The Watchers in Exile

by Barbara V. Evers

  “To the aqueducts,” Nuala instructed one of the Watchers below her.

  The woman narrowed her eyes at Nuala. “It’s forbidden.” She glanced around at the other Watchers in their squad. “I’m sworn to never reveal the secret entry.”

  Nuala pushed through the women, her leather tunic swishing in the silence of the stairwell. “It’s either that or surrender to Maligon. Which do you choose?”

  The alarm on the Watcher’s face, followed by her quick movements toward the base of the southern tower, told Nuala what she needed to know. She would lead them to the aqueducts.

  * * *

  Maligon laughed and surveyed the field of battle. Adana’s View welcomed his men as they rushed up the slope. To the east, Adana’s troops floundered under his attack. To the west, Kiffen’s troops pushed forward, giving the only pressure to his men.

  “At least the young brat has some fight in him.” He smiled at Kalara. “Pull the west flank back. Send them to rout out the stragglers of Adana’s army. The rest, follow me.”

  He kicked his horse into a gallop, his voice raised in a savage cry as he rode into his new home.

  * * *

  Adana stared in horror as Maligon’s men overtook the First Soldiers and surged through the gates of Adana’s View.

  Montee galloped up to her. “Adana, we must retreat.”

  “No.” Adana shook her head and stared at the tumult below. “No.”

  Montee grabbed the bridle of Adana’s horse and pulled her away from the battle. “Send the image to Bai’dish. We must retreat toward Kiffen’s forces.”

  Numb with shock, Adana nodded. She sent the image of the catastrophe below while Montee pushed her west toward Kiffen and the Border Keep. Jerold, Joannu, Shana, and Sinti followed close on her heels. Once they cleared the sight of combat, Montee wheeled her horse around and gave a great cry, riding back into battle.

  Cold gripped Adana as she replayed the scene of Maligon’s men flowing through her gates. The vision of her dying soldiers echoed in her mind. For the first time, she regretted the strength of her Watcher gifts, the ability to recall everything in extreme detail. She wanted to forget all she had seen. She needed to change it. She eased back on her horse’s reins. She couldn’t flee while they still fought. Wheeling her horse around, she turned back toward the battle.

  “Queen Adana, don’t!” Joannu charged her horse in front of her. “You can’t do anything more. Focus on Am’brosia’s link.”

  Adana shook her head but turned in retreat. She glanced at Shana to her right, noting a greenish tinge to the woman’s skin and the horror in her eyes. Shame for her treatment of the woman flooded over her. “Shana, forgive me.”

  Shana glanced her way with a wild look of fear.

  “She’s too shocked to understand,” Jerold shouted as he rode beside them. “Focus on reaching Kiffen’s position.”

  “He’s right,” Sinti called over her shoulder. “You said Kiffen’s forces are holding.”

  Adana nodded, too tired to speak. The sounds of battle faded behind them, but she saw Shana’s head jerk up in awareness. Am’brosia twisted her neck sideways, her head stretching up to the sky.

  “What is it?” Adana searched behind them. Pultarch and three of his men bore down on her small band. She braced for impact, aware her horse couldn’t avoid collision with the lead rider.

  “Ballene’s fire.” Shana kicked her horse between Adana and the soldier known as Horace. “Go,” she shouted over her shoulder.

  Joannu and Jerold wheeled their horses around to join Shana, forming a solid block between the men and Adana. One of the men moved faster than they and leaned in. His sword sliced the rear leg tendons of Adana’s horse as Jerold raised his sword to strike the man.

  Adana, without thinking, jumped toward Am’brosia’s back as her horse screamed and fell beneath her. She grappled for a firm hold, dangling from Am’brosia’s side. The giraffe faltered a moment before loping on with Adana clinging to her with all her strength.

  * * *

  Sword slammed into sword as Kiffen pushed his horse through Maligon’s troops. He raised his shield at a blur riding toward him, and blindly thrust his sword up, feeling the impact as the horses collided and his sword sliced into a body. He yanked the sword free. The soldier wore a Watcher’s uniform. She tumbled to the ground. Kiffen froze, noticing the purple patch sewn to her shoulder—Maligon’s mark of ownership. As Kiffen stared, a man slammed into his horse from the other side, unseating him.

  Kiffen threw his arms out to brace his fall. He rolled and missed the downward stroke of an ax. Kiffen grabbed for his sword, struggling to pull it out from under the weight of his body. The man raised his arm to plunge the ax into Kiffen’s skull but fell backward, toppled by the weight of his own weapon. An arrow protruded from his chest.

  Kiffen scrambled to his feet and turned to meet the eyes of a Watcher. One of the original squad entrusted to guard Bai’dish.

  “Adana?” He gasped the name, suddenly aware of sweat streaming down his face and the iron taste of blood in the air.

  “She retreats. Am’brosia sends for help.”

  Kiffen stumbled on unsteady feet, searching for Simeon. He spotted Kassa with Halar rushing toward him. “Quick,” he called to them. “Adana retreats. Find her. Bring her to Glume.”

  * * *

  Adana’s fingers slid along the armor covering the sloping back of the fleeing giraffe. She tried to grab onto something. Her sweaty hands could not grasp any part of the smooth leather. The giraffe’s bristly mane gave her the only handhold. She pulled and twisted the strands, seeking more to grasp. Frustration boiled over her. The giraffe’s sloping back stood so much taller than a horse’s. Sheer luck had given her the grip to begin with, but it wasn’t enough.

  “Hold on!” Sinti rode up behind her.

  Adana twisted to look down at the Watcher, ready to drop onto the other horse.

  Kassa and Halar galloped toward her.

  “How?” She panted, registering shock at their presence.

  “Hold on.” Kassa rode closer. “We’ll push you up.”

  A flash of her riding on Am’brosia’s back seeped through the connection, and the next thing Adana knew, hands shoved her body upward. She flung her arms around the stalwart neck and hung on.

  Another flash came to her as a warning—a giraffe outrunning horses, leaving them far behind. Adana gasped, and buried her face in Am’brosia’s shoulder as the animal surged forward.

  One horse sought to catch them.

  Am’brosia kicked her hind leg, the contact with their pursuer jolting Adana’s whole body. The rider and horse screamed. Adana peeked behind her, aghast at the gore left by Am’brosia’s blow.

  Keeping a precarious hold on the steep slope of the beast’s back, Adana’s body rattled with each jarring contact with the ground. Every time she thought she had a solid hold, her body slipped. She struggled to regain her grip, gasping for air. For a brief moment she sensed her dream and recognized the motion of bobbing in the river rapids.

  When they reached Glume and Bai’dish, Adana tumbled from Am’brosia’s back, grateful for Glume’s strong hands as he caught her. She relished the stillness for several breaths, then raised her head, surprised to see only Sinti, Halar, and Kassa behind her. Adana struggled to stand, her hand leaning heavily on the thick hindquarters of her recent mount.

  “Where are the others?”

  Sinti jumped to the ground and rushed over to Glume and Adana. “Are you hurt, my lady?” She patted the queen’s arms and back, checking for injuries.

  Adana pushed her away. “I’m fine.”

  “I’ve never seen someone ride a giraffe before.” Sinti stroked Am’brosia’s flank. “I’m thankful it worked.”

  “The others? Where are they?” Adana repeated her question.

  “One of Pultarch’s men grabbed Shana. Jerold and Joannu gave chase.”

  Adana stared at them, surprised at the fear she felt for Shana now that
their plan had fallen into place.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 37

  The soldier grabbed Shana. She twisted in shock and confusion. Moments after protecting the queen from attack, the former tavern maid found herself in the tight grip of one of Pultarch’s men. They wheeled their horses in the opposite direction as the queen.

  Horses’ hooves pounded behind her. She heard the cries of Joannu and Jerold, the clang of swords and grunts of impact. They thought to save her. Had they forgotten the plan? Her heart pounded with fear for their safety. Joannu remained true to her. Even after Brother Honest revealed her real identity. Gratitude mixed with fear for the Watcher.

  Her captors’ horses galloped along the edge of the battle. Before her, the precipice housing Adana’s View loomed into sight, and before she knew it, the soldiers pounded up the steep slope and through the gates. Her captor slowed his horse to a canter and rode up to an older man.

  The man’s arm hung by his side, useless. When he spotted her, the gleam in his eyes crawled over her skin. Was this Maligon? Lord Sarx was evil, but this man resonated with such malevolence, she wished for Sarx’s presence, instead.

  The soldier reined his horse to a halt before the man and shoved her from the saddle. She tumbled off the horse but maintained her footing, chin held high.

  “My Lord, this chit is the royal highness, Adana.” The soldier shoved his foot into her back, and she stumbled to the ground. “Bow before the Lord, m’lady.”

  Shana studied the sandy dirt inches from her nose, worry crowding her mind. This was not the plan. Pultarch knew who she was, but he had yet to see her. How long would this Lord let her live if he thought she was Adana? She listened, holding her breath. The sounds of recovery after the battle came to her. The wounded moaned. The victors shouted of grandeur and slapped each other’s backs. Horses stomped their hooves.

  Steeling herself to look up, she took a deep breath and gagged on the reek of sweat, blood, and offal. The stench took her back to The Sleeping Dog. She closed her eyes and prayed for a miracle from the Creator.

  “Tch, tch,” Maligon said. “That’s no way to treat a queen, Horace.” He reached down to Shana. “Please, Your Majesty, let me assist you.”

  Shana breathed in through her mouth and allowed the man to help her stand. Surprise filled her as she realized he stood just a little taller than she. But when he smiled at her, she shivered.

  “Adana, Adana, are you not happy to return to your home?” He spread his arms wide and gestured around him. “Moniah awaits your coronation, my lady.”

  Shana surveyed her surroundings. Fallen soldiers and Watchers littered the ground, their eyes staring into nothing. How many had Maligon killed to take the fortress? Her heart dropped at the thought. Would any Watchers or First Soldiers remain who supported Adana? She needed their presence for survival.

  She wished she knew more about the layout of the fortress, but there had been little time for Adana or the Watchers to educate her. How long did she have until Maligon learned he did not have the Monian Queen? Exhaustion and fear overcame her. She decided her best option might be to fake a swoon. So she did.

  “Horace!”

  She heard Maligon yell, and the sound of someone being slapped.

  “I told you not to harm her.”

  “Lord, she suffers from battle fatigue, I’m sure.”

  “She’s not Adana!” Pultarch’s voice shouted across the courtyard, and she heard him stumble forward. She felt his warm breath as he bent over to look at her prostrate body.

  His leathers creaked as he stood. Another loud slap resounded to her right. A man groaned.

  “This fool grabbed the wrong one.”

  “Pultarch, so glad you decided to return.” The Lord’s voice drifted away as if he’d left her side. He snapped his fingers. “Bring her. Pultarch, follow me.”

  Shana let her body go limp as the soldier hefted her over his shoulder. She strained to listen to Maligon and Pultarch as her head flopped against the man’s back.

  “Where is Am’brosia?” The man they called Lord spoke to Pultarch as if they were relaxing over a glass of wine. So calm, so reserved, as if they sat in a garden, not a courtyard littered with the bodies of loyal Monians.

  “We don’t have the giraffe, Lord, nor Adana. That is not her.” The conviction and anger in Pultarch’s voice alarmed Shana.

  They had counted on him accepting her as Adana to save embarrassment. It appeared his loyalty to this Lord ran deeper than anticipated.

  “Then who is this?” Shana felt someone grip her braid and haul her face upward.

  “Lord Sarx’s spy, the Lady Elayne of Glenhaven,” Pultarch said.

  The soldier dropped her to the ground. She fought the urge to cry out in pain and focused on the knowledge that Pultarch did not recognize her as the woman from the tavern. He did not know.

  Her heart gave a small leap of hope.

  Could she return to the pretense of Elayne?

  “Really?” Maligon’s voice held amusement. “This is the tavern maid Sarx found? The one who looks like Adana?”

  “Tavern maid?” Pultarch sounded confused. “No, Lord, this is the Lady Elayne, one of Lord Sarx’s nieces.”

  Laughter rumbled from the depths of Maligon’s chest. “She fooled even you! No Pultarch. Look closely. I understand you helped Sarx find her at The Sleeping Dog.”

  All grew quiet.

  Shana forced her body to remain limp. How long would they let her live? A finger trailed along her chin and up to her hair. Hot breath washed over her face.

  “Blazes! It is the wench. I led him to her?” There was no escaping the pride that rang in Pultarch’s voice.

  “You found her.” A woman’s surprised voice echoed across the courtyard. Shana fought the urge to turn her head in the woman’s direction. She didn’t know this voice.

  “Kalara, look what these animals brought us. An imposter for the Seat.”

  Someone ran across the flagstones toward them. When the woman spoke again, her voice was close, as if she peered into Shana’s face. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She fainted, my daughter. Do you have any smelling salts?”

  Laughter rumbled around her, but Shana focused on the sounds of the woman.

  Footsteps retreated, there was a sound of water sloshing, the footsteps returned, and then…

  Shana shrieked at the cold splash of water. She sat up, blinking the water out of her eyes.

  A woman dressed in Watcher leathers stood close by, her hand on her knife. She took a step toward Shana and leaned in close, her mouth a thin line. “Where is Adana?”

  Shana looked from the woman they called Kalara to Pultarch to the Lord. She shook her head.

  Silence, louder than the noise of battle, roared in Shana’s ears as she waited for the killing stroke. She sensed Maligon’s laughter before it rippled forth.

  “This is perfect. We’ll put her on the throne and marry her to Pultarch. No one has seen Adana for three years. No one will know the difference.”

  This time Shana did not fake fainting.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 38

  Adana looked up, searching the extensive tunnel. Torches burned in wall sconces along the length of the corridors that led back to the battlefields. Along the walls of the enlarged room, at a crossroad within the tunnels, the battle-weary and wounded waited for help or water or the energy to rise and tend to their fellow soldiers and Watchers. Moans underscored the quiet murmuring of the Border Keep’s staff as they tended to the wounded. Adana searched the distance and strained to hear if any new troops arrived. How much longer would Kiffen remain on the battlefield? Reports said he was uninjured, but still he hadn’t returned. She couldn’t understand why. The secret entrance to the tunnels opened up on a slope near the expanse of ground where Kiffen’s forces stood against Maligon’s. The distance was short. No need for his delay.

  Adana fought frustration. Would he come to her? Stand beside her
and cope with the shock of their failure? Or did he lie dead or injured on the battlefield?

  Her gaze traveled along the pallets of injured in the larger sections of the tunnel, lingering on the faces grimacing in pain. Some lay still. Too still. She approached one such Watcher, her arm wrapped in whatever cloth had been available to those who carried her into the tunnels. Blood stained through the many layers. Adana knelt beside the prone body. The young woman’s eyes fluttered open, and she turned to face Adana. The stamping feet of returning soldiers resounded in the corridor, but Adana didn’t turn away from the Watcher. “I’m going to unwrap this cloth and check your wounds. OK?”

  The woman nodded.

  With painstaking care, Adana began to unwrap the bandages, trying to watch the young woman’s face and the pull of the fabric on the wound. Each time Adana passed the strip of cloth under the woman’s arm, she winced but didn’t cry out.

  “You did well today,” Adana said in an effort to create a distraction. She glanced at the torn tunic, realizing the Watcher’s badge of rank must have been lost during the injury or makeshift bandaging. “What rank are you?”

  The woman swallowed and licked dry lips. Adana stopped unwrapping the bandages and unhooked her flask from her belt. She tipped it toward the Watcher’s mouth, so a small trickle spilled forth.

  The woman swallowed, then whispered, “Archery Trainee.” She began to cough, and Adana eased her arm under the woman’s back and lifted her shoulders from the makeshift pallet.

  After the coughing ceased, she eased her back down, mindful of the injury to the Watcher’s left shoulder and arm. Then, she began to rewrap the arm with cleaner bandages.

  Archery Trainees knew simple sword and archery techniques. The next rank, Archers, learned true combat skills, but fighting in battle was left to full rank Watchers and Leaders. Adana remembered Honest’s story about how his mother earned her rank in battle. She thought of Montee’s admonitions. Many Watchers gained promotions on the battlefield during war. She studied the Watcher again, noting the plumpness of youth in her cheeks. “What is your name?”