Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1)

by M. Lee Holmes

  The cloaked man stood forward and removed his hood. Terryn recognized him immediately. The woman behind the King stood now too, her robes were cut low to reveal a large portion of her breasts and an opening in the front revealed her long, slender legs. She smiled maliciously at Terryn as she peered down at him with hatred.

  “Lady Ashryn and her lover Zane. I should have known!” Terryn said their names with disdain. He no longer felt afraid but was now filled with rage. He found it difficult to look at the traitors. “How could you betray us?” He asked, not realizing that he spoke aloud.

  “We are not the betrayers.” Lady Ashryn said as she walked around the bed and sat next to the King. “And Protector Zane is not my lover.” She reached a hand over and placed it gently on the King’s chest. “I am faithful only to one man.” She smiled again and King Firion turned his head and pressed his lips to hers. Terryn watched with hatred and disgust as the King slid his tongue into her mouth and she moaned with pleasure.

  After what seemed like hours of them kissing, King Firion finally pulled away and stood. He walked to the brazier and placed the tip of his blade into the flames. Protector Zane walked over to Terryn and without saying a word, pulled his jerkin open to reveal his chest.

  Terryn watched in horror as the King pulled his blade away from the flame and stepped in front of him. Terryn’s eyes followed the tip of the sword, hoping the King only meant to frighten him with it.

  “Now then,” Firion said, holding the blade up high; “There are two ways we can do this. You can tell me everything you and that traitor, Lord Ivran,” he said his name with a hiss, “have been plotting willingly or I can extract the information from you.” Terryn sat frozen in terror. He knew that he could not tell the King where Lord Ivran was hiding but he also knew how weak he was. He was uncertain how much pain he could endure before the words spilled from his lips.

  When Terryn said nothing, the tip of the blade was brought down to his chest and the sound of his flesh sizzling and the smell of it burning made him scream. Then he felt the pain, cold at first but it quickly grew hot and he knew his skin was melting away. Zane held his shoulders from behind, keeping him in one place and the King held the blade there longer than was necessary. Terryn wriggled and writhed under Zane’s hold but could not escape. He shouted and howled and begged the King to stop but Firion held the blade there until the tip no longer made his skin sizzle. When he pulled it away, a hole in Terryn’s flesh was revealed and a stream of fresh blood began to trickle down his chest.

  Terryn felt his eyes begin to water as he opened them again and looked from the King to Lady Ashryn. She sat on the bed with a grin on her face. He knew that she was enjoying this.

  “I shall ask you again; what have you and Lord Ivran been plotting? I must know how many are planning to attack and when.” The King set his sword on the ground and grabbed his flagon of ale. He took a sip but kept his eyes fixed on Terryn. Terryn’s nostrils were filled with the scent of his burning flesh but he would not yield.

  “I shall never tell!” He hissed at the King and he spat at the ground next to Firion’s feet.

  King Firion shook his head in disappointment. “Then you leave me no choice.” He nodded to Zane and said; “He belongs to you now. You may utilize the dungeons in Axendra.”

  Zane nodded, grasped Terryn tightly by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet. As he was being ushered out of the tent, he looked back and saw Lady Ashryn place her hands on the King’s shoulders and begin kissing his neck. The tent flap closed and Terryn was forced back into the dark of night. The guards lifted him onto the back of a palfrey and with his hands still tied he grasped the horn of the saddle for balance. Zane mounted his steed as well and Terryn noticed the two horses were tied together. Five of the King’s guard mounted as well and soon they were on their way.

  An hour of riding in the stale, dark night passed before they reached the sleeping city. They trotted slowly through the deserted streets of Axendra and Terryn was glad there was no one around to witness his incarceration. Then the castle came into view. It was a sight he dreaded more than seeing the King in his tent. It loomed in the distance as a black wall against a black backdrop. I shall never escape those cold walls. He thought to himself as they made their way closer and closer. He knew that once he entered those stone walls, he would not be leaving them.

  Chapter 16

  The dream had felt so real- she was shaking when she woke. She was lying in the bog as she had been when she fell asleep, but out of the putrid waters a shadow arose. It climbed to a height in the sky that was beyond her vision and loomed over her menacingly. She reached for her sword only to find it was gone; her hands could find no hilt to grip.

  Slimy tendrils reached down towards her and when she tried to run, her feet sank into the boggy water and she was claimed by the reeking sink hole.

  And at the bottom of the wretched pool, lay the skeletons of those that had been so mercilessly murdered. Their faces still contorted in agony and their bony hands reaching up to grab her.

  She tried to kick them away but there were too many and soon her arms and legs were restrained and she was being pulled down into the abyss.

  You belong with us. They hissed. She screamed.

  Rhaaada. The sound of her name being called by the shadows rang in her ears even now. She sat upright on her blanket and looked around at the pre-morning bog that surrounded her- still dark as night against the dense fog. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, trying to rub the memory of the dream away.

  Suddenly, Rhada panicked. She reached down hastily and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of Bloodbinder. Still there. She told herself reassuringly. Calm yourself!

  Her harsh thoughts towards herself did little to ease the pounding of her heart, however. She had been trying to forget the grisly scene she had found in the bog but it kept sneaking back to her memory. She saw bones everywhere; scattered over the barren ground they traveled on, floating in the putrid waters. She even saw them on Mayvard, when he turned his head to speak to her, his flesh was gone, leaving nothing but bone peering at her with hollow eyes. She had shrieked at him once, and he jumped in his saddle. It was only when he began prodding her to tell him what was wrong that her vision cleared and she could see his face once again. She shook her head, refusing to tell him that she was possibly losing her mind and they continued on.

  Another day and night went by without a single incident. Rhada and Mayvard had been forced to feed nearly all that was left of their food to their starving horses that whinnied and protested in anger. When they settled down for the night, they only had small morsels of bread and a few drops of water left between them.

  Rhada had been perceptive of the worrisome glances Mayvard had directed towards her all day but she said nothing. What could she say? She had no solution to the current crisis they found themselves in. She could not simply make food appear by sheer will. She was well aware their situation had just turned from dangerous to dire. Their horses were getting angrier by the hour and soon, they would refuse to continue on at all.

  Rhada tipped her waterskin to her lips and allowed the last few drops to drip into her mouth. She held them on her dry tongue for a few moments, savoring the refreshment the water provided before swallowing. When the waterskin was empty, she lowered it to her lap and frowned. It had seemed so long ago since they last saw a source of fresh water and she wondered how they were going to continue without it. She would rather die than take a drink of the bog’s water.

  “Mayvard.” Rhada said flatly, as though she regretted what she was about to say. She did not look at him but kept her focus on the empty waterskin in her lap.

  Mayvard looked up from his bedroll which he had been stretching out over the dirty ground.

  “I have made a mistake.” She said in almost a whisper. Rhada was not one to admit her follies- she could not bear the thought of anyone seeing her as someone who was not to be trusted in her decisions. But her mistake was there, in
plain view for both of them to see. It was lying in her lap, dry and empty; it was heard in their horses’ cries and in their growling bellies. Rhada could not hide from the mistake she had made- knowing full well that Mayvard was completely aware of it. And so, her only other option was to try to make amends.

  “I never should have led us in here.” She said, finally looking up into his pitying eyes.

  “You did not know it would be like this.” He said, setting aside her apology like an unwanted gift.

  “It makes no difference.” She replied, irritated at his lack of compassion for her regret. “I led us in here and now we are lost, with no food or clean water. And who knows how long it will take to escape this damned place!” Rhada was suddenly filled with rage; rage at the fog and stinking bog, rage at their run-in with the ghost wolves- the wounds on her shoulders and the empty waterskin in her lap- and Myranda. She saw the Sorceress’s smirking face as she was commanded to travel north. She knew Myranda would not shed a tear if Rhada happened upon some misfortune on her way to Tyos. But Mayvard… Mayvard did not deserve this fate- to starve to death in some forsaken, hellish quagmire, buried underneath the thick fog never to be seen again. But Myranda would not blame herself, she would blame Rhada. And she would be right to do so.

  Mayvard sat upon his mat and forced a smile at Rhada. “We will make it out of here.”

  Rhada raised a skeptical eyebrow at Mayvard. “How can you be so sure of that?”

  Mayvard shrugged his shoulders. “I can feel it.” He lowered himself onto his back and gazed up at what would be the sky if the fog did not shield it from their eyes. “You have not been sleeping properly. Perhaps the lack of sleep has filled your mind with anxiety. Rest tonight, and tomorrow, you shall see things in a different light.”

  But Rhada could not sleep that night either. She sat in stillness and watched as the sky grew darker; the last rays of daylight giving sway to the anger of night. And with the night the cold was brought. Rhada wrapped herself tightly into her blanket and shivered as Mayvard, twisted and turned; moaning from what she assumed was a frightful dream. She kept Bloodbinder close, lying next to her in the dirt so she may grab it if need be. The sword had begun humming once again but it was not a warning she felt in her heart; it was a feeling of uneasiness that coursed through her veins.

  It was not until the early hue of morning light; that dark blue tinge that made the promise of the sun once again returning; filled the sky that Rhada was able to sleep. She had been lying flat on her back, staring up at the dark sky, watching it slowly change from black to indigo, when her eyes suddenly felt too heavy to hold open. She fell asleep to the rhythmic tune of Bloodbinder and did not wake until nearly midday.

  She moaned as she sat upright, stretching her arms out before her and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She could not help the small grin that stretched over her lips, the result of feeling as though she had actually gotten enough rest. But as she looked around, her grin vanished and was replaced with a pounding heart; Mayvard’s blanket lay on the ground unoccupied and neither he nor his horse was anywhere to be seen.

  “Mayvard?” Rhada called out. She spun around and tried to see through the fog but her vision was limited. “Mayvard!” She called again. She stood still and tried listening for any sound. The silence surrounding her rang in her ears and gave her a sick feeling. He would not ride off on his own. She told herself but knew her reassurance was in vain. She could see for herself that that was exactly what he had done. What if something terrible has happened to him? What if something in the night frightened him and he fled? Did he have the nightmare too? Is that why he was thrashing so violently as he slept? Rhada cursed under her breath and kicked angrily at a rock. “Damn this bog!” She yelled loudly and spun when she heard a voice from behind.

  “I am glad to know you feel the same as I do.” Mayvard approached on horseback with a large grin on his face and a dead deer dangling from his horse’s backside.

  Rhada smiled at the sight of him and the deer and had to stop herself from jumping with joy. She could not think of anything worse than being stuck in the bog alone.

  “I thought for a moment you had abandoned me.” She said indifferently, trying her best to hide the fear in her voice.

  “Never.” Mayvard replied as he dismounted and pulled the deer to the ground. “And I am somewhat offended you would even consider that a possibility. I would never abandon you.”

  “I know.” Rhada said in almost a whisper. Mayvard’s loyalty to her would never fade. “You would never abandon me by choice but this bog has a way of playing tricks on the mind. I thought perhaps you had succumbed.”

  Mayvard smiled despite Rhada’s doubts. “I have not succumbed yet, nor will I. I believe we are nearing the end of this retched bog.” He pointed down to the deer at his feet. “I heard a rustling in the fog, grabbed my bow and jumped atop my horse. This is what I found.” The pleasure of capturing the animal was evident in his voice. “There is wildlife around us once again and over there;” he pointed in the direction he had come from, “is green grass, tall and very much alive and the smell of the bog is fading. It is not as foul as it was yesterday.”

  Rhada found herself smiling as well. She helped Mayvard skin the deer, carefully wrapping every morsel of meat. They would have to find wood for a fire soon, however, if they were going to cook the meat before it spoiled. They packed the venison away and led their horses to the patch of grass Mayvard had spotted and let them graze for a while. Rhada watched them with jealous eyes, knowing the raw venison was wrapped in their bags, mocking their inability to eat it. She frowned as her stomach grumbled and knew the time to press on had come. They had already let most of the day glide past them.

  They mounted and were traveling quicker than before. Their horses were happy with full bellies and sprung ahead with surprising energy. Rhada, however, felt herself growing weary from hunger and her mouth felt as though it was full of sand.

  They did not stop all that day and decided to ride late into the night and Rhada was glad that they did so. They stopped when the fog around them evaporated to reveal the green leaves of the thriving trees of the forest and the cool, crisp air of night. Rhada took in a deep breath as though she had not been able to breathe in a week and looked up to the stars with a smile on her face. She dismounted her steed and let him happily graze in the fresh, green grass. Mayvard did the same, pulling his waterskin from his saddle bag as he did so. He walked up to the nearby stream and filled it with fresh water then took a long sip and handed it to Rhada who took an even longer drink. It felt like it had been years since she had tasted fresh water on her tongue.

  Both Rhada and Mayvard shuffled through the foliage, guided by moonlight that was uninhibited by any fog, and found enough kindling and wood to start a proper fire. It was not long before their venison was roasting over the open flames and they were each happily chewing on a steak.

  “I do not remember venison ever tasting this sweet.” Mayvard said between bites.

  Rhada nodded. “Nor do I.” She knew when a person was starving, anything tasted twice as good as it normally would.

  When they finished their steaks, they sat in silence for a while and watched the fire burn into the night sky. Every so often, Rhada would raise her eyes from the flames to Mayvard and catch glimpses of him studying her, as though she were keeping a dark secret he so desperately desired to know. Finally, she could take it no more.

  “Is something on your mind, Mayvard?”

  Mayvard blinked and looked up, as though he was unaware of the fact he had been staring at her. She could see he was about to shake his head, then thought better of it and cleared his throat before saying; “I was wondering… it has actually been driving me mad…” He stopped, looked to her with exasperation then shook his head.

  “I suppose it does not matter.” He said quietly in disappointment.

  “What?” Rhada asked in irritation. She could not understand why Mayvard would not just say what
was on his mind.

  He sat up taller and glowered at her from across the fire. “Tell me what it was you found in the fog that was so infandous.”

  Rhada had had a feeling that this was coming. She had tried her hardest to assure Mayvard that she had found nothing in the fog but she could see it in his eyes he knew she was lying.

  Rhada sighed, frustrated she had to explain to Mayvard the grisly sight she had come across. With their reemergence into the forest, she had nearly forgotten about it herself.

  Mayvard, impatient with Rhada’s hesitation, said; “why do you think you need to protect me? Do you find me weak?”

  Rhada was surprised by his question. That was not the impression she had intended to give.

  “You know I do not think you weak.”

  “Then tell me what it was you saw.” Mayvard’s tone was bordering on demanding, which Rhada would never have expected to hear from him. If he wants to know so badly then he shall.

  “All right.” She said, leaning closer to the fire and keeping her gaze on Mayvard. “In the fog I found corpses- the skeletons of thirty people, legs broken and burned alive, piled in a heap inside a ring of stone; a sacrificial shrine.”

  Mayvard’s countenance grew grim as she explained the scene she had stumbled upon.

  “How long do you suppose they have been there?” He asked.

  Rhada shrugged her shoulders. “It is difficult to say. But the bones did not look as though they were over a year old. They were charred but clean and there was no sign of weathering on them.”

  “The Shadow Cult used to practice something similar.” Mayvard explained, as though Rhada had never heard of such a thing.

  “So you have read the history books.” She acknowledged, wondering how he could have read them and still been accepting of the idea of traveling through the Forest of the Dead.