Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1)

by M. Lee Holmes

  It hadn’t just been Lords and Protectors that had come for the council; captains, warriors, healers, blacksmiths and even some peasants who wished to join their cause had come. Lord Ivran invited them all. “We will need every sword hand we can get.” He told them.

  When the room was finally emptied, Terryn found himself alone with Ivran. Even Meira, Ivran’s wife, had left with her shoulders slumped from exhaustion.

  Terryn stood slowly and began to leave the room when he looked down at Ivran and saw a look of dread on his face. He stopped, unable to press on farther, and stooped down next to him.

  “Is everything alright, my Lord?” Terryn asked with genuine concern.

  Ivran shook his head. “I lost many loved ones in the war.” He said in almost a whisper. His eyes were sullen and red and Terryn could see the exhaustion in them. He knew Lord Ivran regretted his decision to stay out of the war. He could see that the rebels had already lost and he knew what would befall his city Ylia if he joined. He decided to keep his people safe.

  He once told Terryn he felt that if he had joined the rebel’s cause, the outcome of the war may have been different. “Think of all the lives I could have saved.” But Terryn knew even with Ivran’s forces, the war still would have been lost.

  Two years later, things had changed. More and more people were beginning to see the King’s corruptness. More cities in Kaena were crying out for their rulers to be brought to justice and more armies were willing to join the cause. Most were crying out for the head of the High Protector. When the realm learned of what she had done, how many innocent people she had slaughtered, they became sick with the want for revenge.

  “We must take them by surprise!” Lord Ivran had told the council months ago. “When last the rebels invaded, King Firion knew they were coming. This time, he will not see us until it is too late!”

  When Terryn heard from his mother that a new uprising was starting, he rushed to Ylia to offer Lord Ivran his services. “I shall be a spy for you.” He told him. He wanted nothing more than to see the King slain for what he had done to the realm. And though Terryn was not a violent man by nature, he would not shed a tear if he saw the High Protector’s head placed upon a spike.

  Terryn reached his hand down and placed it gently on Lord Ivran’s shoulder. Over the last several months he and Ivran had formed a bond of friendship that neither of them had expected.

  Ivran looked up at Terryn and gave him a forced smile then took in a deep breath and stood. “We shall continue in the morning.” He said. “Perhaps in the light of day everything will seem more hopeful.”

  “Of course.” Terryn agreed. “Especially since I have some news that I think you will like.”

  “Oh?” Ivran asked with curiosity. “And what is this news? You must tell me now for if I am forced to wait until the ‘morn I think I shall not sleep at all!”

  Terryn stopped walking and Ivran followed his lead. Both men stood looking at each other and Terryn spoke in a voice quiet enough for only Ivran to hear.

  “The High Protector has been called away.”

  “Called away? To where?”

  “The Sorceress dreamt of some trouble in Tyos and High Protector Rhada and her Captain, Mayvard Stoneward, left two nights ago. That gives us more than a month to plan our strategy and attack before they return.”

  “But the High Protector is one of our targets!” Ivran protested. “I should like to wait until they are all within the castle walls where we can trap them.”

  “But taking the castle during her absence would be easier. Their forces would be scattered with no command. And imagine the look on her face when she comes home to find the King’s body burned upon the pyre and you in his throne with his bloodied crown upon your head!”

  A slow smile began to spread across Lord Ivran’s face. He stood in silent contemplation for a moment then looked back to Terryn. “Come.” He said, leading Terryn out of the council chamber and into the chilly night. “The hour is late and we have much to discuss in the morning.”

  It was approaching the midnight hour when Lord Ivran Cassius entered his rented room and found his poor, exhausted wife, Meira, sleeping soundlessly on the bed, shamelessly naked and sprawled out, leaving no room for him to lie next to her. He nearly tripped in the darkness over the pile of clothes she left on the floor. He realized she must have come in, quickly undressed, and thrown herself upon the bed, asleep before realizing that she was taking up all the room.

  Ivran smiled at the sight of her and poured himself a small glass of spiced liquor before settling into the winged chair next to the bed. He leaned his head back as he slowly drank, keeping his gaze on the rhythmic rising and falling of Meira’s back with each breath she took.

  Ivran would not try to move her. The last few nights he had been restless and unable to sleep. His mind was filled with disturbing images from the past and was relentless in its apparent desire to torment him.

  He had become a troubled sleeper two years ago almost to the day, when he had found the pile of smoldering flesh left behind by the High Protector. The smell of it was still rank in his nostrils, making his stomach twist uncomfortably. He brought the liquor close to his nose and smelled, trying to burn away the memory.

  His dreams were haunted by Jamus, the man who had thrown himself from Lord Ivran’s tower window before anyone could stop him. He leaned his head out just in time to see Jamus land on the rocks below, his body breaking in a spurt of blood. But in his dreams, Jamus always stood and walked away, disappearing into the city. Sometimes his dreams would have him lying in his bed where Jamus, bloodied and bruised, leaned over him and shouted in anger that he could have saved him.

  Lord Ivran started and sat upright. He realized he had been falling asleep, his glass tilting in his hand, nearly spilling its content on the floor.

  I must be exhausted if I am falling asleep this quickly.

  He had arrived in Mordrid that very morning, having made the journey in less than a week’s time. They rode hard and fast, and when they arrived in Mordrid, they were ready for rest. But instead of resting, they had gone to the council meeting that lasted the rest of the day.

  Normally, Lord Ivran would have crawled into bed and gladly allowed sleep to take him, but he was afraid of falling asleep, lest he be tormented by his dreams.

  Instead, he sat upright, stretched out his arms and took another solemn drink. He closed his eyes and tried to think of anything but his nightmares when suddenly, a quiet shifting of feet could be heard just outside his door. He opened his eyes and turned his gaze to the crack at the bottom where a small stream of light leaked in and saw two long shadows, shifting and then standing still.

  Lord Ivran waited a moment for a knock, wondering who could be coming to see him at this hour but the knock never came. Instead, the stranger on the other side of the door stood silent and motionless, apparently listening for any noises coming from within.

  Lord Ivran carefully set his glass down, trying not to make a sound that would alert the intruder to his movements. He stood and cautiously shifted his feet forward one at a time, making his way to the door.

  The floorboards underneath Lord Ivran’s feet were old and rotting, a condition caused by years of neglect. A sudden creak sent the stranger into a dead run down the corridor and Lord Ivran began the chase.

  He threw open the door in time to see the bottom of a cloak floating around the corner and out of sight. Lord Ivran followed down the stairs and into the brightness of the tavern below.

  There were only two patrons at this hour, watching with curious gazes as the hooded figure ran past them and out into the night air. Lord Ivran came closely behind, nearly tripping down the last step. He caught his balance quickly and ran out into the night as well but stopped when he could no longer see the man he pursued. The cloaked figure had disappeared into the shadows.

  Lady Ashryn Bellious paced anxiously across her room, waiting for Zane to return. She had sent him out to acquire information-
information that would be invaluable to their plan. She wondered if the King was doing the same as she was, pacing across his bedchamber in anger, her letter of warning clutched tightly in his grip. She knew he would not have taken the news lightly.

  Meet me in the Widow’s Grove in the Forest of Shadows on the third night of the month of the swallow.

  Her letter had instructed. She wondered if the King would make the journey, or if he would punish her for deigning to give him orders.

  The time to meet him was swiftly approaching and Lady Ashryn had not, as of yet, acquired the information she had hoped to pass onto the King. Lord Ivran and his gaggle of fools had proven most indolent in making a decision on when precisely to attack.

  It does not matter when, so long as the High Protector is made vulnerable at the right moment.

  There were only two days of council remaining before everyone dispersed and Lady Ashryn hoped they would make a decision by then. If not, she would have to find a different way to get the information to the King.

  Ashryn plopped down on the bed with tired feet and sighed. As she was wondering how much longer Zane could possibly make her wait, heavy footsteps could be heard approaching and then the door to her room flew open, making her jump. She stood as Zane closed the door and removed the hood from his face. When he turned to her, she could clearly see he had been running. His face was red and his breathing was hard.

  “What happened?” She asked, slightly annoyed at his exasperated appearance.

  “I went to the Standing Pond Inn, found his room and stood outside the door for several minutes, not hearing a sound. I thought they had fallen asleep.”

  Lady Ashryn waited for the rest of his story with annoyance as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his muddy boots off, throwing them carelessly aside, seeming to not notice the spray of dirt and horse shit they released as they hit the floor. He ran his fingers lithely through his hair then looked up to Ashryn, noticing for the first time her anger at him. Her eyes were aglow with rage, her arms folded tightly across her chest and her foot tapped impatiently on the floor.

  “Did you hear anything?” She asked through gritted teeth and when Zane shook his head, she threw her arms up in the air and spun around, unable to look him in the eyes any longer.

  “Lord Ivran knew I was there. I heard him creeping up to the door so I ran and he chased after me. We are lucky he did not catch me.”

  Ashryn spun around again and asked with a nervous twinge in her voice; “did he recognize you?”

  Zane shook his head once again, assuring her that his identity was kept a secret.

  Lady Ashryn placed her hands on her hips, looked down to the ground and sighed.

  “We can try again tomorrow.” Zane tried to reassure her.

  Ashryn was the one shaking her head now. “And if the council fails to come to a decision?” Ashryn looked back at Zane, walked to the edge of the bed where he sat and plopped down next to him, resting her aching head upon his shoulder.

  “I have requested to the King that he meet me in secret and I have nothing to offer him. He will have my head for wasting his time.” She said this matter-of-factly, not with fear.

  Zane began rubbing the top of her thigh. “I wouldn’t say we have nothing to offer him.”

  Ashryn raised her head and looked to Zane with an imploring gaze. “What do we have then?”

  “We have names.” Zane’s devious smile was what had attracted Ashryn to him in the first place.

  She grew up with Zane, in the castle of Bhrys. Her mother and father never allowed her to venture outside the dark, stone walls for fear that something would happen to their only heir. Zane was the son of a maid, always lurking in the dark corners of the castle, trying to go unnoticed until one day, Lady Ashryn spotted him snatching a turkey leg from her father’s table when he wasn’t looking. She ran after him and asked him to teach her how to become a thief. It wasn’t the need to survive that made her want to follow in Zane’s footsteps, but a blatant desire to rebel at every opportunity.

  Soon they were stealing things all over the castle- jewelry, clothing, weapons, whatever they could get their little hands on and stashing it all in Ashryn’s trunk, laughing behind the backs of their victims.

  When her mother and father died in a carriage accident, she became ruler of Bhrys and named Zane Protector. The entirety of Bhrys was shocked by this news, never having heard of anyone by the name Almeric.

  “What names should I give him?”

  Zane scratched at the small scruff of dark beard protruding from his chin and said; “I think he will be most pleased to know who Lord Ivran confides in.”

  Lady Ashryn gave a wry smile as well, knowing the name that was floating around inside Zane’s head.

  “And perhaps he has the very information we seek. It is only a matter of extracting that information.”

  “That is a job I shall leave to you.” Ashryn said with distaste. Though she did not care for the boy, and if everything went according to plan, he would be executed with the others, she did not have a strong stomach when it came to the instruments often used on the person being interrogated.

  Zane smiled again, apparently pleased with the idea of extracting the information they needed. Ashryn knew that any decent person would see this as a bad quality in a man, but she had never claimed to be a decent person. She was raised to always be polite and to care for others but her heart had grown weary with the unending need of the less fortunate and her desire for power overruled what she felt to be morally questionable. She admitted all of this to herself and often wondered why it never bothered her. She had no recollection of what had made her into such a different person than her parents had raised her to be.

  She looked to Zane and felt her desire for him burning within her breast like the fires of a kiln. She reached a hand up and placed it on his cheek, forcing him to turn his head in her direction. She placed her mouth to his and pushed him onto his back.

  The rest of their night was spent locked in their lovers’ embrace. It was not until the first rays of morning light that they separated, Ashryn lying complacently on her back, one arm outstretched above her head and the other, playfully circling the indent of her navel. Zane stood at the window, gazing out to the village beyond, mechanically sipping at a glass of spiced liquor, lost in thought.

  Ashryn’s eyes were fixed upon Zane as though looking away would cause her physical pain. The early morning rays of light were beaming through the window, bathing him in a golden sheen. He looked almost God-like in that moment, pale but exuberant in the light of day, watching a world that owed him its existence.

  “You would make a fine King, my love.” She said in a soft undertone.

  Zane turned and smiled at her, his eyes grazing her bare skin. “And you would make a fine Queen- Ashryn, Queen of Kaena!” He said this in a playful tone, but Lady Ashryn could not help but smile at the sound of the title as it rang in her ears.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning Terryn woke with an ache in his head and a stiff back. He sat up in his soft feather bed and stretched his arms above his head, letting out a loud moan as he did so. His eyes slowly began to water as the morning sunlight filled them. He closed them and wiped away the tears that had formed. When he opened them again, he noticed the blankets that had covered him during the night were now tangled around his feet and dangling off the edge of the bed. I must have been thrashing in my sleep. He realized as he pulled them away from his legs and stood.

  Terryn stood naked in the center of his small room. It was a circular room which consisted of a small feather bed, a hearth that was now sending plumes of smoke into the air from the dying fire that had burned through the night, and a bedside table where he had folded his clothes and stacked them. He reached over towards the pile and slowly began dressing himself. Each time he reached for his clothes, his head would begin to throb, causing him to wince from the pain.

  “Nightmares.” He said silently to himself. All
night he had suffered through them and he knew they were the cause of his aching head now. They were the reason he had been so restless last night.

  He dreamt that somehow the King had discovered their plans and he had come after him. He ran from the King and his men all night. Each dream was a little different from the one before it but the King caught him every time.

  I must get some food and ale in my belly this morning or I will never make it through the day. He thought as he grabbed his cloak. He wrapped it around his shoulders as he opened the small door and hastily made his way to the tavern below.

  The smell of bacon filled his nostrils and Terryn smiled despite the pounding in his head. He sat in a stool nearest the bar and waited patiently for the innkeeper to take notice of him.

  “Mornin’ Terryn.” She said with a friendly smile. Terryn returned the smile. “Breakfast?” She asked.

  Terryn nodded. “And ale, if you please.” The middle-aged innkeeper disappeared into the back to fetch his request and Terryn closed his eyes again. Behind his closed lids, the images from his nightmares returned. He could see King Firion’s face as plainly as though he were standing in front of him. His angered eyes pierced through his flesh and made his blood boil.

  Hastily he opened his eyes and tried to rub the image away. What is wrong with me? He wondered as he let his eyes gaze around the room. He hoped a member of the council would be there; someone he could talk to. He needed a distraction to keep his thoughts clear of his nightmares.

  Just then, as though he had read Terryn’s mind, Protector Fendrel Mendis descended the same stairs Terryn had arrived from. Terryn had been unaware that he had purchased a room within the same inn as Fendrel. When he reached the bottom, he immediately spotted Terryn and moved towards him.

  Terryn tried to smile warmly at the Protector from Laydon but he felt that his attempt was feeble. Fendrel did not return the gesture but stood before him and peered down at him with harsh eyes.