“Are you alright?” Mayvard asked, panic evident in his voice. Rhada spit and wiped at her mouth.
“My horse?” She asked, hoping the beast had not drowned.
Mayvard pointed to the black beast standing upon the edge of the pool, staring at her with innocent eyes. She lowered her head to the ground and breathed deeply, feeling the pressure of her new injury with each breath.
Mayvard, noticing the fresh blood, leaned over and examined the wound.
“Your shoulder has reopened where you cut it with Bloodbinder.” He said. He pressed his hands firmly on her shoulder to stop the bleeding. Rhada winced at the pain.
“Let’s rewrap it and be on our way then.”
“I have nothing left to wrap it with.” Mayvard said regretfully.
Rhada grunted and sat upright. Mayvard pulled his bloodied hands away and turned to the pool to wash them clean. Rhada looked down to her shoulder and could clearly see an imprint of a horse’s shoe underneath the blood. She raised her fingers and ran them along her collar bone, feeling for anything that might be broken. When she was satisfied that she was still in one piece, she let Mayvard help her to her feet then turned and smiled at him.
“What exactly are you finding so amusing?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I think perhaps my bad luck is beginning to run out. What else could possibly go wrong on this journey?”
Another night in the bog fell upon them and Rhada reluctantly dismounted her horse and pulled some carrots from her bag. She began to feed them to him one by one and saw the look of worry Mayvard shot at her.
“If we do not find our way out of this bog soon, our horses will starve to death.” He said as he pulled open his saddle bag and peered inside. “And so will we.” He added with distress.
When they first entered the forest, they had been counting on the prospect of hunting for sustenance but there had been no wildlife for miles. They had not even seen a decent patch of grass for their horses to chew on for days.
Rhada pushed what little food remained in her pack aside and pulled out her tobacco and pipe. She opened her tobacco box and found it nearly empty, with only enough left for a few good puffs.
“And what’s worse is I’m almost out of tobacco.” She said grumpily as she turned the empty box over in her hand to show Mayvard. He smiled and shook his head in disapproval.
“You smoke that thing too much, Rhada.” The panic in his voice diminished.
She smiled. “One cannot smoke enough in a place such as this.” She hunkered down into the dirt with her blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders and attempted to light her pipe with shaking hands. The fog which shielded the sunlight from reaching them also shielded them from any of its warmth, causing Rhada’s clothes to remain damp all through the day and the cold stayed with her.
After watching the trouble Rhada was having lighting her pipe, Mayvard leaned forward and lit it for her. He then sat back, pulled a stale piece of bread from his pack and began to chew it slowly.
“I wish so desperately for a fire.” Rhada said in almost a whisper. She stared at the ground before her, wishing there was a fire pit there. She tried to imagine the warmth it would give but the thought of warmth seemed like a distant memory. She shivered instead.
There were no trees surrounding the bog, not even dead trees. They had had no wood to start a fire for days.
Rhada looked around and wondered how much farther they could possibly have to go. They had been stuck in the bog for nearly three days. It seemed to her they should have emerged by now but the bog seemed to stretch on forever. And the fog was as thick as ever and gave no sign of letting up. She sighed with frustration and took another puff of her pipe.
“I was thinking,” Mayvard said after he finished his bread; “on our journey home, we could take the road east towards Hely then travel south through Bhrys. I know the journey would be longer but any other road we choose would be better than this stinking forest!” Mayvard said this with much disdain and Rhada knew she could not drag him through this bog again. She herself was beginning to wonder if maybe South Fort would have been a better road to take.
“Yes,” she agreed, nodding her head, “that is the road we shall take.” She wanted to apologize for dragging him through there in the first place but she stopped herself. As High Protector, she never apologized for her decisions and she took another puff of her pipe instead.
Mayvard leaned back with a satisfied smile on his face. It seemed the prospect of not having to return to the bog filled him with new hope and he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.
Rhada remained awake most of the night, wishing she had more tobacco or ale or anything to keep her mind occupied but there was nothing; nothing but the darkness and the silence and the throbbing in her shoulders.
She stared off into the darkness, wondering what lay beyond it. She knew the bog was there, surrounding them on all sides but she wondered for how long it stretched. She sniffed the air and it seemed to be fouler than ever. Even the water seemed murkier and each pool seemed to be deeper than the last. We must be in the very heart of the bog. She realized and this thought gave her rapidly beating heart some reassurance. If we indeed are in the center of the bog, then we should be making our way out of it and soon we will find ourselves in lush, green forest once again. She smiled at the thought and could not wait to take her bow and arrows for a hunt, so long as there were no ghost wolves. Her stomach craved meat but more importantly, she wanted to know that life outside of the bog still existed.
When the morning light reached her eyes, Rhada gently shook Mayvard awake. Knowing they did not have enough food for breakfast, they gathered their things and mounted their horses. Rhada’s horse was more willing to walk through the bog after a night of rest and she was glad for that. She barely had to lead him as he made his way slowly through the water. He walked easily through the murky pools without any more problems. Rhada, still damp from her fall into the bog water, pulled the blanket that was wrapped around her shoulders up farther, wishing to shield herself from the cold of the fog.
She focused her attention ahead, never letting her curious eyes wander to the fog that surrounded them. She could feel Bloodbinder’s uneasiness as they trudged on- its light pulsing was sending waves of panic through her and with each, grim step her horse took, the anxiety within her grew. She touched the hilt of Bloodbinder gently, hoping to reassure the sword nothing was wrong. But the sword was not something that could be argued with. When it sensed danger, danger was imminent.
“Mayvard.” Rhada whispered, pulling on the reins and stopping her horse.
Mayvard stopped his horse as well and was alarmed when he spun around in his saddle and saw Rhada holding the hilt of her sword and peering into the fog.
Mayvard prided himself on being a brave man; never afraid to rush into the fray head-first. He never feared battle or the prospect of possible death, but there was something about the look in Rhada’s eyes and the way she held tightly to the magical sword that caused his heart to sink deeply into the pit of his stomach. He could feel his heart twisting and writhing in fear as he slowly pulled Bel’dak free of its scabbard.
Rhada unsheathed Bloodbinder and held fast to the sword, listening intently to its warning. She knew something was out there, watching them from a distance. She wondered if whatever was stalking them was afraid to come after them, or if it simply watched from curiosity.
Mayvard turned his horse and pushed him forward so that he was standing parallel to Rhada’s.
“What is it?” He whispered back, ready to attack on command.
Rhada merely shook her head. “I see nothing.” She said. She turned her head and looked to the fog from behind and when she did this, Bloodbinder screamed in her ears.
“Stay here.” Rhada commanded as she dismounted and began running in the direction the sword guided her. She was barely aware of Mayvard shouting after her as she disappeared into the fog.
Rhada slowed her pac
e to a walk and stepped carefully through the mist and over pools of water; she did not wish to fall into the bog again. She held Bloodbinder up; ready to strike at anything that might jump at her. But suddenly, she somehow knew there was nothing in the bog that could attack. She felt it as she came closer to whatever Bloodbinder was leading her to. It was the reason she left Mayvard behind. She knew she would find something in the mist ahead but did not want Mayvard’s eyes to witness whatever it was.
As the object she hunted came into view, Rhada stopped suddenly, sucking in small bits of air through her teeth and lowering Bloodbinder to her side. She examined the scene before her with widened eyes, trying to contemplate what it all meant.
A ring of stones had been set between two large pools of water. Inside the ring lay a pile of discarded bones amongst the black soot of a once burning fire. Rhada stepped inside the ring of stones and knelt beside the bones. She could see, as plainly as though they were still alive, the bones were human. Their skulls portrayed the frightened screams of their faces, contorted in agony and charred from the flames that had consumed them. Rhada examined the skeletons carefully, counting thirty in total and discovering each leg of every skeleton had been broken.
The grisly scene that had taken place formed in her mind’s eye. Thirty terrified captives, crying and fighting whoever was holding them- the swing of a club as it smashed apart the shin- the roaring of the flames as the now helpless and lame victims were cast in. The flames rising high into the night sky as they consumed flesh and hair and blood and bones. She could hear their blood sizzling upon the coals; she could see their flesh as it melted away from their screaming skulls.
Rhada was suddenly aware of her rapidly beating heart. She stood up tall and looked around, hoping she would not find someone standing amidst the fog, watching her. Bloodbinder had reduced its warning to a light buzzing and Rhada knew then that she was alone.
It was difficult to tell how long ago this shrine of sacrifice had been built. There was no evidence of footprints or anything that could tell her where they had come from. The dirt surrounding the ring was undisturbed.
She had read about the Shadow Cults in the history books. She knew they had often made sacrifices to the Demon God they worshipped, the God that was said to have gifted Amag’mar with his potent powers, but she could not be certain that this shrine was made by them, nor could she discern how long ago it had been made. The Shadow Cult had died with Amag’mar, hundreds of years ago. But as Rhada looked down to the pile of death at her feet, she knew these bones could not have been that old.
A misguided group, copying the Shadow Cult’s practices perhaps? There was no other explanation she could think of.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. She turned and rushed towards Mayvard, hoping to stop him before he witnessed what she had just seen.
“There you are.” He said in a panicked voice as she came into view. “I was beginning to worry. Did you find anything?”
Rhada shook her head. “No. Nothing.” She walked past him and towards her horse, sheathing Bloodbinder once again and trying to shake away the image of the shrine that lay only a few feet away, hidden in the mist.
Mayvard mounted his horse and put his sword away as well. As Rhada led the way, he turned his head and looked back in the direction she had come, knowing full well she had found something there and was unwilling to share her discovery. The uneasiness growing inside him made him shudder. If Rhada will not speak of it, it must be something truly horrific. The anxiety of not knowing what lay beyond the fog was worse, he imagined, than actually knowing what it was.
That night they camped underneath a full moon. Rhada could see its ghost hovering above their heads, trying to burst through the cloud of fog unsuccessfully. She watched it with trepidation, wishing she had some tobacco left to stave off the memory of the pile of charred death she had left behind.
Mayvard sat before her, carefully pulling away the cloth he had wrapped her shoulders in and examining her wounds.
“They are still swollen but less so than before.” She thought she saw a slight smile appear on his lips as he delivered this news to her.
“They are less painful as well, except for my new bruise. But I suppose that will heal quicker than the rest.” She said, pulling her leathers back into place as he leaned away.
“I’m not ashamed to admit that I was quite afraid for you.” He said. Rhada could see his face- bathed in the blue light of the moon- soften as he spoke these words. His long dark hair, which was pulled behind him by a leather strap, had come loose around his face and shrouded his countenance from her view. It was his lips that gave away the relief he was feeling. As he examined her shoulders, they had been pursed and frowning with worry. Now, they curled about at the corners and smiled. She saw so much of his father in Mayvard’s appearance just then. He was, perhaps, handsomer than his father had been but nearly a perfect mirror image of Natharian.
“I am not ashamed to admit that I was worried for myself.” She replied. The fear of being torn apart by the massive wolf had not entirely worn away yet. She could still see its black eyes gazing down at her, its prey. She could hear the snarl of its victory as its teeth bared and aimed for her neck. She reached a hand up and began rubbing at her throat, aware of how close she had come to not having one.
“I am beginning to think perhaps we should have brought more men with us.” Mayvard said, pulling the leather strap from his hair and grasping the fly-away strands dangling in his eyes. He ran his fingers through them, pulling them back with the rest of his hair and resetting the strap.
“Perhaps you are right.” Rhada agreed. She wished Myranda’s vision had included how difficult their journey was to be so she could have been better prepared. Of course, Rhada knew most of the blame was to be placed upon her own shoulders. If she had just been brave and taken the road through South Fort, they would not have been attacked by ghost wolves, her shoulders would not be burning from pain, and they would not be lost in the bog.
But something tells me I needed to see the sacrificial shrine hidden in the depths of the Forest of the Dead. She got the feeling it was somehow connected to the events in Tyos, and it was a feeling she wished she could be rid of.
Sleep eluded her that night. She sat hunched from the weight of her exhaustion. Her tired yet open eyes spent the night scanning the fog for anything out of the ordinary. The only bit of comfort she had was the fact that Bloodbinder remained silent all through the night and the sound of Mayvard’s soft snoring; telling her at least one of them would be well rested in the morning.
Chapter 15
The sun was shining brilliantly as Terryn stepped out of the inn and into the hopeful day that lay before him. He smiled and took a deep breath of fresh morning air before beginning his trek through Mordrid to the training grounds.
It was his second week of training and Terryn, though still awkward and shy around the sword, was learning faster than he ever imagined he could. He had followed Protector Fendrel’s advice carefully, doing exactly what the man from South Fort instructed, and was thankful he had such a marvelous teacher to guide his way.
When he arrived, he found Fendrel patiently waiting for him. He smiled warmly at Terryn and held out a sparring sword for him to take. Terryn reached out and grasped the hilt tightly, trying his hardest not to drop it.
He had almost grown accustomed to the weight of the blade. The pain in his arms from swinging the heavy thing at the training dummy was already fading and he felt his grip becoming stronger. He smiled as he held the blade up into the morning light. He no longer feared the weapon he held but felt as though it was becoming a part of him.
“Today we will practice together.” Fendrel said and he unsheathed his own blade, turned towards Terryn and held it up in a defensive pose. “I shall let you strike first.”
Terryn grasped the hilt tightly with both hands and held the blade out before him, ready to strike. He studied his opponent, like Fendr
el had taught him to do, but realized he could not read the expression on Fendrel’s face. He knew he would not be able to predict Fendrel’s moves. He had never fought against an actual person before and Fendrel was quick on his feet. He had witnessed the speed with which Fendrel struck the wooden dummy. Even if the dummy had been a real person, he was certain it would stand no chance against him.
Terryn, knowing that the longer he stood in contemplation, the more frightened he would become, took a deep breath and rushed forward, swinging his sword ferociously and with a bit too much fervor.
Fendrel blocked Terryn’s strike easily with his blade, spun and kicked the back of Terryn’s knee, knocking him off his feet and to the ground. Terryn cried out in surprise as the sword flew from his hands and his face hit the dirt.
From behind, he could hear Fendrel silently chuckling to himself. “Perhaps we should start with defense.” He said as he bent low to help Terryn stand.
Terryn quickly brushed the dirt from his clothes then bent down to pick up his sword. “Let me try again.” He said.
Fendrel nodded, held up his sword in defense and waited for Terryn to make his move. This time, Terryn swung his blade low and aimed for Fendrel’s leg. Fendrel jerked his hand down swiftly and blocked Terryn’s blow then slashed his blade quickly to the side, making Terryn cry out in pain. Once again his sword flew from his hand and he reached up to his arm where he felt the steel of Fendrel’s sword slice through his delicate skin. When he pulled his hand away, it was red with blood.
Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) Page 15
