Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1)

by M. Lee Holmes

  “Will I rise?” Dillon asked with uncertainty.

  Viktor’s smile faded with this question and his pounding heart began its ferocious rhythm once again. The sword, however, continued to encourage him so he nodded and said; “I am certain of it.”

  That seemed to relieve some of Dillon’s tension. His rigid stiffness vanished and his chin stopped shaking as though he had been caught in an earthquake.

  Dillon’s eyes darted past Viktor and to his mother who stood in the crowd. Viktor saw the nod of reassurance Dillon gave to her and hoped beyond hope that this was the last time he would have to perform this test.

  If this boy does not rise, I will have his mother to answer to. I will have her torment to haunt me for the rest of my days.

  Viktor stiffened and grasped the hilt of his sword tightly, ready to get the test over with. He pulled the sword free of its scabbard and raised it to Dillon’s chest. The light of the room dripped down the steel of the blade like water from a fountain, illuminating the intricate words carved into the flesh of the steel; Lim Canarte Bae Elei. The sword itself was white and glistened like new, save for the mysterious red streak that ran down the center of the blade like a stain of blood, forever remembering the sacrifice that was made to forge it. The hilt suddenly felt heavy in Viktor’s hand- thick with the weight of his burden. The black leather that was so tightly wrapped around it seemed to shrink in his grasp, loosening his grip upon the blade. He tightened his arm and squeezed the sword, hoping he would not drop it.

  The guards on either side of the boy braced for whatever struggle Dillon may give them but the boy stood resolute and firm, holding his footing so that Viktor would not miss his mark.

  Viktor felt his own hands begin to tremble as he placed the tip of his sword at the boy’s heart.

  “The blade that was bound in blood must bind to the blood of its new master. It must see the true nature of one’s heart to give itself over.” Viktor remembered these words from the day of his test. They were the last words his ears heard before the blinding pain and flash of light that changed his life forever.

  Dillon clenched his jaw tight and took in a deep breath, bracing himself for the impact of the sword.

  Viktor closed his eyes and before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed the sword forward with enough force to pierce through bone and flesh. He could feel the familiar suction of the victim’s body absorbing the steel as though it was not an alien object forcing its way in. He could hear the nearly inaudible gasp of surprise as the sword took its victim’s breath away, and finally, he felt the weight of Dillon’s body pulling the sword downward as he fell lifelessly to the ground- the guards on either side of him guiding him gently down. Before he lie flat upon the ground, Viktor pulled the sword free and slowly opened his eyes, waiting for the sign of light that would restore Dillon to his previous, living self.

  He held his breath in that moment- his eyes unable to look upon anything else but the steady stream of blood draining from Dillan’s wound, dripping to the stone floor beneath. He felt his own heart stop in that moment, waiting for any sign of life.

  It should have happened by now. The light should have come.

  Viktor was unaware of how long he stood, staring at the corpse of the youngest man he had ever killed, but it became apparent to all who were present the test had failed, the boy’s life would not be spared, and the soft hum of disapproval began to fill the great hall.

  Then all other sounds were drowned out with the wailing of the boy’s mother. She rushed forward, nudging Viktor with her shoulder as she ran past him, and knelt beside the body of her son upon the floor.

  “My boy!” She cried. “My only boy!” Her sobs echoed off the walls and pierced through Viktor’s flesh like a thousand tiny daggers.

  That is the wail that I will carry with me for however long I may live.

  “Viktor!” The King’s summon pulled Viktor from his stupor. He jumped slightly at the sound of his name being called and turned to the King and gave him a bow.

  “This is the third young man to lose his life for the sake of the test!” The King no longer wore a smile upon his face and his voice rang with anger.

  “Forgive me, majesty, but I hoped this would be…”

  “You hoped?” The King asked. “You were uncertain?”

  Viktor nodded and the wailings of the boy’s mother grew even louder.

  “Clear this room!” The King commanded his guards and they began escorting people through the many doors lining the great hall. Dillon’s mother had to be pulled away from him and dragged across the floor. Lord Dervish rushed to her side and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders, helping the guards escort her from the room.

  When they were alone, the King stepped down from his throne, while the Queen, silent and motionless, watched with stone-hard eyes from her seat.

  “Is something wrong with the sword? Can you not hear it correctly?” The King asked.

  Viktor sighed and found he could not look upon the King’s face without discomfort. He lowered his gaze and bowed his head.

  “You may tell me anything, Viktor.” The King’s voice was soft once again, encouraging Viktor to speak to him.

  “There is a name, a name the sword will not give up on. But I have refused to acknowledge this name and begged the sword to choose someone else. I see now that I cannot ignore the wishes of the blade any longer.”

  “And why would you want to?” The King asked confused. “What is the name of the man the sword is whispering to you?”

  Viktor raised his head and met the King’s gaze. “That is the problem. The name the sword whispers to me is not that of a man.”

  Chapter 2

  There was a defiant chill that hung in the air, as though the Gods themselves wished to hinder their progression. The trees bowed with the howling wind, creaking and cracking as though they would break over their heads and the rain that had fallen in short but harsh increments now fell heavily upon them, desperately trying to drown out their desire to press on.

  But press on they did, through wind and rain and cold and darkness. They trudged through rushing rivers and up muddy hillsides, and rested only when their feet refused to carry them any longer.

  Many days passed in this manner, the rain and hail beating down upon the hundreds of refugees that wished to escape Kaena, and the days passed into weeks, with no sign of the storms letting up. They cried out in anger at the Gods for cursing their quest and others begged them to light their path while the rest ignored the Gods completely and pressed on with an unbreakable determination. It was this determination that kept the rest of them going. When someone would fall, another would stop to pick them back up, not allowing anyone to be left behind. Several of the lesser-of-strength or ill refugees perished on the way and the entire procession would stop to bury them and listen to tales from loved ones about their lives. Though they were running for their lives, they would not dishonor the dead.

  The refugees had come from all over Kaena- most came from Laydon and North and South Fort, many others came from Hely, Elipol and Bhrys. There were even a few brave souls that had joined their escape from Axendra. But no matter where the refugees had come from, all shared the same desire within their hearts; to live a life free of tyranny.

  The war that had set their escape into motion ended nearly a year ago, but when the Lords and Protectors and Captains who had fled and hidden in light of their defeat, returned to bend the knee and re-swear their fealty to the King, the free people of Kaena decided the time to leave had come. They took the roads south, towards Lerous in hopes a ship would be available to take them far away.

  Those who led the refugees were few but they had chosen the bravest and strongest to guide their way. Nearly forty men, young and old, created a perimeter around the procession, carrying their swords or axes or staves at their sides, ready to defend their flock if the need arose. The refugees had started calling them their Captains and followed their orders without questio
n, even if the one giving orders had only been a farm boy before being given his new title.

  Some of the Captains had not been chosen by their ability to fight and protect, but rather, they had been chosen simply because they carried a weapon. Not many of the refugees who had fled in a moment’s notice had thought to bring a means of protection. They had been more concerned with life-saving provisions such as; food, clean water and warm blankets. There were no horses or carts amongst them- they had only been able to bring what they could carry and many did not have an extra hand for a sword.

  Those who traveled along the outside of the procession kept a close watch on their surroundings, scanning the trees and shrubs for anyone who may be hiding within.

  On the eighteenth day of traveling, when the sun had set and the refugees hunkered down for a night’s rest, the Captains decided to gather together to discuss the rest of their journey. They sat, huddled around a small fire, scooting as close as they possibly could to ward off the cold, night air.

  “We cannot pass through the Twin Peaks range.” Captain Jamus said to the group. “To do so would be pure madness. There are no roads leading through there and I don’t think our children or the elderly could withstand the climb.”

  All the Captains nodded in agreement.

  “Passing through the Twin Peaks range was never an option.” Captain Barlos replied. “We are here to discuss whether or not we should travel by the main road to Tanis.”

  “And if we do not, then we must travel east towards Ylia and Lord Ivran is not an ally.” Captain Moresy said.

  “He is not an enemy either!” Captain Jamus said spitefully, clearly hoping to defend Lord Ivran’s name.

  “He was not with us during the rebellion.” Captain Tammeran said, the only man to have actually been dubbed a Captain before the war. He served under Protector Zane in Bhrys. Lady Ashryn of Bhrys had refused to join in the rebellion so Captain Tammeran had fled. He ran to Laydon where he joined forces with Lord Doran Caster. When the war ended and all of Lord Doran’s army had been defeated, Captain Tammeran headed south. He found the mass of rebels fleeing and decided to join them, knowing that if he was ever caught by Bhrys or Axendra he’d be executed as a traitor.

  “Lord Ivran remained neutral, that is true, but it does not change the fact that he is a decent man with good principles. He will aid us.” Captain Jamus said. It was unclear to the rest of the Captains where Jamus had come from, but in their current situation, it was unimportant. They had to come to a decision quickly- a decision that could either save them or put them in harm’s way.

  “How can you be certain?” Captain Moresy asked. “What if he turns on us- imprisons us and calls for the High Protector to come fetch us? What do you think will happen to these people then? The King will not show mercy to those of us who have chosen to flee from his rule.” Most of the Captains nodded and whispered their agreements under their breath. Only Captain Jamus remained silent, staring at Captain Moresy with harsh intent in his eyes.

  “Ugh.” Captain Tammeran let out an audible sigh of frustration. “I think we should not assume that we can trust anyone at the moment. However, finding a suitable place to rest and replenish our supplies will be necessary. We cannot pass through the mountains. As Captain Jamus so eloquently put it, that would be pure madness. But we cannot travel by the main roads either. The High Protector and the entire army of Axendra could be hunting us as we speak.

  ‘What does anyone know about Lord Garrick, Lady Madeleine and Protector Wallis in Adona? I know they were with us during the rebellion.”

  “Rumor has it that Lord Garrick and his Protector were among the many who traveled to Axendra with their tails between their legs, begging the King to forgive them.” Captain Moresy said with spite. He turned his head to the side and spit into the fire which caused a small but bright flash and the sound of liquid sizzling and turning to smoke.

  “Then we cannot travel to Adona.” Captain Tammeran sat back on his haunches with his shoulders slouched. He had been studying a map which he himself had drawn up but now he looked at it with distaste- as though the mere sight of it made him ill.

  “We must travel east then.” Captain Jamus piped up. “We must pass over Adona and travel south towards Ylia. It is the only way. To travel west around Twin Peaks would take far too long.”

  Captain Tammeran shrugged his shoulders in defeat. “I think Captain Jamus is right. That would be our quickest route to Lerous.”

  “Perhaps we should send riders forward to Ylia to speak with Lord Ivran. If he is in agreement to house the poor people of our group, then a message could be returned. If no message is brought back, then it should be assumed that Lord Ivran is not a friend and Ylia can be avoided.” Captain Moresy said.

  “And if Lord Ivran has ill intent and our messengers alert him to our plight, he will send an army after us, or worse yet, call upon the High Protector to give our position away.”

  “I will travel ahead to Ylia!” Captain Jamus shouted, raising his hand high in the air as though he were a school-boy.

  “What if you are captured?” Captain Barlos asked.

  “I put my faith in Lord Ivran. And this is how I will prove to you that he will not harm us.” Captain Jamus stood, looking down to his fellow Captains with a smile of confidence. Of course, no one could stop him, since they all possessed the same level of authority. “I will follow the main road into Adona, purchase a horse and ride to Ylia. From there, I shall send the message that all is clear and Lord Ivran is a friend. You will begin leading the people east in the morning.”

  Captain Jamus turned on his heel to walk away but Captain Tammeran called after him; “you are leaving now?”

  Captain Jamus turned back around and waved to the other captains. “All haste must be made. We are in dire need of shelter and food.” And with that, Captain Jamus turned and vanished into the cold, darkness of the night.

  By the eighth day of traveling east, Captain Tammeran was beginning to wish that he had gone ahead to Adona instead of Captain Jamus. With his aching back and blistering feet, he desired to be settled on the back of a horse more than ever. The people behind him seemed to have the same desire- their moans and grumbles were audible enough to reach his ears and he tried to ignore them the best he could, but with each disapproving complaint that echoed behind him, his own heart would fill with anger and doubt and he began to wonder if they had made the right decision.

  I better get a signal from Jamus that we can proceed into Ylia. If I cannot get these people into the city, surely they will all die before we reach Lerous. It was a grim thought- a trail of corpses marking their failed path to the south.

  That night, a harsh wind and a fowl chill came with the darkness and all the Captains agreed the time had come to rest. The refugees hunkered down against trees and rocks, huddling together for warmth. Small fires began to spread throughout the encampment but were extinguished by the wind before they could burn through the damp wood. Several refugees began coughing; the chill of the air pressing hard against their chests and the sound of children weeping was like the rumble of an ocean wave- soft and distant until it came crashing against the shore. Their cries turned into screams and Tammeran had to plug his ears against their wails if he was to get any sleep. He pressed his back firmly against the trunk of the tree he leaned upon and closed his eyes.

  Please, almighty Gods, let Captain Jamus find us tomorrow. He was not sure how much longer he could keep the refugees moving. They came on their own accord. They wanted to leave! He had to remind himself that everyone here would make it to Lerous before giving up; or die trying.

  It took Captain Tammeran nearly an hour before sleep took hold of him. His dreams were as haunted as they had been when he left South Fort. Images of the village flashed in his vision, making him jerk and shake in his sleep. He could see the flames rising, higher and higher until the smoke blocked out the sunlight. He could feel the heat of the fires as though he was still standing in the street. And
all around him people ran in chaos, screaming and flailing their arms, trying to escape the burning city.

  And then he saw her. Her silhouette burned against the raging fires and filled his heart with hatred. He could feel his chest heaving with each strained, smoke-filled breath. His hand tightened against the hilt of his sword and his feet prepared to rush forward. He would be the one to end her life- he would be the hero of the realm. But just as it had happened in real life, so did it happen in his dream. The scream of a horse and the blinding flash of pain as his sword was knocked from his hands and he fell to the dirt, blood filling his mouth and trickling down the side of his head. He had been struck by a run-away horse. The beast panicked and began fleeing chaotically through the streets when the fires started. And when Captain Tammeran woke, the silhouette was gone.

  Sunlight filled his vision as he slowly opened his eyes. He half expected to see the smoke-filled ruins of South Fort. He looked down to his own body, ready to brush away the ash and soot but he soon remembered where he was and took in a breath of relief.

  All around him the refugees were slowly getting to their feet. They were brushing away the dirt and grime that clung to their clothing and wrapping whatever blankets or shawls they had for warmth tightly around their shoulders.

  Captain Moresy and Captain Barlos were approaching- their heavy boots splashing in the puddles of mud that remained from recent rains. Moresy smiled down at Captain Tammeran and held out a waterskin which Tammeran gladly took.

  “The people are eager to get moving again.” Barlos said.

  Tammeran took a long drink of the cool water, letting it sit on his tongue for a moment before swallowing it down. He handed the waterskin back to Moresy with a ‘thanks’ then stood on his tired and aching feet.

  “Then let us get moving.” He said. He took one step forward and squeezed his eyes shut tight from the pain. He could feel the blisters that were breaking under his weight and wished he was not miles away from any civilization. Tammeran had never been one to pay for the pleasures of a female companion but he would pay a whore just to rub his feet. Perhaps I will find one in Ylia.