Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1)

by M. Lee Holmes

  Terryn clutched the knife tightly in his grasp, stood and pushed his small traveling pack aside. He walked to the door and threw it open angrily, not even bothering to close it behind him.

  When he descended the stairs, his heart leapt with joy at the sight of Fendrel. It was Fendrel that he sought; he desperately needed to speak with him.

  “Hello Terryn.” Fendrel said in acknowledgement and he smiled warmly at him. “Come down for an ale before you’re off, have you?” Terryn shook his head.

  “I need your help with something.” He replied and he sat in the chair next to Fendrel. He lowered his voice as he spoke so that no one in the tavern would hear. “I need to know how to fight.”

  Fendrel reached up and began to stroke the small scruff of hair protruding from his chin. His dark eyes darted up and down as he looked Terryn over. “You’re a bit scrawny.” He observed aloud, not noticing Terryn wince at the insult.

  “I know I am not suitable to join an army but I feel it is my duty to help when the rebellion begins. I need to be a part of it. I need to contribute in some way.”

  After a few moments of consideration, Fendrel nodded his head in agreement and smiled. “I will help you.” He said and he turned to the tavern wench and ordered another ale.

  “We have less than two months to turn you into a warrior. That is not much time. Your training must begin immediately.”

  Terryn looked around nervously. He was supposed to return to the castle that night and did not know how they would be able to practice without the King taking notice. “That will be difficult.” He finally said with disappointment.

  “Write to the King. Tell him your mother has taken a turn for the worse and you must stay by her side. Of course, you will stay here and I will teach what I can in that short amount of time.” Terryn, surprised by Fendrel’s knowledge of his private life, nodded. Fendrel’s plan might work, so long as the King did not get suspicious and send scouts out to his mother’s home to investigate.

  The tavern wench returned with the second pint of ale and set it down in front of Fendrel who pushed it over to Terryn then raised his own glass high in the air and waited for Terryn to do the same. When he did, Fendrel tapped his flagon against Terryn’s, making a loud clank sound resonate throughout the small tavern.

  “We shall begin your training in the morning.” He said as he took a sip of ale. He set his glass back down and moaned with pleasure at the taste of the bubbling liquid. Terryn took only a small sip and felt the ale mix with the butterflies in his stomach. He suddenly felt the urge to vomit.

  “What if the King finds out?” He whispered in fear.

  Fendrel raised an eyebrow at him before answering; “now is not the time for fear. First rule of being a warrior; never let fear take hold of you and cloud your judgment. You must be brave, Terryn.”

  At these words, Terryn sat up taller in his chair. He puffed out his chest and took a deep breath for courage. He let it out and felt the fear escape his body with his breath. His tense muscles relaxed and he smiled at Fendrel.

  The two of them sat together for hours, drinking ale and talking about the rebellion. When Fendrel stood to retire to his room, Terryn ran excitedly back to his own room as well to begin writing his letter to the King, begging for an extended stay at his mother’s home due to her declining health. Neither of them noticed the cloaked figure sitting in the dark corner of the tavern, silently watching their every move.

  Chapter 11

  The Forest of the Dead was not as its name suggested; dead, but rather, it was alive and breathing. Animals of all kinds scurried about incautiously- years of no human interference had taught them to not be afraid. The grass and shrubs that surrounded the Path of Silence on either side were lush and the brightest color of green Rhada had ever seen. The trees stood taller than those near Axendra. Their trunks jutted from the ground and burst into a canopy of branches and sun-shielding foliage. Moss had accumulated on the branches over the ages, giving them the same green color as their leaves.

  It was hard not to be awed by the beauty of the forest. Rhada found herself staring often at the trees and listening to the birds’ songs. She remembered feeling apprehension upon first entering, but now she felt calmness from within. She could not remember a time she had felt so at peace.

  Hunting was easy for Mayvard. They stopped around midday to rest and Mayvard traipsed into the bushes with his bow and disappeared from Rhada’s view. It was only twenty minutes later that he returned with a doe draped about his shoulders. He sat next to the fire, skillfully skinning his kill while Rhada sharpened his weapons.

  She started with Bel’dak. His long sword was made from the same steel that Bloodbinder was; a rare, hearty metal extracted from the mines of Nis long ago; sought after by the elite of Kaena for the mere fact that the mines were no longer in use, producing the strong metal. Though Bloodbinder was stronger than any sword ever known to man, Bel’dak was a sword crafted with precision and care- a blade that any warrior would be proud to have.

  The blade had belonged to his father, Natharian. Natharian had named it after his wife, Elinora, which Mayvard would have liked to have kept but tradition in their family dictated the name of the sword be changed with each new possessor. Mayvard, who wished to keep the name of the sword within his family, had to choose between his father’s name and his grandfather’s.

  Rhada asked once what had dictated Mayvard’s decision in naming the blade. She regretted the question when she saw the look of sadness that filled his eyes.

  “I cannot name it after my father.” He had said, fighting back tears. “I cannot, as of yet, bring myself to think upon his name.”

  Rhada examined the steel of Bel’dak as she passed her whetstone over it. The gleam of a freshly sharpened blade was as satisfying to her as was the touch of a lover.

  “That is the third time this month you have sharpened my blade for me.” Mayvard said, pulling Rhada’s attention away from the sword.

  “I enjoy it.” She replied with a smile.

  Rhada would have satisfied herself with sharpening her own sword, but Bloodbinder never needed to be sharpened and she longed to feel the steel between her fingers, to feel the vibration of the file as it scraped a tiny layer of dull steel away. She loved the attention to detail it required- making certain that both sides were sharpened proportionately. It reminded her of her late childhood, before she was called to take ‘the test’ and her whole life changed.

  Rhada had been orphaned at the age of four. She grew up in the Axendrian orphanage- a time of her life she wished she could forget.

  After many years at the orphanage, growing up alone and unwanted, a blacksmith named Cornelious Mosse came looking for a young, strapping boy to help in his shop. Why he left with Rhada, she never understood but he taught her everything- how to forge the steel, how to tie the leather of the hilt and the delicate process of taking care of the swords.

  They were successful in their trade, being one of the most esteemed craftsmen in all of Kaena. Buyers even came as far as Lerous to purchase their swords.

  But try as he might, Cornelious never could acquire the one customer he always wanted- the King and his army. To do so would have secured his future.

  Law dictated that for an orphan to be able to take on the family name, they had to earn their right to be a part of the family. For Cornelious, selling swords to the King and his men would have given Rhada that right. But Viktor had come to take her away long before their goal could be achieved. And so, as it was, Rhada had no family name to carry on- no lineage to be proud of. She had nothing in her possession to remind her of Cornelious. At the age of twelve, Rhada had crafted her very first sword. She forged the blade during the nights when Cornelious was sleeping and unaware. Upon finishing the blade, she gave it to him as a gift- a gesture that had brought a tear to his eye. Though he never used it, he kept the sword proudly on display above the mantle. Some years later the sword was returned to her when Cornelious had passed on
. The sword, though crafted with the toughest of steel, was childish in its form- unbalanced and rough, but every time she looked at the blade, her heart swelled with affection for the man who had saved her from the prison of the orphanage. But, in the end, Rhada had given the sword up- the only physical link to her past that she had. She was left with only her memories which seemed to be fading as the years passed on.

  She looked up from the steel that she sharpened and towards Mayvard with a bit of resentment. He does not know how lucky he is to have such a proud history. Mayvard’s family tree was written about in history books. Rhada’s name, she feared, would only be mentioned as the orphan who carried Bloodbinder for a time. Not exactly the legacy she would have liked to leave behind.

  By the time the steaks were cut and two were roasting over the open fire, Rhada had finished with Bel’dak and Mayvard’s daggers. She handed them to him with a proud smile and he thanked her as he examined the exquisite work she had done. He marveled at Rhada’s ability to find the balance between too sharp that the sword becomes brittle, to just sharp enough that it retains its strength.

  Mayvard set the steel aside and turned the steaks over with a skewer he had carved so they would not burn. Rhada lit her pipe, enjoying the relaxing smoke after a well-done job.

  Another hour passed before they had finished their steaks, stomped out their fire and packed everything, ready to move on. Rhada led this time, keeping her eyes on all sides of the forest. Though she was marveled by its beauty, she did not forget for an instant that it was dangerous. Every once in a while, her attention would be drawn to the sound of something scurrying through the shrubs but it never turned out to be anything larger than a rabbit.

  When nightfall arrived, Rhada practically fell from her saddle in exhaustion. She trudged unhappily to the nearest tree to secure her horse and immediately poured water from her waterskin over her dirty and tired face. Mayvard tied his horse next to Rhada’s and shuffled through his bags for some strips of venison to chew on.

  Rhada did not bother messing with her bed mat. Instead, she pulled the one blanket she had brought with her free, wrapped it around her shoulders and slumped against the trunk of a large tree.

  Mayvard looked down to Rhada and frowned. “Would you like me to build a fire tonight?”

  Rhada shook her head. “No need.” She could feel sleep upon her even before she had made herself comfortable. When she closed her eyes, the world around her dissolved into a dreamless, cataleptic night.

  Mayvard watched over her for some time before sleep began to creep up on him. He had wrapped himself in his blanket as well, laid out his sleeping mat and curled up on his side, facing Rhada. He could not help thinking how childish she looked while she slept. Without her fierce eyes gazing at him, he could see the youth in her face. She had been young when the call had come to her and Bloodbinder had kept her in her youth. But Mayvard knew that a mind twice as old as his resided behind that childish visage. And when she was awake, alert and at command, the child in her vanished- disappearing in fear of the woman who took control. He wondered how it was that she could still look so youthful and yet, drive such a fear into the hearts of men they wished they had never met her. He pondered this question over and over as his eyes began to droop with heaviness and before he knew it, he was snoring into the night air.

  When Mayvard awoke the next morning, he was greeted with the sight of Rhada’s blanket lying unoccupied in the dirt around the tree where she had slept.

  Mayvard sat upright in alarm and looked out towards the forest. Her horse, he noted, was still secured to the tree so he knew she could not have gone far.

  Mayvard stood and walked to his horse, removing Bel’dak from the strap next to his saddle where he had secured it before falling asleep. He then stood still and listened for any sound.

  He could hear the birds above his head, happily chirping their morning ballads. There was the sound of scurrying in the shrubs and the sighing of the horses, angry at having to stand still for so long.

  But another sound came to his ears, one that filled him with hope. It was the distant rumble of a river and it only took him a moment to decipher from which direction it came. He trudged forward, cutting his way through bushes and weeds. When he emerged upon the bank, he nearly tripped over a pile of black leathers and Bloodbinder. He bent down and lifted the discarded sword to examine it. It was not like Rhada to leave Bloodbinder unattended.

  The sound of splashing made him turn up his head and he saw her emerge from the waters of the river. Her black hair was slicked back and reflected the sunlight that shone around her. Her gray eyes almost sparkled in the morning light and her pale skin was made even paler by the cold waters.

  “Care for a bath?” She asked with a grin.

  Mayvard set Bloodbinder back down and walked to the water’s edge where he stuck his fingers in, recoiling them quickly and said; “it’s freezing!”

  Rhada laughed. “I think it’s refreshing.”

  She took in a deep breath and disappeared underneath the waters once more. When she emerged, she was near the bank and she stood tall, wringing the water from her long hair as she made her way towards her clothes.

  Rhada did not seem to be aware that she should be ashamed of her nakedness around Mayvard. He knew she was not trying to lure him into anything carnal, but rather, she felt at peace with herself around him, never putting into her mind the idea that he might grow a desire for her.

  As it was, Mayvard was looking to her muscular form rather than her feminine figure. Her arms and legs bulged like that of a man’s, and her chest rippled with muscles not unlike his own.

  He noticed the slightest of shivers as she reached down for her leathers and Mayvard turned quickly on his heel and ran back to their camp, lifted her blanket off the ground and shook the dirt from it, then ran back and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  “Thank you.” She said with an appreciative smile. Mayvard grabbed her leathers and sword from the ground, prepared to carry them for her and she thanked him again before leading the way back to camp.

  Once at their horses, Mayvard offered Rhada’s clothes to her, which she took one at a time and slowly got dressed.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but you could do with a bath yourself.” She said as she began pulling her wet hair into a long braid.

  “Do you not find my hygiene to your liking?” He asked, raising his arm and taking a whiff. He realized Rhada was perhaps right.

  She laughed at his wrinkled nose. “I just mean the dirt from the road has stained us both.”

  Mayvard smiled but shook his head. “The dirt does not bother me. Besides, I think it best we were on our way. I will enjoy a warm bath once we reach North Fort.”

  Rhada nodded in agreement and after a quick bite of their bread and an apple for each horse, they were traveling once more down the Path of Silence.

  It was on the morning of their third day traveling through the density of the forest when Rhada suddenly got an itch to go hunting. Their supply of meat from the small doe Mayvard had killed was running thin and the time had come to replenish their stocks.

  Mayvard had just tightened his bow string and was readying his quiver when Rhada approached, apprehensive to steal away the one duty she knew Mayvard enjoyed more than any other.

  “Mind if I do the hunting this time?” Mayvard spun around and looked to Rhada with a pained expression but handed over the bow and quiver anyway.

  “I know how much you enjoy the hunt, but my bow-fingers need to be stretched.” She smiled at him and he returned the smile, forced as it was.

  She left him sitting next their smoldering fire from the previous night and disappeared into the thick bushes. She swung the quiver over her back and held tightly to the bow as she pushed her way through the brambles and thrones, thankful that the leathers covering her arms did not allow her to feel their sting.

  Rhada continued her slow progress for some time before coming to a small grove and stopping. S
he stood at the edge of the opening, silently peering in through the shrubs that concealed her. On the other side of the grove was a stream, trickling through the grass like a vein. She knew sooner or later, some sort of prey would come traipsing through this grove for a drink and she would need to be ready.

  She pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocked it upon the bow then held it down by her side, crouched down to make herself comfortable and waited, knowing that it could be some time before an unsuspecting animal came by her way. She kept her eyes focused on the grove, however, ready to jump at the opportunity to strike.

  There was a certain feeling of calm and excitement that mingled together as one during the hunt. Rhada felt it each time, when patience dictated she wait for her prey. The feeling of serenity that came from being alone in the quiet of the forest was one of the reasons Rhada enjoyed the hunt so much. One had time to think without being interrupted or bothered.

  At that moment, Rhada was thinking about Tyos. The sudden thought of the now desecrated city stole away her blissful mood and replaced it with doubt and trepidation.

  She thought of the Blood Sea, an ocean of pure blue waters that to Rhada was always so beautiful. She had visited many times, Tyos being her favorite city in all of Kaena. It had challenged Lerous in size but far surpassed it in beauty. The lush, green forests surrounded it on all sides and the moist fog that rolled in from the sea every morning only served to make the forests greener.

  The city itself was crafted in the old style, with wooden houses and shops, holding their shingled roofs aloft with intricately carved posts. There was never a desire amongst the citizens to update any of the structures- they feared the city would lose its old-time charm. Rhada happened to agree.

  The last time she had visited Tyos was before the war started, three years ago. She had already fallen out of favor with most of the realm but Tyos did not seem to concern themselves with events of the realm- they being at the farthest northern corner and thus, separated from everyone else. It was the last time Rhada had traveled without the burden of hatred being thrown at her. Tyos, for Rhada, was like a breath of fresh air; a place where she could become invisible.