Shadows of Men
The Watchers
M. Lee Holmes
Book One
These embers of life did spark,
A flash, a memory of past,
What deeds were shown, of mortal soul,
Immortal toil of fires did parch,
And darkness entombed the desperate pith,
The remains; shadow of black.
Chapter 1
Viktor Felson moved through the empty corridor like a ghost, silent and swiftly, avoiding any contact with the cold, damp walls of stone that surrounded him. His step was strong with purpose- each booted foot pressing heavily into the stones beneath, causing the sound of his footsteps to echo off the walls. His face was frozen with the look of sternness he had become known for- the small wrinkles beneath his eyes twitched with each blink and his bearded lips were pursed tightly, forcing his nostrils to flare with every breath. His long white beard flowed down to his chest and swung with the rapid movement of his arms. The leathers he wore, though tattered from age, had been cleaned with pride to an almost sparkling perfection.
Many years it had been since Viktor first traversed the dark hallways of the castle, and yet, on this particular day, he felt like a stranger lost in a foul, unfamiliar maze. He had been certain of where he was going in the beginning, but now he was not so sure. The hallway seemed to have grown in length tenfold and never gave the promise of an end. Each sconce he passed cast its ominous glow upon the wall, creating shadows that danced and twirled and seemed to follow him as he moved on.
The sword that clung to Viktor’s side began to hum a low tune in his ears and he felt the unmistakable vibration of the blade pulsing against his leg. He placed his right hand to the hilt as he walked and could feel the sword’s anxious pulses through his thick leather gloves.
Then the name rang in his ears as though someone had shouted it to him. He stopped and placed his palms to the sides of his head and closed his eyes.
Not again! He tried to block out the sound- the sound he knew only his ears could hear- but there was no escaping the sword’s angry cries.
I will not call upon that name! Viktor opened his eyes and turned his gaze to the hilt of his sword, glowering at the blade that had been his companion for nearly two centuries. The sword, he knew, heard his defiant plea but continued to shout the name.
“You are wrong.” He said aloud. Viktor grasped the hilt tightly to silence the sword and only when the blade was still did he continue on.
Upon finally reaching the end of the drafty corridor, Viktor sighed a breath of relief and turned the corner to find that the hall leading to the great hall was well lit and full of familiar faces and strangers alike. He walked through them slowly, smiling and nodding in greeting as they took notice of him, shuffling to the side to allow him passage. As he pressed his way gently through the crowd, he kept his hand placed firmly upon the hilt of his sword, a habit he had acquired many years ago out of fear of someone stealing the blade from his belt.
Soft whispers could be heard as he moved through the dense crowd- their watchful eyes followed his steps as they spoke in quiet undertones to their companions. Viktor told himself the whispers were nothing to be concerned over- the people were merely commenting on being in the High Protector’s presence, but his senses were telling him otherwise. He knew the purpose of their whisperings and saw their carefully placed hands to block his view of their lips so he could not read their words. He understood perfectly well when he saw the faces of the companions whose ears had just been filled with propaganda and suddenly, he wished for the empty, quiet solitude of the corridor he had just been so glad to be rid of.
Viktor wished he could hate them for their condemnatory stares, but he could not discount the fact that he, perhaps, deserved their scrutiny. It was, after all, his fault they were once again forced to gather in this hallway- to stand by and watch as he was about to condemn another innocent. He knew their hearts were approaching the moment when they could not bear witness to this failed ceremony any longer.
And what shall happen to me this time should the test claim another? His eyes flicked upward, catching the harsh gaze of a stranger- a woman, whose wrinkled face and pursed lips revealed the curse that rested in her thoughts- and he realized this would be his last chance.
Even the King is at his wit’s end.
And even though Viktor understood the anger of the people, he also knew it was misplaced. Viktor was only doing as the power of the sword urged, which is nothing more than what was expected of him. He would perform one-hundred failed tests if the sword deemed it necessary.
The name came again suddenly, shrill and louder than before. Viktor almost cried out as the name rang through his ears. He stopped walking and stood in the center of the corridor like a man who had lost his way. His eyes darted back and forth, towards the end of the corridor and back at the people who surrounded him.
Enough with that name! He directed his thoughts towards the blade at his side as it began to buzz. I shall not yield!
Ignoring the maddening buzzing, Viktor pressed on and at the end of the hallway, the vibrations of the stroppy sword ceased. Viktor closed his eyes for a brief moment, thanking whatever Gods could be in existence that it had ended its tireless pleading. When he reopened his eyes, his gaze was met with the fierce stares of the King’s guards. Viktor nodded to them, signaling that he was ready to enter the great hall where he knew the King sat in waiting and the guards wasted no time in stepping to the side and pushing the large, wooden doors open wide enough for him to enter.
A deep and slow breath seeped in through the open space between Viktor’s lips and it was this breath that gave him the courage to carry on. His feet began to move forward all on their own, forcing Viktor through the doors whether he wished to or not.
Please let this be the one. He pleaded silently to the sword as the great hall opened up before him. Do not let this test fail.
The great hall was the largest room in the entire castle. During times of celebration, the room could be filled with more than a thousand bodies. Viktor was glad to see only half that had come today. Tables long enough to have sat them all with room to spare lined the walls, pushed to the side so that those who had come to watch could stand. It was considered disrespectful to sit during this occasion. Before him stood the thrones- two large, oak chairs carved with the intricacies that had been the style during the Old Age; men with sword and shield, atop fat horses riding to meet their enemies. And occupying these thrones were King Darrion Elyas and Queen Evelina Hest Elyas. The King’s round face and gentle eyes were a warm, familiar sight to Viktor. The Queen, however, glowered down at him in anger. Her long, auburn hair was pulled back and tucked neatly underneath her silver crown and her gown of deep crimson accentuated the flush of her cheeks. Viktor could see her harsh gaze through the silhouette caused by the large hearth burning behind the thrones.
Many people from all over the realm had come to bear witness to the events that were about to unfold. They had lined up row-by-row, allowing only a small path for Viktor to move through. Some were leaning against the four large pillars that held the ceiling aloft. Behind them, the smaller hearths were lit as well, not to mention all the sconces and candelabras, making the room as bright as it possibly could be. The light even stretched all the way to touch the high ceiling. It was brighter than Viktor had ever seen it before, giving the room the small illusion of cheerfulness.
There was a stiff silence that filled the air as Viktor stood before the thrones- a thick cloud of uncertainty being carried across the room to him on the gazes of watchful eyes. The silence was heavy and rested upon his shoulders, pushing his stature int
o a bend and filling his heart with dread. Usually, such an occasion would be cause for celebration but not on this day- not on the third attempt. In the past there had been only one failure and that High Protector had paid a heavy price for his mistake. Viktor knew the only reason he was not locked away in the rat infested dungeons was because of the King. King Darrion Elyas was too kind-hearted and held Viktor in too high of a regard to allow him to suffer such a fate. But as he studied the faces of the spectators, he knew the people of the realm were not as understanding as the King and would throw him in the abyss of the darkness below without hesitation.
But Viktor also knew there was no going back. He could not simply ignore the fact that his time had come to an end and the sword needed to be passed on. He could feel the weight of his unnaturally long life bearing down on him like a cart-full of stone. Each step he took sent a new wave of pain sprouting up his spine. His bones ached and cracked as he struggled on, objecting to his obstinate desire to simply live. His heart beat furiously inside his chest and never slowed its rapid pace. He could hear it at all times- like thunder clasping inside his ears. And his breath had become short and labored, such as it sometimes does with old age. The pain this produced was not something to be ignored- it had finally begun to hinder his ability to carry on with the day and more times than not he stayed in his bed, buried underneath the soft feather blankets, willing the pain to dissolve. Finally, after a week spent in his chamber fighting the desire to sleep and not wake, Viktor knew the time had come.
And then the name came to him.
It had at first come like a soft whisper, forming in the back of his mind and dissipating just as quickly. When he first heard the name, the image of a face appeared. It was a face he had seen before- one that had been etched into his memory and he could never figure out why until the day the sword whispered it to him. He ignored the sword, however, and begged it to give him another name. The new name was but a mere thought- a random vestige of a man that could have very easily been anyone. Viktor took this new name as a sign from the sword and promptly acted upon it, only to be disappointed in the end.
Then the first name came back to him. The sword did not whisper it this time; this time it would be heard. The sword practically screamed the name at him but he still begged it to choose someone else.
Again, there was a slight hint of someone who might be suitable and again Viktor acted upon it, though he was much more hesitant with this one. But even though he had higher hopes that the sword would comply, he was let down once more.
The cries and shouts of anger from the spectators on that day still sent shivers up his spine. And how much will it haunt me if I should fail again today? He briefly considered telling the court he had made a mistake and give in to the sword’s commands. The thought quickly fled- he had never yielded before and he would not start now.
Viktor bowed his head to the King and Queen and slowly got to his knees, ignoring the cracking and aching of his old bones as he did so. As Viktor knelt, the butterflies that flew about his empty stomach went into a frenzy. He knew what it was that had so suddenly filled him with dread- it was this room that taunted him. Amongst the worn and moth-eaten tapestries and melting candle wax dripping aimlessly to the floor, Viktor felt the ghosts of his past failures were lurking there, hidden in the shadows, watching his every move with intensity, ready to pounce at any moment his attention was not sharp. He wondered briefly if they waited for their new brother to join them- if perhaps they knew that this test would fail as well, adding to their need for revenge. He could not bring himself to look upon the dark corners of the great hall so he kept his eyes focused upon the King.
And then the King smiled at him as though he had never done anything to wrong the realm. Viktor’s guilt nearly crippled him. The young man still has faith in me. He still believes I know what I am doing. Viktor smiled back but only as a courtesy- while his lips smiled, his heart shriveled and turned to dust within his aching chest.
“High Protector Viktor!” The King exclaimed in a loud, throbbing voice, as though he meant to clear up any confusion amongst the guests as to who it was that knelt before them. Viktor doubted anyone in that room did not know his name or his face- he had become a dark symbol amongst the people.
The King stood and stepped down from the podium on which his throne was perched and reached both his hands forward to place them upon Viktor’s shoulders as he stood.
“Are you ready to begin, my friend?”
Viktor shuddered at this question, and he thought he saw a flicker of confusion pass over the King’s eyes. He knew what he had to say in response but he wasn’t sure if he was truly ready. The sword at his side had been silent ever since he entered the room, which meant to him that something was terribly wrong.
Can I really do this? Can I condemn another young man to die all because I will not admit the true purpose of the blade? He had already gone over these questions in his mind time and time again and each time the answer was always the same- yes.
“I am ready, your grace.” Viktor said with forced confidence. The King’s smile grew ever wider and he gave Viktor’s shoulders a firm squeeze before stepping aside and raising his right hand to his guard.
“Bring in the protégé!” The King commanded and his guard promptly bowed and left by one of the side exits.
Viktor stood as motionless as if he were made of stone, waiting for the young boy to be brought in and all the while ignoring the rigorous pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.
When the guard returned, he was followed by six more guards that formed two solid lines to escort the lad into the great hall. He trudged alongside them with his head held high and his eyes wide.
He was even younger than Viktor had expected. His face was soft, like a child’s and glowed with the radiance of innocence. He looked no older than five and ten, with golden, silky hair and bright blue eyes that sparkled in the light of the room. He was tall for his age and skinny. Viktor wondered if this boy had ever lifted a sword in his life.
If he is the chosen one, we have a lot of work to do.
The guards stopped in front of Viktor to bow before turning towards the back of the room, leaving the young boy whose name was Dillon Waters at his command.
Viktor looked him over. He could clearly see that underneath his courageous-like visage, his chest was heaving erratically with each breath, and his hands, which dangled loosely at his sides, trembled. His eyes, which were still as wide as they could be, twitched every so often as he tried to keep eye contact with Viktor.
This boy is too young to die. I should tell the King to send him away. Viktor could not look upon Dillon’s face without the weight of his guilt crushing him.
Slowly, Viktor turned to find the King had retaken his seat at the throne but his smile had not faded. Viktor knew what he had to do, he had to save Dillon.
He stepped forward with a heavy foot and looked to the King apologetically. The King’s smile finally dissipated and was replaced with a questioning gaze. He could clearly see something was bothering Viktor. But as Viktor’s lips parted to tell the King of his doubts, the sword began lightly buzzing at his side.
This was not the same screaming noise he had heard from the blade moments ago, but a calming, soft melody that seemed to be trying to ease Viktor’s plight. He placed an open palm against the leather-bound hilt and listened intently to the soft rhythm of the sword. There was no mistaking what the blade wanted from him. It was saying to continue with the test. Viktor realized that the blade only needed to be within proximity of the young boy to know that he showed some potential.
Perhaps this test will not fail after all. Viktor thought with a genuine smile.
“I am ready to perform the test.” Viktor said to the King, whose smile returned.
Lord Dervish Tibbott of Lerous stepped forward to announce the young man he had escorted across the realm to deliver to Viktor. “Dillon Waters, son of Hatherford and Nellie Waters, fish merchants and traders in Le
rous, has come before the kingdom today to answer the call of the High Protector, who has named him as possible heir to his position.” The silence which filled the room then seemed even thicker than before.
The people are just as nervous as I am.
Two guards stepped forward and grasped Dillon by the wrists with one hand and the shoulder with the other, keeping him in place. Dillon’s nervous trembling was now visible to all. His quivering chin and shaking legs were obvious to everyone.
Viktor stepped as close to Dillon as he needed to be and could not help notice Dillon’s eyes dart from him to someone in the crowd. Viktor followed Dillon’s gaze and saw in the crowd an older woman who shared Dillon’s thin physique, holding a handkerchief to her tear-streaked face and trembling just as much as the boy.
Viktor turned his eyes quickly back to the boy and tried his best to hide the fear he felt then.
You must do this. The sword has led you here. Do your duty! Viktor scolded himself. He took a deep breath and placed a gentle hand upon the boy’s shoulder.
“You are brave, Dillon. Your mother should be proud of you.”
“S…s…she is, H… High Protector.” Dillon struggled to respond through chattering teeth.
“This will only hurt for a moment. It will be over before you even realize what has happened. And when you rise, you will rise as the new High Protector of the realm.” Viktor smiled at the boy as he said this, as though being High Protector was the greatest reward that could be bestowed upon anyone. And in the eyes of many, it was. Only the High Protector knew what a burden the position could be. But neither Viktor nor any of the High Protectors who came before him had explained that to the people of the realm. They allowed the illusion of power and splendor to continue for the sake of ‘the test’. If there was no desire to be High Protector, no one would show up for their test and risk their lives for a job they had no desire to have. Though it was against the laws of the realm to be absent for the test once one’s name was called, those who were weaker of heart would flee the realm in fear.
Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) Page 1
