle for good. Her only regret was that she could not return for the bag she had packed of her personal things. They do not matter anymore.
There were no guards standing at the doors and Myranda rushed out of them without incident. Once outside, she was greeted with the cold, drizzling rain and the darkness of night. Myranda did not let either of them stop her and she ran, stepping lithely over fallen soldiers, desperately trying to avoid touching them. She ran all the way to the forest’s edge where she finally stopped to catch her breath, placing her hand on the trunk of a tree and bending forward slightly to make filling her lungs with air easier.
When she looked up, she turned and gazed at the castle one last time. The bodies of the dead were scattered at the castle’s base, littering the ground. Their taint soaked the mud beneath them, turning the castle grounds into a river of rainwater and blood, creating a scene of gore that would haunt Myranda’s dreams for many years to come. The castle itself looked out of place amongst the dead; its ominous stone edifice stood out in the darkness like a ghost standing in a graveyard. She was suddenly glad that she would never have to step foot inside its walls again and without giving it a second thought, she turned abruptly and disappeared into the Forest of Shadows, beginning her journey to Mordrid where she knew Mayvard would be waiting for her.
Rhada nearly tripped on the last step as the man behind pushed her forward, apparently eager to lock her behind solid, metal bars. She lunged forward and pressed her foot solidly into the ground then swayed for a moment before regaining her balance and placing her other foot down.
When she looked up, she was greeted by the familiar sight of the dungeon’s torture chamber. The chamber had been added to the castle during the War of the Witches. The King in those days had been manipulated by a witch and so, in his anger, had ordered that all witches and wizards be put to death in the most agonizing ways. As Rhada looked around, she could almost hear their screams filling the small chasm that hid beneath the grand halls of the castle.
There were old, rusted chains hanging from every wall, a large, metal cap used for compressing the head, and many other machines that Rhada could not name but the most gruesome stood in the center of the room before her- the rack.
Countless victims had died upon that wooden table. Rhada had read the histories and had been appalled at the account of tortures that had been recorded. And even though none of the other torture devices had been used in hundreds of years, the rack was still used for criminals who were not only sentenced to die for their crimes, but were sentenced to suffer first.
Rhada felt a hand on her back and once again she was shoved forward, realizing that she had stopped to look at the monster of wood and metal that lay before her, hoping she would not become its next victim.
As she walked through the grim torture room, a chill crept across her skin and made her shiver. The dungeons were cold and dark, made of nothing but stone and metal and with only a few sconces on the walls to light their way, making it difficult to see even a few paces ahead.
Even though her vision was obscured by the darkness, there was no mistaking the blood on the floor that she now walked over. Rhada stopped once again to study it and noticed that someone’s blood had pooled right where she now stood. The blood, though dried and crusted, could not have been from too long ago. She looked upwards and saw two wrist cuffs hanging from the ceiling. On the inside of the rings where the wrists were clasped, were several small metal spikes that would bury themselves in the flesh of any person hung from them. They were stained with the same, dried blood that had pooled onto the floor.
“Keep moving!” Lord Doran’s familiar voice ordered from behind and she felt a sudden kick in the back. She closed her eyes and took in the pain, not letting out any sound at its acknowledgment, just as Viktor had taught her.
Slowly, she shuffled her feet forward and continued on through the torture chamber to a corridor that lay on the other side. In this corridor were twenty locked cells where about half were filled. The cells would be filled with thieves, liars and brawlers. Any other crime committed was grounds for a sentence to Stonehill.
Rhada could hear the cries of the incarcerated as they neared the corridor. Their anguished sobs echoed off the bare walls and filled the hallway. She knew that none of these men were destined to stay locked away forever. The longest a man ever stayed in the bowels of the castle was a year, at which time they would be released back into society. But as Rhada looked down the darkened corridor, with rats running up and down the edges, she could not help but think that a year in this dungeon would be too much for any man to bear.
If only I were destined to stay here for a year! Rhada thought as she was escorted down the corridor. She could only guess at how horrible the conditions were at Stonehill in comparison to these dungeons. And I am to live out the rest of my days there! Rhada wondered how many days that could be. Her predecessor had lived to be well over two-hundred years old and Rhada had not yet lived half that time. And what if Viktor had died young for a High Protector? Rhada could hardly stomach the thought.
Finally, after a long arduous walk down the dark corridor that smelled of piss and rot, and curious, wary eyes peering at her through the bars of their cells, the men from behind pulled on her tightly bound hands, stopping her from continuing. One of the men, who had pulled a set of keys off the wall before they entered the corridor, walked up to the iron bars and pushed a key through the keyhole. He tried several times to turn it but the keyhole would not budge. He moved on to the next key and the next and finally, the great iron door swung open with a scream.
“In you go!” Lord Doran said. He shoved her forward, causing her to trip and nearly fall into the cell. She steadied herself and turned just in time to watch the iron bars slam shut and the lock being turned.
“Do not make yourself too comfortable.” Lord Doran said between the bars with a sneer. “Tomorrow, you will be transported to another cell and I daresay this cell will be like a beach vacation in comparison to that!” Lord Doran chuckled to himself as he grabbed the keys from his men and commanded them to stand guard at her cell door. Then he began his walk back up the corridor and vanished from her sight.
The four remaining men all turned away from her at the same moment and positioned themselves like statues outside the door.
No way out. She said to herself as she stared at their backs with a grim expression.
How has my life come to this? She wondered as her eyes gazed upward and she began scanning the four walls of her cell. I was not always full of anger. I was not always so hated by the people. She recalled a time when the realm had actually looked to her with respect. She knew that her position was a coveted one- one that receiving was almost as high an honor as being King. And the people loved her, as much as they loved their King.
That was before the war.
Before King Firion had grown into a man, his father, Darrion, was ruler and he was as kind a man as any. His love for Kaena and the people who dwelled within her was unmatched.
When Rhada first became High Protector, she entered this castle with a heavy heart. Her hands shook from fright- back then everything scared her.
A frightened little girl. The thought almost made her laugh.
Her position, in the beginning, was simple. Every year she traveled to all the different cities and villages of the realm to give support and aid where it was needed. She paid homage to the Lords and Ladies to give to their poor and sick. She helped build homes and markets with her own bare hands and each village looked to her coming with excitement.
Then, sadly, Darrion died suddenly and was followed by the Queen a year later.
That is when everything changed.
For several years, while King Firion was still growing, Rhada had practically been ruling sovereign. She headed all of the council meetings, sent envoys to faraway l
ands to open trading with them, and even helped secure the shores of Lerous from an incoming invasion- one that most of the realm had never even realized had been a threat.
But then one day, King Firion barged into a council meeting with the golden crown upon his head and his father’s sword strapped to his belt and announced his engagement to a mystery woman no one had ever heard of before.
The castle grew cold and dark and the air inside felt thick and overbearing. The people of Axendra stopped coming to the castle. They would not attend parties or feasts for fear of the darkness. And then the King grew angry and ordered heavy taxes upon the people and he made it her duty to collect. Being the High Protector, she could not disobey the King’s command. Such an act was punishable by death.
Perhaps I should have disobeyed. I would not be in the predicament I’m in now.
When the taxes were not paid, Rhada was ordered to collect the people and bring them to Axendra where they would be flogged publicly and either put in jail or returned to their home, stripped of everything they held in their possession.
Finally, the realm had grown tired of the King’s greed and war broke out. By then, Rhada had become feared by the public. Her name became a curse upon their lips and they spat at her feet as she passed.
They have every right to hate me as they do. Rhada closed her eyes for a moment and took in a few deep breaths. They will never hate me as much as I hate myself. She could feel her eyes begin to tingle and her lip started to quiver.
What is happening? She wondered. She opened her eyes and found that they had watered and a single tear began to form at the corner. She wiped it away, telling herself that crying like a little baby would not help her now.
Rhada turned away from the iron bars and walked to the opposite wall where she planned to lie down on the hard stone and try to sleep for a while- she wanted to shut out the world. She stopped suddenly, however, as the form of a man appeared from the darkness before her.
Rise of Darkness (The Watchers Book 2) Page 32
